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Archive for September, 2000

|| September 8, 2000 || 11:43 am || Comments (0) ||

Have you ever come across one of your own eyelashes in your mouth?? Quite an unpleasant sensation, I assure you. Trust me on this one.

On an entirely separate note, I must tell you that I like Dee’s place very much. This has nothing at all to do with the fact that she gushed over my place in a quite lovely, laconic way a few weeks ago. I just keep forgetting to throw her return props. I would invite her for a guest appearance, but she is far more prolific than I and I could hardly stand to have my bit of thunder muffled. Forgive me, Dee-love?

She is very forthcoming with the fact that she is shitty about returning e-mail….I think that mine may have been in her cyber back pocket and got washed. C’est la vie, c’est la guerre, say let’s have another beer!

|| September 7, 2000 || 11:54 am || Comments (0) ||

I am SOOO weak. Weak, I tell you!

I can imagine life without cyberalia, without television, without a 21-cubic-foot refrigerator (please don’t mistake that for the fact that I don’t need a frig…I could get by on 3 cubic feet.). I can envision myself not pining for a microwave or a down comforter (even though polyester is quite icky in my opinion). I could get by sans socks. Minus matching tableware. I cannot, however, imagine whiling away my time shackled to the earth without MOUNTAIN DEW (proudly manufactured and distributed by Pepsico).

I try to be good, folks. I tithe to various charities near and dear to mah heart, I go to the gym and WORK on my health on a daily basis, I eat mostly properly with a few minor indulgences here and there, I don’t beat my children, I read the instructions before assembling and I usually only verbally abuse those people who step into my path & don’t clear out quite quickly enough. See?? I try to be good. But oh, that MOUNTAIN DEW (proudly manufactured and distributed by Pepsico) has its’ shiny nuclear-green-colored claws in me and won’t allow me to shake loose.

My theory is and has been for some years that MOUNTAIN DEW (proudly manufactured and distributed by Pepsico) is liquid crack for Generation X. Once upon a time you could not even speak to me until I had quietly meditated over half a frosty-crisp can of it in the morning. I drank no less than 3 cans a day….sometimes only 2 if there was a Pepsi lying about unattended. I have friends that joke about having an IV feed of it anchored directly into their nearest capable vein so that they can consume without the bothersome “bottom-of-the-bottle-gotta-go-and-fetch-another” happenings. Only they aren’t joking.

Damn you, MOUNTAIN DEW (proudly manufactured and distributed by Pepsico), and your cheerful color and your pleasant wash over the palate…DAMN YOU!!!

|| September 7, 2000 || 10:35 am || Comments (0) ||

It is now official. I am a certified MASTERMIND.

See my profile for yourself if you don’t believe me:

(Submissive Introvert Abstract Thinker )
Like just 9% of the population you are a MASTERMIND (SIAT). You can be silent and withdrawn, but behind your reserved exterior lies an active mind that allows you to analyze situations and come up with creative, unexpected solutions. Normal people call this “scheming.” Don’t learn German.

Anyway, your sense of style and originality are your strengths, and people will respect your judgment once they get to know you. If you learn to be a little more personable, you could be a great leader–you’ve definitely got the “vision” thing down. Just make sure all the plotting you do behind those eyes of yours is healthy.

Famous masterminds in television: Dr. Claw, The Scarecrow and Mrs. King, Montgomery Burns.

Can’t dispute the facts, baby. And you gits can forget the whole “learn to be a little more personable” thing. FUCK that. If I were a little more personable, I would have to make an effort to find redeeming qualities among the greater population.

I just can’t bend the pitch of my standards enough. And I am NOT SORRY.

|| September 7, 2000 || 9:52 am || Comments (0) ||

Upon perusal, it’s no wonder that none of them made it past six-and-a-half. Sheesh.

|| September 2, 2000 || 2:13 pm || Comments (0) ||

his eyes are red / his teeth are black / when he steps forward / people go back / is that a halo / above his head / oh they say the meek / they walk with angels / they’re a blessed mess / he says why why is it me / i think that’s a poor sentiment / your own damn misery / is it so peculiar to loathe yourself / well we all step over / the line they call dignity / he blinks at my surprise / his head is bent / into this doorstep i / walk over him to get inside / that kid is not alright / and everything about him / smells like pain / his eyes are bruised from looking in / he looks into other people’s lives / they exclude him / he thinks that god is calling him up / up on the phone / but when he picks up / the receiver there is no one home / there is no one home / there is no no one home / he blinks at my surprise / his head is bent / into this doorstep i / walk over him to get inside / the kid is not alright / he’s a waste of my time / he’s a waste of my time / he’s a waste of my time / he’s a waste of my time / he blinks at my surprise / his head is bent / into this doorstep i / i i i walked over him / i just went inside / that kid is not alright / he’s not alright / he’s not alright / he’s not alright / and everything about him smelled like pain…..

//Talking To Animals, “kid is not alright

|| September 1, 2000 || 12:14 pm || Comments (0) ||

All week I have had some great ponderings to post on this here blog. I have.

All week I have been insanely busy and preoccupied with life in realtime and have not had the energy or spare moments to boot up and scribble on the webwall. Or maybe I have been avoiding it; out of nowhere I am experiencing a sort of spiritual exhaustion and all of my energies and time the past few days have been channelled (sp? fuck) toward getting as much done as possible in the 24 hours that I have been allotted per day. ~I am gassed up on only about 3.5 hours’ worth of snooze each night as of late.~

In the past few weeks I have watched and listened impotently as the following people weathered losses:

+Christie (mentioned in past post) buried her father after a recent sudden job loss and bore all the emotional and financial weight accompanying it
+Louise (nice, boisterous older lady from next door…pseudo gramma to our family) had a handsome late-40’s son who died a mere 2 weeks before his only grandchild was born
+My mom-in-law (ROCK ON, beautiful free spirit) saw two very good friends die in a car accident
+Donald and Vicki (two nicer, more genuine people could not be hand-picked from gazillions) buried their dad and may have to do the same with their brother.

*sigh* *SIGH* Perhaps this was a preparation for me; a ripening of my emotions so that they were ready to ooze thickly, cloying and sweet.So anyway, my mom calls me 2 days ago and tells me that one of my favorite aunts has cancer and her doctor in his infinite wisdom and sophisticated medicalese told her, “It looks really, really bad.” There you have it. Right there.

Now, I know (and I am hoping that you do as well) that docs normally do not leave room in the equation for the human spirit and its’ boundless power, so I usually say “BAH” and eschew the doomsday/naysayer’s point of view in cases like this. This is different. My aunt has had a series of things happen in the past 2 years that have seriously compromised her immunity and she may well die. ‘Die’ is such a succinct word, huh?

When mom told me, I was fairly non-reactive but now it has started to settle. I slipped today into reclusive cyberescape mode and was twiddling around when I clicked through to a site that I normally enjoy immensely. The author apparently has a friend afflicted with the dreaded BIG C and is doing her part to help. As I read along, outta nowhere the tears started to roll and here I am, typing and bawling and backspacing and fixing typos that my tear-induced blurry vision has prompted. Fuck.

All of this putrid softy behaviour is only culminating now; it started last night about 9 p.m. and I felt a need to phone my mom to talk. What’d we converse about?? You see, it boils down to this: I feel that this is a beginning. My parents each have several siblings (mom has 7 and dad has 6). While I feel that I am still way too young to be losing any of them, odds are that it will undoubtedly start happening soon. I, in my profound wisdom, deem this as ‘fucked up’.

As I explained it to my mother, without caring one iota how fucking selfish that it may have sounded, when my family starts dying off, I fear that I will start dying off as well. I was raised in a close-knit familial environment and I am grounded in that, no matter how the miles may separate me from them. A big part of me is defined within and by my family and when they start pushing daisies an important part of me will be gone. I expressed this huge, HUGE thing to my mother and she said, “Oh, my beautiful baby, you don’t have to worry…something else always moves in and takes that place.”

I don’t fucking want it to. I don’t. And don’t tell me I am being unreasonable, damn you. I have never feared death, ever, but now I am coming to the rather fierce revelation that I DO fear its’ aftermath. I have questions that only certain people can answer. Who do I turn to for wisdom and knowledge when they are gone? Not even 2 months ago I made the six-hour drive to visit my aunt and spend a few days with her. She has always been a creative person and we sat on the back patio for hours during that trip, sparking ideas off of each other and firing new ones based on the last one. She spoiled my children and we laughed together at their antics and she marveled at how much like my mother that I had become. We had grown-up conversation; something that I never would have imagined when I was 9 and running through her sprinklers in the yard or pleading for her to buy my favorite popsicles at the grocery. It’s now something that I look forward to with my own nieces and nephews…..

So I get off the phone and call my father. In preparation for that call, I tuck my sorrow and shakiness away neatly, so that he doesn’t think that my calling him is to pirate him emotionally. We just haven’t talked in so long and I want nothing to sully it. Something does anyway. He is himself.

As well-off as I would like to be (hell, merely financially stable would be GREAT), I realize that money doesn’t buy everything. Here is an open question to him that he will never see: When are you gonna wise up, old man? Is it gonna be before or after I am as unavailable to you??? You see, I have wants, but I truly want for nothing. I wish you understood just what you were/are passing up.

And by the way, I have standards of my OWN and in a pure sense they are FAR SUPERIOR to YOURS.