Okay. Okayokayokay. I am going to admit something to all of you. Shit. Maybe I won't. No. Yes. I will. I will do it. I will admit it. Because you see I have this...problem. And this problem involves a bit of internet snooping. Snooping. I should not be snooping. But the information is RIGHT THERE and I must say I cannot control myself. Perhaps I am far to curious for my own good. And it isn't as if I am stalking anyone. There are no laws being broken. Any information I may have obtained is entirely public. But I do not know why I feel compelled to review it.
Insecurity. Curiosity. Notice how similar both of these words sound. Coincidence...I think not.
And I can so easily justify this...really just watch me. Because my super sleuthing internet snooping provides me with something very very very very important. Here it comes...I hope you're paying attention. My super sleuthing internet snooping provides me with material. Material. Yes. Material. Material for writing. And it's important to have material for writing. Because...let's face it...there is most certainly not enough material-esque things going on out there in the world for me to write about. Things are pretty mundane these days.
Uh. Yeah. Exactly. That is exactly it. There is nothing at all interesting going on the world at all nothing not one thing nothing interesting.
And as it is quite important that I continue to have good writing material. Otherwise something tragic might happen. So. And what I mean is that it isn't exactly like I am stalking anyone or anything. I haven't researched where any particular person or persons live. And I haven't followed them home. I don't own high powered binoculars. I haven't broken into anyone's home and rifled through their refrigerator. No. None of that. Nothing creepy.
But you see. There are these internet web sites. And people post information about themselves on said sites. It's right there. They are asking, ne begging you to read all about them. And their lives and hopes and dreams and wants and food poisoning and vacationing and midterms and new shoes and friendships and such. Sometimes there are photographs. So what's a girl to do really. I mean really.
How was that. Seriously. I hope you're convinced. Because I think I did a decent job and almost convinced myself of my own sincerity. Which just so happens to have the same ending as insecurity and curiosity -- see above.
So. Yes. I am curious. And insecure. Then I become curious again. So I check to see if a new blog has been posted. And I read and this makes me still more curious. But don't worry. I promise not to name names if I use your life material for my next poem. Because that would be rude. I will protect the innocent. And the guilty.
And hopefully I will stop creeping even myself out in the very near future.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Begin to Delve into Nineteen Twelve
I write this in the fine tradition of the airing of dirty laundry. Exposing myself in a public forum. Showing more than you want to see. My dirty panties are on display.
Ew. Panties. I hate the word panties. I much prefer underpants. Panties sound icky. I imagine something pink. With hearts. Something frilly. I'm not so much down for the pink-hearts-frilly.
But I was talking about exposing myself. And not the kind of exposing that you could go to prison for. Why am I doing this again? Oh yes. I remember now. I am doing this because I want you to understand. Actually that is not true. I am doing this because I know some of you will never read it.
And maybe someone will. Perhaps some human bean will stumble upon these words and find solidarity with a stranger. Maybe someone will read this and believe that they are not quite so weird after all. They will feel better about themselves because they will know that at least they are not as strange as that weird grrl airy her dirty laundry in a public space.
Why don't I just begin.
Several days ago I remembered that today is my father's birthday. Not only did I remember this, but I also realized that in July he will have been dead for twenty years.
I had to pause when I came to this realization. And while I was pausing I happened to be driving. Merging to be more specific. Attempting to merge in this city can sometimes be a catastrophe. For some reason merging seems to be a lost art and I wonder if those of us who have merging skills should start a secret society and take over the world.
Uh...ahem. I mean. Twenty years ago feels impossible. For anything. It is someone else's lifetime. Most certainly not mine. I am far too young to remember twenty years ago. But really, I'm not that young anymore. Even though I sometimes feel as if I am five years old.
The problem with dead people is that it is easy to remember them as someone they were not. I have had my moments of remembering my father as a man who was not the man that he was. I do not mean to be Dr. Seuss about it. But I find this to be an accurate statement.
It is quite similar to the ways in which we might recall a former partner as someone more wonderful than they were when we were dating them. Sometimes we forget they this person was an ass and when they call we block out the reasons that the relationship ended in the first place. And then we remember.
It's exactly like that. Only different. Because in this case the call will never come. And if it ever does I am certainly not accepting it collect. In circumstances such as these we will never be reminded unless we choose to consciously remember.
I cannot recall if I was angry at my father for dying. It seems logical. It's one of those death step thingies. It is more likely that I was angry at him for leaving me with an emotionally crippled parent. And most certainly for not being the father that I needed him to be.
I do not know very many beans who have or had one let alone two parents who were able to give them what they needed. I doubt my experiences are all that unusual in this realm. And after twenty years -- my that is painful to type -- one would think that such things would no longer fill my thoughts. But they do. And sometimes they do not so much fill my thoughts as influence my emotional state and affect my interpersonal relationships.
Which, quite frankly, sucks. Perhaps my expectations are unrealistic. But I am most certain that I have spent an unconscious lifetime searching for the qualities in others that I desperately needed in parental figures.
Unconditional love and support are words in a language I have never known. And I am always teetering on the edge of wanting something and expecting nothing. And when I wobble in this place it is quite easy to manipulate the data and see exactly what your mind and experiences expect.
Any action or lack of action can be manipulated to fit the mold. Assumptions run wild and rampant. And then I am five years old again. Suppressing my authentic identity that was never ever good enough.
I believe that this has impacted me more strongly as of late because my relationships have changed. My tough exterior has begun to crack or melt or slip off like a snake shedding its skin. And this has caused me to feel emotion differently. Sometimes at the most random nonsensical moments.
Everything I learned as a child is still with me. Insecurities. The belief that I am unworthy. Unlovable. Never good enough. The subliminal messages run deep. They defy logic. I argue with myself about their validity. But they remain.
I have no words of wisdom to end on. There are no silver linings. Brilliant glimmers. I have no epiphanies. Sometimes things simply are what they are and one can only continue traveling down the path arguing with the self and trying not to look like too much of a fool in the process.
Ew. Panties. I hate the word panties. I much prefer underpants. Panties sound icky. I imagine something pink. With hearts. Something frilly. I'm not so much down for the pink-hearts-frilly.
But I was talking about exposing myself. And not the kind of exposing that you could go to prison for. Why am I doing this again? Oh yes. I remember now. I am doing this because I want you to understand. Actually that is not true. I am doing this because I know some of you will never read it.
And maybe someone will. Perhaps some human bean will stumble upon these words and find solidarity with a stranger. Maybe someone will read this and believe that they are not quite so weird after all. They will feel better about themselves because they will know that at least they are not as strange as that weird grrl airy her dirty laundry in a public space.
Why don't I just begin.
Several days ago I remembered that today is my father's birthday. Not only did I remember this, but I also realized that in July he will have been dead for twenty years.
I had to pause when I came to this realization. And while I was pausing I happened to be driving. Merging to be more specific. Attempting to merge in this city can sometimes be a catastrophe. For some reason merging seems to be a lost art and I wonder if those of us who have merging skills should start a secret society and take over the world.
Uh...ahem. I mean. Twenty years ago feels impossible. For anything. It is someone else's lifetime. Most certainly not mine. I am far too young to remember twenty years ago. But really, I'm not that young anymore. Even though I sometimes feel as if I am five years old.
The problem with dead people is that it is easy to remember them as someone they were not. I have had my moments of remembering my father as a man who was not the man that he was. I do not mean to be Dr. Seuss about it. But I find this to be an accurate statement.
It is quite similar to the ways in which we might recall a former partner as someone more wonderful than they were when we were dating them. Sometimes we forget they this person was an ass and when they call we block out the reasons that the relationship ended in the first place. And then we remember.
It's exactly like that. Only different. Because in this case the call will never come. And if it ever does I am certainly not accepting it collect. In circumstances such as these we will never be reminded unless we choose to consciously remember.
I cannot recall if I was angry at my father for dying. It seems logical. It's one of those death step thingies. It is more likely that I was angry at him for leaving me with an emotionally crippled parent. And most certainly for not being the father that I needed him to be.
I do not know very many beans who have or had one let alone two parents who were able to give them what they needed. I doubt my experiences are all that unusual in this realm. And after twenty years -- my that is painful to type -- one would think that such things would no longer fill my thoughts. But they do. And sometimes they do not so much fill my thoughts as influence my emotional state and affect my interpersonal relationships.
Which, quite frankly, sucks. Perhaps my expectations are unrealistic. But I am most certain that I have spent an unconscious lifetime searching for the qualities in others that I desperately needed in parental figures.
Unconditional love and support are words in a language I have never known. And I am always teetering on the edge of wanting something and expecting nothing. And when I wobble in this place it is quite easy to manipulate the data and see exactly what your mind and experiences expect.
Any action or lack of action can be manipulated to fit the mold. Assumptions run wild and rampant. And then I am five years old again. Suppressing my authentic identity that was never ever good enough.
I believe that this has impacted me more strongly as of late because my relationships have changed. My tough exterior has begun to crack or melt or slip off like a snake shedding its skin. And this has caused me to feel emotion differently. Sometimes at the most random nonsensical moments.
Everything I learned as a child is still with me. Insecurities. The belief that I am unworthy. Unlovable. Never good enough. The subliminal messages run deep. They defy logic. I argue with myself about their validity. But they remain.
I have no words of wisdom to end on. There are no silver linings. Brilliant glimmers. I have no epiphanies. Sometimes things simply are what they are and one can only continue traveling down the path arguing with the self and trying not to look like too much of a fool in the process.
Monday, December 11, 2006
One Hundred and Sixty Two Days
When I turned thirty three I started to make a list of things that I wanted to do in my thirty third year. And I must admit I have been a bit slack ass in getting these things accomplished. Maybe it is because I am afraid. Or maybe it is because I feel paralyzed. Perhaps I'm just plain tired.
I have been examining my life under a microscope as of late. I am in a space where I require a change. I want a life that is full of passion. Adventure. Excitement. Something more. I want to begin a fabulous journey. I do not require anything complex. But I do require something different.
Given that there are now less than six months until the time in which I become thirty four I suppose I had better get my behind in gear and make another list. Since I am so incredibly fond of list making. Sometimes I wonder if I have a tendency to put too much on my list of things to do. I create situations in which I set myself up for failure. And this is not helpful on many levels.
So I am going to create a public list. Yes. An incredibly public list of thirty three things that I will accomplish before I am no longer thirty three.
And I am going to create thirty three things that I believe are attainable. Thirty three things that are completely reasonable and feasible for me to accomplish in a relatively short amount of time. Doing this publically is an incredibly bold step for me as I often keep my projects hidden from sight so that in the event that I fail no one else will be the wiser. I now believe that this attitude has stunted me creatively. It has left me lost and feeling unworthy. And if I want this to change it is up to me to do something different.
So here is my list. Many things on the list are quite small and simple. Some list items are more involved. And some items will be more difficult for me to accomplish than one might imagine. But here I am. Exposing myself for you all. I am naked (there's that word again) and vulnerable in a way that is quite uncomfortable for me. But I have realized that it is now or never. I am going to try to keep this list realistic and simple. So here we go -- in no particular order.
1. Get a passport. Or at least try given the current challenges associated with getting a passport in the current political state. 2. Sing out loud. At least once. In front of other people. 3. Complete a Holga photo shoot. Develop the film. 4. Take a kitschy road trip to a new place and document it. Use more than one form of media. 5. Collect various found objects. Use collected objects to create an art piece composed solely of found objects. 6. Feed peanut butter sandwiches to happy squirrels. 7. Purge all of the unnecessary material items in my possession and donate them to charity. 8. Practice saying no and meaning it. 9. Research various publications in which to submit poetry. Make a list of the viable options. 10. Complete an infrared photo shoot. Develop the film. 11. Go see art created by others on a semi regular basis. Think about it. 12. Revise a handful of older poems to a completed state. 13. Finish sanding and staining the bookcase. 14. Hand write a letter to someone I respect and appreciate. Tell them so. Be specific. 15. Meet with Soy to discuss the motivational collective. 16. Practice saying yes more. Especially when I am afraid to say it. 17. Complete a public art project. Anonymously. 18. Go to the library. Review various art books for the purpose of creating a left arm sleeve. Copy. Scan. Make notes. 19. Compile a series of photographs for a future art show. Print all images. Think about display and framing. 20. Meditate. Again. Seriously. 21. Practice asking for it by name. Often. Even when it seems scary. 22. Drink more water. Right now. 23. Go hiking to a new place. Explore it slowly and thoroughly. 24. Take more naps. Even if they are very short. 25. Watch the sun rise or set in a different state. Or even a different country. 26. Let go. Seriously. 27. Trade passions with someone for a day. Have that person teach me about their passion. Then teach my passion to them in return. 28. Move more. Run. Do yoga. Tai chi. Cartwheels. Dance like a fool. Just move. 29. Submit completed poems to print journals. 30. Learn more about Photoshop. Study the first four chapters of Soy's book. 31. Make bread. 32. Research classes on lighting. 33. Cook dinner with someone. Barefoot. Drink wine while cooking.
So uh...maybe it's still too much. I'll keep you posted.
I have been examining my life under a microscope as of late. I am in a space where I require a change. I want a life that is full of passion. Adventure. Excitement. Something more. I want to begin a fabulous journey. I do not require anything complex. But I do require something different.
Given that there are now less than six months until the time in which I become thirty four I suppose I had better get my behind in gear and make another list. Since I am so incredibly fond of list making. Sometimes I wonder if I have a tendency to put too much on my list of things to do. I create situations in which I set myself up for failure. And this is not helpful on many levels.
So I am going to create a public list. Yes. An incredibly public list of thirty three things that I will accomplish before I am no longer thirty three.
And I am going to create thirty three things that I believe are attainable. Thirty three things that are completely reasonable and feasible for me to accomplish in a relatively short amount of time. Doing this publically is an incredibly bold step for me as I often keep my projects hidden from sight so that in the event that I fail no one else will be the wiser. I now believe that this attitude has stunted me creatively. It has left me lost and feeling unworthy. And if I want this to change it is up to me to do something different.
So here is my list. Many things on the list are quite small and simple. Some list items are more involved. And some items will be more difficult for me to accomplish than one might imagine. But here I am. Exposing myself for you all. I am naked (there's that word again) and vulnerable in a way that is quite uncomfortable for me. But I have realized that it is now or never. I am going to try to keep this list realistic and simple. So here we go -- in no particular order.
1. Get a passport. Or at least try given the current challenges associated with getting a passport in the current political state. 2. Sing out loud. At least once. In front of other people. 3. Complete a Holga photo shoot. Develop the film. 4. Take a kitschy road trip to a new place and document it. Use more than one form of media. 5. Collect various found objects. Use collected objects to create an art piece composed solely of found objects. 6. Feed peanut butter sandwiches to happy squirrels. 7. Purge all of the unnecessary material items in my possession and donate them to charity. 8. Practice saying no and meaning it. 9. Research various publications in which to submit poetry. Make a list of the viable options. 10. Complete an infrared photo shoot. Develop the film. 11. Go see art created by others on a semi regular basis. Think about it. 12. Revise a handful of older poems to a completed state. 13. Finish sanding and staining the bookcase. 14. Hand write a letter to someone I respect and appreciate. Tell them so. Be specific. 15. Meet with Soy to discuss the motivational collective. 16. Practice saying yes more. Especially when I am afraid to say it. 17. Complete a public art project. Anonymously. 18. Go to the library. Review various art books for the purpose of creating a left arm sleeve. Copy. Scan. Make notes. 19. Compile a series of photographs for a future art show. Print all images. Think about display and framing. 20. Meditate. Again. Seriously. 21. Practice asking for it by name. Often. Even when it seems scary. 22. Drink more water. Right now. 23. Go hiking to a new place. Explore it slowly and thoroughly. 24. Take more naps. Even if they are very short. 25. Watch the sun rise or set in a different state. Or even a different country. 26. Let go. Seriously. 27. Trade passions with someone for a day. Have that person teach me about their passion. Then teach my passion to them in return. 28. Move more. Run. Do yoga. Tai chi. Cartwheels. Dance like a fool. Just move. 29. Submit completed poems to print journals. 30. Learn more about Photoshop. Study the first four chapters of Soy's book. 31. Make bread. 32. Research classes on lighting. 33. Cook dinner with someone. Barefoot. Drink wine while cooking.
So uh...maybe it's still too much. I'll keep you posted.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
May I Please Have One Quarter Pound of Time and a Side of Lime
I am of the belief that life is a beautiful and precious thing. And given this personal truth I am quite careful as to what I do with the time that I have on this planet. This is especially true because I do not know exactly how much time I am working with.
It would have been nice to begin life with the gift of knowing approximately how much sand I have going in the hourglass. But that didn't happen. So I have to guess. And since I am not a very good guesser I figure that anything could happen. I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. And that would suck.
So. Given that I could be hit by a bus tomorrow I feel that I should be somewhat particular as to how I spend the little bit of time I have remaining. Unfortunately there are a variety of things that take time away from other more interesting things that at the moment I cannot not choose. As I am not independently wealthy I must work. This is fine most days as I do actually enjoy my job the majority of the time. But this does not mean that there might not be something else on the list of things to do that I would rather be doing.
And given that my housemate expects me to pay my share of the rent and given that I am far too obsessive compulsive and vain to live on the street it is necessary for me to derive income in order to pay said rent.
And work takes up a great deal of the aforementioned precious time. Who decided that a forty hour work week was acceptable? Seriously. I would much prefer a six hour day for four days per week at my current rate of pay. However as I have not yet lost my mind I am fully aware that this will not happen any time in the near or distant future.
But I digress. Because this post isn't about a shorter work week. Not that this would be a bad thing to discuss. But a discussion for another time indeed.
Rather, this post is about time. And more specifically my precious and valuable time. I do not mean this to imply that my time is any more precious or valuable than your time. But simply that time is the greatest commodity. And we should treat it as such.
Which brings me to my point. Recently I had another epiphany. Yes. Go make some cocoa and come back and read my epiphany. Because ephipanies should be read while drinking cocoa.
I realized that I can no longer continue to permit situations in my life that disrespect me such that they devalue my time. Do not devalue my time people. That is not delicious. I do not appreciate it.
This means if you want to see me -- naked or otherwise -- then do so. And be on time. If you cannot be on time for some reason then I am more than willing to be understanding, but it should be a good reason.
It should be because you were getting me a present. That is a good reason for you to be late meeting with me.
There might be a few other good reasons but I cannot think of any at the moment. I'll keep you posted.
What it really boils down to is you should do what you say you are going to do. Have enough respect for others to make an effort not to waste my precious time. Life happens and we should all be understanding of such life related things, but if you are a perpetual flake and cannot seem to get it together than you should know that I will not be making an effort to continue a friendship with you.
My time and my life are valuable. You should think so too.
And if you do not then perhaps you should rethink the friendship as well.
We -- as in the collective we -- seem to spend a great deal of time complaining about the behavior of other people. But we -- collective again -- do not seem to do much about it. It is almost as if many in said aforementioned collective forget that we have a choice.
Who. What. When. Where. How.
Seriously. It's not just for reporters anymore. Take charge and control of your own life. I say this as much for myself as I do for everyone else on the planet. Value you life every day. Value it more than you do in this moment.
It would have been nice to begin life with the gift of knowing approximately how much sand I have going in the hourglass. But that didn't happen. So I have to guess. And since I am not a very good guesser I figure that anything could happen. I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. And that would suck.
So. Given that I could be hit by a bus tomorrow I feel that I should be somewhat particular as to how I spend the little bit of time I have remaining. Unfortunately there are a variety of things that take time away from other more interesting things that at the moment I cannot not choose. As I am not independently wealthy I must work. This is fine most days as I do actually enjoy my job the majority of the time. But this does not mean that there might not be something else on the list of things to do that I would rather be doing.
And given that my housemate expects me to pay my share of the rent and given that I am far too obsessive compulsive and vain to live on the street it is necessary for me to derive income in order to pay said rent.
And work takes up a great deal of the aforementioned precious time. Who decided that a forty hour work week was acceptable? Seriously. I would much prefer a six hour day for four days per week at my current rate of pay. However as I have not yet lost my mind I am fully aware that this will not happen any time in the near or distant future.
But I digress. Because this post isn't about a shorter work week. Not that this would be a bad thing to discuss. But a discussion for another time indeed.
Rather, this post is about time. And more specifically my precious and valuable time. I do not mean this to imply that my time is any more precious or valuable than your time. But simply that time is the greatest commodity. And we should treat it as such.
Which brings me to my point. Recently I had another epiphany. Yes. Go make some cocoa and come back and read my epiphany. Because ephipanies should be read while drinking cocoa.
I realized that I can no longer continue to permit situations in my life that disrespect me such that they devalue my time. Do not devalue my time people. That is not delicious. I do not appreciate it.
This means if you want to see me -- naked or otherwise -- then do so. And be on time. If you cannot be on time for some reason then I am more than willing to be understanding, but it should be a good reason.
It should be because you were getting me a present. That is a good reason for you to be late meeting with me.
There might be a few other good reasons but I cannot think of any at the moment. I'll keep you posted.
What it really boils down to is you should do what you say you are going to do. Have enough respect for others to make an effort not to waste my precious time. Life happens and we should all be understanding of such life related things, but if you are a perpetual flake and cannot seem to get it together than you should know that I will not be making an effort to continue a friendship with you.
My time and my life are valuable. You should think so too.
And if you do not then perhaps you should rethink the friendship as well.
We -- as in the collective we -- seem to spend a great deal of time complaining about the behavior of other people. But we -- collective again -- do not seem to do much about it. It is almost as if many in said aforementioned collective forget that we have a choice.
Who. What. When. Where. How.
Seriously. It's not just for reporters anymore. Take charge and control of your own life. I say this as much for myself as I do for everyone else on the planet. Value you life every day. Value it more than you do in this moment.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Five Thankful Things
I had planned write a fairly extensive imperalist holiday post about the many things that I am currently thankful for in my life. However I realized that this post would be like many other postings and decided that there are really five things that I need to address at the moment, rather than the complete multitude of things for which I am most grateful. This is not meant to slight anyone or anything, but it may actually be true that there is a time and a place for brevity.
Consider this the first and last time for me. And truth be told this began as three things, but after I typed the three I realized that there were two more additional things to add for sense to be made out of the whole.
So without further introduction or subsequent comment I will lay out the five things that I am currently thankful for at the moment. And these things all involve an expression of gratitude to my Very Wise Friend.
* Thank you for asking a crazy girl to marry you on your first date with her so many years ago and subsequently moving to Portland due to said proposal.
* Thank you for deciding it would be in your best interest to work at an UNNAMED CONVENIENCE STORE in a small suburban Oregon town.
* Thank you for coming back home.
* Thank you for dragging me to eat grilled cheese and drink sugary coffee after your art show at the UNNAMED COFFEE SHOP LOCATED IN THE GARAGE NEXT TO THE TATTOO SHOP last year.
* And finally (at least for this posting) thank you for falling in love with an amazing woman, deciding to become a tattoo artist, and moving to Olympia (in no particular order) and for having wonderful friends who felt the need to throw you a going away party.
You have my utmost gratitude. More than you could possibly know.
Consider this the first and last time for me. And truth be told this began as three things, but after I typed the three I realized that there were two more additional things to add for sense to be made out of the whole.
So without further introduction or subsequent comment I will lay out the five things that I am currently thankful for at the moment. And these things all involve an expression of gratitude to my Very Wise Friend.
* Thank you for asking a crazy girl to marry you on your first date with her so many years ago and subsequently moving to Portland due to said proposal.
* Thank you for deciding it would be in your best interest to work at an UNNAMED CONVENIENCE STORE in a small suburban Oregon town.
* Thank you for coming back home.
* Thank you for dragging me to eat grilled cheese and drink sugary coffee after your art show at the UNNAMED COFFEE SHOP LOCATED IN THE GARAGE NEXT TO THE TATTOO SHOP last year.
* And finally (at least for this posting) thank you for falling in love with an amazing woman, deciding to become a tattoo artist, and moving to Olympia (in no particular order) and for having wonderful friends who felt the need to throw you a going away party.
You have my utmost gratitude. More than you could possibly know.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Terrorist Shampoo Airline Action
Apparently I am completely out of touch with what is going on in the world these days. I'm not quite certain how that happened. Perhaps I blinked. Maybe I have been avoiding. But it is critical that I share this information with you. Perhaps you already know because you have not blinked and you have not been avoiding. Nevertheless it is important enough worth repeating.
Moments ago I was sitting at my desk when I received a call from an attorney I work for who was at her home packing for a trip she is taking out of town. She explained that due to an aggressive cat family that has moved in outside of her house she was unable to travel past the sliding glass door to her computer to look up the answer to several questions about her trip. Not wanting to cause tension between her and the aggressive cat family she thought she would call me at the office for assistance instead.
Given my employment situation this seemed perfectly reasonable so I asked her how I could help. She wanted to know what liquid or liquid-like items she would be permitted to carry on to the airplane. I did not quite understand her question and explained that I was quite perplexed. She informed me that there have been new regulations outlining what liquid and liquid-like items were permissible to pack in one's carry on luggage.
I was shocked. But I soon discovered that this was not a practical joke. It took no more than a quick Google search to determine that she was in fact correct and I was completely out of touch with this vital newsworthy news. It would appear that there is some great fear by the TSA with respect to liquid and liquid-like items carried on to an airplane.
After hearing about these new regulations I realized how fortunate I am that the attorney was traveling and that the aggressive cat family prohibited her from walking past her sliding glass door and discovering the answer to her own question. What might have happened if I boarded an airplane in the near future without this vital information. I could certainly imagine carrying four ounces of Bert's Bee's shampoo which would have been far outside of the allowable three ounce limit. And what horrors might have I have endured if I brought a full tube of Tom's of Maine wintermint toothpaste in my carry on luggage. I shudder to think. Perhaps I would have been transported to Guantanimo as a suspected terrorist. Not even my legal connections would have been able to assist me under such circumstances. And given theTerrorism Detainee Bill I might never have been heard from again. Thanks Liza!
So yes. Thankfully the attorney is traveling and she thought it wise to contact me. I owe her my life and liberty. And I strongly urge you to visit theTSA Permitted and Prohibited Liquid and Liquid-Like Item Site and memorize it immediately. I would hate for any of you to be executed for traveling with too much conditioner. Even if you do have excessively dry hair.
I will not relay all of the points on the TSA site for you. However I will provide you with some of the more important points to consider. Because I care. So here we go. Please take notes. Bookmark this page. Do whatever you must but please oh PLEASE do not fuck this up. Your life and liberty may depend on it.
First it is IMPERITIVE that no liquid or liquid-like product be in a container larger than three ounces. This is grounds for immediate deportation to a country located in the Axis of Evil. The TSA website actually refers to these products as "liquids, gels and aerosols" if you are not certain whether your product falls into the LG and A category or not I highly recommend you assume that it does for your own safety.
Second. You should know that all of your LG and A toiletry products must fit "comfortably" in a one quart zip top clear plastic bag. I for one am quite pleased that TSA is concered with the comfort of toiletry products. Someone must be looking out for their welfare and civil rights. It is unacceptable to cram one's toiletry products and cause it discomfort. Please keep in mind that the United States of America will not accept mistreatment of toiletry products. Power to the people!
Third. For those of you concerned about packing products of a more sensitive nature you should know that TSA respects and understands your concerns. Therefore travelers are permitted to carry as MUCH KY Jelly as they deem necessary without adhering to the LG and A guidelines. In fact travelers are permitted to carry as MUCH prescription and over the counter medications as they might deem necessary. Therefore feel free to pack your carry on full of pseudophedrine if you so choose.
Finally cigar cutters, corkscrews, knitting and crochet needles, nail files, and scissors with metal pointed tips -- provided the blade is less than four inches in length -- are permitted in carry on luggage. Wonderful. I feel much safer now.
But thank goodness that the TSA was smart enough to prohibit the carrying of too much mouthwash for our safety. Now I can relax. Thanks TSA!
Moments ago I was sitting at my desk when I received a call from an attorney I work for who was at her home packing for a trip she is taking out of town. She explained that due to an aggressive cat family that has moved in outside of her house she was unable to travel past the sliding glass door to her computer to look up the answer to several questions about her trip. Not wanting to cause tension between her and the aggressive cat family she thought she would call me at the office for assistance instead.
Given my employment situation this seemed perfectly reasonable so I asked her how I could help. She wanted to know what liquid or liquid-like items she would be permitted to carry on to the airplane. I did not quite understand her question and explained that I was quite perplexed. She informed me that there have been new regulations outlining what liquid and liquid-like items were permissible to pack in one's carry on luggage.
I was shocked. But I soon discovered that this was not a practical joke. It took no more than a quick Google search to determine that she was in fact correct and I was completely out of touch with this vital newsworthy news. It would appear that there is some great fear by the TSA with respect to liquid and liquid-like items carried on to an airplane.
After hearing about these new regulations I realized how fortunate I am that the attorney was traveling and that the aggressive cat family prohibited her from walking past her sliding glass door and discovering the answer to her own question. What might have happened if I boarded an airplane in the near future without this vital information. I could certainly imagine carrying four ounces of Bert's Bee's shampoo which would have been far outside of the allowable three ounce limit. And what horrors might have I have endured if I brought a full tube of Tom's of Maine wintermint toothpaste in my carry on luggage. I shudder to think. Perhaps I would have been transported to Guantanimo as a suspected terrorist. Not even my legal connections would have been able to assist me under such circumstances. And given the
So yes. Thankfully the attorney is traveling and she thought it wise to contact me. I owe her my life and liberty. And I strongly urge you to visit the
I will not relay all of the points on the TSA site for you. However I will provide you with some of the more important points to consider. Because I care. So here we go. Please take notes. Bookmark this page. Do whatever you must but please oh PLEASE do not fuck this up. Your life and liberty may depend on it.
First it is IMPERITIVE that no liquid or liquid-like product be in a container larger than three ounces. This is grounds for immediate deportation to a country located in the Axis of Evil. The TSA website actually refers to these products as "liquids, gels and aerosols" if you are not certain whether your product falls into the LG and A category or not I highly recommend you assume that it does for your own safety.
Second. You should know that all of your LG and A toiletry products must fit "comfortably" in a one quart zip top clear plastic bag. I for one am quite pleased that TSA is concered with the comfort of toiletry products. Someone must be looking out for their welfare and civil rights. It is unacceptable to cram one's toiletry products and cause it discomfort. Please keep in mind that the United States of America will not accept mistreatment of toiletry products. Power to the people!
Third. For those of you concerned about packing products of a more sensitive nature you should know that TSA respects and understands your concerns. Therefore travelers are permitted to carry as MUCH KY Jelly as they deem necessary without adhering to the LG and A guidelines. In fact travelers are permitted to carry as MUCH prescription and over the counter medications as they might deem necessary. Therefore feel free to pack your carry on full of pseudophedrine if you so choose.
Finally cigar cutters, corkscrews, knitting and crochet needles, nail files, and scissors with metal pointed tips -- provided the blade is less than four inches in length -- are permitted in carry on luggage. Wonderful. I feel much safer now.
But thank goodness that the TSA was smart enough to prohibit the carrying of too much mouthwash for our safety. Now I can relax. Thanks TSA!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Orange Juice and the Sunday Newspaper
Many years ago I had an in-depth conversation about orange juice with my very wise friend before I was aware of the fact that he was very wise. He articulated utter delight in a tall glass of orange juice coupled with newspaper reading on a Sunday morning. I articulated that I was adamantly opposed to orange juice during this conversation. I exclaimed loudly that I neither wanted nor did I need orange juice. I told him that I thought orange juice was icky. And orange juice coupled with the Sunday newspaper was almost too much to consider.
And I did not realize it at the time, but I was afraid of orange juice. I ran from it. I ran as if my life depended on it. The mere thought of orange juice was enough to make me feel anxious. Even artificial orange flavoring made me itch.
But sometimes I would pretend that I did not have an orange juice phobia. Because I wanted to feel normal. And people tend to look at you with a wiggly eye if they learn that you are afraid of orange juice. So when I wasn't refusing orange juice I purposefully sought it out from places that clearly did not offer it. I pretended that it was perfectly normal to ask for orange juice at the hardware store. I looked for it under rocks in the desert. I inquired about obtaining it at the dentist's office. And each time I was unsuccessful in my feeble attempt to obtain the beverage. I never acknowledged the fact that I might be purposefully sabotaging my own quest for juice.
And then things got completely out of hand. I tried to purchase the Sunday paper on Thursday.
Denial is powerful. And I remained in denial about orange juice for quite some time. I couldn't admit that I was terrified at the risk of diving into a tall glass of ice cold orange juice. Certain that it would be the end of me. I would most certainly drown. I imagined losing my identity in the sweet round fruit. Or I feared that I would develop a fondness for the beverage and then it would disappear forever. So to protect myself I became adamately opposed to orange juice. Because I was afraid. And it seemed easier not to care about oranges at all.
But then something changed.
In the most unlikely place I found an amazing supply of orange juice. I wasn't inquiring about oranges. And even though they were in my line of sight for quite some time I didn't notice them. But then I did. And the amazing orange juice supply seemed to not only sense my fear. But understood. I'm talking about tree ripened organic oranges. Fresh squeezed juice folks. The perfect blend of sweet and tangy. And the most beautiful orange color I have ever seen.
And I must admit that it scares the crap out of me. Seriously. Maybe that makes me weird. I'm pretty well certain that it does. But I have decided something. This isn't an ephiphany mind you. Rather I decided to make a conscious effort to accept my fear of orange juice. And take a risk anyway. I have decided to open myself to the idea of orange juice and the Sunday newspaper. I thought I would lose it completely after the first sip. But I didn't. Sometimes I still get a bit nervous around oranges. But I think that I am going to do just fine.
And I did not realize it at the time, but I was afraid of orange juice. I ran from it. I ran as if my life depended on it. The mere thought of orange juice was enough to make me feel anxious. Even artificial orange flavoring made me itch.
But sometimes I would pretend that I did not have an orange juice phobia. Because I wanted to feel normal. And people tend to look at you with a wiggly eye if they learn that you are afraid of orange juice. So when I wasn't refusing orange juice I purposefully sought it out from places that clearly did not offer it. I pretended that it was perfectly normal to ask for orange juice at the hardware store. I looked for it under rocks in the desert. I inquired about obtaining it at the dentist's office. And each time I was unsuccessful in my feeble attempt to obtain the beverage. I never acknowledged the fact that I might be purposefully sabotaging my own quest for juice.
And then things got completely out of hand. I tried to purchase the Sunday paper on Thursday.
Denial is powerful. And I remained in denial about orange juice for quite some time. I couldn't admit that I was terrified at the risk of diving into a tall glass of ice cold orange juice. Certain that it would be the end of me. I would most certainly drown. I imagined losing my identity in the sweet round fruit. Or I feared that I would develop a fondness for the beverage and then it would disappear forever. So to protect myself I became adamately opposed to orange juice. Because I was afraid. And it seemed easier not to care about oranges at all.
But then something changed.
In the most unlikely place I found an amazing supply of orange juice. I wasn't inquiring about oranges. And even though they were in my line of sight for quite some time I didn't notice them. But then I did. And the amazing orange juice supply seemed to not only sense my fear. But understood. I'm talking about tree ripened organic oranges. Fresh squeezed juice folks. The perfect blend of sweet and tangy. And the most beautiful orange color I have ever seen.
And I must admit that it scares the crap out of me. Seriously. Maybe that makes me weird. I'm pretty well certain that it does. But I have decided something. This isn't an ephiphany mind you. Rather I decided to make a conscious effort to accept my fear of orange juice. And take a risk anyway. I have decided to open myself to the idea of orange juice and the Sunday newspaper. I thought I would lose it completely after the first sip. But I didn't. Sometimes I still get a bit nervous around oranges. But I think that I am going to do just fine.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Deja Voodoo Review
It is. Simply put. Deja voodoo. Because it not only feels as though you have been there before. You actually have and. You cannot seem to stop going back. To that place. As if you are under some sort of spell.
Deja voodoo.
I have been trapped in. Deja voodoo as of late and. Perhaps forever. And it is incredibly easy to ignore. Because we are all very very busy. And we all seem to require a bit of denial every now and then. However I would. Prefer to have it become more then-than-now. So last night I turned to my housemate Stash and asked him.
I asked him if he felt as if he is living his life as if it could end with his next breath. And I did this because he happens to be an expert on the subject. I respect his opinion and I knew that he would not merely provide the brief "yes/no" answer. Rather he would engage me further in my own inquiry and. Travel with me down the road of yellow brick.
And I cannot help but wonder how it is so that we. Learn lessons and forget lesson before our cocoa can cool. How is it that I could have worked. With terminally ill people for more years than I care to. Recollect and have forgotten the secret to. Living. Living. Living. And perhaps this doesn't matter. But what very well might is my own perceptions. And fear.
Fear of rejection. Fear of abandonment. Fear of failure. Fear of injury. Fear of embarassment. Fear of poverty. Fear of retribution. Fear of insanity. Fear of success.
Yes. Fear of success and. I am also afraid that. Afraid that it really is as. Simple as it appears to be.
I do not do and have not done what I should do and should have done due to. One or more of the above. Simply and simplistically. And I do not want this anymore. Someone else can have it. Yes it is slightly used dysfunction but. It remains fully functioning and in. Great shape. Almost new in appearance. And the best part is that it is free. One hundred percent no charge. F-R-E-E.
So I am going to leave all of my. Insecurities and over-analysis on the curb. Put an add in the FREE section of the newspaper. Tack enormous crayon signs with. Childlike scrawl. Free. FREE. FREE! Hell...I might very well even pay you to dispose of it all.
Take it away and. Do not make any effort at any future point in time to. Return anything. I will not be home.
So let us all. Take and give risk. Do things that we know we. Cannot do well. Challenge ourselves and each other to. Break out of our mold and try on. Some other skin for at least a moment. Speak honestly and show love fully. Lose our minds and then. Find them again in far away places or. Three blocks away.
Perhaps for a moment we can. Drop the pretense. Let go of the cynical thought and. Believe idealistically. Fingerpaint on walls and. Trapse through half collapsed buildings. Dye our hair blue and attend an opera. Tell someone we love that we do. Do wonderful things anonymously.
Maybe it is time for a. Ritual burning of all that holds us in deja voodoo. Maybe it's time for. New ceremony and letting go.
And starting over.
So let us meet on. Saturday afternoon for formal tea in. Fishnet and crazy hats or. Hide small treasures in the park for. Others to find. Maybe we can let go of. Everything that keeps us from living as we. Should be. Maybe I can.
Deja voodoo.
I have been trapped in. Deja voodoo as of late and. Perhaps forever. And it is incredibly easy to ignore. Because we are all very very busy. And we all seem to require a bit of denial every now and then. However I would. Prefer to have it become more then-than-now. So last night I turned to my housemate Stash and asked him.
I asked him if he felt as if he is living his life as if it could end with his next breath. And I did this because he happens to be an expert on the subject. I respect his opinion and I knew that he would not merely provide the brief "yes/no" answer. Rather he would engage me further in my own inquiry and. Travel with me down the road of yellow brick.
And I cannot help but wonder how it is so that we. Learn lessons and forget lesson before our cocoa can cool. How is it that I could have worked. With terminally ill people for more years than I care to. Recollect and have forgotten the secret to. Living. Living. Living. And perhaps this doesn't matter. But what very well might is my own perceptions. And fear.
Fear of rejection. Fear of abandonment. Fear of failure. Fear of injury. Fear of embarassment. Fear of poverty. Fear of retribution. Fear of insanity. Fear of success.
Yes. Fear of success and. I am also afraid that. Afraid that it really is as. Simple as it appears to be.
I do not do and have not done what I should do and should have done due to. One or more of the above. Simply and simplistically. And I do not want this anymore. Someone else can have it. Yes it is slightly used dysfunction but. It remains fully functioning and in. Great shape. Almost new in appearance. And the best part is that it is free. One hundred percent no charge. F-R-E-E.
So I am going to leave all of my. Insecurities and over-analysis on the curb. Put an add in the FREE section of the newspaper. Tack enormous crayon signs with. Childlike scrawl. Free. FREE. FREE! Hell...I might very well even pay you to dispose of it all.
Take it away and. Do not make any effort at any future point in time to. Return anything. I will not be home.
So let us all. Take and give risk. Do things that we know we. Cannot do well. Challenge ourselves and each other to. Break out of our mold and try on. Some other skin for at least a moment. Speak honestly and show love fully. Lose our minds and then. Find them again in far away places or. Three blocks away.
Perhaps for a moment we can. Drop the pretense. Let go of the cynical thought and. Believe idealistically. Fingerpaint on walls and. Trapse through half collapsed buildings. Dye our hair blue and attend an opera. Tell someone we love that we do. Do wonderful things anonymously.
Maybe it is time for a. Ritual burning of all that holds us in deja voodoo. Maybe it's time for. New ceremony and letting go.
And starting over.
So let us meet on. Saturday afternoon for formal tea in. Fishnet and crazy hats or. Hide small treasures in the park for. Others to find. Maybe we can let go of. Everything that keeps us from living as we. Should be. Maybe I can.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
¡Viva La Revolución -- Resist the Ballast!
Last night I was eating a delicious. Waffle and I decided it would be advantageous to call my. Very wise friend who I adore more than most things including. Delicious waffles. And so I did.
My very wise friend works very. Long hours at multiple jobs and I have lost the ability to. Count the number. This of course means that more often than not when I call. He is sleeping or working or sleeping while. Working which could prove. Dangerous indeed.
Despite his insane. Schedule our conversations are always. Random and delightful and after speaking with him I always adore him more than I did. Before our conversation began which is quite impressive after ten years of kooky but. Wonderful friendship.
So last night we discussed voltage regulators and after additional. Research today I discovered that what he was referring to was a. Ballast resistor. I like the word. Ballast. And I am guessing that it is important to resist the Ballast. Perhaps I will design a bumper. Sticker that simply states: Resist the Ballast. But I already have far too many. Projects in various stages of completion so I may very well put this particular. Idea on my list of things to do which is so long that I cannot even find. Thing to do number twenty three anymore.
Although I have a fairly good idea what. Thing to do number twenty three might be and I am quite certain that there is a. Subsection "a" and subsection "b" but that is another matter entirely.
And in this moment I find myself. Entranced by words not merely. Ballast or. Resistor but the ways in which language can simultaneously mean and. Not mean and my. Love of the melody that words create when strung together specifically and. Alliterated in such a manner as to create something more than mere definition might provide. And I should not divulge, but will nevertheless that I would most. Certainly fall in love with an individual able to paint such melody with Words highlighting the beauty of language and when I fall in love under such circumstances. One should most certainly be quite careful indeed.
But such confessions are not the. Purpose of this post and perhaps hiding such a confession in the middle will enable me to determine how. Attentive you are to words and meaning and not meaning.
In earlier conversations I have. Told Very Wise that when he is no longer. Tattooing grapefruit which I am so proud of him for. Tattooing grapefruit because it is one more step. Forward and also because I happen to enjoy grapefruit that. When he is no longer inking fruit and when he eventually decides to. Develop his own non-fruit inking establishment that I would be most interested in. Running said establishment of the non-fruit inking variety. And it isn't that we would discriminated against. Grapefruit or any other fruit but simply that they. Probably do not meet the legal age requirement.
And I do not know if he knows that I am. One hundred percent serious because I am often not serious and we often speak of. Silly things but. I would love to run such an. Establishment and perhaps combine it with an. Art gallery of sorts. Perhaps when and if this ever occurs Very Wise will be twice as old as me.
It could happen. The twice as old thing that is. For once I was twice as old as Very Wise because I am hip to some. Crazy mathematics.
And so it seems that I have been pondering a great many things as of late as I. Often am pondering a great many things. And as of late said ponderings have included such. Things as the intricacies of the. Back seat of my vehicle and wondering if my boss truly does have. Audio or video recording equipment in his office. Perhaps I should have. Sex on his desk one evening and determine if this is so. And let me be clear that I do not have any desire to have. Sex with my boss but merely to determine whether or not he is truly paranoid enough to record the comings and goings in his. Office no pun intended.
I would wager that. He has the entire office audio and. Video recorded reviewing the footage on. Weekends with popcorn and a bottle of. Red wine except for the fact that he seems to. Have a rather full social calendar.
But as I often do I. Digress and do not want to imply that I have pondered only that which I have. Referenced above for my. Ponderings have extended to a great many ideas as they often do including but not limited to. Secret projects and artistic collectives and collaborations. Seemingly silly notions of running off to unfamiliar territories for undisclosed periods of time and. Yams. Delicious yams.
As of late I feel as though I have lived my. Life in a very safe and responsible manner with the exception of. Tumultuous teenage years which I do not believe count for much. And so I wonder how I might be able to tip the. Scale so that I might ponder. Less and enact said ponderings. More but in this moment I have only random thoughts suspended in. Lime Jell-O so if you have suggestions please drop them in. The box.
And that is all for. This moment until the next moment which. Could be soonish. Indeed. But most likely not before. I procure a. Ballast resistor.
My very wise friend works very. Long hours at multiple jobs and I have lost the ability to. Count the number. This of course means that more often than not when I call. He is sleeping or working or sleeping while. Working which could prove. Dangerous indeed.
Despite his insane. Schedule our conversations are always. Random and delightful and after speaking with him I always adore him more than I did. Before our conversation began which is quite impressive after ten years of kooky but. Wonderful friendship.
So last night we discussed voltage regulators and after additional. Research today I discovered that what he was referring to was a. Ballast resistor. I like the word. Ballast. And I am guessing that it is important to resist the Ballast. Perhaps I will design a bumper. Sticker that simply states: Resist the Ballast. But I already have far too many. Projects in various stages of completion so I may very well put this particular. Idea on my list of things to do which is so long that I cannot even find. Thing to do number twenty three anymore.
Although I have a fairly good idea what. Thing to do number twenty three might be and I am quite certain that there is a. Subsection "a" and subsection "b" but that is another matter entirely.
And in this moment I find myself. Entranced by words not merely. Ballast or. Resistor but the ways in which language can simultaneously mean and. Not mean and my. Love of the melody that words create when strung together specifically and. Alliterated in such a manner as to create something more than mere definition might provide. And I should not divulge, but will nevertheless that I would most. Certainly fall in love with an individual able to paint such melody with Words highlighting the beauty of language and when I fall in love under such circumstances. One should most certainly be quite careful indeed.
But such confessions are not the. Purpose of this post and perhaps hiding such a confession in the middle will enable me to determine how. Attentive you are to words and meaning and not meaning.
In earlier conversations I have. Told Very Wise that when he is no longer. Tattooing grapefruit which I am so proud of him for. Tattooing grapefruit because it is one more step. Forward and also because I happen to enjoy grapefruit that. When he is no longer inking fruit and when he eventually decides to. Develop his own non-fruit inking establishment that I would be most interested in. Running said establishment of the non-fruit inking variety. And it isn't that we would discriminated against. Grapefruit or any other fruit but simply that they. Probably do not meet the legal age requirement.
And I do not know if he knows that I am. One hundred percent serious because I am often not serious and we often speak of. Silly things but. I would love to run such an. Establishment and perhaps combine it with an. Art gallery of sorts. Perhaps when and if this ever occurs Very Wise will be twice as old as me.
It could happen. The twice as old thing that is. For once I was twice as old as Very Wise because I am hip to some. Crazy mathematics.
And so it seems that I have been pondering a great many things as of late as I. Often am pondering a great many things. And as of late said ponderings have included such. Things as the intricacies of the. Back seat of my vehicle and wondering if my boss truly does have. Audio or video recording equipment in his office. Perhaps I should have. Sex on his desk one evening and determine if this is so. And let me be clear that I do not have any desire to have. Sex with my boss but merely to determine whether or not he is truly paranoid enough to record the comings and goings in his. Office no pun intended.
I would wager that. He has the entire office audio and. Video recorded reviewing the footage on. Weekends with popcorn and a bottle of. Red wine except for the fact that he seems to. Have a rather full social calendar.
But as I often do I. Digress and do not want to imply that I have pondered only that which I have. Referenced above for my. Ponderings have extended to a great many ideas as they often do including but not limited to. Secret projects and artistic collectives and collaborations. Seemingly silly notions of running off to unfamiliar territories for undisclosed periods of time and. Yams. Delicious yams.
As of late I feel as though I have lived my. Life in a very safe and responsible manner with the exception of. Tumultuous teenage years which I do not believe count for much. And so I wonder how I might be able to tip the. Scale so that I might ponder. Less and enact said ponderings. More but in this moment I have only random thoughts suspended in. Lime Jell-O so if you have suggestions please drop them in. The box.
And that is all for. This moment until the next moment which. Could be soonish. Indeed. But most likely not before. I procure a. Ballast resistor.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Grrrl Makes Committment -- Film at Eleven
The truth is. I fear committment. And it isn't easy being commitment phobic. Because people tend to think you're weird. And it's not that I generally mind people thinking that I'm weird. Truthfully I am a bit on the weird side. And I wouldn't have it any other way. But this is a different kind of weird that people are thinking. What I am referring to is a weird that causes people to look at you as if you have some deep dark aspect of your personality that has yet to surface. Something that will shock and horrify those around you. Perhaps something serial killer-esque. And so people begin to wonder what I must be hiding.
I don't have any dark secrets. Simply this semi-irritating fear of commitment. Clearly not a secret or even secret-esque. At least...not anymore.
But something changed recently. And I'm not sure when or how exactly. But it did. Changed. And then something happened.
I committed.
Let me reiterate that if I may. I made a commitment. And I have shocked myself by doing so. One long conversation later and I had agreed to commit. The words just seemed to spill from my lips. I do not quite recall how it happened. As I began to travel home following said conversation and subsequent agreement I had time to sit with myself in silence.
And then I lost it.
It was full blown panic. Certain that I had made a mistake. Worried that everything would fall apart. Fucked up kind of freakin' out. Some time after the panic had become full blown my dear friend Soy was forced to witness said panic. And he did his best to reassure me. Kind soul that he is. Despite his efforts I continue to freak the fuck out. Because I had committed. And I couldn't actually believe that such a thing could have happened. To me no less.
I began to "what if" the committment up and down. Left and right. Forward and backward. And then I played a game of "Worst Case Scenario" with myself -- because I have a stellar imagination. I thought about ways to get out of my committment without making a complete and utter mess of the situation. I couldn't think of any viable options.
Then I realized something. Or perhaps I should say that I remembered something. Life is an adventure. We must be willing to take a risk in order to learn and grow and live a full existance. And then my freak out made perfect sense. It was clear that I has was afraid. And my fear of commitment was simply fear of failure...and success.
So I guess I am pretty fucked up. But hell, who isn't? So I stopped trying to make excuses. And I didn't do anything to sabotage myself -- one of my stronger skills. I am looking forward to the road that I am about to travel upon.
Well...as soon as I get the damn title transferred which has proven to be more challenging than originally anticipated. But more on my hatred of Department of Licensing at a later time.
So yeah...I bought a car. What the hell did you think I was talking about?
I don't have any dark secrets. Simply this semi-irritating fear of commitment. Clearly not a secret or even secret-esque. At least...not anymore.
But something changed recently. And I'm not sure when or how exactly. But it did. Changed. And then something happened.
I committed.
Let me reiterate that if I may. I made a commitment. And I have shocked myself by doing so. One long conversation later and I had agreed to commit. The words just seemed to spill from my lips. I do not quite recall how it happened. As I began to travel home following said conversation and subsequent agreement I had time to sit with myself in silence.
And then I lost it.
It was full blown panic. Certain that I had made a mistake. Worried that everything would fall apart. Fucked up kind of freakin' out. Some time after the panic had become full blown my dear friend Soy was forced to witness said panic. And he did his best to reassure me. Kind soul that he is. Despite his efforts I continue to freak the fuck out. Because I had committed. And I couldn't actually believe that such a thing could have happened. To me no less.
I began to "what if" the committment up and down. Left and right. Forward and backward. And then I played a game of "Worst Case Scenario" with myself -- because I have a stellar imagination. I thought about ways to get out of my committment without making a complete and utter mess of the situation. I couldn't think of any viable options.
Then I realized something. Or perhaps I should say that I remembered something. Life is an adventure. We must be willing to take a risk in order to learn and grow and live a full existance. And then my freak out made perfect sense. It was clear that I has was afraid. And my fear of commitment was simply fear of failure...and success.
So I guess I am pretty fucked up. But hell, who isn't? So I stopped trying to make excuses. And I didn't do anything to sabotage myself -- one of my stronger skills. I am looking forward to the road that I am about to travel upon.
Well...as soon as I get the damn title transferred which has proven to be more challenging than originally anticipated. But more on my hatred of Department of Licensing at a later time.
So yeah...I bought a car. What the hell did you think I was talking about?
Friday, August 04, 2006
Seeking One Good Deal for a Box on Wheels
As you all know I have been contemplating getting another box on wheels. It has been a long time since I have owned one of these contraptions. And you all know that I don't typically make any decision with any sort of quickness. Once a scientist. Always a scientist. I suppose.
At any rate. In my perusal of boxes on wheels I have noticed something that I do not quite understand. And perhaps it is me. Maybe I am somehow missing something. But nevertheless. I need to know.
Why does everyone want to sell their piece of shit box on wheels for way more than it's worth.
I mean seriously dude.
Well I suppose because they think they can. Maybe their particular box on wheels has some sort of sentimental value. And they really don't want to part with it. But they have to for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps their partner has informed them that they will no longer tolerate the piece of shit box on wheels and either it goes or they go.
I think that seems rather harsh. But I have discovered life is strange and unusual. So I suppose anything is possible.
So they go through the motions. But secretly they are hoping no one will really buy their box on wheels. And then they can explain to said one-foot-out-the-door partner that they have tried to unload said piece of shit box on wheels but they have had no luck to date.
And let me say this. I'm no stranger to the box on wheels sentimentality. I had a box on wheels once. In fact. And this is another surprising little detail about me. I have only ever owned one box on wheels. And I loved my little box on wheels. I drove it through more states than I can possible count. And I would like to think that I have a reasonably sufficient intelligence quotient.
My little box on wheels was faithfully devoted to me. She was with me for a very long time. She saw me through the best of times and the worst of times. She was old, but still had spunk. And she would still be here today, despite the minor leak causing a small pond to form in the trunk every winter. If it wasn't for the evil SUV that decided to crunch her (and me) beyond repair.
Sometimes I wonder if I am in fact, beyond repair.
And then things happened. And years passed. And I am still sans box on wheels.
Some time ago I decided that it might be time to get another box on wheels. I have thought about this before. However it became clear to me after freaking out in a box on wheels while a technologically obsessed individual I was riding with began sending a text message while driving. After the hyperventilating ceased I came to the realization that I might still be a little bit freaked on the road and the only way I think I will be able to get over this fear might very well be to get another box on wheels. And start driving again. And I should probably do this before I develop a full blown case of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I started looking. And then I threw up my hands in despair. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent human bean. People purchase boxes on wheel every day. Yet I was experiencing severe challenges.
The point is that I am now thinking again about boxes and wheels and such. And I really think I'd like to get an old box on wheels. Something with personality. Character. Staying power. Something cool.
Something cheap.
And it's the cheap part that has proved problematic. So I've come around full circle now. I have made an observation. For some individuals who are selling their box on wheels, old = classic. And classic = rare. And rare = way more cheddar than it's really worth. I find this to be especially laughable when the "classic" box on wheels is a piece of utter crap. Rust. Oil leaks. Mysterious clanking. Transmission problems. No freakin' interior whatsoever. No freakin' exterior whatsoever. No freakin' ENGINE. I shit you not. Each and every example originals from an actual individual attempting to sell an actual box on wheels.
At least they all had wheels.
I mean really people. I know you love your little box on wheels You probably have fond memories of it. Beautiful memories of adventures far and wide. But let's be realistic. Your box of wheels ain't worth crap.
And obtaining a box on wheels involves a great deal. It's a big decision. No. It is. Remember. I said I have only ever owned one box on wheels. And that whole scientist thing. Every decision becomes an insane research project. Except when it doesn't. But that is not the point.
I was on the verge of torturing and then killing and then mutilating another human bean. So I gave up. Took a break. Got some calm. Then decided I would give it another shot.
So I've been looking. Again. But little has changed.
And just so you know I am not making this shit up, here is a portion of the reply I received today when inquiring about a 1975 Volvo. Color = orange. I expected the individual to quote me a figure higher than what he actually wanted for the box. But I was not prepared for this:
"The Volvo is still available. I need to get $7,500 for it. I have $9,000 invested in the car and drive train work. Had a freak thing happen with a valve so rebuilt the top end of the engine. They were able to look inside the lower part of the engine and said it looked great. The car is like new except for a spot on the drivers seat that has worn through. Two mechanics have looked at it and given it an A+. I have owned it @one year. Before that it was owned by one family that we know. I bought the car for my son for driving around Seattle, where he lives. He has gotten into a commuting situation for which the car is not appropriate. Thanks for the interest. Mark"
I thought perhaps he accidentally included an extra zero. Then I realized he was not joking. And what exactly does "a commuting situation for which the car is not appropriate" mean?
I really wanted to tell Mark that he could go fuck himself. That no one was going to pay $7500 for his vehicle. It's a fucking VOLVO people. Not a one of a kind classic. However I decided that I didn't need to tell Mark that I thought he was mentally ill and that I should stick a fork in his eye. He would be stuck with the box and I would move on.
So I keep looking. Far and wide. Wide and far.
And I have this dream. I have a dream that I will meet an eighty-seven year old woman who bought her 1960-ish very cool box on wheels new and only drove to the grocery store and to her hairdresser once a week. In my dream, I am standing in line at the grocery store. And it turns out that she has forgotten her REDACTED grocery store savings care. And so I offer the use of my REDACTED grocery store savings card so that she can get the extra savings on thirty cans of cat food and a quart of whole milk. And then I help her out to her car. Because I'm nice like that. And I like old people. And we are walking. Slow baby steps. And she speaks to me of many things. And I listen.
And then I see it. It's beautiful. And I almost shed a tear. And then Mildred or Prudence or Dorothy tells me that she's really getting too old to be driving anymore. And out of the kindness of her heart she offers to give me her car. Because no one has listened to a word she has said for at least fifteen years. Until she met me.
Hey. Stop laughing. I said it was a dream, didn't I. It could happen. You don't have to shit all over my parade with your skepticism. That's just plain rude. Geesh.
So if anyone has a grandmother that is looking to get rid of her very cool old box on wheels. Or if she is about to die any time soon. Let me know.
At any rate. In my perusal of boxes on wheels I have noticed something that I do not quite understand. And perhaps it is me. Maybe I am somehow missing something. But nevertheless. I need to know.
Why does everyone want to sell their piece of shit box on wheels for way more than it's worth.
I mean seriously dude.
Well I suppose because they think they can. Maybe their particular box on wheels has some sort of sentimental value. And they really don't want to part with it. But they have to for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps their partner has informed them that they will no longer tolerate the piece of shit box on wheels and either it goes or they go.
I think that seems rather harsh. But I have discovered life is strange and unusual. So I suppose anything is possible.
So they go through the motions. But secretly they are hoping no one will really buy their box on wheels. And then they can explain to said one-foot-out-the-door partner that they have tried to unload said piece of shit box on wheels but they have had no luck to date.
And let me say this. I'm no stranger to the box on wheels sentimentality. I had a box on wheels once. In fact. And this is another surprising little detail about me. I have only ever owned one box on wheels. And I loved my little box on wheels. I drove it through more states than I can possible count. And I would like to think that I have a reasonably sufficient intelligence quotient.
My little box on wheels was faithfully devoted to me. She was with me for a very long time. She saw me through the best of times and the worst of times. She was old, but still had spunk. And she would still be here today, despite the minor leak causing a small pond to form in the trunk every winter. If it wasn't for the evil SUV that decided to crunch her (and me) beyond repair.
Sometimes I wonder if I am in fact, beyond repair.
And then things happened. And years passed. And I am still sans box on wheels.
Some time ago I decided that it might be time to get another box on wheels. I have thought about this before. However it became clear to me after freaking out in a box on wheels while a technologically obsessed individual I was riding with began sending a text message while driving. After the hyperventilating ceased I came to the realization that I might still be a little bit freaked on the road and the only way I think I will be able to get over this fear might very well be to get another box on wheels. And start driving again. And I should probably do this before I develop a full blown case of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I started looking. And then I threw up my hands in despair. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent human bean. People purchase boxes on wheel every day. Yet I was experiencing severe challenges.
The point is that I am now thinking again about boxes and wheels and such. And I really think I'd like to get an old box on wheels. Something with personality. Character. Staying power. Something cool.
Something cheap.
And it's the cheap part that has proved problematic. So I've come around full circle now. I have made an observation. For some individuals who are selling their box on wheels, old = classic. And classic = rare. And rare = way more cheddar than it's really worth. I find this to be especially laughable when the "classic" box on wheels is a piece of utter crap. Rust. Oil leaks. Mysterious clanking. Transmission problems. No freakin' interior whatsoever. No freakin' exterior whatsoever. No freakin' ENGINE. I shit you not. Each and every example originals from an actual individual attempting to sell an actual box on wheels.
At least they all had wheels.
I mean really people. I know you love your little box on wheels You probably have fond memories of it. Beautiful memories of adventures far and wide. But let's be realistic. Your box of wheels ain't worth crap.
And obtaining a box on wheels involves a great deal. It's a big decision. No. It is. Remember. I said I have only ever owned one box on wheels. And that whole scientist thing. Every decision becomes an insane research project. Except when it doesn't. But that is not the point.
I was on the verge of torturing and then killing and then mutilating another human bean. So I gave up. Took a break. Got some calm. Then decided I would give it another shot.
So I've been looking. Again. But little has changed.
And just so you know I am not making this shit up, here is a portion of the reply I received today when inquiring about a 1975 Volvo. Color = orange. I expected the individual to quote me a figure higher than what he actually wanted for the box. But I was not prepared for this:
"The Volvo is still available. I need to get $7,500 for it. I have $9,000 invested in the car and drive train work. Had a freak thing happen with a valve so rebuilt the top end of the engine. They were able to look inside the lower part of the engine and said it looked great. The car is like new except for a spot on the drivers seat that has worn through. Two mechanics have looked at it and given it an A+. I have owned it @one year. Before that it was owned by one family that we know. I bought the car for my son for driving around Seattle, where he lives. He has gotten into a commuting situation for which the car is not appropriate. Thanks for the interest. Mark"
I thought perhaps he accidentally included an extra zero. Then I realized he was not joking. And what exactly does "a commuting situation for which the car is not appropriate" mean?
I really wanted to tell Mark that he could go fuck himself. That no one was going to pay $7500 for his vehicle. It's a fucking VOLVO people. Not a one of a kind classic. However I decided that I didn't need to tell Mark that I thought he was mentally ill and that I should stick a fork in his eye. He would be stuck with the box and I would move on.
So I keep looking. Far and wide. Wide and far.
And I have this dream. I have a dream that I will meet an eighty-seven year old woman who bought her 1960-ish very cool box on wheels new and only drove to the grocery store and to her hairdresser once a week. In my dream, I am standing in line at the grocery store. And it turns out that she has forgotten her REDACTED grocery store savings care. And so I offer the use of my REDACTED grocery store savings card so that she can get the extra savings on thirty cans of cat food and a quart of whole milk. And then I help her out to her car. Because I'm nice like that. And I like old people. And we are walking. Slow baby steps. And she speaks to me of many things. And I listen.
And then I see it. It's beautiful. And I almost shed a tear. And then Mildred or Prudence or Dorothy tells me that she's really getting too old to be driving anymore. And out of the kindness of her heart she offers to give me her car. Because no one has listened to a word she has said for at least fifteen years. Until she met me.
Hey. Stop laughing. I said it was a dream, didn't I. It could happen. You don't have to shit all over my parade with your skepticism. That's just plain rude. Geesh.
So if anyone has a grandmother that is looking to get rid of her very cool old box on wheels. Or if she is about to die any time soon. Let me know.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Ding Dong the Witch Will Wed
It's lost. And I don't know when. Or where or. How or why but it's. Lost. And in case your wondering whether I am speaking of house keys or my green stripy sock or my camera lens or my mind. Let me assure you that. None of those things are lost.
Well...I'm not certain about the mind. But aside from that everything else is where it should be. The lost item that I speak of is my ability to bullshit anyone anytime anywhere. I realize this is shocking. You might be afraid. Please do not delay. Send your love and support in the form of a new or slightly used cash donation.
Seriously. No wait. I WAS being serious. So yeah. I need your help. Your help. You. Over there. Get up off your ass. Help me damnit!
Let me explain.
So. I'm going to be in a wedding.
Yes.
Me.
In a wedding.
Stop laughing.
I said stop.
One of my oldest friends is getting married. We have known each other for almost twenty years. Since freshman year high school Spanish. My friend continues to reside in the town I grew up in. The town I have not visited in many many years. And my dear friend has decided to get married in July. July in Connecticut.
When she first told me of this decision I was not at all pleased. "October is lovely" I encouraged. But July it would be. And I decided that it couldn't possibly be that bad. I would find something presentable to wear. Don my combat boots and trek east for what is bound to be the most chaotic dramatic Guinea-Dirty White Boy Chicken wedding in the history of weddings. Her side of the family is crazy. His side is certifiable. I would attend said event with the appropriate accoutrements and delight in the amusement of it all. Even thought I would surely melt in the process.
But then something happened. Something unexpected. My dear friend who I thought for sure loved me like family...scratch that. My dear friend who I thought loved me like someone else's family asked me to be in her wedding. No semi cool dress. No combat boots. No watching from the shadows. Fuck!
I am not the "being in a wedding type" of grrrl. Until recently my hair was the color of a fire engine. My lips are usually donned with an almost black smear of paint. And now my friend is asking me to don something that will no doubt be pastel in color and girly in nature and ask me to walk a straight line which I cannot even do sober and there is no way I could maintain any sense of sobriety for this event. Fuck me!
But wait. All was not lost. I had a plan.
I would find a way to get out of it. So I sent this lovely email to said friend telling her how much I love and support her and explaining all of the very good reasons why I would not make a good bridesmaid. I tried to convince my dear friend that she did not want me to be a bridesmaid. I tried to convince her that I would be the worst bridesmaid in the history of bridesmaids.
For example. My hair could return to its former fire engine red state. Or perhaps blue. Maybe green. I might very well be tattooed from head to toe by July. I could have multiple facial piercings.
And no I will not discuss the nose piercing incident of 1994.
Seriously. The families would freak and that would cause my dear friend unnecessary stress and I want her wedding to be as stress free as possible which seems rather unlikely given the circumstances as they currently exist. I explained that I could love and support her without being a member of the bridal party.
And really. Why do they call it a party. When I think of bridal party I think of scary drunk clowns.
I told my friend that I was merely looking out for her interests. I could trip and fall and take down the entire bridal party with me. See above comment regarding my coordination or lackthereof. I might almost faint like I almost fainted during my friend's LEEP procedure. I could have a relapse of THE WHOOPING COUGH and vomit on myself and the other bridesmaids.
I am a time bomb waiting to explode.
I explained all of this and more.
She didn't buy it.
Basically she said something to the effect of:
FUCK YOU BITCH IF I HAVE TO SUFFER THROUGH THIS SHIT SO DO YOU
Well...she didn't exactly say that. But that is basically how I interpreted her response.
So uh. Your humble narrator will in fact be donning a real dress with real shoes and participating in the very real wedding of my dear friend of twenty years. Did I mention that said wedding will be taking place in Connecticut...in July? Yes. Connecticut in July. If you have never been to Connecticut in July let me explain what I must endure in addition to the above.
First. It will be hot. The average temperature in Connecticut in July is twice as hot as the average temperature in hell when Satan is only relatively pissed off. That my friends is shitdamnmotherfucking hot.
Second. It will be humid. This means that although the average temperature will be twice as hot as the average temperature in hell when Satan is only relatively pissed off. It will feel as if it is ten times as hot as the hellish average or twice as hot as hell on a day in which Satan is particularly pissed.
Third. Where there is heat and humidity there are bugs. Bugs that like to eat people. I am a people.
To recap in the event that you passed out or fell asleep or got distracted or weren't paying attention. I will be in Connecticut in July sweating and scratching in some sort of shimmery fabric dress and probably heels. Some friend huh!
My friend has lived her entire life in Connecticut. So I had to ask. Why July? You will be happy to know that the reason she will not be having her wedding in October when Connecticut is absolutely delightful is that my dear friend has decided July is most appropriate in order for the bride and groom to remember when exactly they got hitched. Seven days after his birthday. Seven days before her birthday. No. I am not kidding.
So I'm stuck. Committed. And you must be painfully aware of how serious my commitment issues are by now. Seriously dudes I mean my longest committed relationship is about...uh...nevermind. Back to our story. So. Given that I am now about to be a bridesmaid which I am most certain has far too many sexist origins than I could ever handle I might as well have fun with it.
I'm already thinking about ways in which to spike the punch!
Well...I'm not certain about the mind. But aside from that everything else is where it should be. The lost item that I speak of is my ability to bullshit anyone anytime anywhere. I realize this is shocking. You might be afraid. Please do not delay. Send your love and support in the form of a new or slightly used cash donation.
Seriously. No wait. I WAS being serious. So yeah. I need your help. Your help. You. Over there. Get up off your ass. Help me damnit!
Let me explain.
So. I'm going to be in a wedding.
Yes.
Me.
In a wedding.
Stop laughing.
I said stop.
One of my oldest friends is getting married. We have known each other for almost twenty years. Since freshman year high school Spanish. My friend continues to reside in the town I grew up in. The town I have not visited in many many years. And my dear friend has decided to get married in July. July in Connecticut.
When she first told me of this decision I was not at all pleased. "October is lovely" I encouraged. But July it would be. And I decided that it couldn't possibly be that bad. I would find something presentable to wear. Don my combat boots and trek east for what is bound to be the most chaotic dramatic Guinea-Dirty White Boy Chicken wedding in the history of weddings. Her side of the family is crazy. His side is certifiable. I would attend said event with the appropriate accoutrements and delight in the amusement of it all. Even thought I would surely melt in the process.
But then something happened. Something unexpected. My dear friend who I thought for sure loved me like family...scratch that. My dear friend who I thought loved me like someone else's family asked me to be in her wedding. No semi cool dress. No combat boots. No watching from the shadows. Fuck!
I am not the "being in a wedding type" of grrrl. Until recently my hair was the color of a fire engine. My lips are usually donned with an almost black smear of paint. And now my friend is asking me to don something that will no doubt be pastel in color and girly in nature and ask me to walk a straight line which I cannot even do sober and there is no way I could maintain any sense of sobriety for this event. Fuck me!
But wait. All was not lost. I had a plan.
I would find a way to get out of it. So I sent this lovely email to said friend telling her how much I love and support her and explaining all of the very good reasons why I would not make a good bridesmaid. I tried to convince my dear friend that she did not want me to be a bridesmaid. I tried to convince her that I would be the worst bridesmaid in the history of bridesmaids.
For example. My hair could return to its former fire engine red state. Or perhaps blue. Maybe green. I might very well be tattooed from head to toe by July. I could have multiple facial piercings.
And no I will not discuss the nose piercing incident of 1994.
Seriously. The families would freak and that would cause my dear friend unnecessary stress and I want her wedding to be as stress free as possible which seems rather unlikely given the circumstances as they currently exist. I explained that I could love and support her without being a member of the bridal party.
And really. Why do they call it a party. When I think of bridal party I think of scary drunk clowns.
I told my friend that I was merely looking out for her interests. I could trip and fall and take down the entire bridal party with me. See above comment regarding my coordination or lackthereof. I might almost faint like I almost fainted during my friend's LEEP procedure. I could have a relapse of THE WHOOPING COUGH and vomit on myself and the other bridesmaids.
I am a time bomb waiting to explode.
I explained all of this and more.
She didn't buy it.
Basically she said something to the effect of:
FUCK YOU BITCH IF I HAVE TO SUFFER THROUGH THIS SHIT SO DO YOU
Well...she didn't exactly say that. But that is basically how I interpreted her response.
So uh. Your humble narrator will in fact be donning a real dress with real shoes and participating in the very real wedding of my dear friend of twenty years. Did I mention that said wedding will be taking place in Connecticut...in July? Yes. Connecticut in July. If you have never been to Connecticut in July let me explain what I must endure in addition to the above.
First. It will be hot. The average temperature in Connecticut in July is twice as hot as the average temperature in hell when Satan is only relatively pissed off. That my friends is shitdamnmotherfucking hot.
Second. It will be humid. This means that although the average temperature will be twice as hot as the average temperature in hell when Satan is only relatively pissed off. It will feel as if it is ten times as hot as the hellish average or twice as hot as hell on a day in which Satan is particularly pissed.
Third. Where there is heat and humidity there are bugs. Bugs that like to eat people. I am a people.
To recap in the event that you passed out or fell asleep or got distracted or weren't paying attention. I will be in Connecticut in July sweating and scratching in some sort of shimmery fabric dress and probably heels. Some friend huh!
My friend has lived her entire life in Connecticut. So I had to ask. Why July? You will be happy to know that the reason she will not be having her wedding in October when Connecticut is absolutely delightful is that my dear friend has decided July is most appropriate in order for the bride and groom to remember when exactly they got hitched. Seven days after his birthday. Seven days before her birthday. No. I am not kidding.
So I'm stuck. Committed. And you must be painfully aware of how serious my commitment issues are by now. Seriously dudes I mean my longest committed relationship is about...uh...nevermind. Back to our story. So. Given that I am now about to be a bridesmaid which I am most certain has far too many sexist origins than I could ever handle I might as well have fun with it.
I'm already thinking about ways in which to spike the punch!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Go Letting and Off Track Betting on Something Seemingly Non-Static
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to completely let go. I feel as though I am on the edge of said go letting. As if some chemical reaction could be set into motion at any moment by the addition of an out of control element. And everything would change.
As of late I have been...distracted. And thinking. For much of my life I have felt as if my interests are too varied and diverse. This of course means that I have far too many unfinished projects. And I can do a little bit of everything but only half-assed. Some might say this is classic Gemini. I have other ideas and believe strongly that I learned to be this way. Thanks M.
Sometimes I think about packing up a vehicle and disappearing for a while. I could travel to Neah Bay or New Mexico or one of those middle states that I have never seen. It might help if I actually had a vehicle to pack up. Try something completely different. Become a "real" photographer. Or actually attempt to publish something I have written. Or play random kitchen items percussively on small town street corners. And then I get all responsible and shit. Turn off the alarm clock. Get my ass out of bed. And go to the office.
And I am one of those fortunate people. I actually like my job. Seriously. Stop laughing. I do. But I have learned that this one thing alone cannot define me.
But sometimes I become self conscious and doubting. And I do not know if I am more afraid of success or failure. The fact that I have so many talented human beans in my life is both wonderful and frustrating. Sometimes I am witness to the talent they exude from their pores and I feel inadequate about my own abilities. I am delighted by their creations. Proud of them at every turn. But I feel as though nothing that I could ever do would ever measure up. They are supercalifragilisticexpaladocious. I am a phony.
And then there are the distracting moments. Perhaps I should not discuss the distracting moments. But in these small moments I typically observe something that reminds me how much I have grown to adore you. Little moments that I derive a great deal of pleasure from because I find people fascinating. Moments in which the true nature of the individual begins to surface and with that comes eccentricities and delightful habits that could easily go unnoticed.
But I notice.
You may feel that I am shifting gears. Perhaps a disconnect. But my distractions as of late are intimately intertwined into everything articulated thus far.
Seriously dude.
Perhaps I should take bets. Or at least a survey. Or poll of sorts. Determine whether or not I should travel to India to study tabla. Or take a road trip to the desert to photograph endangered lizards and secret government test sites. Maybe I should move to Hungary to write silly stories about socks. Perhaps I should do all of these things. Or other things. And take you with me.
Please feel free to post suggestions. Particularly if you are in a position to fund some sort of grant for me to undertake said suggestion.
As of late I have been...distracted. And thinking. For much of my life I have felt as if my interests are too varied and diverse. This of course means that I have far too many unfinished projects. And I can do a little bit of everything but only half-assed. Some might say this is classic Gemini. I have other ideas and believe strongly that I learned to be this way. Thanks M.
Sometimes I think about packing up a vehicle and disappearing for a while. I could travel to Neah Bay or New Mexico or one of those middle states that I have never seen. It might help if I actually had a vehicle to pack up. Try something completely different. Become a "real" photographer. Or actually attempt to publish something I have written. Or play random kitchen items percussively on small town street corners. And then I get all responsible and shit. Turn off the alarm clock. Get my ass out of bed. And go to the office.
And I am one of those fortunate people. I actually like my job. Seriously. Stop laughing. I do. But I have learned that this one thing alone cannot define me.
But sometimes I become self conscious and doubting. And I do not know if I am more afraid of success or failure. The fact that I have so many talented human beans in my life is both wonderful and frustrating. Sometimes I am witness to the talent they exude from their pores and I feel inadequate about my own abilities. I am delighted by their creations. Proud of them at every turn. But I feel as though nothing that I could ever do would ever measure up. They are supercalifragilisticexpaladocious. I am a phony.
And then there are the distracting moments. Perhaps I should not discuss the distracting moments. But in these small moments I typically observe something that reminds me how much I have grown to adore you. Little moments that I derive a great deal of pleasure from because I find people fascinating. Moments in which the true nature of the individual begins to surface and with that comes eccentricities and delightful habits that could easily go unnoticed.
But I notice.
You may feel that I am shifting gears. Perhaps a disconnect. But my distractions as of late are intimately intertwined into everything articulated thus far.
Seriously dude.
Perhaps I should take bets. Or at least a survey. Or poll of sorts. Determine whether or not I should travel to India to study tabla. Or take a road trip to the desert to photograph endangered lizards and secret government test sites. Maybe I should move to Hungary to write silly stories about socks. Perhaps I should do all of these things. Or other things. And take you with me.
Please feel free to post suggestions. Particularly if you are in a position to fund some sort of grant for me to undertake said suggestion.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Code Key Goings on with Me
Once upon a time...wait...no. Last week I...uh...well. Yesterday there was this...uhm...I...uh...hmmm. Sorry. I've been rather neglectful haven't I.
And...it is not because nothing has happened. Or because I have nothing to say. It's just that...well...I...uh...so...things are good. Quite good. I would even go so far as to say great.
Seriously.
But perhaps an update is in order. Therefore. Please find enclosed my rather random update. Indeed!
Secret deciphering code key available with four box tops!
Here we go:
Riverbank Slumbering. Outrageous Hats. DLEs. Sun Induced Tag Line Tattoos. Excited Exclaiming! Merit Badges. Dried Mango. Hiking in a Hail Storm. Sittin' and Sippin'. White Chocolate Obsession. The Tiny Little Dog on the Windswept Moonscape. Spirals. Whip Crackin' Roommates with Deadline Infusions. Sugary Coffee. Road Trips to Cemetaries. Globe Sunday. Desert Adventures. Lustful List Making. White Pepper. Successful Popcorn Procurement. Tangled on Tuesday. Lyrical Obsessions. WAFFLES! Technological Advances. Record Collections. Pondering on Rooftops. You.
Everything that you are. That you'd like to be. Will come in three. My friend. For it's. Not what you are. How you've come to be. All this will end and begin. Again.
And...it is not because nothing has happened. Or because I have nothing to say. It's just that...well...I...uh...so...things are good. Quite good. I would even go so far as to say great.
Seriously.
But perhaps an update is in order. Therefore. Please find enclosed my rather random update. Indeed!
Secret deciphering code key available with four box tops!
Here we go:
Riverbank Slumbering. Outrageous Hats. DLEs. Sun Induced Tag Line Tattoos. Excited Exclaiming! Merit Badges. Dried Mango. Hiking in a Hail Storm. Sittin' and Sippin'. White Chocolate Obsession. The Tiny Little Dog on the Windswept Moonscape. Spirals. Whip Crackin' Roommates with Deadline Infusions. Sugary Coffee. Road Trips to Cemetaries. Globe Sunday. Desert Adventures. Lustful List Making. White Pepper. Successful Popcorn Procurement. Tangled on Tuesday. Lyrical Obsessions. WAFFLES! Technological Advances. Record Collections. Pondering on Rooftops. You.
Everything that you are. That you'd like to be. Will come in three. My friend. For it's. Not what you are. How you've come to be. All this will end and begin. Again.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Sometimes Fishnets and Face Paint are NOT the Best Idea
The Soy and the Sprinkel arrived...late. I expected as much and therefore requested an earlier arrival to account for such. And after I completed painting of spirals and the adjusting of fishnet hose. Sprinkle knotted roller skates and debated leg warmer placement. Soy donned cowboy hat. Adjusted the macular degeneration visor. And primped like the rock star we all know and love. We were ready. Out the door. On our way.
Even though we were early we were late. Nevertheless we located a choice spot toward the beginning of the festivities. In a moment of brilliance Soy explained that the energy would be high at the beginning. Therefore this was prime real estate.
And after too much foul language. Balloon moving requests. Discussions of scaffolding structures. And being touched inappropriately by a furry four legged creature. The festivities began.
I give kudos to every individual secure enough in their own skin to hang high and low and to the left and right. Each expressing their own individual beauty.
Later in the day I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. And I realized that I had actually obtained a fair amount of sun. And when I say "fair amount" I mean a whole hell of a lot of sun. And then I realized something.
I have several spirals painted on my face with waterproof black eyeliner. Shit. This could be problematic.
So I did what any sane individual would do. I refused to wash my face with the hope that remaining in denial about the possible ramifications of my actions would enable me a bit of peace. But I certainly couldn't remain in denial for all eternity. So after a few drinks at the illustrious Denny's Lounge made by our lovely bartender. And a brief conversation with the mysterious Maverick. Finalizing the evening with the tattooed and heavily pierced fine as hell man at the Ballard Market. I returned home. And washed my face.
Sprinkle remained with me for moral support. That and she needed a bit of time to sober up. And I can say to my lovely readers that my spirals may be around a bit longer than I originally anticipated. That and the fact that in a day or two my upper right thigh will appear to exhibit a lovely golden waffle pattern.
Happy Solstice!
Even though we were early we were late. Nevertheless we located a choice spot toward the beginning of the festivities. In a moment of brilliance Soy explained that the energy would be high at the beginning. Therefore this was prime real estate.
And after too much foul language. Balloon moving requests. Discussions of scaffolding structures. And being touched inappropriately by a furry four legged creature. The festivities began.
I give kudos to every individual secure enough in their own skin to hang high and low and to the left and right. Each expressing their own individual beauty.
Later in the day I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. And I realized that I had actually obtained a fair amount of sun. And when I say "fair amount" I mean a whole hell of a lot of sun. And then I realized something.
I have several spirals painted on my face with waterproof black eyeliner. Shit. This could be problematic.
So I did what any sane individual would do. I refused to wash my face with the hope that remaining in denial about the possible ramifications of my actions would enable me a bit of peace. But I certainly couldn't remain in denial for all eternity. So after a few drinks at the illustrious Denny's Lounge made by our lovely bartender. And a brief conversation with the mysterious Maverick. Finalizing the evening with the tattooed and heavily pierced fine as hell man at the Ballard Market. I returned home. And washed my face.
Sprinkle remained with me for moral support. That and she needed a bit of time to sober up. And I can say to my lovely readers that my spirals may be around a bit longer than I originally anticipated. That and the fact that in a day or two my upper right thigh will appear to exhibit a lovely golden waffle pattern.
Happy Solstice!
Friday, June 16, 2006
Be Afraid of Your Keyboard. Be Very Afraid.
It seems that everything is about something or something else or something over there or something over here that we are supposed to fear. Here is yet another example of a seemingly innocent object that we should be very very afraid of. Be careful. It's an incredibly dangerous world out there...or so we've be told!
My new and improved keyboard -- complete with functioning a, q and z keys -- includes a health warning. There is a tag located on the cord of the keyboard that reads as follows:
See bottom of keyboard for HEALTH WARNING! DO NOT REMOVE THIS TAG!
So. Being one of those girls that always does exactly what she is told I turned the keyboard over to view this important "health warning" immediately. This is an exact quote of the health warning:
HEALTH WARNING!
Use of a keyboard or mouse may be linked to serious injuries or disorders.
When using a computer, as with many activities, you may experience occasional discomfort in your hands, arms, shoulders, neck, or other parts of your body. However, if you experience symptoms such as persistent recurring discomfort, pain, throbbing, aching, tingling, numbness, burning sensation, or stiffness DO NOT IGNORE THESE WARNING SIGNS. PROMPTLY SEE A QUALIFIED HEALTH PROFESSIONAL, even if symptoms occur when you are not working at your computer. Symptoms like these can be associated with painful and sometimes permanently disabling injuries or disorders of the nerves, muscles, tendons or other parts of the body. These musculoskeletal disorders (MSDs) include carpal tunnel syndrome, tendonitis, tenosynovitis and other conditions.
While researchers are not yet able to answer many questions about MSDs, there is agreement that many factors may be linked to their occurrence including: overall health, stress and how one copes with it, medical and physical conditions, and how a person positions and uses his or her body during work and other activities (including use of a keyboard or mouse). The amount of time a person performs an activity may also be a factor.
Some guidelines that may help you work more comfortably with your computer and possibly reduce your risk of experiencing an MSD can be found in the "Healthy Computing Guide" installed with the device's software. If this device did not come with software see the "Healthy Computing Guide" section of the "Getting Started" manual. You can also access the "Healthy Computing Guide" and UNNAMED MAMMOTH COMPUTER CORPORATION.com or (in the United States, only) by calling UNDISCLOSED TOLL FREE PHONE NUMBER to request a CD at no charge.
If you have questions about how your own lifestyle, activities, or medical or physical condition may be related to MSDs, see a qualified health professional.
I am certainly not a qualified health professional. In fact. I must admit to all of you that I am not even an unqualified health professional. But I for one have grown weary of all of these things that we are supposed to fear. This is not to minimize repetitive movement injuries. I am certain that they are quite serious indeed. But is it quite so necessary to create such dramatic panic.
We have become a nation of terrified individuals. And this terror has caused us to shift our focus from the many important and signficant things that perhaps we should be afraid of, to a miriad of insignficant topics instilling fear and paralyzing us into non-action. Such fearful tactics are used by both the right and the left in order to futher their own agenda.
Perhaps it is time we discover OUR own agenda. Perhaps it is time that we shed light on this trickery. Perhaps it is time for us to look beyond the surface and make our own decisions about what we deem significant.
My new and improved keyboard -- complete with functioning a, q and z keys -- includes a health warning. There is a tag located on the cord of the keyboard that reads as follows:
See bottom of keyboard for HEALTH WARNING! DO NOT REMOVE THIS TAG!
So. Being one of those girls that always does exactly what she is told I turned the keyboard over to view this important "health warning" immediately. This is an exact quote of the health warning:
HEALTH WARNING!
Use of a keyboard or mouse may be linked to serious injuries or disorders.
When using a computer, as with many activities, you may experience occasional discomfort in your hands, arms, shoulders, neck, or other parts of your body. However, if you experience symptoms such as persistent recurring discomfort, pain, throbbing, aching, tingling, numbness, burning sensation, or stiffness DO NOT IGNORE THESE WARNING SIGNS. PROMPTLY SEE A QUALIFIED HEALTH PROFESSIONAL, even if symptoms occur when you are not working at your computer. Symptoms like these can be associated with painful and sometimes permanently disabling injuries or disorders of the nerves, muscles, tendons or other parts of the body. These musculoskeletal disorders (MSDs) include carpal tunnel syndrome, tendonitis, tenosynovitis and other conditions.
While researchers are not yet able to answer many questions about MSDs, there is agreement that many factors may be linked to their occurrence including: overall health, stress and how one copes with it, medical and physical conditions, and how a person positions and uses his or her body during work and other activities (including use of a keyboard or mouse). The amount of time a person performs an activity may also be a factor.
Some guidelines that may help you work more comfortably with your computer and possibly reduce your risk of experiencing an MSD can be found in the "Healthy Computing Guide" installed with the device's software. If this device did not come with software see the "Healthy Computing Guide" section of the "Getting Started" manual. You can also access the "Healthy Computing Guide" and UNNAMED MAMMOTH COMPUTER CORPORATION.com or (in the United States, only) by calling UNDISCLOSED TOLL FREE PHONE NUMBER to request a CD at no charge.
If you have questions about how your own lifestyle, activities, or medical or physical condition may be related to MSDs, see a qualified health professional.
I am certainly not a qualified health professional. In fact. I must admit to all of you that I am not even an unqualified health professional. But I for one have grown weary of all of these things that we are supposed to fear. This is not to minimize repetitive movement injuries. I am certain that they are quite serious indeed. But is it quite so necessary to create such dramatic panic.
We have become a nation of terrified individuals. And this terror has caused us to shift our focus from the many important and signficant things that perhaps we should be afraid of, to a miriad of insignficant topics instilling fear and paralyzing us into non-action. Such fearful tactics are used by both the right and the left in order to futher their own agenda.
Perhaps it is time we discover OUR own agenda. Perhaps it is time that we shed light on this trickery. Perhaps it is time for us to look beyond the surface and make our own decisions about what we deem significant.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
The Case of the Disappearing A Q and Z
Today I discovered something very important. I discovered that there are a great many words in the english language that incorporate either the letter a, q or z. I came to this realization because this afternoon my keyboard decided that it no longer wished to type those letters. I'm not really sure why. I made an effort to inquire as to why this might be so. Unfortunately my investigation was not fruitful.
I attempted to perform minor surgery on the a, q and z keys. Sadly, they didn't make it.
So after various attempts and still no functioning a, q or z, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. I decided to call our receptionist. The conversation went something like this:
ME: Hey. Can you do me a favor?
Receptionist: Well uh...yeah. I guess so.
ME: Could you send me an email with a lower case a, q and z, and an upper case A, Q and Z?
Receptionist: Uh. You want me to...uh. Yeah. Okay.
ME: Thanks.
Our receptionist has not been with us long. But clearly she has realized that we are all insane and that it is often better not to ask questions and simply comply with our requests.
So now I have access to a, q and z, and A, Q and Z. It is somewhat akin to a "break glass in case of emergency" situation. Only it doesn't require any glass breaking. Perhaps I should enclose a full set of the alphabet behind glass. Just in case.
However, I soon realized that cutting and pasting these letters into the text of pertinent emails is a rather tedious task and truly a pain in the ass. Close to the end of the day and I need to send an email to the other members of my office. I decide that they are all a very smart bunch of individuals and they will figure out what I am trying to say without the use of a, q or z.
The email looked something like this:
Hey Everyone. In the interest of sving time nd energy nd not driving the receptionist insne I forwrded ll of the WCDL list messges regrding bckline numbers for her to compre with those we lredy hve nd updte s necessry. She should hve them ll now so no need to forwrd to her. Thnks.
Attorney Number Four approached me shortly after the sending of the message. She thought perhaps I had sent some sort of coded spam that would cause her computer to spontaneously combust in thirteen seconds. I told her that I have no a, q or z. And if she just adds a few a's my message should be clear.
Funny thing about not having an a, q or z. You cannot exactly explain that you are missing these keys in your message because...well...you don't have them.
Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to acquire a new keyboard. Maybe I will no longer have a t, b or o.
Something exciting to look forward to. Well. Not exactly.
I attempted to perform minor surgery on the a, q and z keys. Sadly, they didn't make it.
So after various attempts and still no functioning a, q or z, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. I decided to call our receptionist. The conversation went something like this:
ME: Hey. Can you do me a favor?
Receptionist: Well uh...yeah. I guess so.
ME: Could you send me an email with a lower case a, q and z, and an upper case A, Q and Z?
Receptionist: Uh. You want me to...uh. Yeah. Okay.
ME: Thanks.
Our receptionist has not been with us long. But clearly she has realized that we are all insane and that it is often better not to ask questions and simply comply with our requests.
So now I have access to a, q and z, and A, Q and Z. It is somewhat akin to a "break glass in case of emergency" situation. Only it doesn't require any glass breaking. Perhaps I should enclose a full set of the alphabet behind glass. Just in case.
However, I soon realized that cutting and pasting these letters into the text of pertinent emails is a rather tedious task and truly a pain in the ass. Close to the end of the day and I need to send an email to the other members of my office. I decide that they are all a very smart bunch of individuals and they will figure out what I am trying to say without the use of a, q or z.
The email looked something like this:
Hey Everyone. In the interest of sving time nd energy nd not driving the receptionist insne I forwrded ll of the WCDL list messges regrding bckline numbers for her to compre with those we lredy hve nd updte s necessry. She should hve them ll now so no need to forwrd to her. Thnks.
Attorney Number Four approached me shortly after the sending of the message. She thought perhaps I had sent some sort of coded spam that would cause her computer to spontaneously combust in thirteen seconds. I told her that I have no a, q or z. And if she just adds a few a's my message should be clear.
Funny thing about not having an a, q or z. You cannot exactly explain that you are missing these keys in your message because...well...you don't have them.
Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to acquire a new keyboard. Maybe I will no longer have a t, b or o.
Something exciting to look forward to. Well. Not exactly.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Exciting Epiphanies Twice Daily with a Side of Something Sparkly and Spectacular
Life is exciting. Every tiny moment is wonderful. Beautiful. Even the shitty moments. Well. Fine. Not every shitty moment. I have certainly had many truly shitty moments that were not wonderful. But perhaps something wonderful eventually took root from said shit. For it is true that shit has amazing fertilizing properties. So perhaps shit is necessary for the growth of tremendous beauty.
I find it essential for one's own sanity to find laugher in the worst of moments. Finding humor in madness is critical in order to continue to experience beauty in one's own life.
This isn't always always a simple process. It is often easy to forget such things. We forget to become excited about life. We forget to live in balance. We forget what it means to live with passion.
And when I witness such things it saddens me. For I would rather die than live a life without passion.
Every day should be full of tiny epiphanies. Every moment filled with wide eyed wonder. My very wise friend commented to me recently about my frequent epiphanies. To paraphrase him (using a tremendous amount of creative license) he explained that I would not be the person that I am if I wasn't in a constant state of epiphany.
And as always, he is absolutely correct. Of course I never realized this until he brought it to my attention. It is possible that I over epiphanize. But I accept this as part of who I am. Another one of my little eccentricities that I find rather delightful indeed.
As of late I have been epiphanizing. Considering my various forms of relationships with other human beans. And I have discovered that I have on occasion permitted others to treat me less than I would prefer to be treated. I realized this while examining the history of a very long friendship. And I realized that this friend has always treated me exactly how I should be treated. Exactly how I want to be treated by another human bean.
I could most certainly make a list of the many wonderful things about this particular friend. I will refrain. However, I will say that sometimes it is pretty fucking wonderful for another human bean to simply act in such a way that you are fully aware of the fact that said bean thinks you are fucking amazing. And perhaps I once thought this was somewhat selfish on my part to want a bean to think such things about me. But perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I was too afraid because I thought perhaps the bean would not really mean it. Or even more afraid that said bean would mean every word.
In replaying bits and pieces of my very long friendship I realized that in many ways this friendship was everything that I could ever hope for in any relationship in my life. I feel quite fortunate to have this individual in my life. And I know that this bean will in many ways become the model of what I hope to achieve in other relationships. This friend reminds me what I am worth. What we are all worth.
And in experiencing such epiphany I became fully aware of other relationships in my life and the need to let go of bits and pieces that do not meet the standard. Perhaps we often confuse various feelings for what is truly our own bruised ego over not having our particular and often peculiar needs met. Realizing this makes the letting go process more sensical and quite natural. This is what returns us to more of a balanced state of being.
In such a state we are able to live more fully and more passionately. We become less afraid and more willing to embrace risk. In these moments we are able to find delight in the most simple of experiences. We become more open and more accepting. And perhaps we even find a way to permit others to achieve a higher level of security clearance without ever form filled out in triplicate.
I find it essential for one's own sanity to find laugher in the worst of moments. Finding humor in madness is critical in order to continue to experience beauty in one's own life.
This isn't always always a simple process. It is often easy to forget such things. We forget to become excited about life. We forget to live in balance. We forget what it means to live with passion.
And when I witness such things it saddens me. For I would rather die than live a life without passion.
Every day should be full of tiny epiphanies. Every moment filled with wide eyed wonder. My very wise friend commented to me recently about my frequent epiphanies. To paraphrase him (using a tremendous amount of creative license) he explained that I would not be the person that I am if I wasn't in a constant state of epiphany.
And as always, he is absolutely correct. Of course I never realized this until he brought it to my attention. It is possible that I over epiphanize. But I accept this as part of who I am. Another one of my little eccentricities that I find rather delightful indeed.
As of late I have been epiphanizing. Considering my various forms of relationships with other human beans. And I have discovered that I have on occasion permitted others to treat me less than I would prefer to be treated. I realized this while examining the history of a very long friendship. And I realized that this friend has always treated me exactly how I should be treated. Exactly how I want to be treated by another human bean.
I could most certainly make a list of the many wonderful things about this particular friend. I will refrain. However, I will say that sometimes it is pretty fucking wonderful for another human bean to simply act in such a way that you are fully aware of the fact that said bean thinks you are fucking amazing. And perhaps I once thought this was somewhat selfish on my part to want a bean to think such things about me. But perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I was too afraid because I thought perhaps the bean would not really mean it. Or even more afraid that said bean would mean every word.
In replaying bits and pieces of my very long friendship I realized that in many ways this friendship was everything that I could ever hope for in any relationship in my life. I feel quite fortunate to have this individual in my life. And I know that this bean will in many ways become the model of what I hope to achieve in other relationships. This friend reminds me what I am worth. What we are all worth.
And in experiencing such epiphany I became fully aware of other relationships in my life and the need to let go of bits and pieces that do not meet the standard. Perhaps we often confuse various feelings for what is truly our own bruised ego over not having our particular and often peculiar needs met. Realizing this makes the letting go process more sensical and quite natural. This is what returns us to more of a balanced state of being.
In such a state we are able to live more fully and more passionately. We become less afraid and more willing to embrace risk. In these moments we are able to find delight in the most simple of experiences. We become more open and more accepting. And perhaps we even find a way to permit others to achieve a higher level of security clearance without ever form filled out in triplicate.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Pet Peeve Reprieve of Bored Bored Boring Droning
I would like to think that I am a fairly tolerant person. And perhaps that is not entirely true, but I would like to think that it is true. I could probably make a list of things that drive me insane. Things that stir thoughts of sticking a fork in an unsuspecting eye. But that would be a bit on the negative side and I have recently chastised a good friend to holy hell for such negativity.
But at the risk of sounding somewhat hypocritical I must must must say something about people who feel the need to articulate to the nth degree all about their own incredible state of boredom.
Perhaps I am overly skilled at self entertainment, because I am never bored. I cannot recall the last time that I actually felt bored. Maybe I am unique in this respect and I will be bombarded with hate mail from those of you chronically bored individuals. And if that is the case then please explain to me why you do not have the ability to entertain yourself in any situation. Perhaps you don't really like yourself that much so the thought of spending any time with yourself without outside entertainment is dreadful.
But I make no apologies. I just don't understand. And I cannot help but feel that you must be an incredibly boring person if you are bored. Perhaps I might be able to comprehend a moment of boredom. Or a glimmer of boredom. But boredom for more than a blink or two perplexes me.
Maybe some individuals need constant entertainment. And they are so damned self centered that they expect others to provide them with said entertainment. Perhaps they are unable to take responsibility for their own lives. And maybe they merely want everyone to be as miserable as they are in that moment. Perhaps that is the only way they can climb out of their hole of misery.
Maybe I am being a bit to harsh on the chronically bored. Perhaps it is more of a disease requiring some sort of therapeutic intervention.
I have witnessed individuals droning on and on about their boredom for what seemed like hours. And I have observed various sorts of postings about said boredom. And I can only wonder why anyone would think that another individual is interested in hearing about their boredom.
I mean seriously. Don't tell me if your bored.
Now if you want to go play on the swings with me or finger paint with me or skinny dip or sing a song or bake bread or take a walk with me or play Uno or watch a movie or if you want me to read a passage of a book to you or give you a hug or listen to you talk about your shitty day or fly a kite or explore a secret beach or stand outside in my backyard naked or go camping or drink vanilla soy chai or chop wood or do yoga or write a poem or play hide and go seek or just sit around and chill I am all for it. But do not tell me that you are freakin' bored because I do not under any circumstances want to hear it.
I am fortunate that I rarely have to listen to anyone speaking with me directly about their own boredom. Most of the experiences I have had with respect to the boredom of others involves my observations and not direct participation. But you boredom droners should know that when you continue to drone on about your own boredom it is simply insulting to the dronee. It implies that you do not value your time with me and I like myself enough to know that my time is truly valuable.
So if anyone can explain to me this sorry state that some individuals tend to not only find themselves immersed in, but feel the need to bring others into their misery as well, please let me know.
But at the risk of sounding somewhat hypocritical I must must must say something about people who feel the need to articulate to the nth degree all about their own incredible state of boredom.
Perhaps I am overly skilled at self entertainment, because I am never bored. I cannot recall the last time that I actually felt bored. Maybe I am unique in this respect and I will be bombarded with hate mail from those of you chronically bored individuals. And if that is the case then please explain to me why you do not have the ability to entertain yourself in any situation. Perhaps you don't really like yourself that much so the thought of spending any time with yourself without outside entertainment is dreadful.
But I make no apologies. I just don't understand. And I cannot help but feel that you must be an incredibly boring person if you are bored. Perhaps I might be able to comprehend a moment of boredom. Or a glimmer of boredom. But boredom for more than a blink or two perplexes me.
Maybe some individuals need constant entertainment. And they are so damned self centered that they expect others to provide them with said entertainment. Perhaps they are unable to take responsibility for their own lives. And maybe they merely want everyone to be as miserable as they are in that moment. Perhaps that is the only way they can climb out of their hole of misery.
Maybe I am being a bit to harsh on the chronically bored. Perhaps it is more of a disease requiring some sort of therapeutic intervention.
I have witnessed individuals droning on and on about their boredom for what seemed like hours. And I have observed various sorts of postings about said boredom. And I can only wonder why anyone would think that another individual is interested in hearing about their boredom.
I mean seriously. Don't tell me if your bored.
Now if you want to go play on the swings with me or finger paint with me or skinny dip or sing a song or bake bread or take a walk with me or play Uno or watch a movie or if you want me to read a passage of a book to you or give you a hug or listen to you talk about your shitty day or fly a kite or explore a secret beach or stand outside in my backyard naked or go camping or drink vanilla soy chai or chop wood or do yoga or write a poem or play hide and go seek or just sit around and chill I am all for it. But do not tell me that you are freakin' bored because I do not under any circumstances want to hear it.
I am fortunate that I rarely have to listen to anyone speaking with me directly about their own boredom. Most of the experiences I have had with respect to the boredom of others involves my observations and not direct participation. But you boredom droners should know that when you continue to drone on about your own boredom it is simply insulting to the dronee. It implies that you do not value your time with me and I like myself enough to know that my time is truly valuable.
So if anyone can explain to me this sorry state that some individuals tend to not only find themselves immersed in, but feel the need to bring others into their misery as well, please let me know.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Sister Sledge Stuck in my Head
I must have done something amazing in a past life. Seriously. I bet I discovered the cure to some horrible disease. Or saved an entire country from an evil dictator. I must have done something so spectacular that it had to be kept a secret for my own protection.
And I say this because I can only wonder how I got so lucky to have some of the most wonderful people in my life. And I often wonder if these wonderful beans truly have any idea how much I love them and how grateful I am for every moment with each and every one.
Because let us be honest. I am not always an easy person to befriend. Sometimes I am overly sarcastic. I can be confrontational. My expectations are high. I am not always very good at intimacy. And every once in a while I can truly be a fucking cun...er...you get the idea.
Yet these fantastic people in my life seem to love me anyway. Perhaps they are insane. Some of the most fantastic human beans have come from near and far and have loved and supported me fully and completely. They have walked through fire with me and nursed my charred skin.
Never did a single bean ever question my sanity or grow tired of my latest diatribe. In a world that is often tremendously apathetic I feel as though I have been given a tremendous gift of these wonderful people. People that I consider family.
And I should say that I didn't have much of a family growing up. Despite having a rather large network of blood relatives my family was disfunctional enough to belong on Jerry Springer at times and I never felt home with them. But I have discovered that real family has nothing to do with blood type and genetic material and everything to do with love and kindness and support and kicking me in the ass when need be.
Family is not born, but made over time. Like ol' fashioned country gravy. Indeed.
And I have found as of late that it is not merely my close circle of beans that express such wonderful traits. But my extended network of individuals who have also surprised and amazed me. Some of whom I would have never imagined even noticed or cared for a moment. And in the smallest of moments I realized that I could not have been more mistaken.
In these moments I believe that collectively we can in fact change the world. Perhaps this makes me overly idealistic. Maybe a bit insane. But maybe we need an occasional sprinkle of idealism every so often like powdered sugar on a Belgian waffle.
So thank you to each and every one of you wonderful people who continue to amaze me with your love and generosity. Thank you for accepting me for who I am with each and every flaw I possess. Thank you for every special moment you bring to my life and your constant inspiration which makes me want to be a better person.
I love you more than words can say.
And no...I'm not intoxicated. Fuckers.
And I say this because I can only wonder how I got so lucky to have some of the most wonderful people in my life. And I often wonder if these wonderful beans truly have any idea how much I love them and how grateful I am for every moment with each and every one.
Because let us be honest. I am not always an easy person to befriend. Sometimes I am overly sarcastic. I can be confrontational. My expectations are high. I am not always very good at intimacy. And every once in a while I can truly be a fucking cun...er...you get the idea.
Yet these fantastic people in my life seem to love me anyway. Perhaps they are insane. Some of the most fantastic human beans have come from near and far and have loved and supported me fully and completely. They have walked through fire with me and nursed my charred skin.
Never did a single bean ever question my sanity or grow tired of my latest diatribe. In a world that is often tremendously apathetic I feel as though I have been given a tremendous gift of these wonderful people. People that I consider family.
And I should say that I didn't have much of a family growing up. Despite having a rather large network of blood relatives my family was disfunctional enough to belong on Jerry Springer at times and I never felt home with them. But I have discovered that real family has nothing to do with blood type and genetic material and everything to do with love and kindness and support and kicking me in the ass when need be.
Family is not born, but made over time. Like ol' fashioned country gravy. Indeed.
And I have found as of late that it is not merely my close circle of beans that express such wonderful traits. But my extended network of individuals who have also surprised and amazed me. Some of whom I would have never imagined even noticed or cared for a moment. And in the smallest of moments I realized that I could not have been more mistaken.
In these moments I believe that collectively we can in fact change the world. Perhaps this makes me overly idealistic. Maybe a bit insane. But maybe we need an occasional sprinkle of idealism every so often like powdered sugar on a Belgian waffle.
So thank you to each and every one of you wonderful people who continue to amaze me with your love and generosity. Thank you for accepting me for who I am with each and every flaw I possess. Thank you for every special moment you bring to my life and your constant inspiration which makes me want to be a better person.
I love you more than words can say.
And no...I'm not intoxicated. Fuckers.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Five -- Twenty Two -- Eighteen -- Fifty Nine
In less than twenty four hours I will have been breathing oxygen on this planet for thirty three years. That seems like quite a bit of breathing. I suppose I could make some sort of attempt to calculate the amount of breathing that has occurred during this time. But even with my seemingly ingenious mathematical calculations it would be necessary to adjust for the amount of time in which breathing did not occur during the whooping cough incident of 2005-2006.
And I realize that I have not actually posted a summary of the whooping cough incident of 2005-2006. However you may rest assured that such a post is forthcoming. And if such a post is not forthcoming then I am most certain that Soy's whooping cough incident of 2005-2006 post is forthcoming and I will provide a link to his post upon completion. I imagine that anything he might post would be quite similar if not identical to my own experiences.
But this post is not about whooping cough. This post is about other aspects of me that do not involve coughing or whooping. And given that I have successfully survived yet another year on this planet I thought that perhaps I should post my year in review. And then I realized that I don't want to look back. I want only to look forward.
So I have decided some things. I have decided to make a list. Those of you who know many of my dirty secrets -- and there aren't many of you who know such secrets about me -- know that I am and perhaps always will be a list maker. Fine. This isn't exactly a dirty secret. So called dirty secrets will be reveled in the proper time and the proper place with the proper company. But I digress. So. I am a list maker. Unfortunately I am also a bit absent minded and eccentric at times so I tend to lose or otherwise misplace completed and partially completed lists.
Neverthless I have decided that I am going to make a list of all of the things that I want thirty three to be for me. And the things that I want to accomplish in my thirty third year of life. It seems appropriate. And in case you were wondering I am not going to post my list here as it is a work in progress. But perhaps I will post a few bits and pieces of said list.
But rather than toss out random thoughts I want first to say something else. Let me tell you why I am happy about turning thirty three. Because I wasn't always happy about it. I think that we (read: women) are taught that we are less than we once were as we age. This is sad and unfortunate and I want to assure all of the younger women that this is simply not the case. The more time I spend on this planet the happier I am with who I am and the less I am concerned with what others think about who I am. I have no desire to be twenty or twenty six or twenty eight ever again. I feel that I am finally reaching a point in my life in which I am content with myself and my path.
I am not the person I once was. Most certainly not the person I was at twenty four. Definitely not the person I was at twenty nine. Hell. I am not even the person that I was last month. Instead I am someone who is more at peace with her self and her life. I am more clear about what I want and what I do not want. And I am less willing to compromise myself than I once was not so very long ago. I am willing to admit my flaws. And most certainly there are many.
However I am also willing to admit the ways in which I am not flawed. And sometimes this is surprisingly more difficult. So things are changing. I am no longer willing to censor myself for anyone. I cannot bring more than those who supposedly care about me are willing to bring to me. I can no longer give enormous amounts of my energy to individuals in my life who are not open and honest. Loving and courageous. Interested in who I am. Supportive and encouraging. Willing to tell me that I am wonderful and willing to call me on my bullshit. I am willing to work through everything that I am afraid of and you must be too.
I have been told that I am too loud. Overly affectionate. Too opinionated. Way too sarcastic. Overly talkative. Vague. Too much of a bitch. Once I was told that I was a facist dictator. Too flirtatious. Fickle. Trite and cliche. Overly emotional. Not emotional enough. Too distant. Too clingy. Condescending. Confusing. Not good enough. Insensitive. Too sensitive. Not attractive enough. Vain. Just too damn much.
I say that I may very well be or have been all of these things. I am also intelligent. Funny. Beautiful. Talented. Kindhearted. Compassionate. Generous and giving. Friendly. Loving. Affectionate. Sexy. Articulate. Silly. Strong. Passionate. Honest. Helpful. Magically delicious. I smell good. Delightful. And I dig a mean hole.
It amazes me how we find it so easy to either say unkind words to each other (or to ourselves) or to just remain silent about how we really feel about one another. Sometimes I think that the silence is worse. I know that time is short and life is precious. And I cannot be certain how much time I have left on this planet. I can be certain that I have a choice in what to do with that time. And so do you.
I wish to live my life balanced in a way that is appropriate for me. I will keep you posted on my successes as well as my failures. In the meantime I can only hope that those of you who have personal relationships with me in one form or another choose to make every interaction with me full and complete as if it could be our last. Please don't hold back. For better or worse. Let us not go out with a whimper.
My goal is to do the same with you.
And I realize that I have not actually posted a summary of the whooping cough incident of 2005-2006. However you may rest assured that such a post is forthcoming. And if such a post is not forthcoming then I am most certain that Soy's whooping cough incident of 2005-2006 post is forthcoming and I will provide a link to his post upon completion. I imagine that anything he might post would be quite similar if not identical to my own experiences.
But this post is not about whooping cough. This post is about other aspects of me that do not involve coughing or whooping. And given that I have successfully survived yet another year on this planet I thought that perhaps I should post my year in review. And then I realized that I don't want to look back. I want only to look forward.
So I have decided some things. I have decided to make a list. Those of you who know many of my dirty secrets -- and there aren't many of you who know such secrets about me -- know that I am and perhaps always will be a list maker. Fine. This isn't exactly a dirty secret. So called dirty secrets will be reveled in the proper time and the proper place with the proper company. But I digress. So. I am a list maker. Unfortunately I am also a bit absent minded and eccentric at times so I tend to lose or otherwise misplace completed and partially completed lists.
Neverthless I have decided that I am going to make a list of all of the things that I want thirty three to be for me. And the things that I want to accomplish in my thirty third year of life. It seems appropriate. And in case you were wondering I am not going to post my list here as it is a work in progress. But perhaps I will post a few bits and pieces of said list.
But rather than toss out random thoughts I want first to say something else. Let me tell you why I am happy about turning thirty three. Because I wasn't always happy about it. I think that we (read: women) are taught that we are less than we once were as we age. This is sad and unfortunate and I want to assure all of the younger women that this is simply not the case. The more time I spend on this planet the happier I am with who I am and the less I am concerned with what others think about who I am. I have no desire to be twenty or twenty six or twenty eight ever again. I feel that I am finally reaching a point in my life in which I am content with myself and my path.
I am not the person I once was. Most certainly not the person I was at twenty four. Definitely not the person I was at twenty nine. Hell. I am not even the person that I was last month. Instead I am someone who is more at peace with her self and her life. I am more clear about what I want and what I do not want. And I am less willing to compromise myself than I once was not so very long ago. I am willing to admit my flaws. And most certainly there are many.
However I am also willing to admit the ways in which I am not flawed. And sometimes this is surprisingly more difficult. So things are changing. I am no longer willing to censor myself for anyone. I cannot bring more than those who supposedly care about me are willing to bring to me. I can no longer give enormous amounts of my energy to individuals in my life who are not open and honest. Loving and courageous. Interested in who I am. Supportive and encouraging. Willing to tell me that I am wonderful and willing to call me on my bullshit. I am willing to work through everything that I am afraid of and you must be too.
I have been told that I am too loud. Overly affectionate. Too opinionated. Way too sarcastic. Overly talkative. Vague. Too much of a bitch. Once I was told that I was a facist dictator. Too flirtatious. Fickle. Trite and cliche. Overly emotional. Not emotional enough. Too distant. Too clingy. Condescending. Confusing. Not good enough. Insensitive. Too sensitive. Not attractive enough. Vain. Just too damn much.
I say that I may very well be or have been all of these things. I am also intelligent. Funny. Beautiful. Talented. Kindhearted. Compassionate. Generous and giving. Friendly. Loving. Affectionate. Sexy. Articulate. Silly. Strong. Passionate. Honest. Helpful. Magically delicious. I smell good. Delightful. And I dig a mean hole.
It amazes me how we find it so easy to either say unkind words to each other (or to ourselves) or to just remain silent about how we really feel about one another. Sometimes I think that the silence is worse. I know that time is short and life is precious. And I cannot be certain how much time I have left on this planet. I can be certain that I have a choice in what to do with that time. And so do you.
I wish to live my life balanced in a way that is appropriate for me. I will keep you posted on my successes as well as my failures. In the meantime I can only hope that those of you who have personal relationships with me in one form or another choose to make every interaction with me full and complete as if it could be our last. Please don't hold back. For better or worse. Let us not go out with a whimper.
My goal is to do the same with you.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Living Room Tent Action Infraction
So I'm putting up a tent in my living room. And the phone rings. It is my very wise friend. And I knew it was my very wise friend before I walked over to the phone and saw his name on the caller ID.
I tell him that it's about time. And of course he has no idea what I'm talking about. I knew that I would talk to him today. And given that fact that he is either working or working or working. Occasionally sleeping or working. I never really know when it is good to call or when it is not good to call. So sometimes I just guess and I usually guess wrong and wake him up. That is an experience in and of itself and the subject for an entirely separate post.
You see. I had this feeling all day that we would speak. And so we did.
I tell him that I am putting up a tent in my living room. And I explain that I am having a difficult time with the putting up of said tent due to the fact that I am not very tall. So he starts to explain to me in great detail how to assemble a tent and discusses the finer points of tent rod bending technique.
Well. I know how to assemble a tent. But I'm having difficulties because I cannot get enough bend on the rods that form the frame of the tent because they are fucking longer than the river Styx and I am in my living room so space is limited and I can't pull them up at the top because I can't reach them.
I try to explain this but I am not making much sense because I am putting up a tent in my living room while talking to my very wise friend. And as you are most likely already aware. This is perfectly normal. So. Uh. You get the idea.
It probably didn't help that I was trying to set up a tent in my living room while holding the phone with the other hand. Of course I didn't realize this until I finished my conversation and with both hands and shoulders and brain cells free I was able to finish the assembly process.
Then I stepped back from the scene for a moment. I imagine my new roommate laughing his ass off at the visual of this enormous tent in our living room. And when I say enormous I mean to say that this is a big ass fucking tent.
I purchased this tent for the bargain price of $14.99 at UNNAMED NEARBY PRO-UNION STORE. Sprinkel and I wandered into the camping gear section of the store while we were purchasing beer and fake grillable meat and tiki torch wicks for a recent vegan cook out. And no one could pass up a tent for $14.99.
But it's fucking big. And I am rather surprised at the size of said tent for one simple reason. The tent indicates that it is a two to three person tent. After assessing my past tenting experiences I know that to mean that two people can fit in a three person tent if and only if they sleep in some sort of puzzle pieced manner. In other words...they had better like each other and someone should most definitely be on some form of birth control. IWhen I purchased this tent I figured this would be the perfect size to own as I am a rather small person.
I thought perhaps the fact that the tent was in the living room might be causing some sort of deception as to its actual size. So I crawled in. Four people could sleep comfortably in this tent. I bet we could squish in six. And no. I'm not kidding.
So I must wonder now. Have tent sizes increased because we as a population have increased in size. Or because we seem to always want more of everything.
Perhaps next week I can convince my very wise friend to camp out in the tent in my backyard. We will most certainly have enough room if anyone else is up for some back yard camping.
** This post is for my very wise friend because he is expecting to read about my tent adventures here and for once I wanted him to be right about something.
I tell him that it's about time. And of course he has no idea what I'm talking about. I knew that I would talk to him today. And given that fact that he is either working or working or working. Occasionally sleeping or working. I never really know when it is good to call or when it is not good to call. So sometimes I just guess and I usually guess wrong and wake him up. That is an experience in and of itself and the subject for an entirely separate post.
You see. I had this feeling all day that we would speak. And so we did.
I tell him that I am putting up a tent in my living room. And I explain that I am having a difficult time with the putting up of said tent due to the fact that I am not very tall. So he starts to explain to me in great detail how to assemble a tent and discusses the finer points of tent rod bending technique.
Well. I know how to assemble a tent. But I'm having difficulties because I cannot get enough bend on the rods that form the frame of the tent because they are fucking longer than the river Styx and I am in my living room so space is limited and I can't pull them up at the top because I can't reach them.
I try to explain this but I am not making much sense because I am putting up a tent in my living room while talking to my very wise friend. And as you are most likely already aware. This is perfectly normal. So. Uh. You get the idea.
It probably didn't help that I was trying to set up a tent in my living room while holding the phone with the other hand. Of course I didn't realize this until I finished my conversation and with both hands and shoulders and brain cells free I was able to finish the assembly process.
Then I stepped back from the scene for a moment. I imagine my new roommate laughing his ass off at the visual of this enormous tent in our living room. And when I say enormous I mean to say that this is a big ass fucking tent.
I purchased this tent for the bargain price of $14.99 at UNNAMED NEARBY PRO-UNION STORE. Sprinkel and I wandered into the camping gear section of the store while we were purchasing beer and fake grillable meat and tiki torch wicks for a recent vegan cook out. And no one could pass up a tent for $14.99.
But it's fucking big. And I am rather surprised at the size of said tent for one simple reason. The tent indicates that it is a two to three person tent. After assessing my past tenting experiences I know that to mean that two people can fit in a three person tent if and only if they sleep in some sort of puzzle pieced manner. In other words...they had better like each other and someone should most definitely be on some form of birth control. IWhen I purchased this tent I figured this would be the perfect size to own as I am a rather small person.
I thought perhaps the fact that the tent was in the living room might be causing some sort of deception as to its actual size. So I crawled in. Four people could sleep comfortably in this tent. I bet we could squish in six. And no. I'm not kidding.
So I must wonder now. Have tent sizes increased because we as a population have increased in size. Or because we seem to always want more of everything.
Perhaps next week I can convince my very wise friend to camp out in the tent in my backyard. We will most certainly have enough room if anyone else is up for some back yard camping.
** This post is for my very wise friend because he is expecting to read about my tent adventures here and for once I wanted him to be right about something.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Kitchen Sleeping as an Olympic Event
I do not like sleeping in the kitchen. In case any of you were wondering. I thought I would let you all know. Because someone might like sleeping in the kitchen. And others might confuse me with one of those individuals who enjoy kitchen sleeping. And I would not want there to be any misunderstanding. Because I do not particularly enjoy sleeping in the kitchen.
And perhaps I should be more specific. I am not particularly fond of sleeping in my own kitchen. I do not believe that I have ever slept in any other kitchen. So to be fair I cannot say that I am anti-kitchen sleeping. To make such a sweeping generalization would be unfair.
Perhaps if I had the opportunity to sleep in another kitchen that was not my own I might enjoy it.
But what I mean to say in case these words are at all vague is that I really do not find any particular enjoyment in sleeping in my kitchen.
So. I'm in my kitchen. And I am not yet asleep. But I am working toward sleep. And the phone rings. It is my very wise friend. It is late when he calls because he is always either working or working or working. And our best conversations always occur when it is late. And the world is quiet. So he begins the conversation with the usual pleasantries that most individuals begins their conversations with when they are beginning a conversation.
So we begin this exchange of pleasantries and he asks me what I am doing. Which could most certainly be translated into questioning regarding my current state of anything in particular and a query as to what might be going on in my life that is need of sharing with him.
But I take this question very literally. Because I know that I can do that with him. And because I know that he probably does care to know exactly what I am doing at some random moment because that is the kind of friend that he is so I tell him. I tell him that I am sleeping in my kitchen.
And then of course I have to qualify my own statement because I cannot very well be sleeping in my kitchen and speaking with him. So I explain that while I am not yet sleeping I am about to be sleeping. In my kitchen.
In response to my kitchen sleeping he shares a kitchen sleeping story of his own that involved a refinishing of hardwood floors. And sleeping in the kitchen. I explain that I am not refinishing hardwood floors. If I was I would most certainly not be sleeping in the kitchen as the hardwood is located in the kitchen and that would seem nonsensical.
So I begin to think that perhaps everyone has slept in their kitchen. Maybe everyone has a kitchen sleeping story. Only we do not know this because it just does not seem to arise in the course of regular conversation.
My very wise friend and I never have regular conversation. And I believe this is why I explained the kitchen sleeping.
Now I have become curious about kitchen sleeping stories. Perhaps if we only spoke of such things with one another we would discover that we all have such stories. It would be enlightening. We would discover that we are all more alike than we might otherwise be aware.
So I'm curious.
And in case you were wondering. No longer sleeping in the kitchen.
And perhaps I should be more specific. I am not particularly fond of sleeping in my own kitchen. I do not believe that I have ever slept in any other kitchen. So to be fair I cannot say that I am anti-kitchen sleeping. To make such a sweeping generalization would be unfair.
Perhaps if I had the opportunity to sleep in another kitchen that was not my own I might enjoy it.
But what I mean to say in case these words are at all vague is that I really do not find any particular enjoyment in sleeping in my kitchen.
So. I'm in my kitchen. And I am not yet asleep. But I am working toward sleep. And the phone rings. It is my very wise friend. It is late when he calls because he is always either working or working or working. And our best conversations always occur when it is late. And the world is quiet. So he begins the conversation with the usual pleasantries that most individuals begins their conversations with when they are beginning a conversation.
So we begin this exchange of pleasantries and he asks me what I am doing. Which could most certainly be translated into questioning regarding my current state of anything in particular and a query as to what might be going on in my life that is need of sharing with him.
But I take this question very literally. Because I know that I can do that with him. And because I know that he probably does care to know exactly what I am doing at some random moment because that is the kind of friend that he is so I tell him. I tell him that I am sleeping in my kitchen.
And then of course I have to qualify my own statement because I cannot very well be sleeping in my kitchen and speaking with him. So I explain that while I am not yet sleeping I am about to be sleeping. In my kitchen.
In response to my kitchen sleeping he shares a kitchen sleeping story of his own that involved a refinishing of hardwood floors. And sleeping in the kitchen. I explain that I am not refinishing hardwood floors. If I was I would most certainly not be sleeping in the kitchen as the hardwood is located in the kitchen and that would seem nonsensical.
So I begin to think that perhaps everyone has slept in their kitchen. Maybe everyone has a kitchen sleeping story. Only we do not know this because it just does not seem to arise in the course of regular conversation.
My very wise friend and I never have regular conversation. And I believe this is why I explained the kitchen sleeping.
Now I have become curious about kitchen sleeping stories. Perhaps if we only spoke of such things with one another we would discover that we all have such stories. It would be enlightening. We would discover that we are all more alike than we might otherwise be aware.
So I'm curious.
And in case you were wondering. No longer sleeping in the kitchen.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Momentarily Missing EST
Home sickness has. Overwhelmed me. I want to. Eat a street vendor falafel and. Take the subway to Soho. I miss the sweet honesty of. New York City. I miss the beauty in her people. Tired of the locals in this place. Mispronouncing my. Last name. And looking at me cross eyed. Trying to acertain my ethnicity. I miss the city that. Never sleeps. I miss the place where. Everyone treats me like family.
And perhaps my recollection is. Skewed from years somewhere else. But I have grown weary of the. Weak mentality and. Dimunitive stance. Tired of the. Passive aggressive nature of this. Place and these. People.
Missing the humidity and. Air conditioned necessity. Garbage overflowing in alleys and the stench rising. Enough to make you want to vomit. On an August afternoon. And wind. Chill factor like people huddled together but at least we. Have something to complain about.
I want to purchase paprika from Szeged and. Tokaji (five puttonyos) at the Hungarian store owned by the. Refugee couple who. Immigrated rather escaped in. 1956. I miss cannoli from the bakery around the corner any. Bakery around any. Corner and you can find it. I miss cannoli even. Though I was never a fan of. It because I cannot seem to. Find it here.
I miss. Meeting the eyes of pedestrians with a nod and. Good morning. Rather than head down. Eyes shifted away everyone. Seems afraid in this. Place. Afraid to be. Honest with themselves honest. With each other and I fear that I have. Been here too long and. Have adopted something similar for myself.
Mouring the loss of my. East coast. Attitude and waking up to the smell of. Good old fashioned diner coffee black as. Tar needing more sugar than. You could imagine to. Choke down. Hoping to find my. Self under the cushion of a. Chair or in my. Sock drawer.
And perhaps my recollection is. Skewed from years somewhere else. But I have grown weary of the. Weak mentality and. Dimunitive stance. Tired of the. Passive aggressive nature of this. Place and these. People.
Missing the humidity and. Air conditioned necessity. Garbage overflowing in alleys and the stench rising. Enough to make you want to vomit. On an August afternoon. And wind. Chill factor like people huddled together but at least we. Have something to complain about.
I want to purchase paprika from Szeged and. Tokaji (five puttonyos) at the Hungarian store owned by the. Refugee couple who. Immigrated rather escaped in. 1956. I miss cannoli from the bakery around the corner any. Bakery around any. Corner and you can find it. I miss cannoli even. Though I was never a fan of. It because I cannot seem to. Find it here.
I miss. Meeting the eyes of pedestrians with a nod and. Good morning. Rather than head down. Eyes shifted away everyone. Seems afraid in this. Place. Afraid to be. Honest with themselves honest. With each other and I fear that I have. Been here too long and. Have adopted something similar for myself.
Mouring the loss of my. East coast. Attitude and waking up to the smell of. Good old fashioned diner coffee black as. Tar needing more sugar than. You could imagine to. Choke down. Hoping to find my. Self under the cushion of a. Chair or in my. Sock drawer.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Choking on Non-Attachment. Gagging on Emotion. And Vomiting it all Up. Again.
Today I almost killed a man. Seriously. And it pretty much sucked. For I am really not the type of individual who goes around almost killing people. It was not exactly a pleasant day.
Please allow me to take a moment to relay to you the incident that almost led to said killing. It was discovered that a containment device filled with personal and important items was placed in a pile of other non-important items that were recently collected by the UNNAMED CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION.
This occurred despite the fact that I very specifically and explicitly told said ALMOST BECAME DEAD INDIVIDUAL that said containment device was NOT to go to said UNNAMED CHAITABLE ORGANIZATION. This containment device was not in the room with the other said items awaiting said donation.
And I would not be writing about this incident if it were not for the fact of the actual contents of said containment device. I cannot be certain of every item in said containment device. But I know for certain that the device contained various personal identifying documents perhaps including the official certificate of my live birth and social security card. Various financial documents containing -- you guessed it -- financial information. Large quantities of writing of which no other copies exist. Photographs of my dead father. Wait. Let me be clear. This should not be interpreted as photographs of my father dead. He was most certainly alive when said photographs were taken. Now he is not. Photography prints and possibly negatives. Etc. Etc. Etc.
So it finally happened. And it is probably surprising that it did not occur prior to this moment.
I completely lost it.
There was screaming. Yelling. Door slamming. Crying. It was not pretty. I was quite concerned that the UNNAMED CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT would be knocking on my door at any moment. Fortunately for me that did not occur.
The Buddhist in me explains that this is a lesson in non-attachment. The Sicilian in me wants to tie the Buddhist to a block of concrete and throw her off a dock at midnight.
Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to have the UNNAMED CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION find said items. And it is entirely possible that I will not cause the ALMOST BECAME DEAD INDIVIDUAL who removed said bag bodily harm. But I must say that I do believe I have reached the end of my proverbial rope.
Those near and dear are painfully aware of the fact that I have been experiencing an overwhelming amount of difficult emotional experiences in the last three or so weeks. I have been rather on edge. Hanging by a thread. Ready to stick a fork in an unsuspecting eye.
I can only hope that this moment does not propel me from secret super hero to evil dictator overnight.
Please allow me to take a moment to relay to you the incident that almost led to said killing. It was discovered that a containment device filled with personal and important items was placed in a pile of other non-important items that were recently collected by the UNNAMED CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION.
This occurred despite the fact that I very specifically and explicitly told said ALMOST BECAME DEAD INDIVIDUAL that said containment device was NOT to go to said UNNAMED CHAITABLE ORGANIZATION. This containment device was not in the room with the other said items awaiting said donation.
And I would not be writing about this incident if it were not for the fact of the actual contents of said containment device. I cannot be certain of every item in said containment device. But I know for certain that the device contained various personal identifying documents perhaps including the official certificate of my live birth and social security card. Various financial documents containing -- you guessed it -- financial information. Large quantities of writing of which no other copies exist. Photographs of my dead father. Wait. Let me be clear. This should not be interpreted as photographs of my father dead. He was most certainly alive when said photographs were taken. Now he is not. Photography prints and possibly negatives. Etc. Etc. Etc.
So it finally happened. And it is probably surprising that it did not occur prior to this moment.
I completely lost it.
There was screaming. Yelling. Door slamming. Crying. It was not pretty. I was quite concerned that the UNNAMED CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT would be knocking on my door at any moment. Fortunately for me that did not occur.
The Buddhist in me explains that this is a lesson in non-attachment. The Sicilian in me wants to tie the Buddhist to a block of concrete and throw her off a dock at midnight.
Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to have the UNNAMED CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION find said items. And it is entirely possible that I will not cause the ALMOST BECAME DEAD INDIVIDUAL who removed said bag bodily harm. But I must say that I do believe I have reached the end of my proverbial rope.
Those near and dear are painfully aware of the fact that I have been experiencing an overwhelming amount of difficult emotional experiences in the last three or so weeks. I have been rather on edge. Hanging by a thread. Ready to stick a fork in an unsuspecting eye.
I can only hope that this moment does not propel me from secret super hero to evil dictator overnight.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Pho-motional Love. Cellular Support. And Secret Beach Blanket Lingo
Sometimes in what seem to be the worst and most challenging moments I am reminded of something wonderful about human beans. As of late I have been struggling emotionally. I feel as though I should take up the black veil of mourning as my ancestors did before me. Those of you who have asked me how I am as of late have actually gotten an honest answer. Sleep has somewhat eluded me. And I have been less than my self. But last night I realized that I am so incredibly fortunate to have the most wonderful people in my life. And it is critical that I do not overlook this very important point.
And isn't that what life is really all about. Wonderful connections with people who love and care about you. People that you love and care about in return. I am far too fortunate in my life to be cynical about human beans and the human connection. And it is both miraculous and beautiful to see that some people are truly willing to walk through fire with you.
These wonderful individuals in my life that I speak of -- and you best know who you are -- have patiently permitted me to spill all of my emotions onto the floor. And following such spillage they have assisted me in picking up the broken pieces and even had enough forethought to bring a tube of emergency purpose super-ultra-omega-crazy gluish stuff. These beans have given of themselves fully and completely putting their own needs on hold for a moment and placing the focus on mine. This is truely an amazing gift that I have been given and I want to acknowledge their valiant efforts.
You amazing beans have checked on me. Forced me out of my self imposed seclusion. And made me laugh when I didn't think I had any room left for laughter. One of you even traveled over sixty miles just to take care of me for an evening and to inform me that you love me completely -- even in what I perceive to be my most unlovable moments. And sometimes when you're not feeling wonderful about your self it is essential and truly a blessing to hear such things.
So I want to take a moment to thank you dear beans who have permitted me to cry -- or almost cry -- on your collective shoulders as of late. You wonderful individuals who have politely and not so politely informed me that I am beautiful and pretty damn wonderful despite the snot running down my face. Those of you who have taken the time to let me know that you love and care about me even though your own lives are hectic and chaos filled.
I adore you and wish the best for you always. You have definitely earned a fair amount of Karma credits for your kindness and generosity.
xox.
And isn't that what life is really all about. Wonderful connections with people who love and care about you. People that you love and care about in return. I am far too fortunate in my life to be cynical about human beans and the human connection. And it is both miraculous and beautiful to see that some people are truly willing to walk through fire with you.
These wonderful individuals in my life that I speak of -- and you best know who you are -- have patiently permitted me to spill all of my emotions onto the floor. And following such spillage they have assisted me in picking up the broken pieces and even had enough forethought to bring a tube of emergency purpose super-ultra-omega-crazy gluish stuff. These beans have given of themselves fully and completely putting their own needs on hold for a moment and placing the focus on mine. This is truely an amazing gift that I have been given and I want to acknowledge their valiant efforts.
You amazing beans have checked on me. Forced me out of my self imposed seclusion. And made me laugh when I didn't think I had any room left for laughter. One of you even traveled over sixty miles just to take care of me for an evening and to inform me that you love me completely -- even in what I perceive to be my most unlovable moments. And sometimes when you're not feeling wonderful about your self it is essential and truly a blessing to hear such things.
So I want to take a moment to thank you dear beans who have permitted me to cry -- or almost cry -- on your collective shoulders as of late. You wonderful individuals who have politely and not so politely informed me that I am beautiful and pretty damn wonderful despite the snot running down my face. Those of you who have taken the time to let me know that you love and care about me even though your own lives are hectic and chaos filled.
I adore you and wish the best for you always. You have definitely earned a fair amount of Karma credits for your kindness and generosity.
xox.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Toss it Out and Start from Scratch
Holy fuck. You should know that just about everything in my life that could change has changed in the last two-ish weeks. It has been a tad bit overwhelming and I remain somewhat frazzled. Some of these changes are for the better. Some are sad and I know that I will be mourning losses for quite some time. But sometimes change is good. Change enables you to view your self in a new light. And I have not been very kind to myself as of late.
Those that know me know that one thing about me is constant. I talk a great deal of shit. And I do not think that this is necessarily a bad thing. But sometimes I am much better at taking care of other people or giving of myself than I am at giving to myself and doing what I need to do for me. In saying this I don't mean to imply that I am some sort of Mother Fucking Teresa. Clearly I am not. But I have this tendency to put the needs of others before my own. Because despite my tough grrrl exterior I love human beans fully and completely. And this occasionally gets me into troublesome situations that I take full and complete responsibility for regardless of circumstance.
I am not good at expressing my feelings in an honest manner. I will rarely admit that I have needs let alone tell another person what they might be. I am trying to correct this but it has been a long and difficult road. There have been many instances -- some quite recent -- in which I felt that there was much left unsaid.
After a bit of whooping cough relapse in which I coughed up a lung in my Pho this evening much to the concern of my dinner companion, I returned home and sat in front of the mirror. Well. First I engaged in a bit more Artist Pact work. Then I fucked around a bit in order to distract myself. Such distractions failed miserably. I cried for a while. And then I took a very long look at myself in a full length mirror. Naked. Because I have been feeling incredibly naked for the last few months as is probably apparent from my previous posts.
So I stood there. Sans clothing. I stood there in silence and allowed my thoughts to flow naturally. Permitting them to enter and exit as they would. I stood there for a long time. I made note of how pale my skin has become since moving to Seattle more than ten years ago. How my breasts aren't as perky as they were when I was twenty-three. I closely examined the cellulite on my upper thigh. I turned to view the scar behind my left shoulder and noticed how much it has faded since the day I received it. I glanced down at my butt -- not too bad. I looked very closely at my face. And noticed the way it has changed over the years. The deep lines in my forehead. Laugh lines that remain present even in my most serious moments. Scars that marked the change in once perfect skin. I examined the weak chin I inherited from my father and my mother's Hungarian nose that my very wise friend is so fond of.
I stood there for a very long time. And then it got fucking cold. So I turned on the super high powered space heater that resides on the floor in the corner and resumed my examination. And it wasn't so bad.
For the first time in a long time I permitted myself to be with myself without distraction. I am not perfect. And I don't think that I want to be.
It has been a long and difficult journey finding this place. And I felt saddened for the little grrrl who still exists somewhere in the maze of my mind. That little insecure grrrl who never heard a kind word from anyone. The little grrrl who had to be so tough all of the time. The little grrrl who thought she was ugly and unlovable. And I realized in this moment that I am worth more. We all are worth so much more than we permit ourselves to accept. We we continuously permit ourselves to accept less. Less in our personal lives. Less in our professional lives. Less in everything.
I can not help but wonder if we are afraid to be successful. Successful in our personal lives. Successful in our professional lives. Successful in everything. I wonder what the world would look like if we were able to see and acknowledge our own beauty. What would things look like if we took a moment to witness and acknowledge the beauty in others. How would the world be different if we gave ourselves permission not to accept less and embrace success without fear.
Someone...let me know.
Addendum to Post: I find it quite interesting how the spell check program associated with this site does not recognize the words cellulite and unlovable. Perhaps we should not recognize them either.
Those that know me know that one thing about me is constant. I talk a great deal of shit. And I do not think that this is necessarily a bad thing. But sometimes I am much better at taking care of other people or giving of myself than I am at giving to myself and doing what I need to do for me. In saying this I don't mean to imply that I am some sort of Mother Fucking Teresa. Clearly I am not. But I have this tendency to put the needs of others before my own. Because despite my tough grrrl exterior I love human beans fully and completely. And this occasionally gets me into troublesome situations that I take full and complete responsibility for regardless of circumstance.
I am not good at expressing my feelings in an honest manner. I will rarely admit that I have needs let alone tell another person what they might be. I am trying to correct this but it has been a long and difficult road. There have been many instances -- some quite recent -- in which I felt that there was much left unsaid.
After a bit of whooping cough relapse in which I coughed up a lung in my Pho this evening much to the concern of my dinner companion, I returned home and sat in front of the mirror. Well. First I engaged in a bit more Artist Pact work. Then I fucked around a bit in order to distract myself. Such distractions failed miserably. I cried for a while. And then I took a very long look at myself in a full length mirror. Naked. Because I have been feeling incredibly naked for the last few months as is probably apparent from my previous posts.
So I stood there. Sans clothing. I stood there in silence and allowed my thoughts to flow naturally. Permitting them to enter and exit as they would. I stood there for a long time. I made note of how pale my skin has become since moving to Seattle more than ten years ago. How my breasts aren't as perky as they were when I was twenty-three. I closely examined the cellulite on my upper thigh. I turned to view the scar behind my left shoulder and noticed how much it has faded since the day I received it. I glanced down at my butt -- not too bad. I looked very closely at my face. And noticed the way it has changed over the years. The deep lines in my forehead. Laugh lines that remain present even in my most serious moments. Scars that marked the change in once perfect skin. I examined the weak chin I inherited from my father and my mother's Hungarian nose that my very wise friend is so fond of.
I stood there for a very long time. And then it got fucking cold. So I turned on the super high powered space heater that resides on the floor in the corner and resumed my examination. And it wasn't so bad.
For the first time in a long time I permitted myself to be with myself without distraction. I am not perfect. And I don't think that I want to be.
It has been a long and difficult journey finding this place. And I felt saddened for the little grrrl who still exists somewhere in the maze of my mind. That little insecure grrrl who never heard a kind word from anyone. The little grrrl who had to be so tough all of the time. The little grrrl who thought she was ugly and unlovable. And I realized in this moment that I am worth more. We all are worth so much more than we permit ourselves to accept. We we continuously permit ourselves to accept less. Less in our personal lives. Less in our professional lives. Less in everything.
I can not help but wonder if we are afraid to be successful. Successful in our personal lives. Successful in our professional lives. Successful in everything. I wonder what the world would look like if we were able to see and acknowledge our own beauty. What would things look like if we took a moment to witness and acknowledge the beauty in others. How would the world be different if we gave ourselves permission not to accept less and embrace success without fear.
Someone...let me know.
Addendum to Post: I find it quite interesting how the spell check program associated with this site does not recognize the words cellulite and unlovable. Perhaps we should not recognize them either.
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