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Archive for May, 2002

 
|| May 6, 2002 || 1:55 am || Comments (3) ||

Can’t find my contact lens solution. Somebody spit in my eye, please. The left one.

 
|| May 6, 2002 || 12:24 am || Comments (2) ||

Under the heading of Blogger Insider (subtitled, ‘Round Three for me!’):My apolly-loggies to me pahtnah Kat, who has sparked my interest in so many ways that I shan’t begin to name them (in the interest of time, darlings….you know…)

1. How has your writing voice changed since you were in high school?
A bit more far-reaching, a bit more cluttered and infused with more autobiographical elements (even the fiction).

2. What is it about Mountain Dew? I can’t stand the stuff.
Not everyone can be part of the elite, my dear. Be not ashamed of your lack of sugar-and-caffeine-induced vision. Put simply, Mountain Dew is liquid crack for generation X and most junkies, both professional ongoing and barely non-practicing.

3. Favorite toy?
I have this big stuffed stegosaurus with a red body and blue spiny back and his name is Stanley. He weighs like 25 pounds. He’s not my favorite, though. My favorite toy is mankind. I like my CD player, too. Language is fun, as well.

4. What would you change about your past, if you could?
Nothing, really. Sounds corny as all fuck, I know, but it’s true. I’m one of those saps who believes that things cumulatively happen for a reason. Everything that has happened thus far has brought me to the place I am now, made me the person I am now.

I like that person okay, so what’s to change? Okay, I’d not have become a nail-biter.

5. Favorite guilty pleasure?
Staying in my jammies all day, ALONE, reading a book.

6. Who do you admire?
I admire Maxim. He’s such a cool person (hokey as it sounds). he’s just a great guy to be around. Bonus for me that I get to sleep with him, you know?

7. What’s your favorite conversation-ender for people who don’t seem to
figure out that you don’t want to talk to them?

I have to go. My toenails are on fire.

8. What’s on your lifetime to-do list?
~Take an in-depth class (or a series of them) about the world’s religions.
~Raise productive, responsible children who contribute to society in a bettering, positive manner (sounds like a resume entry, don’t it??).
~Shake my death wish and learn not to fear being old (for some reason, Wilford Brimley is not helping this objective).
~Learn to kick-box. What a scary, bad-assed bitch I’d be in the ring!
~Own horses once more, and a broad expanse of land to stable them on/escape the world to.
~Spend a chunk of time travelling once again.

That’s not all, it’s just all that immediately comes to mind.

9. What are your most feminine traits? Aside from your well-
documentedly spectacular breasts. :-)

Hmmm. Honestly, I don’t think my boobs define my femininity any more than they are a measure of my intellect (or lack thereof).

~I cry like a big titty baby at movies.
~My love of children and caring for them.
~My love of romance in unexpected places, at unexpected times.
~The gentle expressiveness I sometimes have with my hands and face. (did that last one make sense to anyone but me??)

10. Have you always wanted children? What are you most unexpectedly
grateful for about having them?

Yes, I have always wanted children. I am unexpectedly grateful that I am exposed to the world from another person’s yet-to-be-fully-shaped outlook. It’s very intimate, the way you experience the goings-on about you via the way your child relates to it and in turn relates it back to you. Sometimes it’s also very telling, because your children will never love you anywhere close to the magnitude that you love them, and tend to be a lot less careful with thins like niceties and tact when laying it all down on you.

11. What’s the highest compliment you give?
There are roughly three:
“I’m glad God made you.”
“You are a credit to the planet.”
“You make me smile.”

12. And the best one you’ve received?
From male companions, be they friends or something more: “You’re cool.” In guy-speak, that’s the pinnacle. Especially if they’ve already slept with you.

13. Worst job you ever had? Best?
Two-parter, two-parter!! I call foul!!!

Worst: washing walls at the county jail. That’s what you did all day: washed walls. If you weren’t eating or sleeping (which was impossible, as loudly as that girl in the next cot ground her fucking teeth, all six of ‘em…) or pissing, you were washing (already-clean) walls in the 10-by-24-foot common area with about fifteen other females. Every day. For about 13 hours. For fuck’s sake. Five words on that: Attempt to rehabilitate, you fucks!!!

Best: Account executive with a very prestigious, but to an insane degree not stodgy, advertising firm. Yea, verily, good times were had. No more Sheep Dip Scotch for me, though.

14. A rough estimate is fine: how many books and how many pairs of
shoes?

Books line the entire wall on one side of the family room. I’ve never really counted. Some float in as gifts, some get loaned out, some lie in nooks and crannies, on mantelpieces and nightstands. More than two and less than a thousand?

Shoes number around fifty pair, if you count boots.

15. How about the title of your life story?

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME:
A guide to survival and perhaps betterment

 
|| May 1, 2002 || 11:11 pm || Comments (1) ||

Hmmmm.

You know that entry about how there is all this Cosmos Fuckingtm going on and it’s all aimed at me? Yeah, this is that entry.

Ohhhhh, MotherMaryandSimonPeterIamholyfuckingtired, can’tagirlgeddabreaK?

Once Around….you ever see that movie? I think I really like that movie. I’ve got it on tape somewheres and I should go watch it.

There are these candles that I really, reALLY like. They’re made by Lamplight Farms and stink in the most delicious manner. Not even exaggerating when I say the fragrance damned near throws me into some kind of orgiastic splendor. It’s called ‘pinkberry sorbet’ and when I started buying them, they came in thin frosted 8-ounce cups. Very nondescript, you could throw them in with any ole decor and they would unassumingly blend while putting out an aroma that was delightful to friends and onlookers.

Of course, when I started buying these waxen marvels of science (the fact that they were pink notwithstanding) I could shimmy right on up the road and into Wally Woild and purchase one for a mere five bucks or so. Of course, once I caught a toehold in the consumer end of their marketing, said aforementioned betwixt and between here we go round the mulberry bush Wally Woild decided to no longer carry these particular Lamplight Farms products. Go figger.

I was happy, some six months later, to find them again at Michaels. They were something like three bucks more costly, but I was okay with that. And I had to buy them in bulk, because the nearest Michaels was fiftiesh miles away. I was okay with that, too….

So when I found them I bought five or six or something and one part of the universe was right and good. Or so it seemed. I went to Michaels last weekend and hunted fer m’ candles. I found them. I found them alright, and I was sufficiently horrified, because they looked like this. (eek. ack.) That’s right, my beauties, they come in your choice of frosted glass container (I like) emblazoned with The Serenity Prayer or some shit about ‘love, faith, hope, charity’ (I cringe–and before you get all freaked out. thinking I’m a heretic or some shit, e-mail me to ask me why I cringe) in bigass loopy, curlicue letters (I cry).

I looped the three candle aisles FOUR TIMES, searching for the plain frosted glass container. No such luck, and this particular fragrance doesn’t come sans tasse en verre. I noticed, a little begrudingly, that they were a couple dollars higher. They were two ounces bigger though, so I didn’t get too awful surly. I grabbed up a couple of the embellished monstrosities, thinking I could whip up a nice, nondescript batch of paper and cover the holders for better or not hardly worse.

I never got around to covering them, because I couldn’t hold off of burning them almost as soon as my feet crossed the door jamb.

I put the ‘love, hope, yaddity-fucking-yada’ one on my nightstand. The ‘Serenity Prayer’ jobbie went on my desk, where I burn a half-dozen different candles each night in effigy to BellSouth and their dial-up service. It sits there to my immediate left right now, as a matter of fact, burning right away as all good candles should.

The prayer is divided up into thirds, with each verse occupying one-third of the glass. I noticed something about that a few moments ago, which sparked this ungodly-and-too-lengthy monstrosity of a post. Of these three verses,


God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
courage to change the things I can
and wisdom to know the difference

two are more than partially facing me, while one of them is turned fully away.

‘Courage’ is the one that is completely to the other side. I am presented with ‘wisdom’ and ’serenity’. Ironically fitting. I have enough courage to fill a volcano. Serenity and wisdom are the two that I need to work on a bit. Spotting that just now gave me that little epiphany. Courage in spades, serenity and wisdom need work. Check.

My son has Tourette Syndrome. I don’t think many of you know that. The last couple of days has been hell.