As an add on to the "pet cemetery" posting..Skideets says to K "mom, have you noticed how animals don't live long around here?" She may be just six, but she KNOWS what's going on..
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
small but insightful
As an add on to the "pet cemetery" posting..Skideets says to K "mom, have you noticed how animals don't live long around here?" She may be just six, but she KNOWS what's going on..
don't you hate it when people are more witty than you?
I do. I particularly hate it when they are funnier or create better, more interesting stuff than your stupid ass ever would. You underacheiver!
Lito just emailed me a blog address of someone we mutually work with. And it's not that the entries are anything to write home about, but the descriptions of this guy's likes/dislikes/thoughts about various topics is so funny. Maybe I was more creative when I was younger. Wait, I was. I was also more horned up, more single, more laid back, more poor, more immature, more crazzzzy, more creative, more unfocused and generally more naive. But there seemed to be more output.
The year I spent in Albeturkey (my friend Chris loved to call it that), New Mexico going to UNM was filled with "more." There was more sky, more space, more rollerblading through all of downtown on weekends, more freedom living away from home for the first time, more sunbathing topless on the dorm roof, more camping, more Rock Climbing classes, more ceramic sculpture that looked phallic, more working with a hairnet on, more pool playing, more selling my clothes at Buffalo Exchange to get spending money, more hunger because I opted for the meal plan which only fed you 5 meals a week and I thought I'd save my parents some money. I gave away that huge cocoon sculpture to Phil whatwashisname. Some whirlwind affair 2 wks. before I left at the end of that year; met at the pizza place I worked in at the Student Union. The cocoon was cracked on the bottom from the kiln. I think the coil of clay I used there may have been too thin and cracked when I fired it. So disappointing. It was this beautiful natural clay color with smoked smudges on it-some process using smoke instead of glaze. Skater Sam was always trying to trade me for one of my peices. That one that looked like a human torso, glazed grainy green and white. Damn it was beautiful. Just this beautiful organic mass that took a shape all it's own. I don't know where it got lost. CP probably neglected to give it to me when I moved out and donated it to Goodwill- or it took it's virgin voyage flying out of the 2nd Floor apartment window, showering the half naked Russian girls sunbathing below.
When I moved to SF back in '94, coming out of school, I knew the last thing that I was going to do was work some lame ass 40 hr. a week job and not do anything else. For 2 semesters I took Printmaking at the SF Art Institute w/ this awesome graduate student named Tomaso, who's probably in Italy by now. Then after that I took a few semesters of writing workshops at UC Berkeley Ext. in the city. Just trying to find a voice, my voice, a style. I had plenty of material then, all feuled by one unhappy and chaotic life at home. My dad had just died, I was running from everything to keep from dealing, trying to manage my life and MDC's alcoholism. Just trying to keep him off the streets I guess. It was a lot of material to put together, to stitch together like a big quilt. Plus I was slaving behind the coffee counter then and the endless droves of characters that crossed my path was fuel for the fire. Whoosh!! Everyday occurrences ignited so much of my creativity. I have journals + poems to prove it. I was part of a writing group for 2 yrs., a spin off from those UC workshops. Like minded people making a commitment to each other to create despite the monotony that life could sometimes offer.
Some type of 5 yr. black hole followed. I moved to Mpls and that was the end. I didn't make anything, I suffered the worst writer's block imaginable. My mind refused to focus. Driving back to SF cross country in a U-Haul didn't do much to change the situation. 3 more years of constant running. I couldn't spit out anything on paper. Shit just wasn't funny anymore. I mean it was, but funny in a "you don't want to document that" if you don't have a video camera. And I didn't. Anyway, it was stuff I didn't want anyone to be able to read or see or touch.
Slowly the trickle of ideas is coming back. No, not so much the ideas, just the ability and focus to be able to create something with those ideas. It's such a slow ass process that it's sometimes painful and frustrating and fraught with envy and gratitude of other people's abilities to make something out of their ideas. At least my envy creates enough momentum for me to place words down that will stay around awhile and get looked at.
Lito just emailed me a blog address of someone we mutually work with. And it's not that the entries are anything to write home about, but the descriptions of this guy's likes/dislikes/thoughts about various topics is so funny. Maybe I was more creative when I was younger. Wait, I was. I was also more horned up, more single, more laid back, more poor, more immature, more crazzzzy, more creative, more unfocused and generally more naive. But there seemed to be more output.
The year I spent in Albeturkey (my friend Chris loved to call it that), New Mexico going to UNM was filled with "more." There was more sky, more space, more rollerblading through all of downtown on weekends, more freedom living away from home for the first time, more sunbathing topless on the dorm roof, more camping, more Rock Climbing classes, more ceramic sculpture that looked phallic, more working with a hairnet on, more pool playing, more selling my clothes at Buffalo Exchange to get spending money, more hunger because I opted for the meal plan which only fed you 5 meals a week and I thought I'd save my parents some money. I gave away that huge cocoon sculpture to Phil whatwashisname. Some whirlwind affair 2 wks. before I left at the end of that year; met at the pizza place I worked in at the Student Union. The cocoon was cracked on the bottom from the kiln. I think the coil of clay I used there may have been too thin and cracked when I fired it. So disappointing. It was this beautiful natural clay color with smoked smudges on it-some process using smoke instead of glaze. Skater Sam was always trying to trade me for one of my peices. That one that looked like a human torso, glazed grainy green and white. Damn it was beautiful. Just this beautiful organic mass that took a shape all it's own. I don't know where it got lost. CP probably neglected to give it to me when I moved out and donated it to Goodwill- or it took it's virgin voyage flying out of the 2nd Floor apartment window, showering the half naked Russian girls sunbathing below.
When I moved to SF back in '94, coming out of school, I knew the last thing that I was going to do was work some lame ass 40 hr. a week job and not do anything else. For 2 semesters I took Printmaking at the SF Art Institute w/ this awesome graduate student named Tomaso, who's probably in Italy by now. Then after that I took a few semesters of writing workshops at UC Berkeley Ext. in the city. Just trying to find a voice, my voice, a style. I had plenty of material then, all feuled by one unhappy and chaotic life at home. My dad had just died, I was running from everything to keep from dealing, trying to manage my life and MDC's alcoholism. Just trying to keep him off the streets I guess. It was a lot of material to put together, to stitch together like a big quilt. Plus I was slaving behind the coffee counter then and the endless droves of characters that crossed my path was fuel for the fire. Whoosh!! Everyday occurrences ignited so much of my creativity. I have journals + poems to prove it. I was part of a writing group for 2 yrs., a spin off from those UC workshops. Like minded people making a commitment to each other to create despite the monotony that life could sometimes offer.
Some type of 5 yr. black hole followed. I moved to Mpls and that was the end. I didn't make anything, I suffered the worst writer's block imaginable. My mind refused to focus. Driving back to SF cross country in a U-Haul didn't do much to change the situation. 3 more years of constant running. I couldn't spit out anything on paper. Shit just wasn't funny anymore. I mean it was, but funny in a "you don't want to document that" if you don't have a video camera. And I didn't. Anyway, it was stuff I didn't want anyone to be able to read or see or touch.
Slowly the trickle of ideas is coming back. No, not so much the ideas, just the ability and focus to be able to create something with those ideas. It's such a slow ass process that it's sometimes painful and frustrating and fraught with envy and gratitude of other people's abilities to make something out of their ideas. At least my envy creates enough momentum for me to place words down that will stay around awhile and get looked at.
Friday, February 18, 2005
pet cemetery
my sister called me at work yesterday. This itself is nothing short of miraculous. Something BIG must have happened. For the millionth time she tells me, lame excuse, that she's lost my email address and can she have it, she wants to send me something. Finally, after 5 yrs., a picture of the kids!
As I'm waiting for her to attach the jpg and send said email to me, we go through the "how's everybody?" conversation. I've gotten used to asking how each of their pets is; they have a bunch of misc. hairless critters about the house. I've finally learned all their names, minus the fish-they die too fast for me to keep up. Though I think "Fishy" has been around a while. In this conversation, like many in the past, I find out that "oh didn't I tell you" - he passed on.
There were the fish, and then there was "Goldie" the gecko, who has been w/ the family since Harrison was 3. Or, was... "oh didn't I tell you?" How the fuck do you kill a gecko? Sorry, how would a gecko die? You have to feed them crickets like 2x a week, tops. There seemed to have been some finger pointing going on between my 10 yr. old nephew & my sister involving drinking water. Great, they killed the gecko.
There was also Happy and Buttercup. There may have been another parakeet, but those are the only two that I eventually came to remember. Buttercup didn't last. I think Happy terrorized it, made it too nervous to eat, killed it off with it's nagging. "How's Happy?" "Oh, didn't I tell you..." Jesus, not another death in the family!
The only reason I found out about Happy is because there was some mention, slipped right under the radar, about these 3 "new" parakeets. Something about Greenbay, or Greenday, and X and X. Doesn't matter, they probably won't last long. "What about the parrot?" "Oh, didn't I tell you?" Not the parrot!!! Lucky for Euro, he might just escape death by relocating up to Vermont. Seems the bird is lonely and requires more attention than the family of 5 can give. K found some lady up in Vermont, who has a parrot just like Euro, that needs a buddy. Good luck Euro, hope you make it out alive!
I mean the kids thrive, so it's not asbestos in the walls or contaminated drinking water. I have a feeling it's a combo job- part forgetfulness and part picking pets with a quickly approaching expiration date.
So, yesterday, K called because she was shopping at the "Big Y"- god I hate the names of these suburban Walmart knock-offs - and guess what she found? An abandoned kitten. I open up the email she just sent me, double click on the jpg. Well, looks like I'll have to wait another 5 yrs. for a picture of the kids. But, I do have a picture of the kitty "Maisy."
They haven't had a hairy pet yet, due to MP's allergies. K wasn't going to leave the cat out in the cold, it was a keeper. Destiny. Fate. MP was going to have to grin and bear it. He took Maisy to the vet.
My first reaction is "I'm going to call one day and someone will say- oh, didn't I tell you.." K has it worked out: "so if MP's alergies are really bad, you'll take her right?" Sure, just make that trip to the East Coast to wisk the animal 2600 miles away. At least then it might have a chance!
I actually think she has better odds than the rest of the other members of Noah's Ark.
As I'm waiting for her to attach the jpg and send said email to me, we go through the "how's everybody?" conversation. I've gotten used to asking how each of their pets is; they have a bunch of misc. hairless critters about the house. I've finally learned all their names, minus the fish-they die too fast for me to keep up. Though I think "Fishy" has been around a while. In this conversation, like many in the past, I find out that "oh didn't I tell you" - he passed on.
There were the fish, and then there was "Goldie" the gecko, who has been w/ the family since Harrison was 3. Or, was... "oh didn't I tell you?" How the fuck do you kill a gecko? Sorry, how would a gecko die? You have to feed them crickets like 2x a week, tops. There seemed to have been some finger pointing going on between my 10 yr. old nephew & my sister involving drinking water. Great, they killed the gecko.
There was also Happy and Buttercup. There may have been another parakeet, but those are the only two that I eventually came to remember. Buttercup didn't last. I think Happy terrorized it, made it too nervous to eat, killed it off with it's nagging. "How's Happy?" "Oh, didn't I tell you..." Jesus, not another death in the family!
The only reason I found out about Happy is because there was some mention, slipped right under the radar, about these 3 "new" parakeets. Something about Greenbay, or Greenday, and X and X. Doesn't matter, they probably won't last long. "What about the parrot?" "Oh, didn't I tell you?" Not the parrot!!! Lucky for Euro, he might just escape death by relocating up to Vermont. Seems the bird is lonely and requires more attention than the family of 5 can give. K found some lady up in Vermont, who has a parrot just like Euro, that needs a buddy. Good luck Euro, hope you make it out alive!
I mean the kids thrive, so it's not asbestos in the walls or contaminated drinking water. I have a feeling it's a combo job- part forgetfulness and part picking pets with a quickly approaching expiration date.
So, yesterday, K called because she was shopping at the "Big Y"- god I hate the names of these suburban Walmart knock-offs - and guess what she found? An abandoned kitten. I open up the email she just sent me, double click on the jpg. Well, looks like I'll have to wait another 5 yrs. for a picture of the kids. But, I do have a picture of the kitty "Maisy."
They haven't had a hairy pet yet, due to MP's allergies. K wasn't going to leave the cat out in the cold, it was a keeper. Destiny. Fate. MP was going to have to grin and bear it. He took Maisy to the vet.
My first reaction is "I'm going to call one day and someone will say- oh, didn't I tell you.." K has it worked out: "so if MP's alergies are really bad, you'll take her right?" Sure, just make that trip to the East Coast to wisk the animal 2600 miles away. At least then it might have a chance!
I actually think she has better odds than the rest of the other members of Noah's Ark.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
"everyone in silico"
DizAstra left a book over at our house, before she and MK took a little breather from hanging out. Their breather was brought on by DizA spending too much time w/ Frankie, her new man. MK said she was getting all soft and nice to him. And he hates that. She just didn't necessarily want to hang out with his ass on her couch all night when she could be GETTING LAID. Let's get real.
The book is "everyone in silico" by jim munroe. I haven't had time to go by a bookstore, let alone into one, in so long. Which is weird, because I consider myself a voracious reader. I love books, always have. I can blow through them like a bag of chips. Like I inhale my food. I've read almost all of my books 2x now, 3x. It's not bad recycling your stash of novels; by the time I get back around to reading them, enough time has gone by that I have already forgotten about the story.
Like rereading "The Bone People" by Keri Hulme. That was a great book. It had New Zealand, magic, the ocean, pain, love, the demise and upliftment of the human spirit all rolled up in a ball. My kinda stuff. The book reeks of magical surrealism, kind of like, but not, anything that Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote. Or Toni Morrison. Or Zora Neal Hurston. Or Salman Rushdie.
"everyone in silico" is like that too, but not set in a tropical land. It's a scifi story set in San Francisco in 20... who even knows. It's far into the future. We who inhabit the earth now are looooonnngg gone. Bodies and minds are now separated. The mind goes to live out it's fantasies in a virtual world called "Frisco" which is this elaborately developed world created by an organization ominously known as "Self." People are signing up in droves for the Bronze, Silver, Gold and Platinum pkgs. They can be who they want to be in "Frisco," they can look like they want to, they can feel how they want to, they only exist as a mind there. Nothing is really "real" just bits and bites. A little like the Matrix, but not so Burning Man meets Robocop. And not so "underground." Well, that's not exactly true. There is a bit of that with the whole raver/artist/revolutionaries that are trying to win their control back.
I have a few pages to go, which is sad. I hate coming to the end of a good book. I particularly want this story to keep going, I'm that interested. I'm particularly interested in the convergance of the lives of a few key characters, as they uncover the secret of "Self" and what happens to the physical bodies of all these minds moving to "Frisco." The bodies have to go somewhere. The "somewhere" that they go provides an unexpected twist. But I actually haven't read that part yet, so it might actually be predictable. Who knows? You will if you read the damn book. And so will I - sometime tonight, as I'm curling up in bed devouring the last few pages of type before I fall asleep.
The book is "everyone in silico" by jim munroe. I haven't had time to go by a bookstore, let alone into one, in so long. Which is weird, because I consider myself a voracious reader. I love books, always have. I can blow through them like a bag of chips. Like I inhale my food. I've read almost all of my books 2x now, 3x. It's not bad recycling your stash of novels; by the time I get back around to reading them, enough time has gone by that I have already forgotten about the story.
Like rereading "The Bone People" by Keri Hulme. That was a great book. It had New Zealand, magic, the ocean, pain, love, the demise and upliftment of the human spirit all rolled up in a ball. My kinda stuff. The book reeks of magical surrealism, kind of like, but not, anything that Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote. Or Toni Morrison. Or Zora Neal Hurston. Or Salman Rushdie.
"everyone in silico" is like that too, but not set in a tropical land. It's a scifi story set in San Francisco in 20... who even knows. It's far into the future. We who inhabit the earth now are looooonnngg gone. Bodies and minds are now separated. The mind goes to live out it's fantasies in a virtual world called "Frisco" which is this elaborately developed world created by an organization ominously known as "Self." People are signing up in droves for the Bronze, Silver, Gold and Platinum pkgs. They can be who they want to be in "Frisco," they can look like they want to, they can feel how they want to, they only exist as a mind there. Nothing is really "real" just bits and bites. A little like the Matrix, but not so Burning Man meets Robocop. And not so "underground." Well, that's not exactly true. There is a bit of that with the whole raver/artist/revolutionaries that are trying to win their control back.
I have a few pages to go, which is sad. I hate coming to the end of a good book. I particularly want this story to keep going, I'm that interested. I'm particularly interested in the convergance of the lives of a few key characters, as they uncover the secret of "Self" and what happens to the physical bodies of all these minds moving to "Frisco." The bodies have to go somewhere. The "somewhere" that they go provides an unexpected twist. But I actually haven't read that part yet, so it might actually be predictable. Who knows? You will if you read the damn book. And so will I - sometime tonight, as I'm curling up in bed devouring the last few pages of type before I fall asleep.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Filler' up
got off the phone with JB a moment ago. Besides the usual swap of "things that make us frustrated and keep us from actualizing our dreams," we got on the subject of her family. She and Matty were in Texas visiting her mom & dad recently. Her folks are from SD, not TX, but I guess they migrate during this time of year, like the other birds.
Our conversation wasn't really about trying to outdo each other with the "damn, my family is really fucked up; no, my family is really fucked up; No, you don't understand, MY family is really fucked up." Yeah, we're all fucked up and we all come from fucked up families. It's kind of a contest without winners - not really a contest. It's about perspective and no matter how good you have it, to someone else the grass is always greener...
More than anything, our conversation tended towards the "and I have some issues because of my fucked up family that I'm trying to still deal with." Yeah sister, tell me about it.
On Sunday, the 13th, it will be the [morbid] "anniversary" [morbid to call an anniversary] of the death of my dad. 45 years old, a month shy of his 46th birthday, he died. Not one of those sudden "got hit by a car" or "heartache" numbers. It was one of those "escalating at super speeds terminal cancer" dealios. Ohhhhh.
It will be 10 years since he passed away.
10 years of trying to make sense of the thing. 10 years of tossing it around in my hands, peering at it from all sides/angles, trying to come to terms with the guilt [I killed him, it was my fault, if only I...]. 10 years of trying to fill up an empty void that was left, not only in my life, but in the life of my mom, in the life of my sister, in the lives of her kids.
V-O-I-D..
it's a word you just want
to F-I-L-L up
with something
warmer
and
more comforting
Our conversation wasn't really about trying to outdo each other with the "damn, my family is really fucked up; no, my family is really fucked up; No, you don't understand, MY family is really fucked up." Yeah, we're all fucked up and we all come from fucked up families. It's kind of a contest without winners - not really a contest. It's about perspective and no matter how good you have it, to someone else the grass is always greener...
More than anything, our conversation tended towards the "and I have some issues because of my fucked up family that I'm trying to still deal with." Yeah sister, tell me about it.
On Sunday, the 13th, it will be the [morbid] "anniversary" [morbid to call an anniversary] of the death of my dad. 45 years old, a month shy of his 46th birthday, he died. Not one of those sudden "got hit by a car" or "heartache" numbers. It was one of those "escalating at super speeds terminal cancer" dealios. Ohhhhh.
It will be 10 years since he passed away.
10 years of trying to make sense of the thing. 10 years of tossing it around in my hands, peering at it from all sides/angles, trying to come to terms with the guilt [I killed him, it was my fault, if only I...]. 10 years of trying to fill up an empty void that was left, not only in my life, but in the life of my mom, in the life of my sister, in the lives of her kids.
V-O-I-D..
it's a word you just want
to F-I-L-L up
with something
warmer
and
more comforting
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Rational rationale
2 wkends ago, at a bar, I'm speaking with KM about his peronal ad that he's got on out there in cyberspace. He's been doing the online "meet and greet", which then at times turns into the uncomfortable "date and sweat" at the theatre or restaurant near you. From the sounds of it, more than just once it's progressed somewhere to the date #2 and some possible "fill in the blank." Since he never does, I won't either-since I don't really know.
We got to talking about how he's not all that psyched about his "hit" rate or his "rate" of successful matches. So of course I ask him to send me his ad. Maybe I can offer up some input, maybe I can write one for him (his choice to use or use as toilet paper). Mine may be no better -it may not bear any riper fruit. So, I get his ad via email the next day. I read said ad. I know my friend, I like my friend. He's my friend because I like him. He's smart, witty, good looking, a fucking weirdo, chivalrous to women, these days kind to small furry creatures and old people and does not seem to display any tattooes from his very minor period in "the pen." I'm kidding.
I read his ad. I'm hopeful. It starts out honest:
This is a good start. Lay down the foundation. Tell 'em what you're dealing with. You're smart, interesting looking, short, but once they see you, that will be a TURN ON. You take care of yourself, you are artsy and a meat head. WOW, nice combination (I'm serious). Don't sound like fag (and I'm using that in the very east coast way) and don't sound like a nuckle draggin' neanderthal posing as a frat boy.
"Oh, and booze. Maybe he should've left this out. I'm not a rich guy by any means. I'm not stressed about it, but an interested woman should know that I'm not set to provide for anyone else--I'd love to, because I have a chivalrous streak, but look--I want to actually finish school in this lifetime, so I'm focusing on that. " Honesty is good. Most of the time. You kind of want to reserve this type of honesty for, um, maybe later.
"I'm a little saddened by the state of things in this country--seems like we either worship a God whose word gives worshipers the need to hate, or we worship crap (cars, action figures, celebrities, or just plain money)." This is defintely going to cut down on him meeting any devout Catholic chick or any of the 2800 Jehovah's chosen. "I'm not super-active in fighting against this trend, but I'm not submitting to it. So, who you are...frankly, if I sound interesting (or, at least, not abhorrent) to you, then I don't care." But the deranged and bi polar are sure to pick up on this mental hiccup. Like fly on rice....watch out!
"Black or white; short or tall; chunky or skinny--chemistry for me has never been dependent on a physical type. I'm definitely liberal, but I've been known to get along with conservatives who can debate a point, not sharpen it up and shove it into my eye. Just be you?" I'm thinking, you had ME! And then the misplaced "?" You don't want to ask that question. Sybil is likely to answer. No, not me, but have you met the other me? Creepy.
"Oh, you know, there's just no way I can convey who I am in this ad. You've got the basics, you know why I'm here--" You are my friend, but you are a DUMB ASS. Bitch, people perceive that you are HERE to get laid. So, saying that, well...you just don't want to do that.
"if you're interested in perhaps further conversation, then email me. I'll even send you a picture (I'm not hideous, at least). And good luck to you and all others in your search(es)."
You know it's funny. If I had met Dumb ass here when I was single, I so would have been interested in him. Maybe being his friend is my way of getting some. I'm not sure, nor do we need to wax the light fantastic on this subject. The point is, he's awesome, good looking, a veritable C-A-T-C-H. So I'm thinking i'm going to go do a little editing on this piece d' resistance and see if I can actually drum up some additional business in the love department.
We got to talking about how he's not all that psyched about his "hit" rate or his "rate" of successful matches. So of course I ask him to send me his ad. Maybe I can offer up some input, maybe I can write one for him (his choice to use or use as toilet paper). Mine may be no better -it may not bear any riper fruit. So, I get his ad via email the next day. I read said ad. I know my friend, I like my friend. He's my friend because I like him. He's smart, witty, good looking, a fucking weirdo, chivalrous to women, these days kind to small furry creatures and old people and does not seem to display any tattooes from his very minor period in "the pen." I'm kidding.
I read his ad. I'm hopeful. It starts out honest:
"5'4" Mixed asian/european descent. Somewhat burly 165. Returning student (burned out on IT, going back for a degree in Linguistics, with the intent of teaching--possibly TOEFL, possibly college-level), with a variety of interests, but mainly technology, media (film & music primarily), blogging, weightlifting, and conversations. I LOVE good conversation."
This is a good start. Lay down the foundation. Tell 'em what you're dealing with. You're smart, interesting looking, short, but once they see you, that will be a TURN ON. You take care of yourself, you are artsy and a meat head. WOW, nice combination (I'm serious). Don't sound like fag (and I'm using that in the very east coast way) and don't sound like a nuckle draggin' neanderthal posing as a frat boy.
"Oh, and booze. Maybe he should've left this out. I'm not a rich guy by any means. I'm not stressed about it, but an interested woman should know that I'm not set to provide for anyone else--I'd love to, because I have a chivalrous streak, but look--I want to actually finish school in this lifetime, so I'm focusing on that. " Honesty is good. Most of the time. You kind of want to reserve this type of honesty for, um, maybe later.
"I'm a little saddened by the state of things in this country--seems like we either worship a God whose word gives worshipers the need to hate, or we worship crap (cars, action figures, celebrities, or just plain money)." This is defintely going to cut down on him meeting any devout Catholic chick or any of the 2800 Jehovah's chosen. "I'm not super-active in fighting against this trend, but I'm not submitting to it. So, who you are...frankly, if I sound interesting (or, at least, not abhorrent) to you, then I don't care." But the deranged and bi polar are sure to pick up on this mental hiccup. Like fly on rice....watch out!
"Black or white; short or tall; chunky or skinny--chemistry for me has never been dependent on a physical type. I'm definitely liberal, but I've been known to get along with conservatives who can debate a point, not sharpen it up and shove it into my eye. Just be you?" I'm thinking, you had ME! And then the misplaced "?" You don't want to ask that question. Sybil is likely to answer. No, not me, but have you met the other me? Creepy.
"Oh, you know, there's just no way I can convey who I am in this ad. You've got the basics, you know why I'm here--" You are my friend, but you are a DUMB ASS. Bitch, people perceive that you are HERE to get laid. So, saying that, well...you just don't want to do that.
"if you're interested in perhaps further conversation, then email me. I'll even send you a picture (I'm not hideous, at least). And good luck to you and all others in your search(es)."
You know it's funny. If I had met Dumb ass here when I was single, I so would have been interested in him. Maybe being his friend is my way of getting some. I'm not sure, nor do we need to wax the light fantastic on this subject. The point is, he's awesome, good looking, a veritable C-A-T-C-H. So I'm thinking i'm going to go do a little editing on this piece d' resistance and see if I can actually drum up some additional business in the love department.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Friday, February 04, 2005
practicing patience
Not something that I'm particularly good at. Walking home last night I had to vent to Sause, unload on him. Thank god for good friends that are supportive and bring a bit of balance to the situation. I wrote up an incredible lengthy letter (almost 8 pages) to try to unravel the ball of yarn of feelings that are currently flowing through me. Lay it all out and try to see if you can get to the core of the problem. Better than hurling insults or screaming uselessly; anyway, when you're in a state of such passionate anger, nothing you say makes any sense and all you're doing is ranting. So I wrote them down, addressed to the intended recipient.
The Buddhists get rid of their anger or angry, hurtful words, by writing them down on paper and then burning it as a mechanism for exorcising those feelings. Better to get it out of your system, make it tangible and then incinerate them so you are free of those feelings. The reasoning behind that, I'm supposing, is to purge yourself and by focusing enough to put them down on paper you actually might quench the fires of your anger. Hmmmm. Maybe.
I feel like I'm more focused yes, but I now need to verbally get my feelings heard and get some kind of resolution. Because frankly, I can't keep having these same issues come up again and again.
The Buddhists get rid of their anger or angry, hurtful words, by writing them down on paper and then burning it as a mechanism for exorcising those feelings. Better to get it out of your system, make it tangible and then incinerate them so you are free of those feelings. The reasoning behind that, I'm supposing, is to purge yourself and by focusing enough to put them down on paper you actually might quench the fires of your anger. Hmmmm. Maybe.
I feel like I'm more focused yes, but I now need to verbally get my feelings heard and get some kind of resolution. Because frankly, I can't keep having these same issues come up again and again.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
2.3.05
it's actually spring outside. Last night there was even a mosquito buzzing in my ear...fuck, time to start using the african queen mosquito net. You laugh, but we have one over the bed to keep "them" away from "us." We had a small infestation last year; couldn't tell you where they were coming from. It was maddening. You thought you were done after killing one, then the other, then the other, then the other. The walls had splatters of blood all over, in strange patterns, marking our kills. Insects are not smart, or rather, they don't learn. They still came despite all the warnings on the walls announcing their imminent demise.
I think I got, maybe, 4 hrs. of sleep last night. I'm not one of those people that is cool with that. You might actually describe me as violent when I'm sleep deprived. It makes me so mad and frustrated. Especially if the cause is not your honest to goodness insomnia, but M. Running theme. M has no concept of anyone else's space when he gets going. I feel like moving out right now. I just need a breather and some sleep.
I think I got, maybe, 4 hrs. of sleep last night. I'm not one of those people that is cool with that. You might actually describe me as violent when I'm sleep deprived. It makes me so mad and frustrated. Especially if the cause is not your honest to goodness insomnia, but M. Running theme. M has no concept of anyone else's space when he gets going. I feel like moving out right now. I just need a breather and some sleep.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
stupidity and madness-my own
maybe I'm just pissed that M doesn't have to work now, maybe I'm just jealous that he's always out and a large entourage that keep the same schedule as him that are always available to play. While I go to bed responsibly. Maybe it's just that I'm completely out of mind or I'm just suffering from hormonal fluctuations of PMS. I don't know. You ever snap for no good reason? Don't lie, we all do.
It pains me being inside all day, doing nothing that I care about. AW has retracted into some weirdo space where he doesn't interact with anyone else in the office; and we used to go out for coffee all the time. So work isn't even fun anymore. Not that it was EVER fun. I'm just frustrated and I'm trying to figure out what at.
Brain cells being taxed..OUCH!
It pains me being inside all day, doing nothing that I care about. AW has retracted into some weirdo space where he doesn't interact with anyone else in the office; and we used to go out for coffee all the time. So work isn't even fun anymore. Not that it was EVER fun. I'm just frustrated and I'm trying to figure out what at.
Brain cells being taxed..OUCH!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Whaaaa....?
Hands down, one of the strangest things just happened to me. B just IMed me "HOLY SHIT" and at the same instant I see that I've got a new email in my hotmail account from "Cooperstone Badge." I haven't heard that name since I went to his wedding about 7 yrs. ago or more. Around the time that his mom died; a few years after my dad died (10 yrs. ago on the 13th!!!). Time flies, whizzes and whirls by in a cloud.
CB and I kind of had a falling out I guess. I think he was just sick of my shit-my teeter tottering indecisiveness at _____________. Not sure what the blank was filled w/. I'm sure it was whatever it was between two people that had known each other since they were 16. Then he married P and that was cool. Though I found her a little whinney and needy. I guess he only wanted to handle one whinney and needy broad at that point.
CB and I kind of had a falling out I guess. I think he was just sick of my shit-my teeter tottering indecisiveness at _____________. Not sure what the blank was filled w/. I'm sure it was whatever it was between two people that had known each other since they were 16. Then he married P and that was cool. Though I found her a little whinney and needy. I guess he only wanted to handle one whinney and needy broad at that point.
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