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Archive for January, 2001

 
|| January 18, 2001 || 9:00 am || Comments (0) ||

Had sort of a disconcerting thing happen yesterday.

Let me tell you first that AT BEST, I have a stumbling knowledge of Spanish. I know all of the important words, like “fuck” and “off”, so that I may turn a clever phrase en espanol. I can even tell you that your mother is a cock-sucking whoredog in spanish. Extreeeemely clevah, huh? Makes for great party talk and bar room brawls. Try it sometime.

Other than the basic profanities and warnings of danger and endearing names that can be incorporated into catcalls, I am spanishly dysfunctional. I’m mostly okay with that, though, as most of the world does not understand my own personal language, either. Hey, we all have our niche and I am resigned to that.

BUT, on to the meat of the matter.

Yesterday afternoon I was visiting a friend at her place of business. She happens to be client of mine, but this was a purely social call, to take a gift for her new baby and to catch up. Her mother was there and we got into a conversation on ‘alternative’ spirituality: runes, tarot, charts and the like. We spoke of what seemed to be a swing towards a quest for awareness/understanding in the world, especially amongst those of my generation. My friend found out things about her mom that I don’t think she was aware of previously. We talked about ’strange’ happenings in our life and also about friends and family that were ‘gifted’ in a sixth-sense sort of way. Very logical and reasonable, with all parties agreeing that if God put prophets on the earth way back when, why would He not do so now?

I feel like it’s just more muted and feared in present times because we aren’t forced to be led by instinct and inner voice as people once were. Modern mankind is inundated with information about EVERYFUCKINGTHING nowadays. We are told how to think and feel and act at every turn, so why rely on a higher self to do so? We are ignorant and fearful and lazy, for the most part. Lack of necessary survival skills has numbed and dumbed us.

Good conversation, all in all.

It began to rain lightly and her mother, not having the best eyesight, opted out to go home. We said our good-byes and as soon as the door shut behind her, the word ‘muerta’ popped into my head. In big yellow letters. On a gray background. ~upon a later check, I found it to be spelled correctly~ As quickly as it came, it went away.

My friend is half hispanic, so I asked her to translate.

“It means died, in feminine form…why would you ask that?”

I am sort of, well, FUCKED WITH in a cosmic way at that point. For a couple of hours, I had been stuck with this feeling that something wasn’t right with someone somewhere and that it was pertaining to a someone that I knew. You ever experience that? I can assure you that it is highly unpleasant and in my case it has always come to unpleasant fruition. Then this word that I have no history with (to my recollection) pops into my brain.

The feeling is still here and it is making me nauseous, prompting me to wonder when I will get the call.

 
|| January 18, 2001 || 8:30 am || Comments (0) ||

Got marginally freaked out just a moment ago….

Stumbled across a blog that is MUCH in the [non]style of mine, both format- and prose-wise. Kind of odd, reading things you have written, or might have written had you not been the victim of time-suckage. I mean, check this quote out:
“I know something to do that will wake my ass up! I’ll call Suitcase Boy at work and freak the bejesus out of him. HaHA!”
Does that not sound utterly like something I would say? …but with more swearing, I’d wager…

You can judge for yourself, over here.

pee ess…she is archive-impaired too, so neener-neener. IN YER FACE!

 
|| January 13, 2001 || 4:03 pm || Comments (0) ||

Get ready for the next round of “Pick Off Your Former Co-Workers With A Semi-Automatic.” It’s coming, trust me.

The reason why I know it’s coming is that this story pissed me off, and I don’t even work for NBC.

Somewhere in the corporate ranks (closer to the bottom rung of the ladder, I would imagine) of the National Broadcasting Company there is a person who makes, oh, let’s be generous and say about eleven bucks an hour. They have a mortgage on a modest home, a kid or two that they would like to be able to send to college one day, or at the very least, take out for an ice cream cone (WITH ice cream attached) on occasion. They budget carefully and are thankful for the few benefits that their job affords them. They do something menial and utterly non-glamorous like making xerox copies of the Friends press release sheets and take pride in their work. Take pride in the fact that they earn a living and are not part of the “Oh, Jesus, I don’t have a fucking JOB!” set. Or maybe the “Oh, Jesus, I DO have a fucking job, but one broken arm may set us back for MONTHS because I don’t have insurance, so NO, little Scotty, you can’t play baseball, EVER!” set. You know what I’m saying.

Soon Joe Worker will be punched out permanently, due to the ridiculous bloodletting that some actors and actresses call a paycheck.

I understand being an artist. I understand taking a diligent approach to your craft. I understand wanting to be compensated in kind. But I for one think that standing around making jokes about a duck (jokes that you are not having to ad-lib, that are pre-scripted for you, mind you) doesn’t necessarily merit $100K an episode. Especially when some hard-working stiff who will NOT score some side jobs due to prime-time exposure gets squeezed out. YA DIG, YOU GREEDY NETWORK SCUMSUCKERS? I think you fucking stink. And if these layoffs happen as a result of you (and you, and you, et al.) then I will boycott every piece of drivel you lay hands on (most of it is replete with stinkiosity anyhow, and not worth my dime). I will request that my friends and associates do the same.

And don’t be surprised at all if the lot of you suddenly turn up with lots more stalkers and/or suffer from painful, pus-oozing boils in the crack of your ass. Karma, baby; she’s a bitch.

 
|| January 11, 2001 || 12:52 am || Comments (0) ||

Watched Corn Dog Man tonight. Praise be to Jesus for non-corporate-minus-Hollywood-flim-flam Move Eyes. I love it, and you should too. ~surely to heaven there are others of you out there that see the many layers of humor in the phrase, “Why’ntcha kiss uh good man’s ay-uss!”~

And hey, you abhorrently misinformed fuck, cheers to you for your lame furthering of inaccurate and negative propaganda with this quote:

“I liked this movie because it showed people the way they really are in small town America — stupid, racist, sexist and many, many more non-PC things you can think of.”— Todd Taylor, August 3, 2000

 
|| January 11, 2001 || 12:31 am || Comments (0) ||

We were baking and decorating cookies one Christmas. I put some Colgate on one and gave it to my sister to eat. Told her the icing was a little shiny because it was fresh. Am I mean enough for ya?

 
|| January 11, 2001 || 12:27 am || Comments (0) ||

Congrats to lord chumley on his passing grades.

 
|| January 9, 2001 || 1:05 pm || Comments (0) ||

Another one of those scent-fueled flashbacks I have spoken of in the past. This one crawled from the depths on a scent trigger of a sort of eucalyptus and honeysuckle blend. Weird, I know.

I was sixteen, or just nearly sixteen. Out with a seventeen year-old “catch”, by the standards of my hometown. I just thought he was purty to look at, so I said ‘what the hey’ and went out with him one summer evering. He came from a wealthy local family, the Blundells.

Toward the middle of the evening I got a brilliant line, one which I remember to this day:

“Put your meat in the seat or your feet in the street.”

I just laughed and laughed. When he became surly and demanded to know just what the hell was so funny, I replied with this:
“It sure is gonna be funny watching my daddy put a round or two of buckshot in your ass. Unless you would like him to beat the shit out of you immediately prior to that, I’d suggest you drive me home right now. Otherwise, I’d be delighted to walk.”

I have SUCH a cornucopia of delightful reminiscings!