Believe it or not, kiddies, I'm taking some real vacation time.
For the last two years, all my vacation leave has been used for funerals. First, when my father died and then the next year, my nephew died.
I've never actually taken vacation for some real R & R...until now.
So...I'll be quiet for the next few days and then when I'm back to work, I'll be SUPER busy moving computers until next week.
But I'll check on you kids, to make sure you're staying out of trouble.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
Gurlz R Dum
I admit it. Sometimes, females aren't the brightest human beings.
I think it's because we're mostly ruled by our emotions.
Now, I'm pretty level-headed, I think. I tend to have relationships like men do. I can make myself NOT get emotionally involved in someone if I feel like it's not going to end well.
However, when I do get my heart involved it's IN there for the long haul.
There are only two exboyfriends that I am NOT in regular contact with.
The rest of them are my good friends.
I don't know why this is. I don't believe I seek them out. Shit, most of the time I'm so pissed off at them that I would be happy to never speak to them again but it seems that each of them find it important to keep me in their lives. Maybe my shit is just that good, I don't know.
After a period of time, when the anger or hurt feelings subside, I enjoy having them as friends.
I like to know that they are doing well and what changes are going on in their lives.
Once I love someone, I feel connected with them for the rest of my life.
Having said all that, the most recent ex and I had a HUGE falling out a few months ago and I felt like being friends with him was actually hurting me more than never speaking to him again.
So, I gave him the ol' heavy ho via a very damaging email and it's been silent for 3 months or more.
Then, the other night I had a dream. I dreamt he died.
It was so real and so vivid that I was really upset even after I woke.
I thought about it all day. Why did I dream about him like this? Why can't I stop thinking about it?
Intellectually, I know that dreams don't predict the future but I coudn't stop thinking about him until I KNEW for a fact that he was still alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere.
I fought the urge, but I did it. I emailed the bastard.
I was friendly, yet, succinct. "You can tell me to fuck off but at least I'll know you're alive while doing it." was my last line.
He replied. I didn't get the "fuck off". Well, not in those words. I got one line: "Yes, I'm alive."
Which translates to: fuck off.
Trust me. Had I received an email like I sent him, I would be saying "fuck off" too.
I am not sure what I was expecting from him but I kind of wished I hadn't emailed him.
This is why being a girl sucks. We care. After everything that happens, we fucking care.
Idiots.
I think it's because we're mostly ruled by our emotions.
Now, I'm pretty level-headed, I think. I tend to have relationships like men do. I can make myself NOT get emotionally involved in someone if I feel like it's not going to end well.
However, when I do get my heart involved it's IN there for the long haul.
There are only two exboyfriends that I am NOT in regular contact with.
The rest of them are my good friends.
I don't know why this is. I don't believe I seek them out. Shit, most of the time I'm so pissed off at them that I would be happy to never speak to them again but it seems that each of them find it important to keep me in their lives. Maybe my shit is just that good, I don't know.
After a period of time, when the anger or hurt feelings subside, I enjoy having them as friends.
I like to know that they are doing well and what changes are going on in their lives.
Once I love someone, I feel connected with them for the rest of my life.
Having said all that, the most recent ex and I had a HUGE falling out a few months ago and I felt like being friends with him was actually hurting me more than never speaking to him again.
So, I gave him the ol' heavy ho via a very damaging email and it's been silent for 3 months or more.
Then, the other night I had a dream. I dreamt he died.
It was so real and so vivid that I was really upset even after I woke.
I thought about it all day. Why did I dream about him like this? Why can't I stop thinking about it?
Intellectually, I know that dreams don't predict the future but I coudn't stop thinking about him until I KNEW for a fact that he was still alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere.
I fought the urge, but I did it. I emailed the bastard.
I was friendly, yet, succinct. "You can tell me to fuck off but at least I'll know you're alive while doing it." was my last line.
He replied. I didn't get the "fuck off". Well, not in those words. I got one line: "Yes, I'm alive."
Which translates to: fuck off.
Trust me. Had I received an email like I sent him, I would be saying "fuck off" too.
I am not sure what I was expecting from him but I kind of wished I hadn't emailed him.
This is why being a girl sucks. We care. After everything that happens, we fucking care.
Idiots.
Leather & Skank
It's just like Skankerella. I don't hear from her in a while and she sends me an email like THIS.
Keep the kids out of this one, my friends.
Dear De,
Have you ever felt like being naughty? No...I don't just mean naughty, I mean naughty.
Sure you do...I think we all do.
When I am feeling particularly dirty, I call my friend Dufflebags. He earned the nickname because he brings two large duffle bags with him when we "visit".
Dufflebags, or Duff, is a very VERY straight-laced professional business man.
He's 100% uppercrust suburbia.
That is until he empties those duffle bags.
Inside those bags is a secret life filled with debased sexual activity and debauchery.
Duff removes his monogrammed dress shirt, silk tie and all morality when the contents of those bags are revealed.
Every tool known to sexual man are inside. He systematically arranges everything on the table in order of use.
Wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, rope, blindfolds, nipple clamps, lube, various anal plugs and dildos (of the vibrating and non-vibrating variety), crops, floggers, leather straps and paddles sit in neat rows, awaiting his pleasure (or mine). Sometimes he uses only a few, sometimes he uses them all at once. It's a surprise every time.
Duff is a top. He is in control and he controls the pleasure and pain he doles out.
He had a new toy the last time we met. It was a 12 inch leather slapper.
It had quite a sting and after several minutes, I didn't like it anymore and I started to actually dislike Duff a little.
Later, after playtime was over. He decided to let me top him for a few minutes. Just to see what it was like.
Oh, my dear, the devil took me over at that moment.
I blindfolded Duff, cuffed his wrists and fastened them together, flipped him over, grabbed that leather slapper and I whaled on his ass until he whimpered for me to stop.
It felt good. I felt powerful and vindicated. I was also VERY turned on.
Don't misunderstand me, dear De, I love being topped by a man as unscrupulous and depraved as my lovely Duff but give me an inch and I'll take a mile.
In this case, I took a mile of leather and left it on his ass.
Kisses,
S
Keep the kids out of this one, my friends.
Dear De,
Have you ever felt like being naughty? No...I don't just mean naughty, I mean naughty.
Sure you do...I think we all do.
When I am feeling particularly dirty, I call my friend Dufflebags. He earned the nickname because he brings two large duffle bags with him when we "visit".
Dufflebags, or Duff, is a very VERY straight-laced professional business man.
He's 100% uppercrust suburbia.
That is until he empties those duffle bags.
Inside those bags is a secret life filled with debased sexual activity and debauchery.
Duff removes his monogrammed dress shirt, silk tie and all morality when the contents of those bags are revealed.
Every tool known to sexual man are inside. He systematically arranges everything on the table in order of use.
Wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, rope, blindfolds, nipple clamps, lube, various anal plugs and dildos (of the vibrating and non-vibrating variety), crops, floggers, leather straps and paddles sit in neat rows, awaiting his pleasure (or mine). Sometimes he uses only a few, sometimes he uses them all at once. It's a surprise every time.
Duff is a top. He is in control and he controls the pleasure and pain he doles out.
He had a new toy the last time we met. It was a 12 inch leather slapper.
It had quite a sting and after several minutes, I didn't like it anymore and I started to actually dislike Duff a little.
Later, after playtime was over. He decided to let me top him for a few minutes. Just to see what it was like.
Oh, my dear, the devil took me over at that moment.
I blindfolded Duff, cuffed his wrists and fastened them together, flipped him over, grabbed that leather slapper and I whaled on his ass until he whimpered for me to stop.
It felt good. I felt powerful and vindicated. I was also VERY turned on.
Don't misunderstand me, dear De, I love being topped by a man as unscrupulous and depraved as my lovely Duff but give me an inch and I'll take a mile.
In this case, I took a mile of leather and left it on his ass.
Kisses,
S
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Andrea Yates
Today, Andrea Yates was found not guilty in the drowning deaths of her 5 children.
When you say that this woman killed her 5 small children without knowing the facts, she sounds like a monster.
Instead, she was a very very sick woman.
The person who should have been on trial was that husband of hers who kept her locked up in that house with the 5 kids forcing her to give birth time and time again against doctors' wishes.
Everyone knew something was wrong with her. Witnesses testified that she would sit around in a catatonic state or pick at her scalp until she had huge sores.
This is clearly a psychotic individual yet she was popping out kids, left and right.
I don't expect a woman who systematically drowned her five children to be let go and walk the streets but a guilty verdict would have been VERY wrong.
She doesn't need to be in a maximum security prison, she needs help.
The problem is...it's too little too late.
When you say that this woman killed her 5 small children without knowing the facts, she sounds like a monster.
Instead, she was a very very sick woman.
The person who should have been on trial was that husband of hers who kept her locked up in that house with the 5 kids forcing her to give birth time and time again against doctors' wishes.
Everyone knew something was wrong with her. Witnesses testified that she would sit around in a catatonic state or pick at her scalp until she had huge sores.
This is clearly a psychotic individual yet she was popping out kids, left and right.
I don't expect a woman who systematically drowned her five children to be let go and walk the streets but a guilty verdict would have been VERY wrong.
She doesn't need to be in a maximum security prison, she needs help.
The problem is...it's too little too late.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Excuses, excuses
It was a slightly busy weekend and a very busy Monday.
I know tomorrow is going to be crazy but hopefully I'll have time to really put down a good blog post.
I also have a Skankerella email that I'm trying to decide if it's safe to post.
I think maybe I should think twice about those kind of things.
I've mentioned this several times but I hate that I started out this blog using my real first name.
Now, I don't know how to change things without losing the very generous people who read my blog regularly. I would also like to keep my archives.
Any ideas?
My best friend wrote me an email after reading this blog post. She thinks the tattoo on the wrist thing is a bad idea.
Of course, I'll never let her forget how she thinks I'm a trashy tattooed slut. (Kidding!)
Anyway, she's got a point. A tattoo like that is difficult to hide and even though it would be ok for me to have it where I am now, what if I needed to change jobs and they forbid things like that?
I mean, I AM a freaking librarian!
I still want another tattoo.....but I might have to pick another location.
For those of you who wanted to see my existing tattoos: I have pics...email me.
For those of you hoping the pics are nude: You wish.
I know tomorrow is going to be crazy but hopefully I'll have time to really put down a good blog post.
I also have a Skankerella email that I'm trying to decide if it's safe to post.
I think maybe I should think twice about those kind of things.
I've mentioned this several times but I hate that I started out this blog using my real first name.
Now, I don't know how to change things without losing the very generous people who read my blog regularly. I would also like to keep my archives.
Any ideas?
My best friend wrote me an email after reading this blog post. She thinks the tattoo on the wrist thing is a bad idea.
Of course, I'll never let her forget how she thinks I'm a trashy tattooed slut. (Kidding!)
Anyway, she's got a point. A tattoo like that is difficult to hide and even though it would be ok for me to have it where I am now, what if I needed to change jobs and they forbid things like that?
I mean, I AM a freaking librarian!
I still want another tattoo.....but I might have to pick another location.
For those of you who wanted to see my existing tattoos: I have pics...email me.
For those of you hoping the pics are nude: You wish.
Friday, July 21, 2006
For the Benjamins
I think I have the weirdest job sometimes.
Today, this guy calls and needs information.
I know who the guy is. He's a head injury patient and the only thing he can do is play video games. He's obssessive about them.
I guess a while back someone told him he can find cheats for his video games online but he doesn't have a computer so he came here to look this stuff up.
The problem is that now, after his accident, he can't remember how to operate a computer.
I tried to show him but he became very upset and angry with himself. So, after a few days of this, I finally just found the information for him myself and printed it out.
Now, I'm his video game go-to gal.
He called today because he can't get a ride and wanted to know how to beat this particular game.
Shit, I don't know anything about video games and wasn't sure what he was looking for but I found him some information and started reading it over the phone.
I suddenly suddenly realized how this must sound to the people in the building:
Me: You should by now have the dynamite bow, equip this and as he runs over some kind of circles in the ground fire at them. They will blow up and injure him, if you run out of ammo use dynamite sticks to throw at them.
Don't shoot him, shoot the bluish circles because it will create a massive fire and blow him up.
If he starts throwing dynamite sticks at you, shoot the sticks, not him.
He was excited. This helped him tremendously and he thanked me repeatedly.
I hung up, wondering how many people get paid to teach others how to kill?
Ok...how many people who AREN'T Islamic extremist get paid to teach others how to kill?
Today, this guy calls and needs information.
I know who the guy is. He's a head injury patient and the only thing he can do is play video games. He's obssessive about them.
I guess a while back someone told him he can find cheats for his video games online but he doesn't have a computer so he came here to look this stuff up.
The problem is that now, after his accident, he can't remember how to operate a computer.
I tried to show him but he became very upset and angry with himself. So, after a few days of this, I finally just found the information for him myself and printed it out.
Now, I'm his video game go-to gal.
He called today because he can't get a ride and wanted to know how to beat this particular game.
Shit, I don't know anything about video games and wasn't sure what he was looking for but I found him some information and started reading it over the phone.
I suddenly suddenly realized how this must sound to the people in the building:
Me: You should by now have the dynamite bow, equip this and as he runs over some kind of circles in the ground fire at them. They will blow up and injure him, if you run out of ammo use dynamite sticks to throw at them.
Don't shoot him, shoot the bluish circles because it will create a massive fire and blow him up.
If he starts throwing dynamite sticks at you, shoot the sticks, not him.
He was excited. This helped him tremendously and he thanked me repeatedly.
I hung up, wondering how many people get paid to teach others how to kill?
Ok...how many people who AREN'T Islamic extremist get paid to teach others how to kill?
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Stupanity
aka Stupid Humanity. (word stolen from Hugo)
I drive by this apartment complex everyday. Last night, I noticed fire trucks, police cars, news vans and several unmarked vans lined up on the street in front of the buildings. I saw a fire truck with it's hose uncoiled in the middle of the parking lot and I thought "fire" but that sure was a lot of emergency vehicles for an apartment fire.
Even the thought of an apartment fire gives me chills because that is my biggest fear of living in an apartment.
I find out a little while later that it wasn't really a fire...it was an explosion.
Alledgedly, two fucktards were inside either building a bomb or playing with explosive materials and screwed up.
They destroyed their apartment and others near them.
See? This pisses me off.
When I see on the news about fires, explosions, murders, burglaries in apartment complexes, I know it could happen in mine. It doesn't matter what kind of neighborhood you live in, when you're in an apartment, you're mixing with various fucktardery.
Some fucking idiot is going to make a bomb, let their kids play with matches, smoke in bed, forget a candle burning or set his kitchen on fire while making ramen noodles.
This doesn't just affect the idiot, it affects everyone around said idiot.
I'm not all that afraid of losing my earthly possessions but I am afraid of my dogs and cat dying in my apartment while I'm at work.
I don't know if I could go on knowing my dogs died, trapped in our apartment because of some fucking retard making a bomb out of gasoline and ignorance.
Update: Holy crap! They are going to explode the remaining chemicals IN THE APARTMENT.
Update II: They are going to detonate it live. You should click on that link! And we're having a thunderstorm as we speak, also. I don't know what's thunder and what's an explosion!
Great. The weather may be a factor. We're getting thunder, lightning and, of course, rain.
Ok...bomb squad is putting on their gear. It could happen soon.
The reporters say the fire alarm will go off, then they will explode the chemicals.
They've put dump trucks in front of the apartment to act as a shield but this could destroy many apartments.
Craziness!
Ok...so far some of it was detonated but it was like a few wisps of smoke. How anti-climatic.
They evacuated HUNDREDS of people and shut down a major expressway for two wisps of smoke.
Well....I'm glad no ones apartment was destroyed but what a let down...I was waiting for a major explosion...shit flying all over the place...total destruction.
We got two plumes of smoke.
Whatev.
Ok...there is LOTS of smoke...news breaking through again. A fire has resulted from the explosion.
It's contained in the one apartment though and there are fire trucks everywhere...no big deal, I guess.
Ok...done with live blogging now.
I drive by this apartment complex everyday. Last night, I noticed fire trucks, police cars, news vans and several unmarked vans lined up on the street in front of the buildings. I saw a fire truck with it's hose uncoiled in the middle of the parking lot and I thought "fire" but that sure was a lot of emergency vehicles for an apartment fire.
Even the thought of an apartment fire gives me chills because that is my biggest fear of living in an apartment.
I find out a little while later that it wasn't really a fire...it was an explosion.
The explosion happened at the Lakeview Apartments around 3pm Wednesday. Two men were inside an apartment unit. One man was killed and the other suffered flash burns. Nearby buildings were evacuated at the time.
Alledgedly, two fucktards were inside either building a bomb or playing with explosive materials and screwed up.
They destroyed their apartment and others near them.
See? This pisses me off.
When I see on the news about fires, explosions, murders, burglaries in apartment complexes, I know it could happen in mine. It doesn't matter what kind of neighborhood you live in, when you're in an apartment, you're mixing with various fucktardery.
Some fucking idiot is going to make a bomb, let their kids play with matches, smoke in bed, forget a candle burning or set his kitchen on fire while making ramen noodles.
This doesn't just affect the idiot, it affects everyone around said idiot.
I'm not all that afraid of losing my earthly possessions but I am afraid of my dogs and cat dying in my apartment while I'm at work.
I don't know if I could go on knowing my dogs died, trapped in our apartment because of some fucking retard making a bomb out of gasoline and ignorance.
Update: Holy crap! They are going to explode the remaining chemicals IN THE APARTMENT.
Update II: They are going to detonate it live. You should click on that link! And we're having a thunderstorm as we speak, also. I don't know what's thunder and what's an explosion!
Great. The weather may be a factor. We're getting thunder, lightning and, of course, rain.
Ok...bomb squad is putting on their gear. It could happen soon.
The reporters say the fire alarm will go off, then they will explode the chemicals.
They've put dump trucks in front of the apartment to act as a shield but this could destroy many apartments.
Craziness!
Ok...so far some of it was detonated but it was like a few wisps of smoke. How anti-climatic.
They evacuated HUNDREDS of people and shut down a major expressway for two wisps of smoke.
Well....I'm glad no ones apartment was destroyed but what a let down...I was waiting for a major explosion...shit flying all over the place...total destruction.
We got two plumes of smoke.
Whatev.
Ok...there is LOTS of smoke...news breaking through again. A fire has resulted from the explosion.
It's contained in the one apartment though and there are fire trucks everywhere...no big deal, I guess.
Ok...done with live blogging now.
Tattoo Intervention
I want another tattoo. Like, right now.
Tattoos are addictive. Anyone with one or two (or more) will tell you this.
I have never regretted any of mine. They are discreet, feminine, tasteful and they all mean something to me.
I have an idea for a tattoo but it's going to be intricate and expensive. I want JUST the right artist for this one so I'll have to wait on that one. That's ok. I'm not in a hurry.
I've seen so many people with tattoos in the inside of their wrists and I love it.
That's where I want to get one, NOW.
Some people think it's trashy to get a tattoo so close to the hand like that.
However, I like the idea of being able to wear a cuff bracelet to cover it up.
I'm not the tattoo-looking sort of girl. I can dress so every tattoo is covered and if I told a person who just met me that I have 5 tattoos, I'd have to show it to them to proof it. They usually don't believe me.
I don't know why I love tattoos. I waited until I was 26 to get my first one. I didn't really even plan it, but I knew in the back of my mind that I would get a tattoo at some point.
I always thought I was too fat so I told myself if I lost weight and became skinny, I'd get a tattoo as a reward. Well...I'd die waiting, so one day when I was entertaining friends from out of state, we decided to go into a tattoo shop on The Strand in Galveston and I made the decision then and there to get my first tatt.
Now, five tattoos later, I am not done.
I like being able to express who I am through the tattoos. A few represent what was going on in my life at the time so it's almost like a little timeline on my body.
Anyway...I'm trying to talk myself out of a wrist tattoo. I think it's cute on other people, I just don't know how I'll like it on myself.
I hate to say this, as a 34 year old, independent woman but another deciding factor is my mother.
She absolutely HATES tattoos and each time I've gotten one, I've had to endure the lectures and the disapproving glares.
I was raised to respect my elders, especially my parents so I listen, nod, tell her this is the last one and just do whatever the hell I want.
The wrist tattoo will be hard to ignore for her. I, also, think she's a little ashamed of me with all my tattoos.
She always asks for her birthday and mothers day for us to attend church with her. I am the only one who has a dress code.
I have to wear long pants and my hair down. She doesn't want me showing my tattoos in church.
I'm not that much of an angry rebel to wear a skirt or capris and my hair up to openly defy her.
I just laugh and follow her orders. It's HER birthday after all.
But...it bothers me to think she's ashamed of me. It's not her fault. It's just the generation she grew up in. Only biker sluts and trashy whores had tattoos back in her day. She knows that the attitudes toward people with bodyart has changed, it's just hard for her to accept it on her own child. She also truly believes that I'm making a huge mistake and will regret it when I get older.
I continuously tell her that these are not decisions I've made as a young person. I have waited long enough to make a commitment that I know I can live with. But she still sees me as a little girl sometimes.
I feel like if she starts to yell or lecture me on this next tattoo, I might have to get a little harsh.
It's my life, my body and my decision to make.
She'll get mad at me, but she'll get over it.
Now...the next question is...what kind of design will I get?
PS: Maybe I should sell space on my body for commercial tattoos. A company or individual can purchase space for a logo or an advertisement. Shit. I could probably fit a billboard on my ass!
Hmm...great idea. I think I like it!
Tattoos are addictive. Anyone with one or two (or more) will tell you this.
I have never regretted any of mine. They are discreet, feminine, tasteful and they all mean something to me.
I have an idea for a tattoo but it's going to be intricate and expensive. I want JUST the right artist for this one so I'll have to wait on that one. That's ok. I'm not in a hurry.
I've seen so many people with tattoos in the inside of their wrists and I love it.
That's where I want to get one, NOW.
Some people think it's trashy to get a tattoo so close to the hand like that.
However, I like the idea of being able to wear a cuff bracelet to cover it up.
I'm not the tattoo-looking sort of girl. I can dress so every tattoo is covered and if I told a person who just met me that I have 5 tattoos, I'd have to show it to them to proof it. They usually don't believe me.
I don't know why I love tattoos. I waited until I was 26 to get my first one. I didn't really even plan it, but I knew in the back of my mind that I would get a tattoo at some point.
I always thought I was too fat so I told myself if I lost weight and became skinny, I'd get a tattoo as a reward. Well...I'd die waiting, so one day when I was entertaining friends from out of state, we decided to go into a tattoo shop on The Strand in Galveston and I made the decision then and there to get my first tatt.
Now, five tattoos later, I am not done.
I like being able to express who I am through the tattoos. A few represent what was going on in my life at the time so it's almost like a little timeline on my body.
Anyway...I'm trying to talk myself out of a wrist tattoo. I think it's cute on other people, I just don't know how I'll like it on myself.
I hate to say this, as a 34 year old, independent woman but another deciding factor is my mother.
She absolutely HATES tattoos and each time I've gotten one, I've had to endure the lectures and the disapproving glares.
I was raised to respect my elders, especially my parents so I listen, nod, tell her this is the last one and just do whatever the hell I want.
The wrist tattoo will be hard to ignore for her. I, also, think she's a little ashamed of me with all my tattoos.
She always asks for her birthday and mothers day for us to attend church with her. I am the only one who has a dress code.
I have to wear long pants and my hair down. She doesn't want me showing my tattoos in church.
I'm not that much of an angry rebel to wear a skirt or capris and my hair up to openly defy her.
I just laugh and follow her orders. It's HER birthday after all.
But...it bothers me to think she's ashamed of me. It's not her fault. It's just the generation she grew up in. Only biker sluts and trashy whores had tattoos back in her day. She knows that the attitudes toward people with bodyart has changed, it's just hard for her to accept it on her own child. She also truly believes that I'm making a huge mistake and will regret it when I get older.
I continuously tell her that these are not decisions I've made as a young person. I have waited long enough to make a commitment that I know I can live with. But she still sees me as a little girl sometimes.
I feel like if she starts to yell or lecture me on this next tattoo, I might have to get a little harsh.
It's my life, my body and my decision to make.
She'll get mad at me, but she'll get over it.
Now...the next question is...what kind of design will I get?
PS: Maybe I should sell space on my body for commercial tattoos. A company or individual can purchase space for a logo or an advertisement. Shit. I could probably fit a billboard on my ass!
Hmm...great idea. I think I like it!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Short Attention Span Blogging
- I called in sick yesterday. Had shitloads of stuff to catch up on today. MuNu was down for a while so I didn't get to post what I had in mind earlier. Now I've lost it.
- Today would have been my father's 61st birthday. 61 is not old yet he's been dead 2 yrs.
- I think someone in town is reading my blog. Like...reading it a LOT. They often visit just minutes after I do and sometimes read it for hours. Who dat?
- I'm a little concerned for myself. Last night I had a very vivid and upsetting dream. I dreamt that Regis Philbin died. In my dream, I was so distraught and I cried so hard. Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy Live with Regis and Kelly. I watch it every morning while I'm getting ready for work but I'm not some crazed Regis fan. Sure, I'd be sad if he died but in my dream, I was devastated. I wasn't sure if I could go on without my Reege. Maybe I need to be medicated.
- Go read some blogs better than mine:
If I can't spend the rest of my life with a man just like Skippy, then I'll spend the rest of my life alone.
My guilty pleasure: Pink is the New Blog
Kevin Smith's blog...a great find!
The blogosphere rejoices, Dog Snot Diaries is back!
That is all.
Update: Skippy has figured it out. This is why I'm dreaming of Regis. It's all very subliminal and Freudian. LOVE IT.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Cookie Monster Isn't Really a Monster
Sheila wrote a great post about famous faces that she loves.
A lot of beautiful/handsome people made the list. A lot of people who wouldn't be considered conventionally pretty or handsome also made the list.
Dave Grohl, my favorite face too, made the list.
A surprising face on Sheila's list is Cookie Monster from Sesame Street.
Memories came flooding back to me when I saw that picture.
I had forgotten about this until I read Sheila's post....
My parents had a volatile marriage. My father was not a good husband for the first several years and he had a really bad temper.
Mom and Dad fought...a LOT.
When I was 6 or 7, they decided to separate. The problem was that we were in Mississippi at the time. My parents, for some God-forsaken reason, had decided to uproot the family and leave Texas. We got to Mississippi and within a year they're separated.
So, my dad moves back to Texas, leaving us in this poor, POOR state. I mean that literally and figuratively.
Before he left, he bought me a present. Apparently, when you abandon your child, it hurts less when you give her gifts.
The gift was a stuffed Cookie Monster doll. He had shaggy blue fur and big plastic googly eyes that rattled when you shook him.
I don't really remember much about what our home life was like at that time. Kids are pretty self-involved or else they tend to block out the unpleasant things but I guess I missed my dad when he was gone and because he gave me Cookie Monster, that became my link to him.
I would lay in bed at night and talk to Cookie Monster but I was really talking to my dad.
I told him about my day, what I had for dinner, what happened at school, etc.
He would just sit there, staring at me with those freaking crazy eyes and listen.
I must have cried on him because his fur was hard and matted together from being wet in a few spots.
Cookie Monster and I were inseparable during that time. I cried because I couldn't take him to school with me but he'd be waiting on my bed when I got home. He ate dinner with me and he even played outside with me.
I have no idea how long this separation lasted but Dad finally realized that he missed us and asked my mom to come back to Texas.
We did.
I suppose I didn't need Cookie Monster after that because I have no memory of him after we moved back.
That was the last time Mom and Dad ever separated...until he died in 2004.
I wonder where that damn Monster is today?
** edit note: in moving these posts I'm losing all the comments. Sometimes, the comments are the best part of the blog posts. I wanted to include a few that were posted on this one.
Sheila: You just made me cry and laugh at the same time.
//He would just sit there, staring at me with those freaking crazy eyes and listen.//
Oh shit. You KNOW that he would NEVER judge - because he is so damn WEIRD that he will accept anything!
Beautiful post, De. I'm all misty-eyed. I wish Jim Henson could read it.
Skippy Stalin: I really need Cookie Monster in my life. I'm constantly getting judged and it hurts me so. For example, if I go on a date and hear the phrase, "You want to out that where You have got to be kidding!" I'm just going to get up from the table, curl up in the corner of the restaraunt and weep for hours. 30 years of that shit is more than enough.
On a more serious note, beautiful post.
A lot of beautiful/handsome people made the list. A lot of people who wouldn't be considered conventionally pretty or handsome also made the list.
Dave Grohl, my favorite face too, made the list.
A surprising face on Sheila's list is Cookie Monster from Sesame Street.
Memories came flooding back to me when I saw that picture.
I had forgotten about this until I read Sheila's post....
My parents had a volatile marriage. My father was not a good husband for the first several years and he had a really bad temper.
Mom and Dad fought...a LOT.
When I was 6 or 7, they decided to separate. The problem was that we were in Mississippi at the time. My parents, for some God-forsaken reason, had decided to uproot the family and leave Texas. We got to Mississippi and within a year they're separated.
So, my dad moves back to Texas, leaving us in this poor, POOR state. I mean that literally and figuratively.
Before he left, he bought me a present. Apparently, when you abandon your child, it hurts less when you give her gifts.
The gift was a stuffed Cookie Monster doll. He had shaggy blue fur and big plastic googly eyes that rattled when you shook him.
I don't really remember much about what our home life was like at that time. Kids are pretty self-involved or else they tend to block out the unpleasant things but I guess I missed my dad when he was gone and because he gave me Cookie Monster, that became my link to him.
I would lay in bed at night and talk to Cookie Monster but I was really talking to my dad.
I told him about my day, what I had for dinner, what happened at school, etc.
He would just sit there, staring at me with those freaking crazy eyes and listen.
I must have cried on him because his fur was hard and matted together from being wet in a few spots.
Cookie Monster and I were inseparable during that time. I cried because I couldn't take him to school with me but he'd be waiting on my bed when I got home. He ate dinner with me and he even played outside with me.
I have no idea how long this separation lasted but Dad finally realized that he missed us and asked my mom to come back to Texas.
We did.
I suppose I didn't need Cookie Monster after that because I have no memory of him after we moved back.
That was the last time Mom and Dad ever separated...until he died in 2004.
I wonder where that damn Monster is today?
** edit note: in moving these posts I'm losing all the comments. Sometimes, the comments are the best part of the blog posts. I wanted to include a few that were posted on this one.
Sheila: You just made me cry and laugh at the same time.
//He would just sit there, staring at me with those freaking crazy eyes and listen.//
Oh shit. You KNOW that he would NEVER judge - because he is so damn WEIRD that he will accept anything!
Beautiful post, De. I'm all misty-eyed. I wish Jim Henson could read it.
Skippy Stalin: I really need Cookie Monster in my life. I'm constantly getting judged and it hurts me so. For example, if I go on a date and hear the phrase, "You want to out that where You have got to be kidding!" I'm just going to get up from the table, curl up in the corner of the restaraunt and weep for hours. 30 years of that shit is more than enough.
On a more serious note, beautiful post.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Untitled (I couldn't think of anything)
Just to be clear, I am not starting out this post to bash men although by the time I'm done, I might be using a sledgehammer.
I think I'm bored with men. I have yet to meet (in person) a man who I think might be worth it....and by "it" I mean sex and by "sex" I mean all the games.
I enjoy sex probably more than the average girl but I'm multi-dimensional; I am a complex human being with varied interests, dreams and goals.
Men have one goal: Sex.
They will play your game, tell you what you want to hear, pretend to listen to you when you speak and share your interests to get....sex.
Underneath that drive for sex, I see nothing in the men I've known in the last few years. They are BORING.
I find women interesting. I'm not sure I find them all attractive or feel that sexual pull towards them but I can carry on a conversation (again: in person) with another woman about anything and truly feel like we both appreciate what the other has to say.
When I'm talking to a man, I think he misses every other word because I imagine his inner dialogue goes something like this:
"Ok, make eye contact. Good...don't look at her boobs til she looks away.
Now, nod, make appropriate sounds like you're listening.
I wonder if she swallows. She looks like a swallower.
God I hate spitters.
I bet she likes it from behind. I remember that chick...what was her name...Jenny? No. Janet? No....oh! Allie! Yeah...Allie liked anal.
Wonder what she's doing these days...."
It's all so cliche, yet, every guy friend I have will tell you that it's true. That's pretty much what's going on.
Everything a guy does is for that forward momentum towards sex.
How very tiresome.
But don't despair, skippy, my love and Adam, my pedo-crush, this isn't my coming out post either.
I do find certain women attractive...Janine , my girl crush, for example ...but in all reality, I'd have a difficult time being intimate with another woman.
Most women are competitive with other women. I would feel insecure being with someone as beautiful as Janine. I would want a woman who was attractive, but not too attractive. I wouldn't want her to be uglier than me, but also not TOO much prettier.
I wouldn't want her to be fatter than me but not too skinny.
I just realized that I'd be more attracted to a woman who looked a lot like me.
So does this mean I just want to have sex with myself?
Oh this is too weird and Freudian.
I guess I'll stick with men.
I think I'm bored with men. I have yet to meet (in person) a man who I think might be worth it....and by "it" I mean sex and by "sex" I mean all the games.
I enjoy sex probably more than the average girl but I'm multi-dimensional; I am a complex human being with varied interests, dreams and goals.
Men have one goal: Sex.
They will play your game, tell you what you want to hear, pretend to listen to you when you speak and share your interests to get....sex.
Underneath that drive for sex, I see nothing in the men I've known in the last few years. They are BORING.
I find women interesting. I'm not sure I find them all attractive or feel that sexual pull towards them but I can carry on a conversation (again: in person) with another woman about anything and truly feel like we both appreciate what the other has to say.
When I'm talking to a man, I think he misses every other word because I imagine his inner dialogue goes something like this:
"Ok, make eye contact. Good...don't look at her boobs til she looks away.
Now, nod, make appropriate sounds like you're listening.
I wonder if she swallows. She looks like a swallower.
God I hate spitters.
I bet she likes it from behind. I remember that chick...what was her name...Jenny? No. Janet? No....oh! Allie! Yeah...Allie liked anal.
Wonder what she's doing these days...."
It's all so cliche, yet, every guy friend I have will tell you that it's true. That's pretty much what's going on.
Everything a guy does is for that forward momentum towards sex.
How very tiresome.
But don't despair, skippy, my love and Adam, my pedo-crush, this isn't my coming out post either.
I do find certain women attractive...Janine , my girl crush, for example ...but in all reality, I'd have a difficult time being intimate with another woman.
Most women are competitive with other women. I would feel insecure being with someone as beautiful as Janine. I would want a woman who was attractive, but not too attractive. I wouldn't want her to be uglier than me, but also not TOO much prettier.
I wouldn't want her to be fatter than me but not too skinny.
I just realized that I'd be more attracted to a woman who looked a lot like me.
So does this mean I just want to have sex with myself?
Oh this is too weird and Freudian.
I guess I'll stick with men.
Insomniboob
I go through these cycles of insomnia.
I'll be sleeping fine for months and then it hits me......or rather...sleep doesn't hit me.
I'll go a week, two weeks...a month with barely a few hours sleep per night.
I'm not sure what causes it.
I then tend to feed the insomnia because I refuse to take something to help me sleep. I am not sure why, except that I'm always afraid of taking it too late or taking a little too much causing me to be groggy at work the next day. No sleep I can handle, groggy from meds, I cannot.
Another thing is that I LOVE to stay up late.
I HATE going to bed early. I love me some sleep but I'd rather do it between the hours of 2 or 3 am and noon.
I also blog a lot more when I'm exhausted. I can't explain that one.
So, last night.....I tossed and turned in bed for an hour, realized I wasn't going to sleep and flipped open the laptop.
I had read my book for a while before trying to sleep and just didn't feel like picking it up again so I opted for some online entertainment....and no, perverts, I'm not talking about porn!
I logged onto YM and who do I find wide awake? Well, none other than the Great Vampire Adam.
My lil Adam has decided to stay up all night and sleep all day (he thinks he's a rockstar, I guess).
But, don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him. He pretends to listen to my blabbing at 2am while wondering if I swallow.
I was especially random last night, however.
I woke up this morning thinking....did I really go on for a half hour straight about my addiction to Carmex and all the times I've freaked out because I didn't have any Carmex handy and how my band teacher warned me that I'd become addicted in highschool and even concluded my diatribe with a fucking LINK to the official Carmex website???
No wonder Adam keeps asking for pictures of my boobs. He's got to have some kind of incentive for putting up with this shit.
I'll be sleeping fine for months and then it hits me......or rather...sleep doesn't hit me.
I'll go a week, two weeks...a month with barely a few hours sleep per night.
I'm not sure what causes it.
I then tend to feed the insomnia because I refuse to take something to help me sleep. I am not sure why, except that I'm always afraid of taking it too late or taking a little too much causing me to be groggy at work the next day. No sleep I can handle, groggy from meds, I cannot.
Another thing is that I LOVE to stay up late.
I HATE going to bed early. I love me some sleep but I'd rather do it between the hours of 2 or 3 am and noon.
I also blog a lot more when I'm exhausted. I can't explain that one.
So, last night.....I tossed and turned in bed for an hour, realized I wasn't going to sleep and flipped open the laptop.
I had read my book for a while before trying to sleep and just didn't feel like picking it up again so I opted for some online entertainment....and no, perverts, I'm not talking about porn!
I logged onto YM and who do I find wide awake? Well, none other than the Great Vampire Adam.
My lil Adam has decided to stay up all night and sleep all day (he thinks he's a rockstar, I guess).
But, don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him. He pretends to listen to my blabbing at 2am while wondering if I swallow.
I was especially random last night, however.
I woke up this morning thinking....did I really go on for a half hour straight about my addiction to Carmex and all the times I've freaked out because I didn't have any Carmex handy and how my band teacher warned me that I'd become addicted in highschool and even concluded my diatribe with a fucking LINK to the official Carmex website???
No wonder Adam keeps asking for pictures of my boobs. He's got to have some kind of incentive for putting up with this shit.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Insomniblog
I can't sleep. A million thoughts float through my head while I lay in bed.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were goign to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were goign to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
Insomniblog
I can't sleep. A million thoughts float through my head while I lay in bed.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were goign to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were goign to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
Insomniblog
I can't sleep. A million thoughts float through my head while I lay in bed.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were goign to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were goign to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
Insomniblog
I can't sleep. A million thoughts float through my head while I lay in bed.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
After an hour of one thought branching off to another thought and another, I gave up.
Earlier this afternoon I was waiting for the World Cup final to begin so I was flipping through the channels. I found myself stopping on a movie that I didn't recognize but for some reason, I stayed there for a moment.
Gabriel Byrne and Tim Roth were in a bar and Byrne said something like, "If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now?"
Tim Roth didn't have an answer. We both just stared at Gabriel Byrne, exploring the thought.
At that moment, the statement was too huge and scary for me so I kept on punching buttons on the remote.
His sentence came back to me as I laid in bed, tossing and turning.
"If you were going to do something with your life, don't you think you would have done it by now....DE???" I felt like that was directed at me.
I keep thinking I have time. I tell myself that people have had kids in their 40s or written their first novel at 50 or traveled the world for the first time when they were 80. Right?
But deep down, I think I'm running out of precious time.
I have a million things I want to do but I don't know where to start and in all honesty, I have about a million other things tying me down.
No, I'm not married nor do I have children but I have so many responsibilities. I feel so burdened by things in my life that it's starting not to feel like my life at all.
Most of the burdens I can't even name because once I put a name to them, I feel like they might take over and smother me. If I make them real to the rest of the world, I might start resenting them more than I already do.
What if I wake up one morning and I'm old and still stuck in the same place?
What if I stood still while life raced by?
What if, while I was sitting here waiting for life to begin, it started without me?
Would I be one of those sad, bitter, pinched-faced bitches who yell at small children and have a bunch of cats, angry about missing out on the good things in life?
I'm torn between my need to do the right thing by my responsibilities and my fear that said responsibilities will take over my life until it is unrecognizable and impossible to retrieve or rebuild.
I don't say any of this to mean I am unhappy. I just worry about the future sometimes.
I'm afraid, mostly, of not having one.
Football
and by football, I mean soccer. Specifically, World Cup Soccer. But I want to call it football because that makes more sense.
Why did we name American football...football?
I mean...sure you kick it a few times but you spend more time with it in your hands than you do on your feet.
To the contrary, in soccer, one is rarely supposed to touch the ball with their hands so it makes perfect sense to call a ball you're only supposed to touch with your feet, football.
So, what could we call American football instead?
The ball itself is not really round like a normal ball. Can we call it Oblong?
"My favorite oblong team is the Dallas Cowboys. They are America's oblong team!"
I like it.
But I digress...
The World Cup final was exciting for the first 20 minutes. Then the next 70 minutes found me switching between the game and Dirty Dancing on WB. I have to admit...Patrick Swayze was unbelievably hot back then and Jennifer Grey's nose was hard to look at. She looks amazing now, yet can't seem to get work. What's up with that?
Oh right...World Cup.
After Dirty Dancing was over I turned my full attention to football. I wasn't sure who I wanted to win but I was leaning towards Italy because...well...they're not France.
But then France's captain, the newly announced retiree, fucking HEAD BUTTED an Italian while they weren't even in play. He just turned around after words were exchanged and slammed his own head into this guy's sternum.
He got red-carded and I gave Italy my support and they won!
Ok, so I cried like a bitch when they won. How could you not? I have never seen such unabashed joy in my life.
These guys just won sports greatest achievement (outside of the US) and their happiness is overwhelming.
They all kissed the trophy, they kissed each other (I see a bad case of herpes simplex in their future) and they cried tears of joy.
Brava, Italia! Sorry we don't give a shit here in the US.
Why did we name American football...football?
I mean...sure you kick it a few times but you spend more time with it in your hands than you do on your feet.
To the contrary, in soccer, one is rarely supposed to touch the ball with their hands so it makes perfect sense to call a ball you're only supposed to touch with your feet, football.
So, what could we call American football instead?
The ball itself is not really round like a normal ball. Can we call it Oblong?
"My favorite oblong team is the Dallas Cowboys. They are America's oblong team!"
I like it.
But I digress...
The World Cup final was exciting for the first 20 minutes. Then the next 70 minutes found me switching between the game and Dirty Dancing on WB. I have to admit...Patrick Swayze was unbelievably hot back then and Jennifer Grey's nose was hard to look at. She looks amazing now, yet can't seem to get work. What's up with that?
Oh right...World Cup.
After Dirty Dancing was over I turned my full attention to football. I wasn't sure who I wanted to win but I was leaning towards Italy because...well...they're not France.
But then France's captain, the newly announced retiree, fucking HEAD BUTTED an Italian while they weren't even in play. He just turned around after words were exchanged and slammed his own head into this guy's sternum.
He got red-carded and I gave Italy my support and they won!
Ok, so I cried like a bitch when they won. How could you not? I have never seen such unabashed joy in my life.
These guys just won sports greatest achievement (outside of the US) and their happiness is overwhelming.
They all kissed the trophy, they kissed each other (I see a bad case of herpes simplex in their future) and they cried tears of joy.
Brava, Italia! Sorry we don't give a shit here in the US.
Friday, July 7, 2006
Thanks a LOT Sheila!
Why, oh, why did you have to share that blog with me? Why did you feel the need to post a link to a blog that is so delicious that I felt it necessary to devour it in it's entirety while at work yesterday?
I got absolutely nothing done and my desk is a hot mess right now.
Thanks to YOU Sheila O'Malley, I'll be rushing around frantically trying to finish things before the weekend!!
What's that blog, you ask? It's Greenbriar Picture Shows.
Oh this blog feeds my love of all things from the 30s and 40s in Hollywood.
Some of my favorite posts:
Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable
Shirley Temple
Lana Turner
Olivia deHavilland
Jackie Coogan - AMAZING!
I could go on and on...
This is now one of my very favorite blogs!
Thanks Sheila!
I got absolutely nothing done and my desk is a hot mess right now.
Thanks to YOU Sheila O'Malley, I'll be rushing around frantically trying to finish things before the weekend!!
What's that blog, you ask? It's Greenbriar Picture Shows.
Oh this blog feeds my love of all things from the 30s and 40s in Hollywood.
Some of my favorite posts:
Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable
Shirley Temple
Lana Turner
Olivia deHavilland
Jackie Coogan - AMAZING!
I could go on and on...
This is now one of my very favorite blogs!
Thanks Sheila!
Damn You, Sheila!
Why, oh, why did you have to share that blog with me? Why did you feel the need to post a link to a blog that is so delicious that I felt it necessary to devour it in it's entirety while at work yesterday?
I got absolutely nothing done and my desk is a hot mess right now.
Thanks to YOU Sheila O'Malley, I'll be rushing around frantically trying to finish things before the weekend!!
What's that blog, you ask? It's Greenbriar Picture Shows.
Oh this blog feeds my love of all things from the 30s and 40s in Hollywood.
Some of my favorite posts:
Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable
Shirley Temple
Lana Turner
Olivia deHavilland
Jackie Coogan - AMAZING!
I could go on and on...
This is now one of my very favorite blogs!
Thanks Sheila!
I got absolutely nothing done and my desk is a hot mess right now.
Thanks to YOU Sheila O'Malley, I'll be rushing around frantically trying to finish things before the weekend!!
What's that blog, you ask? It's Greenbriar Picture Shows.
Oh this blog feeds my love of all things from the 30s and 40s in Hollywood.
Some of my favorite posts:
Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable
Shirley Temple
Lana Turner
Olivia deHavilland
Jackie Coogan - AMAZING!
I could go on and on...
This is now one of my very favorite blogs!
Thanks Sheila!
Thursday, July 6, 2006
And How Are You?
The 4th was ok. We celebrated at my mother's house. She lives very close to where the fireworks are most visible so everyone flocks to her house for a good spot.
What we didn't know was that my sister's ex-husband and his new wife and two kids (plus their nanny) were coming.
Man, those kids were BAD. What's worse is that they were bad and into everything with two parents and a freakin NANNY completely ignoring their behavior.
But we had good food and that usually cures what ails most people.
I made some of my famous gourmet burgers which after last year's grill fiasco, I flat-out refused to grill them myself and one of my brothers-in-law, wisely, volunteered to perform that task.
We watched the fireworks, got bitten by monster mosquitoes and then rushed out of there as if the house were on fire once the fireworks were over.
I got home to my apartment to find my a/c was on the fritz. It was blowing cool air, just not cold air.
I declared that it was fit to live in for the night and I slept with no covers and my ceiling fan on high.
I called maintenance first thing in the morning and I came home last night to a frigid apartment.
Apparently, the maintenance guy thought it was too hot in there too and put my thermostat on 20-below to even things out.
Speaking of last night...we acquired tickets to the Astros game. After lucking out and getting a free parking spot, we sat in our Club Level seats (which weren't in a great spot), drank a $4 bottle of water, ate a tiny $6.75 pizza and watched the Astros lose to the Cubs. The freakin Cubs...
I don't blame the Astros. It's my fault, really. I'm a ballpark jinx.
What we didn't know was that my sister's ex-husband and his new wife and two kids (plus their nanny) were coming.
Man, those kids were BAD. What's worse is that they were bad and into everything with two parents and a freakin NANNY completely ignoring their behavior.
But we had good food and that usually cures what ails most people.
I made some of my famous gourmet burgers which after last year's grill fiasco, I flat-out refused to grill them myself and one of my brothers-in-law, wisely, volunteered to perform that task.
We watched the fireworks, got bitten by monster mosquitoes and then rushed out of there as if the house were on fire once the fireworks were over.
I got home to my apartment to find my a/c was on the fritz. It was blowing cool air, just not cold air.
I declared that it was fit to live in for the night and I slept with no covers and my ceiling fan on high.
I called maintenance first thing in the morning and I came home last night to a frigid apartment.
Apparently, the maintenance guy thought it was too hot in there too and put my thermostat on 20-below to even things out.
Speaking of last night...we acquired tickets to the Astros game. After lucking out and getting a free parking spot, we sat in our Club Level seats (which weren't in a great spot), drank a $4 bottle of water, ate a tiny $6.75 pizza and watched the Astros lose to the Cubs. The freakin Cubs...
I don't blame the Astros. It's my fault, really. I'm a ballpark jinx.
And How Are You?
The 4th was ok. We celebrated at my mother's house. She lives very close to where the fireworks are most visible so everyone flocks to her house for a good spot.
What we didn't know was that my sister's ex-husband and his new wife and two kids (plus their nanny) were coming.
Man, those kids were BAD. What's worse is that they were bad and into everything with two parents and a freakin NANNY completely ignoring their behavior.
But we had good food and that usually cures what ails most people.
I made some of my famous gourmet burgers which after last year's grill fiasco, I flat-out refused to grill them myself and one of my brothers-in-law, wisely, volunteered to perform that task.
We watched the fireworks, got bitten by monster mosquitoes and then rushed out of there as if the house were on fire once the fireworks were over.
I got home to my apartment to find my a/c was on the fritz. It was blowing cool air, just not cold air.
I declared that it was fit to live in for the night and I slept with no covers and my ceiling fan on high.
I called maintenance first thing in the morning and I came home last night to a frigid apartment.
Apparently, the maintenance guy thought it was too hot in there too and put my thermostat on 20-below to even things out.
Speaking of last night...we acquired tickets to the Astros game. After lucking out and getting a free parking spot, we sat in our Club Level seats (which weren't in a great spot), drank a $4 bottle of water, ate a tiny $6.75 pizza and watched the Astros lose to the Cubs. The freakin Cubs...
I don't blame the Astros. It's my fault, really. I'm a ballpark jinx.
What we didn't know was that my sister's ex-husband and his new wife and two kids (plus their nanny) were coming.
Man, those kids were BAD. What's worse is that they were bad and into everything with two parents and a freakin NANNY completely ignoring their behavior.
But we had good food and that usually cures what ails most people.
I made some of my famous gourmet burgers which after last year's grill fiasco, I flat-out refused to grill them myself and one of my brothers-in-law, wisely, volunteered to perform that task.
We watched the fireworks, got bitten by monster mosquitoes and then rushed out of there as if the house were on fire once the fireworks were over.
I got home to my apartment to find my a/c was on the fritz. It was blowing cool air, just not cold air.
I declared that it was fit to live in for the night and I slept with no covers and my ceiling fan on high.
I called maintenance first thing in the morning and I came home last night to a frigid apartment.
Apparently, the maintenance guy thought it was too hot in there too and put my thermostat on 20-below to even things out.
Speaking of last night...we acquired tickets to the Astros game. After lucking out and getting a free parking spot, we sat in our Club Level seats (which weren't in a great spot), drank a $4 bottle of water, ate a tiny $6.75 pizza and watched the Astros lose to the Cubs. The freakin Cubs...
I don't blame the Astros. It's my fault, really. I'm a ballpark jinx.
Monday, July 3, 2006
Hope Floats?
A week or so ago, I was having a conversation with a friend about "hope". I can't remember exactly what I said about hope but he said it was very profound (maybe he can remind me, since he reads my blog). I was suddenly excited, though, because I remembered writing something in a random notebook about hope. It was a long rambling entry but I hadn't looked at it since I wrote it and thought it would be fun to get it out and go over it with him....except I couldn't find it.
I had several random notebooks sitting on my table and I didn't see it in any of them.
I was disappointed but we moved on in our conversation.
Saturday, I was out shopping and while at Garden Ridge Pottery, I decided I needed to use the ladies' room.
Now, this isn't a big deal usually but I RARELY use public restrooms..it's just a thing I have but I remembered that Garden Ridge had a nice public restroom with about 10 sturdy stalls and a whole wall of those automatic sinks.
I checked a few stalls and for various reasons, I vetoed them. I finally chose a clean looking stall and walked in, closing the door behind me.
I immediately noticed that someone had written something quite long (long for bathroom graffiti) on the wall. It was written in sharpie and I didn't notice the words "For a good time call..." or anything profane. It completely caught my attention.
The words on the wall had me stunned for several minutes. I just stood there, reading them over and over.
I dug in my purse for my pen and tiny trusty journal but....no pen.
How could I not have a pen?
I wondered what to do...do I ask another stallmate for a pen? Is that weird to ask to borrow a pen in the bathroom?
I wasn't brave enough to find out.
I grabbed my cell phone and left myself a voice memo.
Of course, talking to yourself into your phone while inside a bathroom stall is weirder than asking for a pen, I think...but anyway...
Just now I grabbed my phone to retrieve my voice memo to share with you and...it's gone....completely disappeared like it never existed.
I panicked for a moment but then realized that I remember every single word written on that wall. I didn't need my voice memo.
Here is what it said:
The last sentence had been scratched out.
Why had that anonymous writer given up hope? What compelled her to write about her lack of hope on a bathroom wall? Was she asking for help? Was she lamenting the loss of her hope?
The reason why I was so stunned by these words was because I knew it was the opposite of what I had written in my missing notebook about hope.
I left that bathroom with a goal. I was going to find that notebook.
I half-assed looked Saturday night but Sunday, I woke up with this incredible need to find it. I thought maybe I had left it in a bag at work so I hauled my ass to work on a Sunday and dug through my bag and my desk...no luck.
I came back home and went through my random notebooks on my table and realized it was there all along. I just didn't recognize what I had written.
I'm going to pretty much copy it here verbatim:
I'm not sure where my head was when I wrote this. I know where *I* was. I was at my nephew's grave.
When I feel overwhelmed by life...by my feelings, I go and sit at Rick's grave and I just let myself relax and FEEL.
I started taking my notebook with me because I would often feel compelled to write down the ideas I would get and the realizations that would hit me while sitting there "talking" to Rick.
When I wrote about my fear of hopelessness, I suddenly realized that it's hope that keeps us going.
We hope that tomorrow will be a better day. We hope that we meet someone and fall in love. We hope for a better job. We hope for understanding from those who don't.
For what other reason do we continue on through struggles and grief if not for hope?
When I read what that poor woman wrote on a bathroom wall, I realized she could be me. She's lost her hope.
Maybe I found it.
Other titles for this entry I considered:
Destiny in the Crapper
Life DEPENDS on Hope
I Hope I Make It
Bathroom Epeephany
I had several random notebooks sitting on my table and I didn't see it in any of them.
I was disappointed but we moved on in our conversation.
Saturday, I was out shopping and while at Garden Ridge Pottery, I decided I needed to use the ladies' room.
Now, this isn't a big deal usually but I RARELY use public restrooms..it's just a thing I have but I remembered that Garden Ridge had a nice public restroom with about 10 sturdy stalls and a whole wall of those automatic sinks.
I checked a few stalls and for various reasons, I vetoed them. I finally chose a clean looking stall and walked in, closing the door behind me.
I immediately noticed that someone had written something quite long (long for bathroom graffiti) on the wall. It was written in sharpie and I didn't notice the words "For a good time call..." or anything profane. It completely caught my attention.
The words on the wall had me stunned for several minutes. I just stood there, reading them over and over.
I dug in my purse for my pen and tiny trusty journal but....no pen.
How could I not have a pen?
I wondered what to do...do I ask another stallmate for a pen? Is that weird to ask to borrow a pen in the bathroom?
I wasn't brave enough to find out.
I grabbed my cell phone and left myself a voice memo.
Of course, talking to yourself into your phone while inside a bathroom stall is weirder than asking for a pen, I think...but anyway...
Just now I grabbed my phone to retrieve my voice memo to share with you and...it's gone....completely disappeared like it never existed.
I panicked for a moment but then realized that I remember every single word written on that wall. I didn't need my voice memo.
Here is what it said:
Hope is the only human emotion that will destroy your spirit. If you have hope in your heart, be prepared for disappointment and despair.....
The last sentence had been scratched out.
Why had that anonymous writer given up hope? What compelled her to write about her lack of hope on a bathroom wall? Was she asking for help? Was she lamenting the loss of her hope?
The reason why I was so stunned by these words was because I knew it was the opposite of what I had written in my missing notebook about hope.
I left that bathroom with a goal. I was going to find that notebook.
I half-assed looked Saturday night but Sunday, I woke up with this incredible need to find it. I thought maybe I had left it in a bag at work so I hauled my ass to work on a Sunday and dug through my bag and my desk...no luck.
I came back home and went through my random notebooks on my table and realized it was there all along. I just didn't recognize what I had written.
I'm going to pretty much copy it here verbatim:
I'm afraid of hopelessness. W/out hope you have nothing.
Life is centered around hope.
Hope drive us to live, to love and to have faith.
You must have hope to:
fall in love
get an education
strive for success
get out of bed every morning
be happy
have children
go to work
smile sincerely
move on after a death
forgive someone
forgive yourself
change
Hope Hope Hope Hope Hope Hope Hope
for a better life
for a future
for something more.....
for something
I'm not sure where my head was when I wrote this. I know where *I* was. I was at my nephew's grave.
When I feel overwhelmed by life...by my feelings, I go and sit at Rick's grave and I just let myself relax and FEEL.
I started taking my notebook with me because I would often feel compelled to write down the ideas I would get and the realizations that would hit me while sitting there "talking" to Rick.
When I wrote about my fear of hopelessness, I suddenly realized that it's hope that keeps us going.
We hope that tomorrow will be a better day. We hope that we meet someone and fall in love. We hope for a better job. We hope for understanding from those who don't.
For what other reason do we continue on through struggles and grief if not for hope?
When I read what that poor woman wrote on a bathroom wall, I realized she could be me. She's lost her hope.
Maybe I found it.
Other titles for this entry I considered:
Destiny in the Crapper
Life DEPENDS on Hope
I Hope I Make It
Bathroom Epeephany
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