I made the mistake of watching television. Those of you that know me personally, know that I never turn on the television set unless it’s to then pop in a DVD or switch on the GameCube. But, I do live with someone who watches the thing on a regular basis. If you want an idea of what his tastes are, I can tell you that the Miami Heat won tonight’s game, but I can’t tell you the name of that guy who won on American Idol.
So, I’m watching Leno tonight, ‘cause that’s what was on after the game. Have you seen this Gilette commercial? I couldn’t even tell you the name of the product, except that it was a razor (no shit, Sherlock). But, the ad plays like a bad porno. Right stage, enter “scientist girl”. She’s wearing knee-high black leather boots, and a very short lab coat with apparently nothing underneath it. The pair of black rimmed reading glasses and briefcase are supposed to make you think she’s some kind of researcher. She walks up to a counter where a good-looking man is waiting and sets the briefcase down. “It’s ready,” she says, because, apparently, this is the best acting job blondie can muster. Open the briefcase and there’s the spiffy new Gilette. Cut to shots of man shaving. Fade back to couple.
Low and behold, blondie scientist girl has shed the glasses, untied her pony tail and his making out with guy’s ear. One final shot of the product and fade to black. I’m thinking, if it hadn’t been “fade to black”, it would have been “wacka-chicka wacka-chicka..bnow, bnow, bnow..” and the scientist girl sheds the lab coat and hops up on the table. Maybe I’m just over-sexed. Maybe I’ve seen too many bad pornos. Whatever the reason, I’m sure that the makers of male hair removal systems could have tried harder. Take my idea for example.
Fade in to a sunshine buttered bedroom. Woman is asleep in bed. She opens her eyes and rolls over to wake her husband. But, much to her surprise, in place of the man she recognizes as her mate, there is, instead, an apparent cave man. She screams, leaps off the bed, still holding the sheets to cover her unrated bits, and whips a can of mace from it’s place in the nightstand. The cave man dives for the bathroom entryway. Door slams behind him. Cave man’s reflection, bleary-eyed, appears in the mirror. We cut to spiffy computer generated diagrams of how our innovative new product (it’s a razor, in case you didn’t catch that) has cool titanium mesh that can sever hairs growing in any direction, blah, blah, blah. An impossibly well manicured man’s hand deposits the product in it’s battery-powered cleaning station. Cut back to the bedroom, focus on closed bathroom door. The door opens slowly and out steps a stunning, well groomed (and quite possibly gay) metrosexual with a big, white smile. Add, for effect, a gush of steam billowing out of the doorway behind him. His smile evaporates as we see S.W.A.T. officers inching toward him with heinous rifle barrels pointed his way. End of commercial. See, that leaves us open for a whole series of these things.
That’s my input on the razor thing. Now on to laundry.
Briefly after Vince Vaughn’s (drool, drool) interview with Jay, another commercial break. This next offensive, five minute piece of crap is for Woolite. A woman is sitting on a white couch with white pillows and white curtains behind her. She’s telling my fellow viewers and I about how much it irks her when she puts a brand new blouse in the wash and it comes out all stretchy and not fitting like it did in the store. My gripe here is not with the product itself, it’s with this woman’s fashion sense. First of all, when I actually decide to purchase clothing, quality is an issue. When you buy something made from chinsey fabric, you’re going to have disintegration of form integrity right away. Also, if the label says “dry clean only” Woolite is not going to cut it. Finally, just because the sign says “4 for a dollar”, doesn’t mean you’re getting a good deal. The thing that really gets me going though, is that this fashion victim is wearing a lavender…..(shudder)…..HALF SWEATER thingie!!!!! Remember my post about that absurd shit?! It’s enough to make me want to reach through the screen and give her an enthusiastic slap on the face. I’m not going to take advice from this woman, and you sure as Hell shouldn’t either!
‘Nuff said. (and all I really wanted to see was a clip from the new Omen movie)
5.27.2006
Energy Burning in Hell
Now that the warmer weather is upon us, I think it’s time to crack open a Samuel Adams Summer Ale and start my bitchy rant about the riduculous amount of energy people waste during this season. All around the neighborhood, I see people wasting energy and causing pollution where it’s completely unnecessary. And, being the enviroslut that I am, I’ve decided to let readers in on a little 411. Following are some tips, along with the usual ridicule, for solving a good portion of your sunny weather problems.
Do you use a gas powered mower to trim your grass? You’re a pussy. Think you’re a real man with your John Deer riding tractor-mower? No. You want a way to cut the lawn while holding a beer and chuckling to yourself about how easy it all is? I say again ~ you’re a pussy. A real man will go out and get one of those old-fashioned non-gas man-powered trimmers. You know, the ones with the twisty blades that you just push back and forth? (I’ll find a picture if I have to) That’s the one. These suckers build muscles, don’t pollute the air, and don’t use gas or electricity. It’s all you, baby. That’s the way to get the lawn done! What’s that you say? You don’t have time to pick up the trimmings? You don’t have time to waste on an envirofriendly solution? Well, I’ve got a quick answer to your miserable whining. I’m sure every neighborhood has a few teenage boys looking to make a quick buck. Knock one of them off their skateboard and offer them 5 bucks and a brewski to do the labor. The amount you pay them will be miniscule compared to what you’re spending on gas, oil and maintenance for the machine you’re using now. Sell that sucker at a garage sale and there’s more money in your pocket.
Better yet, if you just don’t want to deal with the grass at all, put in some native plants. It’s called xeroscaping and it saves tons on water. There are loads of flowering bushes and ornamental grasses that live naturally in your climate. They’re pretty, attract butterflies and don’t need fertilizer or more than the area’s natural rainfall. Add some mulch to keep the weeds down. Viola!
Now, if you live in suburbia, you’ve probably got another device or two that waste energy in your garage. What about the gas-powered leaf blower? If you have one, you’re a pussy. They make rakes for a reason. It doesn’t take so much more time to go ahead and rake up the remnants of fall lingering in your yard. If you pack those suckers into the trash when you’re done, your neighbors won’t be so pissed. Yes, that’s the reason they’ve been screaming and shaking their fists. That, and the fact that you let your dog crap on their petunias. If it’s time you lack, see above. Electric weed trimmer? Same deal, ya freakin’ pussy. If you’re a chick, you shouldn’t be mowing the damn lawn anyway. Your job is to bitch endlessly about why the yard isn’t done yet or, better yet, get your ass out there and pull weeds. He’ll like the way you get all sweaty out there with your ass up in the air (and so will the neighbors). Put on some sexy cut-offs, like the ones I’m wearing now (Daisy Duke had something right), tie your hair up, slip on your J-Lo shades (every girl has a pair) and get down on your hands and knees.
Do you run your air-conditioner non-stop in July? You live in the Rockies and you think it’s hot?! You’re a pussy. Nothing’s hot until you drive through New Mexico when it’s 105 degrees and your piece of crap car has no A/C. Even then, you can smoke a joint and the weather is suddenly tolerable. Just make sure you have water. While you’re away at your job, there’s no reason the apartment has to be 60 degrees. Turn that sucker on (if you must) only when you’re home. And if you’re SO much of a pussy that you can’t wait for the temperature to drop after you arrive, get a timer so that it kicks on about an hour before you plan to return. Hey, if it’s hot in your apartment and the fan isn’t helping and the open windows aren’t helping, you have the perfect excuse for a naked party! Mix up some magaritas, call up some sexy bitches and get your Spring fling on! You can even rub ice cubes on each other to keep cool. Mmm…now let’s see ya complain.
Oh no! It’s 90 degrees and you have to go to the store. Do you hop into your Exploder and burn some energy to traverse the few blocks to the liquor store, to pick up tequila for your naked party? No, you pussy! Walk! Is it too far to walk? They make these things called bicycles. They have 2 wheels, a pair of handlebars, and some pedals. Some of them even have a water bottle holder, Ooooooh! Work some of that flabby ass off and bike to the store. It takes me 5 minutes to walk to Albertsons, Wild Oats, Hollywood Video, Conoco, Petsmart and Kohls. And, I don’t even live in a large metropolitan area. I get a nice tan, a few calories melted and enough time alone to get my head together. Of course I sweat, but they make this stuff called deodorant too. Take a bottle of water (most cities don’t let you on the streets with open beer bottles), your new iPod, and hike a mile or so. If you live way out in Bennet, support a family, and need to do grocery shopping, it’s a different story. But, you can still fill the fridge for a whole month so you don’t have to make the trip to Sam’s Club so often. Do some other things while you’re joining the rest of us in civilization. Or, shop on your way home from your coporate job in the city. Less gas means more money for munchies to keep your Halo-junkie fueled for his next mission.
That’s about all for this episode. I’ve got to get back out there and weed the side yard. I’m sure I’ll get more inspiration from the morons on my block. Until then, think about the environment, your wallet, and how much sexy fun you can have in the Summer!
Do you use a gas powered mower to trim your grass? You’re a pussy. Think you’re a real man with your John Deer riding tractor-mower? No. You want a way to cut the lawn while holding a beer and chuckling to yourself about how easy it all is? I say again ~ you’re a pussy. A real man will go out and get one of those old-fashioned non-gas man-powered trimmers. You know, the ones with the twisty blades that you just push back and forth? (I’ll find a picture if I have to) That’s the one. These suckers build muscles, don’t pollute the air, and don’t use gas or electricity. It’s all you, baby. That’s the way to get the lawn done! What’s that you say? You don’t have time to pick up the trimmings? You don’t have time to waste on an envirofriendly solution? Well, I’ve got a quick answer to your miserable whining. I’m sure every neighborhood has a few teenage boys looking to make a quick buck. Knock one of them off their skateboard and offer them 5 bucks and a brewski to do the labor. The amount you pay them will be miniscule compared to what you’re spending on gas, oil and maintenance for the machine you’re using now. Sell that sucker at a garage sale and there’s more money in your pocket.
Better yet, if you just don’t want to deal with the grass at all, put in some native plants. It’s called xeroscaping and it saves tons on water. There are loads of flowering bushes and ornamental grasses that live naturally in your climate. They’re pretty, attract butterflies and don’t need fertilizer or more than the area’s natural rainfall. Add some mulch to keep the weeds down. Viola!
Now, if you live in suburbia, you’ve probably got another device or two that waste energy in your garage. What about the gas-powered leaf blower? If you have one, you’re a pussy. They make rakes for a reason. It doesn’t take so much more time to go ahead and rake up the remnants of fall lingering in your yard. If you pack those suckers into the trash when you’re done, your neighbors won’t be so pissed. Yes, that’s the reason they’ve been screaming and shaking their fists. That, and the fact that you let your dog crap on their petunias. If it’s time you lack, see above. Electric weed trimmer? Same deal, ya freakin’ pussy. If you’re a chick, you shouldn’t be mowing the damn lawn anyway. Your job is to bitch endlessly about why the yard isn’t done yet or, better yet, get your ass out there and pull weeds. He’ll like the way you get all sweaty out there with your ass up in the air (and so will the neighbors). Put on some sexy cut-offs, like the ones I’m wearing now (Daisy Duke had something right), tie your hair up, slip on your J-Lo shades (every girl has a pair) and get down on your hands and knees.
Do you run your air-conditioner non-stop in July? You live in the Rockies and you think it’s hot?! You’re a pussy. Nothing’s hot until you drive through New Mexico when it’s 105 degrees and your piece of crap car has no A/C. Even then, you can smoke a joint and the weather is suddenly tolerable. Just make sure you have water. While you’re away at your job, there’s no reason the apartment has to be 60 degrees. Turn that sucker on (if you must) only when you’re home. And if you’re SO much of a pussy that you can’t wait for the temperature to drop after you arrive, get a timer so that it kicks on about an hour before you plan to return. Hey, if it’s hot in your apartment and the fan isn’t helping and the open windows aren’t helping, you have the perfect excuse for a naked party! Mix up some magaritas, call up some sexy bitches and get your Spring fling on! You can even rub ice cubes on each other to keep cool. Mmm…now let’s see ya complain.
Oh no! It’s 90 degrees and you have to go to the store. Do you hop into your Exploder and burn some energy to traverse the few blocks to the liquor store, to pick up tequila for your naked party? No, you pussy! Walk! Is it too far to walk? They make these things called bicycles. They have 2 wheels, a pair of handlebars, and some pedals. Some of them even have a water bottle holder, Ooooooh! Work some of that flabby ass off and bike to the store. It takes me 5 minutes to walk to Albertsons, Wild Oats, Hollywood Video, Conoco, Petsmart and Kohls. And, I don’t even live in a large metropolitan area. I get a nice tan, a few calories melted and enough time alone to get my head together. Of course I sweat, but they make this stuff called deodorant too. Take a bottle of water (most cities don’t let you on the streets with open beer bottles), your new iPod, and hike a mile or so. If you live way out in Bennet, support a family, and need to do grocery shopping, it’s a different story. But, you can still fill the fridge for a whole month so you don’t have to make the trip to Sam’s Club so often. Do some other things while you’re joining the rest of us in civilization. Or, shop on your way home from your coporate job in the city. Less gas means more money for munchies to keep your Halo-junkie fueled for his next mission.
That’s about all for this episode. I’ve got to get back out there and weed the side yard. I’m sure I’ll get more inspiration from the morons on my block. Until then, think about the environment, your wallet, and how much sexy fun you can have in the Summer!
5.25.2006
Another Relationship from Hell
I’m working on another mix CD. Shenry got me into this CD swap menage e tua and this round’s theme is mine, so I’ve got to pony up. Since this computer’s way too slow and f-ed up to download music, my resources are limited to what I actually own on disc. So, I’ve been going through my old collection and listening to things I haven't played in a while. Part of that collection includes a set of discs confiscated from an old relationship. Listening to those tracks brings back memories…
Back in the day, I used to live with a guy named Mark. Silver and Shenry will remember him. We met at ‘Japan Nite’ during SXSW. He’d won tickets on the radio to fly out to Austin for the festivities (now I’m the one winning tickets on the radio, bitches!). He ended up sleeping on my couch (I used to have 3!). He decided he was in love with me, so he ended up staying. It took me a while to warm up to him, but I did eventually. I remember being really, really sick with the flu about that time.
He was a shy and awkward romantic with eclectic tastes in music, movies, art and fashion. There are a great number of artists, authors and bands that I never would have discovered if it weren’t for him. It’s been a while since I’ve blown the cobwebs off and allowed myself to remember. There’s something about music that really sinks into me, becomes part of me, entwines my heart in its thorny grasp. Certain tracks float old memories to the surface. There are a couple of albums out there that are completely ruined for me now. There’s a certain set of songs by Jeff Buckley that brings tears to my eyes immediately. No, not just tears, complete emotional breakdown. I kind of wish I had them now.
Mark also turned out to be a raging alcoholic who liked to throw me around my tiny apartment. That’s where the prefix ‘ex’ comes in. It didn’t help that he had the emotional development of a 14 year old. I sure can pick ‘em, can’t I? I put up with that for about a year and a half. We moved from Austin to San Diego together and that’s where I finally sent him packing. We were still in touch when I got married. Broke his little heart, but what did he expect? We all know I regret getting married, but I don’t wish Mark and I were still an item.
However, lounging in bed with the earphones on, flipping through track listings for a song that will join ‘Castles Made of Sand’ and ‘Living Dead Girl’ successfully, a sick nostalgia overcomes me. There were times when I had a serious relationship with someone. There were times when I returned from work, shared a meal, and lived in committed (either definition will do just fine) bliss with another person. We cooperated and joined our incomes and had a little life. There were times when I thought I was in love. There were times when I thought it was forever.
I don’t really believe in love anymore, not by my definition at least. I’m too old for that. It’s a fairy tale that little girls dream about. The kind of love I used to dream about doesn’t exist, or, if it does, it’s a bisected version, a one way street and never returned the same. As badly as you might want to ride winged horse, it’s just not gonna happen, ever, because they aren’t real. That doesn’t stop me, from time to time, from believing that “somehow, some way, this time it just might work”. You can’t stop a little girl from fantasy. By this time, however, the baggage and the scarring pile up. You try to mature, to overcome feelings of jelousy over those that came before you. You try not to let your insecurities topple everything. You try to relax and not put too much eggy hope in one basket. Good luck.
Now, I know that reading this might inspire others to leave comments of hope for me. A little story, perhaps, about how their fairytale wedding came true. Maybe, ‘don’t give up’ and ‘there’s someone out there for everyone’. Sure, comment away my friends, but it won’t do any good. It’s like listening to eye witness accounts of UFO landings tell their stories on the Discovery Channel. I want to believe, but I won’t unless it happens to me. And trying and trying at this relationship thing, and failing and failing is wearing me out. Is there any reason why I should bother? Any reason why I should put myself through the torture and pain? How many times does it take? How many loves does it take to get to the center of my heart (that one was a corny joke)?
I remember asking a friend of mine once if she thought I was a slut. She hesitated. Then she offered, “Well, yeah, but who says being a slut is a bad thing?” Her answer didn’t offend. The probable reason I asked in the first place is that I think I’m a slut and was looking for a second opinion. If you scroll down a few posts, you’ll find my entry about “the week of the horn dog”. I like sex. I LOVE sex! Whoever doesn’t, they have my pity. Sex is an f-ing wicked cool thing. But, for me, it’s more like eating. You pee when you have to pee, you munch when you’re hungry, and lord hopes you get it on when you’re horny. That’s almost completely separate from what the heart needs. That particular organ is so much harder to satisfy. My particular heart tells me that it’s starving. I’d cut the damned thing out if I didn’t need it to pump blood. F-ing emotions, f-ing needs.
The fact is, I’m far better off not being in a relationship. Looking back through all my journals (see last post) and snapshot memories, I find that the aspects that I like most about myself disappear when ‘the new guy’ steps in. Without the conflicts of a significant other, I’m far more grounded, logical, and emotionally stable. I’ve never attempted suicide while single. Yet, while involved with a man, I’ve tried and failed 3 times. I have, until recently, supported myself and handled the challenges of daily life with a fair rate of success. So, what is it that makes me mourn my lack of companionship? You can ask me, but I can’t say, because it’s completely beyond me. If every relationship is doomed to fail, and I’m better off without one, why do I miss them?
I seem to have droned on endlessly this time. I went from music to Mark to why I’m not in a relationship, or why am I not in a relationship. Thanks for sticking around! Don’t you have better things to do? Up and down, and all around. It’s what you call a menstrual cycle. But, it doesn’t make what I have to say any less valid.
Back in the day, I used to live with a guy named Mark. Silver and Shenry will remember him. We met at ‘Japan Nite’ during SXSW. He’d won tickets on the radio to fly out to Austin for the festivities (now I’m the one winning tickets on the radio, bitches!). He ended up sleeping on my couch (I used to have 3!). He decided he was in love with me, so he ended up staying. It took me a while to warm up to him, but I did eventually. I remember being really, really sick with the flu about that time.
He was a shy and awkward romantic with eclectic tastes in music, movies, art and fashion. There are a great number of artists, authors and bands that I never would have discovered if it weren’t for him. It’s been a while since I’ve blown the cobwebs off and allowed myself to remember. There’s something about music that really sinks into me, becomes part of me, entwines my heart in its thorny grasp. Certain tracks float old memories to the surface. There are a couple of albums out there that are completely ruined for me now. There’s a certain set of songs by Jeff Buckley that brings tears to my eyes immediately. No, not just tears, complete emotional breakdown. I kind of wish I had them now.
Mark also turned out to be a raging alcoholic who liked to throw me around my tiny apartment. That’s where the prefix ‘ex’ comes in. It didn’t help that he had the emotional development of a 14 year old. I sure can pick ‘em, can’t I? I put up with that for about a year and a half. We moved from Austin to San Diego together and that’s where I finally sent him packing. We were still in touch when I got married. Broke his little heart, but what did he expect? We all know I regret getting married, but I don’t wish Mark and I were still an item.
However, lounging in bed with the earphones on, flipping through track listings for a song that will join ‘Castles Made of Sand’ and ‘Living Dead Girl’ successfully, a sick nostalgia overcomes me. There were times when I had a serious relationship with someone. There were times when I returned from work, shared a meal, and lived in committed (either definition will do just fine) bliss with another person. We cooperated and joined our incomes and had a little life. There were times when I thought I was in love. There were times when I thought it was forever.
I don’t really believe in love anymore, not by my definition at least. I’m too old for that. It’s a fairy tale that little girls dream about. The kind of love I used to dream about doesn’t exist, or, if it does, it’s a bisected version, a one way street and never returned the same. As badly as you might want to ride winged horse, it’s just not gonna happen, ever, because they aren’t real. That doesn’t stop me, from time to time, from believing that “somehow, some way, this time it just might work”. You can’t stop a little girl from fantasy. By this time, however, the baggage and the scarring pile up. You try to mature, to overcome feelings of jelousy over those that came before you. You try not to let your insecurities topple everything. You try to relax and not put too much eggy hope in one basket. Good luck.
Now, I know that reading this might inspire others to leave comments of hope for me. A little story, perhaps, about how their fairytale wedding came true. Maybe, ‘don’t give up’ and ‘there’s someone out there for everyone’. Sure, comment away my friends, but it won’t do any good. It’s like listening to eye witness accounts of UFO landings tell their stories on the Discovery Channel. I want to believe, but I won’t unless it happens to me. And trying and trying at this relationship thing, and failing and failing is wearing me out. Is there any reason why I should bother? Any reason why I should put myself through the torture and pain? How many times does it take? How many loves does it take to get to the center of my heart (that one was a corny joke)?
I remember asking a friend of mine once if she thought I was a slut. She hesitated. Then she offered, “Well, yeah, but who says being a slut is a bad thing?” Her answer didn’t offend. The probable reason I asked in the first place is that I think I’m a slut and was looking for a second opinion. If you scroll down a few posts, you’ll find my entry about “the week of the horn dog”. I like sex. I LOVE sex! Whoever doesn’t, they have my pity. Sex is an f-ing wicked cool thing. But, for me, it’s more like eating. You pee when you have to pee, you munch when you’re hungry, and lord hopes you get it on when you’re horny. That’s almost completely separate from what the heart needs. That particular organ is so much harder to satisfy. My particular heart tells me that it’s starving. I’d cut the damned thing out if I didn’t need it to pump blood. F-ing emotions, f-ing needs.
The fact is, I’m far better off not being in a relationship. Looking back through all my journals (see last post) and snapshot memories, I find that the aspects that I like most about myself disappear when ‘the new guy’ steps in. Without the conflicts of a significant other, I’m far more grounded, logical, and emotionally stable. I’ve never attempted suicide while single. Yet, while involved with a man, I’ve tried and failed 3 times. I have, until recently, supported myself and handled the challenges of daily life with a fair rate of success. So, what is it that makes me mourn my lack of companionship? You can ask me, but I can’t say, because it’s completely beyond me. If every relationship is doomed to fail, and I’m better off without one, why do I miss them?
I seem to have droned on endlessly this time. I went from music to Mark to why I’m not in a relationship, or why am I not in a relationship. Thanks for sticking around! Don’t you have better things to do? Up and down, and all around. It’s what you call a menstrual cycle. But, it doesn’t make what I have to say any less valid.
5.24.2006
The Legal System From Hell
The ex sent me a letter. He’s not supposed to do that, according to the protection order he keeps ignoring. I’m supposed to report these violations, but it sure as Hell isn’t easy. I have a victim’s advocate downtown in the city. She’s supposed to help me with things like this. After two weeks, she finally responded to my voice mails with one of her own. The voice mail advised me to open a new case with my local Sheriff’s office. I was going to do that anyway.
Today, I got around to calling the Sheriff for the county in which I reside. An officer was sent to my home. He was a prick. You were expecting maybe…Officer Mary Poppins perhaps? I showed him the letter. I showed him the protection order. He asked me what I wanted him to do about it. I reminded him that I’m supposed to report violations of the protection order and he’s supposed to enforce them. He didn’t take the copy of the order I gave him. He didn’t take the damn letter either. He didn’t even take a statement. What he did take was a couple of notes and a photocopy of the envelope. Surprised? I suppose not. After all, this is the same county that let the ex escape so he could pay me that nasty little visit. I should probably sue. Daddy says, “You can’t fight city hall.” City hall can kiss my ass.
Officer Sunshine was able to offer me one tiny little piece of information. He mentioned that when an inmate sends mail, it remains unopened until it’s inspected by the facility and then sealed. Maybe I should call the facility. I guess I could have thought of that on my own. Two of the counties that the ex was previously incarcerated in have phone numbers that a person may call 24/7 and find out the status of an inmate. The state facility in which the ex will be spending the next 12 years offers no such convenience. I call the department of corrections. The man on the other end of the line tells me I should call “inmate locator”. It’s 5:00, and from past experience, I know that if I call this number after 5 or on the weekends, I get an answering service, which tells me that, “We only work here from 8-5 on weekdays. If you’ve got an emergency, you’re fucked.” I relay that to the man and explain briefly my situation. He’s kind enough to offer me the phone number to the facility directly.
I call the facility directly. The man asks me which building the ex is being held in. I don’t know that, we don’t exactly have that kind of relationship. I only know to call Buena Vista because of the return address on this letter. The man tells me to call back tomorrow after 8. I try to explain what it is that I need. He interrupts and tells me again to call after 8 tomorrow. Great. And I thought I was finally getting somewhere.
That’s not the reason I had a crappy morning. It’s just a happy little side dish. Somewhere out there in that great big world of springtime sunshine, there’s a middle finger pointed straight at me.
Today, I got around to calling the Sheriff for the county in which I reside. An officer was sent to my home. He was a prick. You were expecting maybe…Officer Mary Poppins perhaps? I showed him the letter. I showed him the protection order. He asked me what I wanted him to do about it. I reminded him that I’m supposed to report violations of the protection order and he’s supposed to enforce them. He didn’t take the copy of the order I gave him. He didn’t take the damn letter either. He didn’t even take a statement. What he did take was a couple of notes and a photocopy of the envelope. Surprised? I suppose not. After all, this is the same county that let the ex escape so he could pay me that nasty little visit. I should probably sue. Daddy says, “You can’t fight city hall.” City hall can kiss my ass.
Officer Sunshine was able to offer me one tiny little piece of information. He mentioned that when an inmate sends mail, it remains unopened until it’s inspected by the facility and then sealed. Maybe I should call the facility. I guess I could have thought of that on my own. Two of the counties that the ex was previously incarcerated in have phone numbers that a person may call 24/7 and find out the status of an inmate. The state facility in which the ex will be spending the next 12 years offers no such convenience. I call the department of corrections. The man on the other end of the line tells me I should call “inmate locator”. It’s 5:00, and from past experience, I know that if I call this number after 5 or on the weekends, I get an answering service, which tells me that, “We only work here from 8-5 on weekdays. If you’ve got an emergency, you’re fucked.” I relay that to the man and explain briefly my situation. He’s kind enough to offer me the phone number to the facility directly.
I call the facility directly. The man asks me which building the ex is being held in. I don’t know that, we don’t exactly have that kind of relationship. I only know to call Buena Vista because of the return address on this letter. The man tells me to call back tomorrow after 8. I try to explain what it is that I need. He interrupts and tells me again to call after 8 tomorrow. Great. And I thought I was finally getting somewhere.
That’s not the reason I had a crappy morning. It’s just a happy little side dish. Somewhere out there in that great big world of springtime sunshine, there’s a middle finger pointed straight at me.
5.21.2006
The Hell I'm Living
Money Hungry. The 1995 edition of Webster’s College Dictionary has no definition of this term. In common usage, I believe it describes someone who hoards cash or who strives only for monetary gain. I think another definition is in order; A person or persons who desperately desire funding. That would, of course, apply to myself.
With ten dollars and change left in the bank, zero dollars in cash, one eighth of a tank of gas and no employment prospects, my life has hit a low point. Now, it’s not nearly at its lowest point; I’ve been much further down than this. At least I have a home and food and parents to beg money from should I not be able to stretch myself to the next paycheck. Not as low as I could be, but definitely feeling that I should be doing much better. Tomorrow is my father’s birthday, and my uncle’s, since they’re twins. I have absolutely nothing to give. That makes me feel pretty shitty. I can fashion a card and a coupon booklet out of the craft supplies I have in the house. I can use the last of what I have to buy ingredients for a nice, home-cooked dinner. That, and a long distance phone call, are going to have to cut it. That’s the best I can do for now.
Dangerously nearing “the big three-o” and being in the position that I’m in has made me think lately. It’s made me think really hard about what the Hell I’m doing with my life and where I should be by now. Yes, I’ve had some major setbacks. I’ve gotten married, divorced, survived an attempt on my life, overcome drug addiction, been through an intense legal drama, moved across the country twice, had countless relationships (and countless break-ups), been in the hospital twice and reunited with my estranged family member. That’s a load of shit to handle. But, the time has passed when I could have used any of that as an excuse. It’s been almost two years now that I’ve been under my father’s roof. I should be old enough and experienced enough to be following a much more prosperous path in life.
Let me share some of the conclusions and resolutions that I’ve arrived at. Monday morning (it’s here already, isn’t it?), I’ve got to stop dragging my feet and step up the job hunt. That one’s a no-brainer. No more Harvest Moon for me until I have found employment. That includes revamping my approach to the Passion Parties gig. There are a million things that I’ll wish I’d gotten to when I start working again, and, “I should have spent more time playing video games” is not an idea that I think I’ll have. After I’ve done what I can each day to hunt for jobs, I have to sift through my old things and clear out some of the cobwebs. I don’t need all of those reminders anymore. That’s one thing.
The next stage is to severely circumcise my spending. If I can start earning regular pay, I need to be saving it, hoarding it, investing it. Did you know that I have absolutely no investments? At my age, any savvy individual would have something socked away or something growing. Not me though, I’ve been pissing everything away! (but, berating myself won’t get me anywhere) I need to pull out those 401(k) documents from my old job and see what needs to be done to take care of that. It’s not much, but it’s a start. This way, next time I find myself without work, I won’t be so desperate and low-down. I’ve got to remember what it was like to have nothing at all and ensure that it won’t happen again. (Remember, Neko. This time, you should remember.)
It is absolutely imperative that I change my current living situation. There’s been more than enough time for me to recover from the damage that’s been done to my life. Well, maybe not recover completely, but at least move on to better things. I received some bad news last week about my previous plans to relocate. The girl I was supposed to share quarters with has decided to back out of our little plan. I see now that I’d been relying on that for too long. It’s clear that I’ve got to take control of things and be more “pro-active” with that aspect of my future. So, part of finding work, saving money and clearing out the trappings of my former life will be steps toward that objective.
It’s not so much that I think readers of Little Tragedies will be interested or even care about my plans and my current conditions. This blog is still what it was intended to be initially. That is, a resting place for my thoughts and a record of my footsteps through this twisted existence. Anything else is just a curious side effect. When I lived all alone in The South, I kept a paper journal of my travels. I used to sit alone in restaurants and scribble my thoughts down in notebooks. Most of the time, my entries were about the food I was eating or the people who were around me. Most of the time, I did it just to keep myself company. During a portion of that time, I had no one to talk to except my cat. I felt like a ghost drifting through that old town. No one looked at me, spoke to me, or acknowledged my existence in any way.
When I go back and re-read those meandering notes, I find myself admiring that young Neko. She was a person who did things completely independent of anyone else. She had a certain strength of character. She had a certain depression-fueled creativity. She was beginning to discover something. That growth was stunted by a series of events and I feel that I could have learned something more. In a way, sometimes I wish I could go back to that place in time. I could have saved myself from so much of the Hell I’ve been through. I’d be a completely different person from who I am now. But, I can’t go back and in a way, that’s a good thing. What my life has been to this point has made me wiser and more resourceful. I’m terribly scarred, naturally. What is it I always tell people about scars? “They’re darn cool” Wait, that wasn’t it…”They show that you’ve been through some shit.” Yes, that’s the one.
With ten dollars and change left in the bank, zero dollars in cash, one eighth of a tank of gas and no employment prospects, my life has hit a low point. Now, it’s not nearly at its lowest point; I’ve been much further down than this. At least I have a home and food and parents to beg money from should I not be able to stretch myself to the next paycheck. Not as low as I could be, but definitely feeling that I should be doing much better. Tomorrow is my father’s birthday, and my uncle’s, since they’re twins. I have absolutely nothing to give. That makes me feel pretty shitty. I can fashion a card and a coupon booklet out of the craft supplies I have in the house. I can use the last of what I have to buy ingredients for a nice, home-cooked dinner. That, and a long distance phone call, are going to have to cut it. That’s the best I can do for now.
Dangerously nearing “the big three-o” and being in the position that I’m in has made me think lately. It’s made me think really hard about what the Hell I’m doing with my life and where I should be by now. Yes, I’ve had some major setbacks. I’ve gotten married, divorced, survived an attempt on my life, overcome drug addiction, been through an intense legal drama, moved across the country twice, had countless relationships (and countless break-ups), been in the hospital twice and reunited with my estranged family member. That’s a load of shit to handle. But, the time has passed when I could have used any of that as an excuse. It’s been almost two years now that I’ve been under my father’s roof. I should be old enough and experienced enough to be following a much more prosperous path in life.
Let me share some of the conclusions and resolutions that I’ve arrived at. Monday morning (it’s here already, isn’t it?), I’ve got to stop dragging my feet and step up the job hunt. That one’s a no-brainer. No more Harvest Moon for me until I have found employment. That includes revamping my approach to the Passion Parties gig. There are a million things that I’ll wish I’d gotten to when I start working again, and, “I should have spent more time playing video games” is not an idea that I think I’ll have. After I’ve done what I can each day to hunt for jobs, I have to sift through my old things and clear out some of the cobwebs. I don’t need all of those reminders anymore. That’s one thing.
The next stage is to severely circumcise my spending. If I can start earning regular pay, I need to be saving it, hoarding it, investing it. Did you know that I have absolutely no investments? At my age, any savvy individual would have something socked away or something growing. Not me though, I’ve been pissing everything away! (but, berating myself won’t get me anywhere) I need to pull out those 401(k) documents from my old job and see what needs to be done to take care of that. It’s not much, but it’s a start. This way, next time I find myself without work, I won’t be so desperate and low-down. I’ve got to remember what it was like to have nothing at all and ensure that it won’t happen again. (Remember, Neko. This time, you should remember.)
It is absolutely imperative that I change my current living situation. There’s been more than enough time for me to recover from the damage that’s been done to my life. Well, maybe not recover completely, but at least move on to better things. I received some bad news last week about my previous plans to relocate. The girl I was supposed to share quarters with has decided to back out of our little plan. I see now that I’d been relying on that for too long. It’s clear that I’ve got to take control of things and be more “pro-active” with that aspect of my future. So, part of finding work, saving money and clearing out the trappings of my former life will be steps toward that objective.
It’s not so much that I think readers of Little Tragedies will be interested or even care about my plans and my current conditions. This blog is still what it was intended to be initially. That is, a resting place for my thoughts and a record of my footsteps through this twisted existence. Anything else is just a curious side effect. When I lived all alone in The South, I kept a paper journal of my travels. I used to sit alone in restaurants and scribble my thoughts down in notebooks. Most of the time, my entries were about the food I was eating or the people who were around me. Most of the time, I did it just to keep myself company. During a portion of that time, I had no one to talk to except my cat. I felt like a ghost drifting through that old town. No one looked at me, spoke to me, or acknowledged my existence in any way.
When I go back and re-read those meandering notes, I find myself admiring that young Neko. She was a person who did things completely independent of anyone else. She had a certain strength of character. She had a certain depression-fueled creativity. She was beginning to discover something. That growth was stunted by a series of events and I feel that I could have learned something more. In a way, sometimes I wish I could go back to that place in time. I could have saved myself from so much of the Hell I’ve been through. I’d be a completely different person from who I am now. But, I can’t go back and in a way, that’s a good thing. What my life has been to this point has made me wiser and more resourceful. I’m terribly scarred, naturally. What is it I always tell people about scars? “They’re darn cool” Wait, that wasn’t it…”They show that you’ve been through some shit.” Yes, that’s the one.
5.19.2006
A Little Porthole into Neko's Hell
This article is right up my alley today.
This is what it's like to be me (I can't promise this will be interesting): Woke up on the couch. It's about 1:30pm and I'm all wrapped up in cords. It looks like I fell asleeep watching Sleepy Hollow with my portable DVD player in my lap. I lay there for a few more minutes, wondering if my bladder is really full enough to warrent getting up. Deciding that it's fairly urgent, I untangle myself and stumble to the downstairs bathroom, glancing at the wall clock on the way. Christ, it's already so late? Cross out half the things on my mental "to-do list" due to time constraints.
Then, I stumble to the upstairs bathroom and squirt saline into my eyes. The creature in the mirror seems dangerous, so I grab my pills and get out of there quickly. About the time my bare feet hit the linoleum of the kitchen floor is about the time my brain powers on. When it happens, it is no slow process. My thoughts go from snaily, brainstem basics to a cage full of rabid monkeys. 0 to 60 in 1.5 seconds. It would be fantastic if the rabid monkeys were a bit more organized and a whole lot less neurotic. I have what I think are great ideas sometimes. Like, "If I were to blog first thing in the morning, my posts would be so much crazier and entertaining", and that might be the case if I didn't have to sit here for a half hour waiting for this chunk of shit to cooperate with me. (watch my post get deleted just for writing that)
In the kitchen, I scour fridge and cupboard for a suitable, low effort bite to swallow with my meds. Some liquid too. Is it a hot tea day, or a mixed berry juice day? Eyes shift toward the large open windows and up at the sky for an assesment of the weather situation. Eyes shift back down toward the elementary schoolers on recess. Three of them watching me from behind the back fence. I turn back around and scratch my ass. I decide it's a hot tea day and dig around for some peanut butter. As I'm spreading a piece of whole wheat mini pita bread with the nutty goodness, I notice the back of the jar (is it still a jar if it's plastic?) has a warning. "Allery notice: contains peanuts". Um...okay. Some people are apparently more retarded than I am.
Strawberry preserves seem like a good addition to breakfast. I finished the jar, but there's still a little left that I couldn't get with the knife. My tongue tries to reach it. Sticky. As I send my fingers in to retrieve the leftover jam, I notice that I'm shaking. Is that because I haven't taken my meds yet, or because I haven't had a cigarette in 2 days and I'm going through withdrawl? As soon as my tea cools down, I'll swallow my meds and a half hour after that, I'll be normal enough to blend in with the rest of society. Suddenly, I decide that I'm in love with the person at Celestial Seasons who decided that tea bags shouldn't have staples anymore, because people these days like to microwave their tea. Whoever you are, kudos to you my friend!
Every morning, I check the front table for a note from my father. Especially, now that I'm not employed, these notes are demands for some sort of chore to be done. The "Please" is like the letter "t" in French, it's there, but it's not really expressed. "Please clean up your brother's room this week. Thanks." It's like being back in fucking high school again. I have to move. I swear to myself that when I get back to working, I'll save every penny and U-Haul my ass out of here as fast as possible. The next check I do is for my kitties. It's like a little game of mine to guess where they'll be. When I find them, I say good morning and scratch behind their ears. Just checking in.
I'll do a couple of things on the computer and then hop in the shower. I can't really start anything serious until I've had a shower. "Okay, I'm ready to start my day now! What? It's 5 pm already?!" I hope I can get out there today and pull weeds before the weather decides I should stay inside. Although, it's late enough that I can start drinking and switch on Harvest Moon instead...
This is what it's like to be me (I can't promise this will be interesting): Woke up on the couch. It's about 1:30pm and I'm all wrapped up in cords. It looks like I fell asleeep watching Sleepy Hollow with my portable DVD player in my lap. I lay there for a few more minutes, wondering if my bladder is really full enough to warrent getting up. Deciding that it's fairly urgent, I untangle myself and stumble to the downstairs bathroom, glancing at the wall clock on the way. Christ, it's already so late? Cross out half the things on my mental "to-do list" due to time constraints.
Then, I stumble to the upstairs bathroom and squirt saline into my eyes. The creature in the mirror seems dangerous, so I grab my pills and get out of there quickly. About the time my bare feet hit the linoleum of the kitchen floor is about the time my brain powers on. When it happens, it is no slow process. My thoughts go from snaily, brainstem basics to a cage full of rabid monkeys. 0 to 60 in 1.5 seconds. It would be fantastic if the rabid monkeys were a bit more organized and a whole lot less neurotic. I have what I think are great ideas sometimes. Like, "If I were to blog first thing in the morning, my posts would be so much crazier and entertaining", and that might be the case if I didn't have to sit here for a half hour waiting for this chunk of shit to cooperate with me. (watch my post get deleted just for writing that)
In the kitchen, I scour fridge and cupboard for a suitable, low effort bite to swallow with my meds. Some liquid too. Is it a hot tea day, or a mixed berry juice day? Eyes shift toward the large open windows and up at the sky for an assesment of the weather situation. Eyes shift back down toward the elementary schoolers on recess. Three of them watching me from behind the back fence. I turn back around and scratch my ass. I decide it's a hot tea day and dig around for some peanut butter. As I'm spreading a piece of whole wheat mini pita bread with the nutty goodness, I notice the back of the jar (is it still a jar if it's plastic?) has a warning. "Allery notice: contains peanuts". Um...okay. Some people are apparently more retarded than I am.
Strawberry preserves seem like a good addition to breakfast. I finished the jar, but there's still a little left that I couldn't get with the knife. My tongue tries to reach it. Sticky. As I send my fingers in to retrieve the leftover jam, I notice that I'm shaking. Is that because I haven't taken my meds yet, or because I haven't had a cigarette in 2 days and I'm going through withdrawl? As soon as my tea cools down, I'll swallow my meds and a half hour after that, I'll be normal enough to blend in with the rest of society. Suddenly, I decide that I'm in love with the person at Celestial Seasons who decided that tea bags shouldn't have staples anymore, because people these days like to microwave their tea. Whoever you are, kudos to you my friend!
Every morning, I check the front table for a note from my father. Especially, now that I'm not employed, these notes are demands for some sort of chore to be done. The "Please" is like the letter "t" in French, it's there, but it's not really expressed. "Please clean up your brother's room this week. Thanks." It's like being back in fucking high school again. I have to move. I swear to myself that when I get back to working, I'll save every penny and U-Haul my ass out of here as fast as possible. The next check I do is for my kitties. It's like a little game of mine to guess where they'll be. When I find them, I say good morning and scratch behind their ears. Just checking in.
I'll do a couple of things on the computer and then hop in the shower. I can't really start anything serious until I've had a shower. "Okay, I'm ready to start my day now! What? It's 5 pm already?!" I hope I can get out there today and pull weeds before the weather decides I should stay inside. Although, it's late enough that I can start drinking and switch on Harvest Moon instead...
5.15.2006
Hell or High Water?
Here's another one of these things. Ever wonder what it feels like to be unemployed? Imagine doing these things all day. Or not. Whatever.
01) A conscientious lawn mower who cuts it at least once a week or a procrastinating lawn moving avoider who lets it reach nigh jungle level before you cut it?
I don't mow the lawn. That's what men are for.
02) One who likes to have sex while music is playing or one who likes to have sex without any musical distraction?
Doesn't matter. Music is a double-edged sword as far as sex is concerned.
03) The kind of person who would have a fire (bonfire or in a firebowl) despite local laws prohibiting them or the kind of person who wouldn't because, hey, they're illegal?
Fire! Fire! Fire!!!!
04) A hard-spot-to-get weed-whacker user or an "if the lawn mower can't reach it, it's not getting cut" type?
I'd rip that fucker out by hand. Too many people with too many lazy-ass, fuel burning, energy wasting devices out there (hey, there's another post I can do!)
05) Preferring of wooden decks or preferring of stone / formed concrete blocks / brick decks?
The barefoot person in me says, wooden, but the enviro slut in me says concrete/brick
06) A fan of winter sports (hockey, skating, curling) or summer sports (baseball, golf, volleyball)?
probably winter sports, when forced to choose.
07) Happy with your neighbours or unhappy with your neighbours?
I don't know my neighbors, so I guess that'd be, "happy with them"
08) One who tries to shoo away bees / run away from them or one who leaves them alone knowing they'll just go away once they realize you're not a flower and not a threat?
just hold still and let them fly away on their own. you don't fuck with them, they don't fuck with you
09) A lover of structured fun or a lover of unstructured fun?
fun is fun, structured or no.
10) Selfish with your possessions or selfish with your personal time?
possessions, definately. The ex was always "borrowing" my stuff without asking and then ruining whatever it was and claiming it was his to begin with. (bastard)
Hoorah! I got through this without my computer choking!
01) A conscientious lawn mower who cuts it at least once a week or a procrastinating lawn moving avoider who lets it reach nigh jungle level before you cut it?
I don't mow the lawn. That's what men are for.
02) One who likes to have sex while music is playing or one who likes to have sex without any musical distraction?
Doesn't matter. Music is a double-edged sword as far as sex is concerned.
03) The kind of person who would have a fire (bonfire or in a firebowl) despite local laws prohibiting them or the kind of person who wouldn't because, hey, they're illegal?
Fire! Fire! Fire!!!!
04) A hard-spot-to-get weed-whacker user or an "if the lawn mower can't reach it, it's not getting cut" type?
I'd rip that fucker out by hand. Too many people with too many lazy-ass, fuel burning, energy wasting devices out there (hey, there's another post I can do!)
05) Preferring of wooden decks or preferring of stone / formed concrete blocks / brick decks?
The barefoot person in me says, wooden, but the enviro slut in me says concrete/brick
06) A fan of winter sports (hockey, skating, curling) or summer sports (baseball, golf, volleyball)?
probably winter sports, when forced to choose.
07) Happy with your neighbours or unhappy with your neighbours?
I don't know my neighbors, so I guess that'd be, "happy with them"
08) One who tries to shoo away bees / run away from them or one who leaves them alone knowing they'll just go away once they realize you're not a flower and not a threat?
just hold still and let them fly away on their own. you don't fuck with them, they don't fuck with you
09) A lover of structured fun or a lover of unstructured fun?
fun is fun, structured or no.
10) Selfish with your possessions or selfish with your personal time?
possessions, definately. The ex was always "borrowing" my stuff without asking and then ruining whatever it was and claiming it was his to begin with. (bastard)
Hoorah! I got through this without my computer choking!
5.09.2006
Hell-o My Name is Neko and I'm a Sex Addict
The "week of the horn-dog" is now upon me. It's the week when my standards drop to rock bottom. The week when I want to hop up on the fence and yowl like a cat in heat. The pheremones jumping off my skin must be incredible right now. My body has needs and the brain shrinks away in fear of the beast that is my loins. No man, woman or 19-year-old virgin is safe from the creature. It's like going shopping as a millionaire, "I'll take one of each." Crazy shit.
I was sitting at home today, trying to care for myself and my beastly desires. It only serves to whet the stone. I need serious grinding, no holds barred, and I'm not sure if there's enough to satisfy me. Things that I'd normally be shy to express have become temporarily passe. My cats are swirling around my ankles. Animals can sense these things. (and NO, I don't advocate inter-species fornication!!)
Like a junkie in withdrawl, I need a fix. Any desperate junkie will settle for the first thing he can get. It doesn't matter if he found it in a baggie in the gutter. It doesn't even matter if it's not even narcotic, he'll shoot it up just to make sure. That's the grizly truth folks. Believe me, I've been there. There's some more grizly truth for ya. Now you know me better. A junkie always want the "primo shit", but he'll settle.
Now that I've given up on shooting up, carnal desires are my dope. I know where the "primo shit" is. There's only one man I know of that can supply me with that kind of ecstacy. His name is Seven and he knows who he is. But, like I said, a junkie will sometimes settle. Seven's not the kind of guy you call when you just want to get busy. That's the kind of connection you have to nurture. He's the kind of guy you want to spend all day with, like a chocolate covered cannoli, not like a candy bar. What I need right now is a candy bar. A quick fix. A quick and dirty and get out of my house kind of hook-up. And I think I know just where to find it...
I was sitting at home today, trying to care for myself and my beastly desires. It only serves to whet the stone. I need serious grinding, no holds barred, and I'm not sure if there's enough to satisfy me. Things that I'd normally be shy to express have become temporarily passe. My cats are swirling around my ankles. Animals can sense these things. (and NO, I don't advocate inter-species fornication!!)
Like a junkie in withdrawl, I need a fix. Any desperate junkie will settle for the first thing he can get. It doesn't matter if he found it in a baggie in the gutter. It doesn't even matter if it's not even narcotic, he'll shoot it up just to make sure. That's the grizly truth folks. Believe me, I've been there. There's some more grizly truth for ya. Now you know me better. A junkie always want the "primo shit", but he'll settle.
Now that I've given up on shooting up, carnal desires are my dope. I know where the "primo shit" is. There's only one man I know of that can supply me with that kind of ecstacy. His name is Seven and he knows who he is. But, like I said, a junkie will sometimes settle. Seven's not the kind of guy you call when you just want to get busy. That's the kind of connection you have to nurture. He's the kind of guy you want to spend all day with, like a chocolate covered cannoli, not like a candy bar. What I need right now is a candy bar. A quick fix. A quick and dirty and get out of my house kind of hook-up. And I think I know just where to find it...
5.08.2006
Would You Rather Go To Hell, or...
I swiped this from www.monsterpiggymonkeybubble.com, who I believe swiped it from somewhere else. That's what this great internet thing is all about, right?
Are you:
01) Pure chocolate (either milk or dark) or chocolate mixed with stuff (peanuts, almonds, rice puffs, etc.)?
I'd love to say dark chocolate, because that's what I like the best, but it doesn't really describe me. In reality, I'm more like chocolate covered fruit or krispies or something.
02) Someone with a neat, beautiful signature or someone with a horrible chicken-scratch signature?
I try to make my signature as unintelligible as possible, but the rest of my script is usually tidy.
03) Tolerant of phone solicitors because they might be offering something you want or intolerant of phone solicitors because they're annoying you at home?
I'd say that if passivity is intolerance, then I am that. Usually, I just don't answer my phone.
04) Joysticks make for the better gaming overall or gamepads make for the better gaming overall?
Gamepads. I could never get used to the stick. To me, stick says "computer gaming", whereas gamepads say "home console".
05) A lover of fast automobiles or a lover of reliable, sturdy automobiles?
What?! I can't have both?? Since my current ride is on the verge of unreliable, I'd go for the sturdy one.
06) The regular holidays should be kept as-is even if they have a religious background or all holidays should be completely secular?
I say that people should celebrate their holidays the way they want to. To each his own.
07) Expecting that there will be ETs walking freely on Earth within your lifetime or expecting that it will happen after you're dead if at all?
I don't think that any being that has mastered intergalactic travel would come anywhere near this planet - now or after I'm dead.
08) Needing of quiet when you work or enjoying noise (radio, tv, conversation) when you work?
I need to have it as quiet as possible.
09) A karaoke singer or a karaoke critic?
Singer. I've always had this burning desire to do karaoke. I'm just too nervous. Anyone can be a critic, how much talent does that take?
10) One who thinks that you should honestly critique children's work (so they can improve) or one who thinks you should always praise children's work?
I'm really not good with children, but I'd go for the gentle side of honesty.
Are you:
01) Pure chocolate (either milk or dark) or chocolate mixed with stuff (peanuts, almonds, rice puffs, etc.)?
I'd love to say dark chocolate, because that's what I like the best, but it doesn't really describe me. In reality, I'm more like chocolate covered fruit or krispies or something.
02) Someone with a neat, beautiful signature or someone with a horrible chicken-scratch signature?
I try to make my signature as unintelligible as possible, but the rest of my script is usually tidy.
03) Tolerant of phone solicitors because they might be offering something you want or intolerant of phone solicitors because they're annoying you at home?
I'd say that if passivity is intolerance, then I am that. Usually, I just don't answer my phone.
04) Joysticks make for the better gaming overall or gamepads make for the better gaming overall?
Gamepads. I could never get used to the stick. To me, stick says "computer gaming", whereas gamepads say "home console".
05) A lover of fast automobiles or a lover of reliable, sturdy automobiles?
What?! I can't have both?? Since my current ride is on the verge of unreliable, I'd go for the sturdy one.
06) The regular holidays should be kept as-is even if they have a religious background or all holidays should be completely secular?
I say that people should celebrate their holidays the way they want to. To each his own.
07) Expecting that there will be ETs walking freely on Earth within your lifetime or expecting that it will happen after you're dead if at all?
I don't think that any being that has mastered intergalactic travel would come anywhere near this planet - now or after I'm dead.
08) Needing of quiet when you work or enjoying noise (radio, tv, conversation) when you work?
I need to have it as quiet as possible.
09) A karaoke singer or a karaoke critic?
Singer. I've always had this burning desire to do karaoke. I'm just too nervous. Anyone can be a critic, how much talent does that take?
10) One who thinks that you should honestly critique children's work (so they can improve) or one who thinks you should always praise children's work?
I'm really not good with children, but I'd go for the gentle side of honesty.
Hell's Eye for the Queer Guy
Now that I have a few manicures under my belt, I feel that it's my God-given right to criticize the poor fashion taste of those around me. Here's the second installment of Neko's Opinion On Fashion (remember the half-sweater thing? Hideous.)
Tonight's item of riducule is the "Croc". You know, those plastic, neon colored, sandals that everyone seems to be sporting nowadays? I first saw Crocs marketed as a shoe to wear while tending the lawn or digging up daisies. For that purpose, they seem wonderful. They're plastic, so mud and water are no problem. They seem comfy and easy to slip on; perfect for a quick stroll through the potting soil. They come in a vast array of colors, which are cheery and uplifting.
However, they have sprouted from that seed of goodness into an ugly, overgrown patch of crab grass! Everyone seems to have a pair now, and I bet they got them from that kiosk in the mall. I've seen them on men, women, teens and even children. Whenever a pair is within a hundred yard radius (I have poor eyesight) they send out shafts of light, targeting the most sensitive retna. Piercing pink, electric green, Sunny Delight orange. Aaarrg!! In most cases, they clash violently with fashion victim's apparel. Even worse, sometimes they match all too well with fashion victim's apparel. An entire pink velour jumpsuit (I'll get to those in good time) punctuated by a matching pair of Crocs - almost invariably worn with socks! I'll be so relieved when this trend is buried.
Now that it's springtime, I don't think my hopes of trodding on the plastic sandal trend stand a dandelion's chance. What happens when you sweat in those things? Sure, they have large, gaping holes precut all over them, but I hardly think that they serve much ventilation. Sticky, smelly, neon foot fetish, that's what.
Tonight's item of riducule is the "Croc". You know, those plastic, neon colored, sandals that everyone seems to be sporting nowadays? I first saw Crocs marketed as a shoe to wear while tending the lawn or digging up daisies. For that purpose, they seem wonderful. They're plastic, so mud and water are no problem. They seem comfy and easy to slip on; perfect for a quick stroll through the potting soil. They come in a vast array of colors, which are cheery and uplifting.
However, they have sprouted from that seed of goodness into an ugly, overgrown patch of crab grass! Everyone seems to have a pair now, and I bet they got them from that kiosk in the mall. I've seen them on men, women, teens and even children. Whenever a pair is within a hundred yard radius (I have poor eyesight) they send out shafts of light, targeting the most sensitive retna. Piercing pink, electric green, Sunny Delight orange. Aaarrg!! In most cases, they clash violently with fashion victim's apparel. Even worse, sometimes they match all too well with fashion victim's apparel. An entire pink velour jumpsuit (I'll get to those in good time) punctuated by a matching pair of Crocs - almost invariably worn with socks! I'll be so relieved when this trend is buried.
Now that it's springtime, I don't think my hopes of trodding on the plastic sandal trend stand a dandelion's chance. What happens when you sweat in those things? Sure, they have large, gaping holes precut all over them, but I hardly think that they serve much ventilation. Sticky, smelly, neon foot fetish, that's what.
5.07.2006
The Hell With It
I was supposed to have a date on Saturday night (no-good-for-me-guy). He didn't call, email or anything. But, it wasn't as if I was stuck out in the rain. I just didn't get the expected call. And I don't really blame the guy. It sounds like he's going through a bunch of shit right now. It's just as well. My basic reasons for wanting to see this person were A: he's smokin' hot and B: so I don't get attached to Seven.
So, today I was wondering, why am I chasing again? It's been a distraction. A welcome one, sure, but distracting nonetheless. I've got so many other things going on in my life right now, I don't so much need to fill my calendar with liasons. After realizing this, I developed a course of action. I'll stop looking around. I'll see Seven on occasion, and guy-from-the-bank guy. If Seven decides he wants to get serious, so be it. If we decide to take the relationship down a different path, or terminate it completely, so be it. I'll just hang with what I've got and focus on what I need to get done. That's healthy, doncha think? There are other relationships in my life that need to be nourished. I haven't hung out with mom in a while. Now that I don't work for HellNet, the friends I made there are starting to drift. Next weekend, we'll get together for our little scrapbook club and I can catch up.
Today was a complete veg-out day. I picked up a memory card for my GameCube, because the one I had wasn't large enough to save anything from my new game on. The memory card didn't cost me anything out of pocket, because I have credit at the game store. Then, I popped in Harvest Moon, and spent the majority of my day tending my farm. I'm debating whether I should go and play some more or go to bed. I have a splitting headache and my tummy is quezy. Brother is sick and I hope he didn't pass it on.
Regardless, I should post this before MSN bends me over again.
So, today I was wondering, why am I chasing again? It's been a distraction. A welcome one, sure, but distracting nonetheless. I've got so many other things going on in my life right now, I don't so much need to fill my calendar with liasons. After realizing this, I developed a course of action. I'll stop looking around. I'll see Seven on occasion, and guy-from-the-bank guy. If Seven decides he wants to get serious, so be it. If we decide to take the relationship down a different path, or terminate it completely, so be it. I'll just hang with what I've got and focus on what I need to get done. That's healthy, doncha think? There are other relationships in my life that need to be nourished. I haven't hung out with mom in a while. Now that I don't work for HellNet, the friends I made there are starting to drift. Next weekend, we'll get together for our little scrapbook club and I can catch up.
Today was a complete veg-out day. I picked up a memory card for my GameCube, because the one I had wasn't large enough to save anything from my new game on. The memory card didn't cost me anything out of pocket, because I have credit at the game store. Then, I popped in Harvest Moon, and spent the majority of my day tending my farm. I'm debating whether I should go and play some more or go to bed. I have a splitting headache and my tummy is quezy. Brother is sick and I hope he didn't pass it on.
Regardless, I should post this before MSN bends me over again.
5.04.2006
Why the Hell am I Still Here?
I spent the better part of yesterday thinking up things that could be wrong with me. Things that aren’t necessarily, but could be viewed that way. Then, I got home, got drunk and passed out at 8. It’s not so much that I have emotional problems, everyone does, right? It isn’t that I’m unable to think logically that’s the issue either. I think what it is that really bothers me is that I KNOW what the right thing to do is, the right way to act, the right way to feel. But, I can’t seem to make my feelings subscribe to those plans in my head. When the plan goes haywire, I end up berating myself and being embarassed by the fact that I’d failed yet again.
So, what’s the solution? Last night, I thought I’d hook up with some random no-good-for-me guy and let him fuck my brains out. You know, wash out the bad taste in my mouth with another bad taste. It’s a self-destructive path, I know. I didn’t do it though. I may still hook up with said no-good-for-me guy, just to have some fun. He’s yet another MySpace fella. At first, I thought, “Online dating is really stupid.” You always hear about the dangers of meeting an online aquaintance. But, what’s worse – hooking up with “random bar guy” or “we met on MySpace guy”? It seems that the risks and pitfalls are equally as bad. At least with “random MySpace guy” you get the chance to keep him at a distance while the two of you chat it up. There’s still time to say, “Oh…..you’re an idiot, aren’t you?” before you lock lips.
Of course, the answer that I’ve recently thought of as the best course of action is to stop dating all together. That usually works for me for a couple of weeks. Then, the “week of the horn-dog” comes around and I’m ready to grab anything with a functioning penis. Dildos and porn don’t do the trick. Those fuckers aren’t HEATED! You can’t kiss them, and you can’t go through their drawers while they’re in the bathroom either. Nope. That’s no good.
So, tonight I’m going out with Seven again. “Should I sleep with him again, now that I know he’s not interested in serious-ness-stuff?” Hell yes, I should! I mean, “off and on guy from the bank” has confessed to me that he’s phobic of commitment. He’s not the guy I’d want to settle down with anyway. And still, we get it on from time to time. In fact, things are so much easier for me knowing that there’s no connection. I mean, there IS, but it’s an extremely limited one.
I like being single. In fact, I LOVE it! All of my close friends are married (add kids to that) and each of them, at one time or another, have expressed their envy at my freedom and no-strings-attached lifestyle. I certainly don’t envy their parental situation. I do envy the whole “double-income” household situation!
I lost my temp job today. On the way out the door, the supervisor mentioned something to me about how I’m free to travel, not being married or tied down with children. She’d been telling me about her adventures in Germany as a college student. It’s true, you know. Why haven’t I been to Japan yet? Why aren’t I taking full advantage of my situation? Why am I sitting in my basement feeling sorry for myself and worrying that I won’t find Mr. Right? It’s not him I’m looking for after all. It’s Mr. Steady that I was hoping for. So, chin up Neko! It’s really not that bad.
So, what’s the solution? Last night, I thought I’d hook up with some random no-good-for-me guy and let him fuck my brains out. You know, wash out the bad taste in my mouth with another bad taste. It’s a self-destructive path, I know. I didn’t do it though. I may still hook up with said no-good-for-me guy, just to have some fun. He’s yet another MySpace fella. At first, I thought, “Online dating is really stupid.” You always hear about the dangers of meeting an online aquaintance. But, what’s worse – hooking up with “random bar guy” or “we met on MySpace guy”? It seems that the risks and pitfalls are equally as bad. At least with “random MySpace guy” you get the chance to keep him at a distance while the two of you chat it up. There’s still time to say, “Oh…..you’re an idiot, aren’t you?” before you lock lips.
Of course, the answer that I’ve recently thought of as the best course of action is to stop dating all together. That usually works for me for a couple of weeks. Then, the “week of the horn-dog” comes around and I’m ready to grab anything with a functioning penis. Dildos and porn don’t do the trick. Those fuckers aren’t HEATED! You can’t kiss them, and you can’t go through their drawers while they’re in the bathroom either. Nope. That’s no good.
So, tonight I’m going out with Seven again. “Should I sleep with him again, now that I know he’s not interested in serious-ness-stuff?” Hell yes, I should! I mean, “off and on guy from the bank” has confessed to me that he’s phobic of commitment. He’s not the guy I’d want to settle down with anyway. And still, we get it on from time to time. In fact, things are so much easier for me knowing that there’s no connection. I mean, there IS, but it’s an extremely limited one.
I like being single. In fact, I LOVE it! All of my close friends are married (add kids to that) and each of them, at one time or another, have expressed their envy at my freedom and no-strings-attached lifestyle. I certainly don’t envy their parental situation. I do envy the whole “double-income” household situation!
I lost my temp job today. On the way out the door, the supervisor mentioned something to me about how I’m free to travel, not being married or tied down with children. She’d been telling me about her adventures in Germany as a college student. It’s true, you know. Why haven’t I been to Japan yet? Why aren’t I taking full advantage of my situation? Why am I sitting in my basement feeling sorry for myself and worrying that I won’t find Mr. Right? It’s not him I’m looking for after all. It’s Mr. Steady that I was hoping for. So, chin up Neko! It’s really not that bad.
The Horrible Kaw of Hell (redeux)
Hey people!!! Where the Hell's my damnned Crow!!
Crow Art Contest
Prize: $50
Okay boys and girls, here’s the deal. I want to get a tattoo of a crow. Since I can’t stand my own artwork, and since I have so many talented friends, I’ve decided to host a friendly little competition.
Here are the basic Guidelines:
★ All entries must be original artwork
★ Drawing must be approx 4 to 5 inches high
★ Crow must be facing to the left. Its body can be the other way, but its beak must point left.
★ You can submit as many drawings as you want
★ All designs must be black and white
★ The basic style I’m looking for is comic book/animation style with heavy lines and not much fine detail. I don’t mean Looney Tunes though – I still want it to look fairly realistic
★ Keep in mind that tattoos tend to blur as they get older and I don’t want to end up with a blob.
★ I plan to have the final design done on my left shoulder blade
★ Feel free to ask as many questions or to submit drawings for input.
You can submit drawings any of 3 ways:
In person
via email at chibirisu@vegemail.com
use subject line "crow contest" in your email
via mail to
J. P.
PO Box 371391
Denver, CO 80237
USA
Crow Art Contest
Prize: $50
Okay boys and girls, here’s the deal. I want to get a tattoo of a crow. Since I can’t stand my own artwork, and since I have so many talented friends, I’ve decided to host a friendly little competition.
Here are the basic Guidelines:
★ All entries must be original artwork
★ Drawing must be approx 4 to 5 inches high
★ Crow must be facing to the left. Its body can be the other way, but its beak must point left.
★ You can submit as many drawings as you want
★ All designs must be black and white
★ The basic style I’m looking for is comic book/animation style with heavy lines and not much fine detail. I don’t mean Looney Tunes though – I still want it to look fairly realistic
★ Keep in mind that tattoos tend to blur as they get older and I don’t want to end up with a blob.
★ I plan to have the final design done on my left shoulder blade
★ Feel free to ask as many questions or to submit drawings for input.
You can submit drawings any of 3 ways:
In person
via email at chibirisu@vegemail.com
use subject line "crow contest" in your email
via mail to
J. P.
PO Box 371391
Denver, CO 80237
USA
Mood Swinging on the Playground in Hell
This was written last night. Due to technical difficulties, it was not posted until this afternoon.
I’ve made the mistake (and I was doing SO WELL) of getting all clingy and freaky in an email to Seven. Neko is a stupid-ass. Neko needs to up her meds. Neko is now sloshing her brain about in a glass of cognac in order to put a stop to it. I’d been thinking about him all day (trying not to) and really hoping for a positive email from him. The email I got was a little toward the luke-warm side. And so, my response back was of the knee jerk variety. “If you’re not interested, just SAY SO”. Fuckin’ A.
But, I got a surprising reaction. He actually called me ON THE PHONE, and offered me some bit of reassurance. “I’m like a frog, baby. I need to be hoppin’ to and fro on the lily pad of life.” To which I replied, “Pay no attention to the freak behind the curtain.” To which he replied, “It’s cool, baby. See, you’re stuck on the freaky lilly pad right now. You got to be hoppin’. You got to see that there’s a whole bunch of lilly pads.” To which I replied, “Ribbit” and it was all good. Whew. I feel less like burrying myself deep underground now.
One of the things that set me off on the whole instability vibe, was a questionnaire thingie (meme? Momo? Mime?) that I’d sent out as a bulletin on MySpace. Seven responded with his answers. One of the questions was something to the effect of, “Is there something about me that you would change and if so, what would it be?” Seven’s answer to that was, “Can I say?,,,,Hmm..no I can’t say.” So, loopy fucker that I am, the answer sent me reeling. More than anything else, it was the curiosity that got me.
So, I spent the hours at work occupying my mind with possible defects in myself and personality. I don’t even really want to know what his intended reply would have been. But, boring as my day was, I formulated a list of characteristics that someone might possibly find undesireable. Below is said list. Those that are followed by an * are things that I agree with. The items that I agree with AND would be willing to change are followed thusly, **. Strange? Yes. Obsessive? Absolutely! I’ll start from the top and work my way down.
Headspace:
Not educated enough **
Too smart
Intimidating
Ditzy
Opinionated*
Not able to back opinions up with solid facts and references**
Too distracted
Too eager to please
Disinterested
Talks too much*
Doesn’t talk enough
Don’t know what I’m talking about
Don’t know what she’s talking about
Doesn’t like the same kind of music
Musical taste too similar
Not into animal rights
Vegitarian*
Talks about movies too much
Talks about music too much
Crazy*
Clingy**
Needy**
Too distant
Too kinky
Not kinky enough
Wears contacts*
Doesn’t wear glasses*
Facial and other head-related physical features:
Ugly brown hair**
Bad haircut**
Too much grey hair**
Ugly brown eyes
Lazy eye*
Bushy eyebrows**
Thin lips
Chapped lips**
Crooked nose*
Fucked up teeth*
Too pretty
Too ugly
Bad breath**
Tongue too long
Tongue too short
Tongue not pierced*
Nose pierced*
Ears pierced*
Not enough piercings
Too many piercings
Ugly mole
Wicked evil eye*
Looks at me too much
Looks at herself too much
Looks at other people too much
Drinks too much*
Eats too much
Doesn’t drink enough
Doesn’t smoke enough
Smokes too much**
Wears too much makeup
Not enough makeup
Fucked up makeup
Upper body:
Puny arms**
Arms too graceful
Fucked up nails
Nails too long
Nails too short
Nails too red
Scabby elbows*
Arms flailing wildly
Picking nose
Picking ears
Picking ass
Picking underwear out of ass*
Not enough jewelry
Ears aren’t even
Gross thing hanging out of ear/nose/eye/mouth
Blane! (my new word for god, i.e. David Blane) That’s only half of me and it’s a long list. Of course, I’m being silly about the whole thing. Just wondering how many possibilities there are. It just goes to show that there are endless possibilities, so why stress? You’ll drive yourself mad! Don’t want to end up like me, now, do you?
Whew. So, I’m about to go see about filling up my calendar now, getting more toasted and working on my Passion Parties business. Ta.
I’ve made the mistake (and I was doing SO WELL) of getting all clingy and freaky in an email to Seven. Neko is a stupid-ass. Neko needs to up her meds. Neko is now sloshing her brain about in a glass of cognac in order to put a stop to it. I’d been thinking about him all day (trying not to) and really hoping for a positive email from him. The email I got was a little toward the luke-warm side. And so, my response back was of the knee jerk variety. “If you’re not interested, just SAY SO”. Fuckin’ A.
But, I got a surprising reaction. He actually called me ON THE PHONE, and offered me some bit of reassurance. “I’m like a frog, baby. I need to be hoppin’ to and fro on the lily pad of life.” To which I replied, “Pay no attention to the freak behind the curtain.” To which he replied, “It’s cool, baby. See, you’re stuck on the freaky lilly pad right now. You got to be hoppin’. You got to see that there’s a whole bunch of lilly pads.” To which I replied, “Ribbit” and it was all good. Whew. I feel less like burrying myself deep underground now.
One of the things that set me off on the whole instability vibe, was a questionnaire thingie (meme? Momo? Mime?) that I’d sent out as a bulletin on MySpace. Seven responded with his answers. One of the questions was something to the effect of, “Is there something about me that you would change and if so, what would it be?” Seven’s answer to that was, “Can I say?,,,,Hmm..no I can’t say.” So, loopy fucker that I am, the answer sent me reeling. More than anything else, it was the curiosity that got me.
So, I spent the hours at work occupying my mind with possible defects in myself and personality. I don’t even really want to know what his intended reply would have been. But, boring as my day was, I formulated a list of characteristics that someone might possibly find undesireable. Below is said list. Those that are followed by an * are things that I agree with. The items that I agree with AND would be willing to change are followed thusly, **. Strange? Yes. Obsessive? Absolutely! I’ll start from the top and work my way down.
Headspace:
Not educated enough **
Too smart
Intimidating
Ditzy
Opinionated*
Not able to back opinions up with solid facts and references**
Too distracted
Too eager to please
Disinterested
Talks too much*
Doesn’t talk enough
Don’t know what I’m talking about
Don’t know what she’s talking about
Doesn’t like the same kind of music
Musical taste too similar
Not into animal rights
Vegitarian*
Talks about movies too much
Talks about music too much
Crazy*
Clingy**
Needy**
Too distant
Too kinky
Not kinky enough
Wears contacts*
Doesn’t wear glasses*
Facial and other head-related physical features:
Ugly brown hair**
Bad haircut**
Too much grey hair**
Ugly brown eyes
Lazy eye*
Bushy eyebrows**
Thin lips
Chapped lips**
Crooked nose*
Fucked up teeth*
Too pretty
Too ugly
Bad breath**
Tongue too long
Tongue too short
Tongue not pierced*
Nose pierced*
Ears pierced*
Not enough piercings
Too many piercings
Ugly mole
Wicked evil eye*
Looks at me too much
Looks at herself too much
Looks at other people too much
Drinks too much*
Eats too much
Doesn’t drink enough
Doesn’t smoke enough
Smokes too much**
Wears too much makeup
Not enough makeup
Fucked up makeup
Upper body:
Puny arms**
Arms too graceful
Fucked up nails
Nails too long
Nails too short
Nails too red
Scabby elbows*
Arms flailing wildly
Picking nose
Picking ears
Picking ass
Picking underwear out of ass*
Not enough jewelry
Ears aren’t even
Gross thing hanging out of ear/nose/eye/mouth
Blane! (my new word for god, i.e. David Blane) That’s only half of me and it’s a long list. Of course, I’m being silly about the whole thing. Just wondering how many possibilities there are. It just goes to show that there are endless possibilities, so why stress? You’ll drive yourself mad! Don’t want to end up like me, now, do you?
Whew. So, I’m about to go see about filling up my calendar now, getting more toasted and working on my Passion Parties business. Ta.
5.01.2006
Smoldering Embers in Hell
The following is yet another attempt at recreating a post that was rendered subject to my fragmented memory by MSN. Those bastards. From now on, I type these suckers up BEFORE I go online. (Should have learned that lesson a while ago)
I need to have another Milwaukee’s Best (not light this time, Dad?) and calm the fuck down. Maybe another cigarette, and another, and maybe still another. I really need to quit. I should probably call Bonz and explain things too. But, I haven’t heard from him in so long…
I spent this past weekend in the fragile bliss of a new companionship. I went out on a limb and met another person from MySpace. This time, as with the last, I went into it with no intention to ignite a flame. This time, unlike the last, sparks flew. Easy conversation. Good company. Sex that left me stupified for a half hour afterwards. So, yeah, I had a good weekend. It’s May 1st already?!
But something’s different. This time I’ve managed to stave off the usual insecurity, emotional clutching, idiotic imaginings of the future, flatline depression and general panic that overcome me when I experience the thrill of a new lover. I’m finally able to enjoy the moment and let whatever will be, just be. Maybe I’ve become more mature? More likely, it’s due to the fact that (we’ll call him “Seven”) Seven is very open with the information that he’s actively involved with numerous other women. I can respect and appreciate that honesty. In fact, it’s what I want, what I’ve been looking for. It’s the deception that kills me, leaves me with suicidal self-loathing.
It also helps that I’ve immersed myself in the new Passion Parties business. Now that I’ve got that on my mind constantly, the temptation to scribble down my number for any attractive guy that struts across my path is gone. However, I’m not having the success I’d hoped for. Patience, Neko, patience. My friends and family have been supportive of my new endeavor, but their time and resources are limited. I can only rely on them so much. This week, I’m mailing out my catologes and contact info to local sex therapists. I need to look up the local bridal shops and peddle my wares there as well. I’ve got phone calls to make. Damn. I’d better get going!!
I need to have another Milwaukee’s Best (not light this time, Dad?) and calm the fuck down. Maybe another cigarette, and another, and maybe still another. I really need to quit. I should probably call Bonz and explain things too. But, I haven’t heard from him in so long…
I spent this past weekend in the fragile bliss of a new companionship. I went out on a limb and met another person from MySpace. This time, as with the last, I went into it with no intention to ignite a flame. This time, unlike the last, sparks flew. Easy conversation. Good company. Sex that left me stupified for a half hour afterwards. So, yeah, I had a good weekend. It’s May 1st already?!
But something’s different. This time I’ve managed to stave off the usual insecurity, emotional clutching, idiotic imaginings of the future, flatline depression and general panic that overcome me when I experience the thrill of a new lover. I’m finally able to enjoy the moment and let whatever will be, just be. Maybe I’ve become more mature? More likely, it’s due to the fact that (we’ll call him “Seven”) Seven is very open with the information that he’s actively involved with numerous other women. I can respect and appreciate that honesty. In fact, it’s what I want, what I’ve been looking for. It’s the deception that kills me, leaves me with suicidal self-loathing.
It also helps that I’ve immersed myself in the new Passion Parties business. Now that I’ve got that on my mind constantly, the temptation to scribble down my number for any attractive guy that struts across my path is gone. However, I’m not having the success I’d hoped for. Patience, Neko, patience. My friends and family have been supportive of my new endeavor, but their time and resources are limited. I can only rely on them so much. This week, I’m mailing out my catologes and contact info to local sex therapists. I need to look up the local bridal shops and peddle my wares there as well. I’ve got phone calls to make. Damn. I’d better get going!!
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