Rough translation: Hell’s Return Home
I’m finally back home. I’ve spent a week with my head in the clouds, wallowing in laziness, gluttonous of fine restaurant meals, astounded by broadband internet speeds and spoiled by Spike’s company. It’s about time. My cats are giving me sarcastic slit-eyed gazes that beg the question, “Well, who the hell are you?” A pile of once-fresh laundry is now caked with the cat hair frosting of neglect. A pile of mail sits in my stead at the dinner table. Thank god my keys still fit the locks.
Why did it take me so long to return to my life? Well, the most convenient answer is: car trouble. Last Friday, my truck decided to stop in the middle of the street. Being about 3 miles from home, the street was in the suburbs. It took about 20 minutes for someone to stop and help me drag my dumpster-with-engine off the road. I walked home in the blazing sun. Dad came home, gave me a jump and bought me a new battery. I thought everything was “cool”.
A couple of days later, Fate chimed in with a “ha-ha”. On the way home from Spike’s I stopped for cigs. The truck wouldn’t start. In the city, not like in the suburbs, it only took 5 minutes to find assistance. A couple of guys in need of a couple of bucks push started my vehicle. I drove it back to Spike’s and called Daddy again. Since I couldn’t move my hunk of junk car, I removed the battery and took it to Checker to have it recharged. Checker said that PepBoys had sold my father a bum battery. So, I dragged the heavy-ass chunk of trash to the nearest PepBoys and demanded a replacement. They complied, I lugged the f*ing thing back to my truck and re-installed it. Deciding that it was wise to take advantage of the “we’re so sorry, here’s a free diagnostic” offer, I drove the crap pile back to the store. Turns out that the alternator was shot. Now, the ex-bastard supposedly replaced this thing a couple of years ago. But, who knows what really happened?! So, good ol’ Dad payed to have my alternator replaced and I’m back on the road again.
That was the convenient answer. The more subtle reason behind the delay is that I couldn’t find it in me to pry myself away from Spike. I’m most certain that I overstayed myself, contrary to Spike’s insistence that I was welcome. He’s way too kind to tell me that he’s sick of my company. “And you want to move in with this guy”, you say. Yes, I do. But, having only a small backpack to draw from is far different than having all my resources available. I’m sure my complection is suffering from lack of beauty products and proper cleansing.
I feel better now that I’ve left. I wonder at myself for having been so afraid to step away. It really isn’t all that bad. I was feeling bad about myself for allowing myself such luxury and freedom from responsibility. I was getting restless at not having my possessions close at hand. I missed my kitties. I missed my PSP. I was getting snippy with Spike for no reason. It’s good to take a break and it’s not as hard as it seemed. The poor guy is probably happy to have his space again. When we get together again, our love will be renewed and passionate all the more.
On the drive up Santa Fe, I was planning a new course of action. I was determined to improve my lifestyle, eat a better diet, be more productive, stop smoking, stop drinking, etc. But, I wasn’t home for 5 minutes before I had a brew in my hand and a smoke at my lips. So much for living better. My shower was nice. Having consistent water pressure and temperature is highly underrated! And I used my little scrubby thing to shluff off the dead skin and scum that built up. I took the time to shave all the important areas without being rushed. I missed home after all.
6.28.2006
6.25.2006
Bunnies From Hell
God damn it. Another post lost to the f#ing world of techno-glitches!!
Well, I meant to say "Check out this site. Your head will f*ing explode!! That was the main purpose, of my Blaned post. There were also some bits about how I haven't been home in the past week, because Spike's got a busted hand and I'm playing nurse. And then there was a bit about how my car's crapped out on me and I couldn't go home right now if I wanted to. Blah, Blah, blah. I'll catch up more later.
Well, I meant to say "Check out this site. Your head will f*ing explode!! That was the main purpose, of my Blaned post. There were also some bits about how I haven't been home in the past week, because Spike's got a busted hand and I'm playing nurse. And then there was a bit about how my car's crapped out on me and I couldn't go home right now if I wanted to. Blah, Blah, blah. I'll catch up more later.
6.19.2006
Hell Warmed Over
I feel like total shit today. I just got out of bed about a half hour ago and I'm surprised I made it. I think the sole reason I made the decision to face the world today was the list of items on my Anne Taintor calendar. Most of them won't be accomplished, but there is one important one that requires immediate attention. I've got to call in to claim my unemployment benefits. I'm totally depressed. I suppose that's what Neko gets when Neko refuses to take her meds.
Sure, it sounds like I'm totally dependent on these pills. To an extent, that's true. Let me put it this way. If you've got depression and you take meds to aid your condition, they offer a sort of safety net. I still have emotions, I still get bummed out, but these white tablets make it so that I'm not as likely to plummet and carve up my flesh. Since the age of 13, blades have been my weapon of choice. That's always been my method - cutting. You just need one look at my wrists to know that. Another thing about taking anti-depression meds is that when you "come down" your mood doesn't go from "alright" to "normal". It goes from "alright" and swings drastically in the opposite direction to "totally f*ed up". That's how I feel right now.
One thing that never, ever fails to happen when I skip the pills is that I dream of the ex-bastard. I have never skipped and not had nightmares. That's one reason I feel like Hell today. Most of my PTSD symptoms have subsided and I'm coping remarkably well. But, whenever I fall asleep unmedicated, I dream that he's after me again. Not f*ing cool! I think it's been 2 days since I remembered my meds. Well, I just took them and damn the upset stomach and jumpy nerves. Glad I decided not to just curl up and weep all day. I could still get something done.
Sure, it sounds like I'm totally dependent on these pills. To an extent, that's true. Let me put it this way. If you've got depression and you take meds to aid your condition, they offer a sort of safety net. I still have emotions, I still get bummed out, but these white tablets make it so that I'm not as likely to plummet and carve up my flesh. Since the age of 13, blades have been my weapon of choice. That's always been my method - cutting. You just need one look at my wrists to know that. Another thing about taking anti-depression meds is that when you "come down" your mood doesn't go from "alright" to "normal". It goes from "alright" and swings drastically in the opposite direction to "totally f*ed up". That's how I feel right now.
One thing that never, ever fails to happen when I skip the pills is that I dream of the ex-bastard. I have never skipped and not had nightmares. That's one reason I feel like Hell today. Most of my PTSD symptoms have subsided and I'm coping remarkably well. But, whenever I fall asleep unmedicated, I dream that he's after me again. Not f*ing cool! I think it's been 2 days since I remembered my meds. Well, I just took them and damn the upset stomach and jumpy nerves. Glad I decided not to just curl up and weep all day. I could still get something done.
6.18.2006
Hell's Favorite Flora
Now that my obligation to post the track listing for the second half of my Funeral Mix has been fulfilled, I'm free to ramble about other things.
My brother's birthday passed this last week. I didn't get him a gift, a card, or even find the time to hang out with him. I'm too broke and too busy. Forget about Father's Day. Bro was at Dad's this weekend and the three of us went out to eat last night. While my father took a welcome break from hitting on the teenage waitstaff to run to the men's room, my brother offered me a deal.
He said that if I toked up with him, he'd forgive the giftlessness and count it as his present. Yes, my bro is a stoner. Everyone who offers me a hit from their pipe gets to hear the story of my ganja smoking days. Those days, I would smoke my own weight in KB in a month or less. I had a tent set up over my waterbed with a big screen TV and a Playstation at the foot. A consistent layer of smoke floated in the top foot of space between ceiling and floor. There were 100 different varieties of insence in stock, lava lamps all around, tie-dyes in my closet and psycadelic posters on every wall. Those were the days.
Everyone who offers me a hit also gets to hear why I don't smoke anymore greens. Paranoia! I stopped liking it and so I stopped doing it. One person who never tires of my stoned exploits is my brother. He's been trying to share his stash with me for years. He's been trying to get me to party with him and his teenage friends. Imagine who the cops will look at when the bust into a room of drunken, stoned teenagers having premarital sex. Neko doesn't like jail.
But, in the interest of being let off the hook and saving some cash, I agreed to my bro's terms. We killed a fatty and topped it off with a christmas tree bowl. All of a sudden, I understood my brother so much better. "So THIS is why you're always acting that way. You're stoned!" It's as if I reached enlightenment over and over, but then forgot how I realized it. Of course, the memories flooded back. The two of us BSed for a while, argued about who was more out of it, listened to some Sublime and watched some Spike Jonze videos. Then, bro fell asleep and I went downstairs to play video games. I also understand why he never comes out of his room and plays video games constantly. They're great for battling paranoia. I thought I'd figured out the ultimate winning strategy for playing Lumines on PSP, but I kept forgetting what it was.
The down side of the whole night was that I remembered that most of the jobs I've been applying for require drug screenings. Crap. Spike suggested that I drink a lot of water. But, since THC dissolves in not water, but in ALCOHOL, I think I should get shitfaced for about a week. If that doesn't work, maybe I'll down a bunch of detox tea. I don't intend to reimmerse myself in the lifestyle. But, it's fun just to check in with that side of my past every once in a while.
My brother's birthday passed this last week. I didn't get him a gift, a card, or even find the time to hang out with him. I'm too broke and too busy. Forget about Father's Day. Bro was at Dad's this weekend and the three of us went out to eat last night. While my father took a welcome break from hitting on the teenage waitstaff to run to the men's room, my brother offered me a deal.
He said that if I toked up with him, he'd forgive the giftlessness and count it as his present. Yes, my bro is a stoner. Everyone who offers me a hit from their pipe gets to hear the story of my ganja smoking days. Those days, I would smoke my own weight in KB in a month or less. I had a tent set up over my waterbed with a big screen TV and a Playstation at the foot. A consistent layer of smoke floated in the top foot of space between ceiling and floor. There were 100 different varieties of insence in stock, lava lamps all around, tie-dyes in my closet and psycadelic posters on every wall. Those were the days.
Everyone who offers me a hit also gets to hear why I don't smoke anymore greens. Paranoia! I stopped liking it and so I stopped doing it. One person who never tires of my stoned exploits is my brother. He's been trying to share his stash with me for years. He's been trying to get me to party with him and his teenage friends. Imagine who the cops will look at when the bust into a room of drunken, stoned teenagers having premarital sex. Neko doesn't like jail.
But, in the interest of being let off the hook and saving some cash, I agreed to my bro's terms. We killed a fatty and topped it off with a christmas tree bowl. All of a sudden, I understood my brother so much better. "So THIS is why you're always acting that way. You're stoned!" It's as if I reached enlightenment over and over, but then forgot how I realized it. Of course, the memories flooded back. The two of us BSed for a while, argued about who was more out of it, listened to some Sublime and watched some Spike Jonze videos. Then, bro fell asleep and I went downstairs to play video games. I also understand why he never comes out of his room and plays video games constantly. They're great for battling paranoia. I thought I'd figured out the ultimate winning strategy for playing Lumines on PSP, but I kept forgetting what it was.
The down side of the whole night was that I remembered that most of the jobs I've been applying for require drug screenings. Crap. Spike suggested that I drink a lot of water. But, since THC dissolves in not water, but in ALCOHOL, I think I should get shitfaced for about a week. If that doesn't work, maybe I'll down a bunch of detox tea. I don't intend to reimmerse myself in the lifestyle. But, it's fun just to check in with that side of my past every once in a while.
Neko's Decent Into Hell (part 2)
Since Spike's phone won't let me talk to him anymore tonight, I'm left to wander aroud cyberspace on my own. I guess now is a good a time as any to finish up the second half of the track listing for Neko's Untimely Demise. I've already distributed the copies, so anyone who's got one won't be spoiled by this post.
Neko's Untimely Demise
Part 2: in case of suicide, natural disaster, suicide...
Cosmos from Cowboy Beebop soundtrack
Here's one track I can bet nobody else has on their mix. This one is a short, saxy interlude to annouce the change of mood. I also think it's beautiful and appropriatly tear-jerking.
Mary Jane's Last Dance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
I had to borrow this CD from my father's collection, as I'm sure my copy was pawned years ago. If you've never seen the music video for this song, it portrays Petty as a pervy mortician who dances with the corpse of Mary Jane. While I'm sure the title lends itself to many interpretations, the video was what I had in mind when I picked this track for my funeral. I just think it's touching to think that someone out there would hold out enough lingering desire to entice one last embrace of my lifeless body.
Ask For Answers by Placebo
Two of the CDs I dug out of my archives were Placebo albums I confiscated from my relationship with Mark (alcholic domestic abuse guy). During the latter portion of our cohabitation, I found myself constantly occupied with thoughts of suicide. So, most of the music I remember from that period reminds me of razor blades and contemplation. Ask for Answers is something I could see myself listening to in a bloody bathtub.
Hear My Train... by Jimi Hendrix
I don't think this is the official title of the track, but that's how the chorus begins. When I hear this one, I think of being on death row, prepped for execution. Or, I think of being a heroine about to face a battle I know I won't walk away from.
C'mon folks, Hendrix is rich with this stuff.
I Know by Placebo
Another depressing melody by Placebo. Don't think I feel like explaining this one.
Farewell Ride by Beck
Neko's rules of mixed cds: each CD must contain one or more tracks by the following bands ~ My Chemical Romance, Beck, Bjork or Radiohead. This is the Beck contribution. It has much of the same sentiment as the Hendrix song above. It almost smacks of some Johnny Cash as well.
Everyting is Sorrow by The Boo Radleys
I'd forgotten how much I love this song. The melody (or whatever) alone makes me want to cry. I think that it was originally meant as a deterrent to suicide, but it has the opposite effect on me.
The End.
I'd had the passing thought of leaving the entire CD up to the listner's interpretation. What happened to that idea? Hopefully, each person will have their own reaction to my mix. I guess I was trying to justify my selections. In the modern age of iPods and downloads, I must be one of the only people who still prefer to purchase the actual CD. Generally, the CD rewards include liner notes, credits, etc. I've noticed, though, that now bands don't really bother to put much together for the CD release. The new NIN CD just has a pic of Trent inside.
Neko's Untimely Demise
Part 2: in case of suicide, natural disaster, suicide...
Cosmos from Cowboy Beebop soundtrack
Here's one track I can bet nobody else has on their mix. This one is a short, saxy interlude to annouce the change of mood. I also think it's beautiful and appropriatly tear-jerking.
Mary Jane's Last Dance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
I had to borrow this CD from my father's collection, as I'm sure my copy was pawned years ago. If you've never seen the music video for this song, it portrays Petty as a pervy mortician who dances with the corpse of Mary Jane. While I'm sure the title lends itself to many interpretations, the video was what I had in mind when I picked this track for my funeral. I just think it's touching to think that someone out there would hold out enough lingering desire to entice one last embrace of my lifeless body.
Ask For Answers by Placebo
Two of the CDs I dug out of my archives were Placebo albums I confiscated from my relationship with Mark (alcholic domestic abuse guy). During the latter portion of our cohabitation, I found myself constantly occupied with thoughts of suicide. So, most of the music I remember from that period reminds me of razor blades and contemplation. Ask for Answers is something I could see myself listening to in a bloody bathtub.
Hear My Train... by Jimi Hendrix
I don't think this is the official title of the track, but that's how the chorus begins. When I hear this one, I think of being on death row, prepped for execution. Or, I think of being a heroine about to face a battle I know I won't walk away from.
C'mon folks, Hendrix is rich with this stuff.
I Know by Placebo
Another depressing melody by Placebo. Don't think I feel like explaining this one.
Farewell Ride by Beck
Neko's rules of mixed cds: each CD must contain one or more tracks by the following bands ~ My Chemical Romance, Beck, Bjork or Radiohead. This is the Beck contribution. It has much of the same sentiment as the Hendrix song above. It almost smacks of some Johnny Cash as well.
Everyting is Sorrow by The Boo Radleys
I'd forgotten how much I love this song. The melody (or whatever) alone makes me want to cry. I think that it was originally meant as a deterrent to suicide, but it has the opposite effect on me.
The End.
I'd had the passing thought of leaving the entire CD up to the listner's interpretation. What happened to that idea? Hopefully, each person will have their own reaction to my mix. I guess I was trying to justify my selections. In the modern age of iPods and downloads, I must be one of the only people who still prefer to purchase the actual CD. Generally, the CD rewards include liner notes, credits, etc. I've noticed, though, that now bands don't really bother to put much together for the CD release. The new NIN CD just has a pic of Trent inside.
6.17.2006
Hell is a Vacant Lot
I'm home again. My lover has a skewed work schedule, which allows me to be away from my father's house Wednesday night through Saturday morning. I left my father's house in anger. I overheard him saying something on the phone about my current love interest. Well, it wasn't good. Despite having only shared company with Spike for a mere 2 minutes, he's passed a judgement which was summed up in one comment, "I hope she gets over it soon." Where does he get off?! Since my father decided to direct his career toward massage, he's become a new-agey self-help book reader. So, I constantly receive lectures and speches on forgiveness and free-thinking. The thing that pisses me off is that dad never follows his own advice. He only reads these things and regurjitates them. Once, he even went so far as to suggest that I forgive my ex-husband for the atrocities committed against myself and family. Move on maybe, cope maybe, but forgive? Never. I can understand why my father might be leery of my relationship choices. Did he ask me about Spike after they met? No. Did he express his concerns directly with me? No. That's why I'm pissed. Besides, it hurts for me to hear my father's second hand comments about the man of my dreams. I'm certain that his opinion was based entirely on Spike's hairstyle, which isn't fair in the least.
So, I ran off to spend the rest of the week in bliss. I love Spike. He's affectionate. He's thoughtful. He's generous. He's obviously dedicated. He's gentle and considerate. He remains "the perfect man" for me. Here's an example: On Friday night I had my first Passion Party as a consultant. My dear friend Silver was kind enough to book one. Sadly, there was only one guest, out of the 15 she'd invited. It was a good experience none the less. I got to practice my routine in a comfortable environment and made some sales. When all was said and done, I was a bit tipsy and later than I'd promised getting back to Spike's apartment. Most men I've heard of, get jelous that their girl is out with the ladies. Lots of guys give the cold, brush off treatment when their girl returns home. Instead, do you know what Spike gave me when I got home? He presented me with a plate of homemade chocolate covered strawberries!!! Now, THAT's a MAN!! Read 'em and weep ladies. If dating was a poker game, I'd have a full house.
Regarding Silver's party... She's the only friend who's come through for me (so far) when it comes to supporting my new endeavor. As of yet, her Passion Party is the only one I've booked. I think she handed out at least 15 invitations. Only one guest showed. I feel bad for her. She did all the cooking and all the preparations. She got stood up. This book club we belong to has proven itself to be full of stuck up bitches. Out of a club of 13 members, none showed. The "cool" people who were invited all had valid excuses, so I'm not dogging them. Silver, Random and I need to start our own club. It was suggested, but I'm not sure how serious the other two ladies were. Call me "gung ho" on the idea. Random is a cool chick. Aside from the fact that I'd hook up with her if she were into girls and we were both single, she's a good person.
It's taken me far too long to realize just how great of a friend Silver is. On the surface, she seems tough and confident. While I can't think of any reason she shouldn't be completely full of herself, she's actually more humble than you might expect. She's sensitive. If you've hurt her feelings, she's not the kind of lady to get up in your face. She's also not the type to lay a guilt trip. Silver is so classy that she'll mask her disappointment. Even though she might feel slighted, she won't put it on display and try to get emotional revenge. She'll try to forgive you. I don't mean to say that she's got no dignity, not at all. If Silver is pissed, she'll tell you that she's pissed and list her reasons. She stands proud and projects a powerful presence. She's learned not to compromise. She'll certainly kick your ass if you deserve it.
But, she has a heart. She rewards her close friends with compassion and understanding. She got my brother a job. She tried to help him out even though there were conflicts. She booked a party for me. She put up Random and her family in her own home until they could stand on their own. And those are the big things. There have been times when she'd fed me and borrowed me nicotine. There have been times when, instead of letting me dwell in my depression, she's invited me over to watch Eddie Izzard and drink wine. Sometimes it's the little things that really make a difference.
What I'm really trying to say is, "Thanks Silver". You're appreciated more than you might know. You fuckin' ROCK and I think Shenry made a kick-ass choice when he married you. Someday, I'll get you back. Don't think I've forgotten.
So, I ran off to spend the rest of the week in bliss. I love Spike. He's affectionate. He's thoughtful. He's generous. He's obviously dedicated. He's gentle and considerate. He remains "the perfect man" for me. Here's an example: On Friday night I had my first Passion Party as a consultant. My dear friend Silver was kind enough to book one. Sadly, there was only one guest, out of the 15 she'd invited. It was a good experience none the less. I got to practice my routine in a comfortable environment and made some sales. When all was said and done, I was a bit tipsy and later than I'd promised getting back to Spike's apartment. Most men I've heard of, get jelous that their girl is out with the ladies. Lots of guys give the cold, brush off treatment when their girl returns home. Instead, do you know what Spike gave me when I got home? He presented me with a plate of homemade chocolate covered strawberries!!! Now, THAT's a MAN!! Read 'em and weep ladies. If dating was a poker game, I'd have a full house.
Regarding Silver's party... She's the only friend who's come through for me (so far) when it comes to supporting my new endeavor. As of yet, her Passion Party is the only one I've booked. I think she handed out at least 15 invitations. Only one guest showed. I feel bad for her. She did all the cooking and all the preparations. She got stood up. This book club we belong to has proven itself to be full of stuck up bitches. Out of a club of 13 members, none showed. The "cool" people who were invited all had valid excuses, so I'm not dogging them. Silver, Random and I need to start our own club. It was suggested, but I'm not sure how serious the other two ladies were. Call me "gung ho" on the idea. Random is a cool chick. Aside from the fact that I'd hook up with her if she were into girls and we were both single, she's a good person.
It's taken me far too long to realize just how great of a friend Silver is. On the surface, she seems tough and confident. While I can't think of any reason she shouldn't be completely full of herself, she's actually more humble than you might expect. She's sensitive. If you've hurt her feelings, she's not the kind of lady to get up in your face. She's also not the type to lay a guilt trip. Silver is so classy that she'll mask her disappointment. Even though she might feel slighted, she won't put it on display and try to get emotional revenge. She'll try to forgive you. I don't mean to say that she's got no dignity, not at all. If Silver is pissed, she'll tell you that she's pissed and list her reasons. She stands proud and projects a powerful presence. She's learned not to compromise. She'll certainly kick your ass if you deserve it.
But, she has a heart. She rewards her close friends with compassion and understanding. She got my brother a job. She tried to help him out even though there were conflicts. She booked a party for me. She put up Random and her family in her own home until they could stand on their own. And those are the big things. There have been times when she'd fed me and borrowed me nicotine. There have been times when, instead of letting me dwell in my depression, she's invited me over to watch Eddie Izzard and drink wine. Sometimes it's the little things that really make a difference.
What I'm really trying to say is, "Thanks Silver". You're appreciated more than you might know. You fuckin' ROCK and I think Shenry made a kick-ass choice when he married you. Someday, I'll get you back. Don't think I've forgotten.
6.14.2006
Neko's Decent Into Hell
I kicked ass today. I got up early, went to a job interview, finished my mixed CD and prepared for Silver's Passion Party. Whew. It's good that I took care of business. I've decided that being with Spike is a special treat. The only way I'll allow myself the intense pleasure of Spike's company, is if I finish everything on my mental "to do" list. Since I'm so keen on seeing him, it's the perfect incentive to get my ass moving. Plus, it kills time. I've still got 2 hours left before I leave for downtown and it's practically killing me! Chain smoking doesn't waste time like it should either and it's not doing much for my lungs.
Ghost, Shenry and Silver will be impressed that I finished my CD for them. I don't know what they'll think of the music, but the fact that I actually got it done should be amazing enough in itself. Following is the track listing for "Neko's Untimely Demise" and a brief explaination of each song. If you're on the list to get a copy, the next paragraph is a spoiler, read at your own risk.
Neko's Untimely Demise
The theme for this month's swap was "songs to play at your funeral". Sounds like something I'd pick, right? For the cover art, I drudged up a picture of a grave that I took in New Orleans last June.
Part 1: in case of death by gunfight, lover's quarrel, or unholy resurrection (i.e. Blaze of Glory)
You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison by My Chemical Romance
You know I had to include at least one song from my favorite band. I woulnd't be Neko without my seething obsession for Gerard Way. This track happens to also be my favorite song from My Chem. I think it's the ideal music to have playing in the background if you're in the process of robbing a bank and have to engage in a heated gunbattle with the feds. Freakin' Wicked Cool!!!!
Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie
My recent outing with Silver to see Zombie has reignighted my love for the man. He's one of two guys I ever thought was hot wearing a belt buckle. I'd want this track playing during the scene where my hand thrusts out of the freshly piled earth that once was my grave. And then, my reanimated corpse wreaks havoc and eats brains, but somehow remains disturbingly sexy.
Love Ridden by Fiona Apple
I love Fiona Apple. She's the perfect person to listen to after you've broken up with someone. There's one particular song I'd love to dedicate to my ex-husband as a way of telling him to fuck off (as if the restraining order and prison weren't enough). This song however, has a "what the heck" kind of atmosphere. The girl's taking a chance and damn the consequences. I'd want my friends to listen to this at my wake and think, "Well, at least she died having fun."
Figured You Out by Nickelback
I loved this song forever and only recently discovered who it was. I think that the singer is offering a description of me and how I've led my life to some degree. Plus, I think it kicks ass and I couldn't resist adding it.
Vampires Will Never Harm You by My Chemical Romance
Here's a track from My Chem's first album, which I don't think "the public" has had all that much exposure to. I think the title is almost self-explainatory. I've got a thing for vampires.
Little Ghost by The White Stripes
It's a cute song. Maybe I'm trying to give hope to my mourning family that I might live happily onward on some etherial plane. I dig on ghosts as well.
Dani California by The Red Hot Chili Peppers
This one is close to being overplayed already. As the first single off the new album, the radio can't wait 5 minutes before repeating it. But, I think it's a good one. It's another one of those songs that I imagine some ex-boyfriend singing about me. yeah, I flatter myself. But the point is, I'm a crazy woman who went down in a blaze of glory, right?
The Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance
Yup, another one. It's the song that inspired the theme for this swap and I loved it before it ever got radio play and MTV airtime. To me, the theme of the video doesn't really match my vision of what the song is about. If you manage to stop screaming into your pillow because Gerard is so damn smokin' and listen to the lyrics, it's really heartbreaking and sung with so much emotion.
Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine by The Killers
Silver and Shenry should get a kick out of just the title alone. If you don't know it already, the Killers' album "Hot Fuss" (hee hee, I typed hot buss) contains a trilogy of sorts about a guy who murders his girlfriend. It's funny (kinda) how many scenarios described by the songs on this mix are so likely to happen to me. Wouldn't it be ironic?
I'll go over the tracks on Part 2 later. I'm sick of typing.
Ghost, Shenry and Silver will be impressed that I finished my CD for them. I don't know what they'll think of the music, but the fact that I actually got it done should be amazing enough in itself. Following is the track listing for "Neko's Untimely Demise" and a brief explaination of each song. If you're on the list to get a copy, the next paragraph is a spoiler, read at your own risk.
Neko's Untimely Demise
The theme for this month's swap was "songs to play at your funeral". Sounds like something I'd pick, right? For the cover art, I drudged up a picture of a grave that I took in New Orleans last June.
Part 1: in case of death by gunfight, lover's quarrel, or unholy resurrection (i.e. Blaze of Glory)
You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison by My Chemical Romance
You know I had to include at least one song from my favorite band. I woulnd't be Neko without my seething obsession for Gerard Way. This track happens to also be my favorite song from My Chem. I think it's the ideal music to have playing in the background if you're in the process of robbing a bank and have to engage in a heated gunbattle with the feds. Freakin' Wicked Cool!!!!
Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie
My recent outing with Silver to see Zombie has reignighted my love for the man. He's one of two guys I ever thought was hot wearing a belt buckle. I'd want this track playing during the scene where my hand thrusts out of the freshly piled earth that once was my grave. And then, my reanimated corpse wreaks havoc and eats brains, but somehow remains disturbingly sexy.
Love Ridden by Fiona Apple
I love Fiona Apple. She's the perfect person to listen to after you've broken up with someone. There's one particular song I'd love to dedicate to my ex-husband as a way of telling him to fuck off (as if the restraining order and prison weren't enough). This song however, has a "what the heck" kind of atmosphere. The girl's taking a chance and damn the consequences. I'd want my friends to listen to this at my wake and think, "Well, at least she died having fun."
Figured You Out by Nickelback
I loved this song forever and only recently discovered who it was. I think that the singer is offering a description of me and how I've led my life to some degree. Plus, I think it kicks ass and I couldn't resist adding it.
Vampires Will Never Harm You by My Chemical Romance
Here's a track from My Chem's first album, which I don't think "the public" has had all that much exposure to. I think the title is almost self-explainatory. I've got a thing for vampires.
Little Ghost by The White Stripes
It's a cute song. Maybe I'm trying to give hope to my mourning family that I might live happily onward on some etherial plane. I dig on ghosts as well.
Dani California by The Red Hot Chili Peppers
This one is close to being overplayed already. As the first single off the new album, the radio can't wait 5 minutes before repeating it. But, I think it's a good one. It's another one of those songs that I imagine some ex-boyfriend singing about me. yeah, I flatter myself. But the point is, I'm a crazy woman who went down in a blaze of glory, right?
The Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance
Yup, another one. It's the song that inspired the theme for this swap and I loved it before it ever got radio play and MTV airtime. To me, the theme of the video doesn't really match my vision of what the song is about. If you manage to stop screaming into your pillow because Gerard is so damn smokin' and listen to the lyrics, it's really heartbreaking and sung with so much emotion.
Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine by The Killers
Silver and Shenry should get a kick out of just the title alone. If you don't know it already, the Killers' album "Hot Fuss" (hee hee, I typed hot buss) contains a trilogy of sorts about a guy who murders his girlfriend. It's funny (kinda) how many scenarios described by the songs on this mix are so likely to happen to me. Wouldn't it be ironic?
I'll go over the tracks on Part 2 later. I'm sick of typing.
6.13.2006
The Sun Shines Perpetually In Hell
Answer these questions (to yourself):
Do you love to smoke those cognac dipped mini-cigars?
Are you unemployed?
Are you a smoker?
Do you find yourself financially unprepared to care for a family that consists only of yourself and 2 cats?
Are you a drinker?
Are you ghetto white trash?
If you answered "yes" to any of the above questions, I have a small tip to make yourself miss those sweet little Al Capones a bit less. First, pull out a fresh cigarette from your almost-empty pack of Marlboro Lights. Then, go to the fridge, or cooler, or under your bed and pull out a full can of Milwaukee's Best. Light up. Next, hold the cigarette in the same hand as the beer and pop the can open. Make sure to splash some of the foam onto your Marlboro. Viola! You've now got a "Ghetto Al Capone"!
...Okay, that was stupid and pointless...
I've returned home from Spike's apartment and I'm fresh out of the shower. I managed to accomplish all but three of the tasks I set out to do yesterday. I didn't end up going to book club. Silver called me and she'd had a hard day at work, Random wasn't going to show because she's busy digging herself out from under boxes, and I hadn't even read the book. So, none of us went to book club. I had the unpleasant task of calling the hostess to advise her that she needn't be expecting us. The chick was a total cunt about it. I never liked her anyway. Cunt.
I didn't finish the mix cd for Shenry, Ghost and Silver. However, I did work on it, and it's not due until Friday. When I'm done here, I'll work on wrangling my chosen tracks into some kind of comprehendable order. I also didn't finish my lapbooks for Silver's Passion Party. That's not due until Friday either and some progress was made on that too. Everything else is done.
Tomorrow, I have a job interview. It's for some kind of consulting firm. I think they think I'm a paralegal. I'll see how long I can play along with that one. It sounds like it's way out in BFE, but if I get the job, I'll be moving soon and it won't be such a hassle to get there. Silver, Shenry, are you ready for a couple of new neighbors? I think I've found someone to put his name on the lease!
Do you love to smoke those cognac dipped mini-cigars?
Are you unemployed?
Are you a smoker?
Do you find yourself financially unprepared to care for a family that consists only of yourself and 2 cats?
Are you a drinker?
Are you ghetto white trash?
If you answered "yes" to any of the above questions, I have a small tip to make yourself miss those sweet little Al Capones a bit less. First, pull out a fresh cigarette from your almost-empty pack of Marlboro Lights. Then, go to the fridge, or cooler, or under your bed and pull out a full can of Milwaukee's Best. Light up. Next, hold the cigarette in the same hand as the beer and pop the can open. Make sure to splash some of the foam onto your Marlboro. Viola! You've now got a "Ghetto Al Capone"!
...Okay, that was stupid and pointless...
I've returned home from Spike's apartment and I'm fresh out of the shower. I managed to accomplish all but three of the tasks I set out to do yesterday. I didn't end up going to book club. Silver called me and she'd had a hard day at work, Random wasn't going to show because she's busy digging herself out from under boxes, and I hadn't even read the book. So, none of us went to book club. I had the unpleasant task of calling the hostess to advise her that she needn't be expecting us. The chick was a total cunt about it. I never liked her anyway. Cunt.
I didn't finish the mix cd for Shenry, Ghost and Silver. However, I did work on it, and it's not due until Friday. When I'm done here, I'll work on wrangling my chosen tracks into some kind of comprehendable order. I also didn't finish my lapbooks for Silver's Passion Party. That's not due until Friday either and some progress was made on that too. Everything else is done.
Tomorrow, I have a job interview. It's for some kind of consulting firm. I think they think I'm a paralegal. I'll see how long I can play along with that one. It sounds like it's way out in BFE, but if I get the job, I'll be moving soon and it won't be such a hassle to get there. Silver, Shenry, are you ready for a couple of new neighbors? I think I've found someone to put his name on the lease!
6.11.2006
Pulling My Head Out of Hell
It's half past midnight. I can't sleep. Big surprise, huh? I think that a review of the time signatures on this blog would show that most of my posts are between 10p and 2a. I can't really seem to ever sleep. You'd think that a six mile hike this afternoon, in the blazing hot sun, would tire me out, but that doesn't seem to be the case. I guess it's just as well, as Blogger has a "scheduled outage" for tomorrow morning. (Yeah, like I'd be up anyway) Correction - I can sleep, but it's only during daylight hours. Nosferatu anyone?
So, I'm laying there thinking, "Now that I've got the relationship part of my life pretty much handled, it's time to get cracking on the rest of life." I jumped up and logged on so I could remember later what it is that I'm thinking now. Normally, in a serious relationship, I have a tendancy to shut down everything else and focus entirely on that. That isn't a good thing. It's time to change that aspect of my personality. I think a relationship tends to suffer if each person doesn't take time to persue their own interests. That way, things tend to flow better. Each person can bring in new things to share with the other. It keeps things fresh. While I can't be with Spike right now (much as I'd love to), our time apart is healthy. I feel bad about myself when I slack too much and don't take care of business. When I see him again, it will be all that much sweeter. How does that saying go? "Absense make the heart grow stronger" or something like that?
Well, let's see what I've got to acomplish this week. I've got to apply for more jobs. I'll never get out of this house if I don't start bringing in a regular paycheck. I've got to apply for unemployment, damn it. I keep forgetting to do that. I have that mix cd to finish and give to Shenry. I have a Passion Party on Friday and I need to review my products, finish my lapbooks, and practice my presentation. That party will be key to any further business if I want to stay a consultant. I've got to refresh my fliers around the neighborhood. Also on Friday, I have an exam to take for a job with the State. It would be sweet if I got that one. Tomorrow night (tonight) I have book club. Haven't read the book, but it's important to maintain that aspect of my social calendar. I've failed to obtain the month's scheduled reading once before, and I didn't catch any flack, so I think it's safe.
So, here's what's on the agenda for tomorrow:
Look online for new jobs.
Apply for unemployment.
Refresh Passion Parties fliers.
Finish mix CD for Shenry, Ghost and Silver.
Work on lapbooks.
Go to Book Club.
Hopefully, see Spike.
That shouldn't be too much to handle in one day, assuming that I get up before noon. Alright, time to get cracking!
So, I'm laying there thinking, "Now that I've got the relationship part of my life pretty much handled, it's time to get cracking on the rest of life." I jumped up and logged on so I could remember later what it is that I'm thinking now. Normally, in a serious relationship, I have a tendancy to shut down everything else and focus entirely on that. That isn't a good thing. It's time to change that aspect of my personality. I think a relationship tends to suffer if each person doesn't take time to persue their own interests. That way, things tend to flow better. Each person can bring in new things to share with the other. It keeps things fresh. While I can't be with Spike right now (much as I'd love to), our time apart is healthy. I feel bad about myself when I slack too much and don't take care of business. When I see him again, it will be all that much sweeter. How does that saying go? "Absense make the heart grow stronger" or something like that?
Well, let's see what I've got to acomplish this week. I've got to apply for more jobs. I'll never get out of this house if I don't start bringing in a regular paycheck. I've got to apply for unemployment, damn it. I keep forgetting to do that. I have that mix cd to finish and give to Shenry. I have a Passion Party on Friday and I need to review my products, finish my lapbooks, and practice my presentation. That party will be key to any further business if I want to stay a consultant. I've got to refresh my fliers around the neighborhood. Also on Friday, I have an exam to take for a job with the State. It would be sweet if I got that one. Tomorrow night (tonight) I have book club. Haven't read the book, but it's important to maintain that aspect of my social calendar. I've failed to obtain the month's scheduled reading once before, and I didn't catch any flack, so I think it's safe.
So, here's what's on the agenda for tomorrow:
Look online for new jobs.
Apply for unemployment.
Refresh Passion Parties fliers.
Finish mix CD for Shenry, Ghost and Silver.
Work on lapbooks.
Go to Book Club.
Hopefully, see Spike.
That shouldn't be too much to handle in one day, assuming that I get up before noon. Alright, time to get cracking!
Who the Hell Are These Guys?
Try this. Move your cursor up to the address bar and delete the "blogspot." portion of this addy. Hit "go" or arrow, or whatever it is that makes the website change. ...thingie... You'll find yourself on the site for some kind of Russian band. Funky, eh? And here I thought I was original.
6.10.2006
Crow Is A Dish Best Served In Hell
It seems that I've got to revise something I posted a few posts back. Remember that rant about how love doesn't really exist? How it's all a fairy tale that never really comes true? Well, I find myself having to eat my words.
I met someone.
He's not just anyone. In fact, if there truly is, as they say, someone out there for everyone, I'm almost completely positive that I've found him. For the purposes of this blog, I'll call him "Spike". The nickname is due to the fact that Mr. Wonderful sports a 12"+ tall mohawk. (*swoon*) We met on MySpace (I'll have to eat crow about internet dating later) and it was amazing from the beginning. Each responding email was full of "ohmygosh, you like...too?" There were movies I didn't think anyone else had seen. There were bands I didn't think anyone else had heard of. And it turns out that not only had he heard of all these things, but he really liked them too. Then came the shocker (hi Shenry). I was scrolling through his profile and noticed something about vegetarianism. I swifted an email, daring to hope for a second, to ask him if he was, in fact, a veggie as well. The answer was "yes" and that's when I knew we had to meet in person.
So, we met and promptly fell head over heels for each other. This time I'm sure it's not a one way street. I'm sure there's no lie behind his eyes. No doubts. I won't say that there haven't been fears and that I haven't been afraid. I've wondered, "Can this be for real? Is this one of those dreams where I imagine an entire loving relationship and wake up alone?" I've been frightened by the strength of my emotions. I've remembered how I've been hurt before, cautious about letting myself hope, and afraid that maybe I'm being fooled again. Those feelings have lessened. They're still there, but they're not poking their nasty heads up as often.
We only met a week ago. A little bubble pops up over my shoulder with my therapists face and she says, "Slow down". Spike and I are moving at light speed if you heed the conventional advice. But, I don't think either one of us are conventional people. Something Roach said to me today on the phone gave me courage. She told me that it's okay to say all these things I'm already hoping for. She let me know that when it's right, it's right and fuck all the prohibitive quotations. She's married to the first man she gave herself to and they've been together 10 years. She's someone I'm not suspicious of taking advice from.
So, if you're reading this Spike (and I don't think he is), "yes" to everything. Yes, I want to live with you. Yes, I would consider taking a second chance on marriage. Yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't think I've ever been this happy. Have you ever been on such an emotional high that your feelings don't have anywhere else to go except out of your tear ducts? Have you ever cried when someone told you they loved you and you knew they meant every syllable? Have you ever been so certain of something that you'll let nothing get in the way? Right now, that's me all over. You won't see anyone else's name on this blog for a long time. Even if all these hopes and dreams that I'm daring to wish for never come true, I'm in heaven right now and that's what really matters.
Other men? Well, I was seeing a few and a couple of them deserve a sincere apology. First, there's Chucky. Hey, Chucky, I know it's spineless of me to break things off in such a fashion, but that's the way it is. You were sweet and nice and didn't do a thing to make me like you any less. I had fun with you. If you can bear to see me again, I'd still like to go shooting and see your band. But, you've got to know that there's only one man in my heart and that's not going to change anytime soon. I still have your shorts. Want them back? I hate to let you down and I hate to make you feel bad, but that's what I have to do. I should have done a better job of this, but I just couldn't face it. You're a great guy and I wish you the best.
Hello Mayor McCheese. I haven't heard from you in a while and I get the impression that you aren't interested anymore anyway, so I don't feel so bad about letting you know. We had some good times. I hope things are looking up for you and I think you'd be a great friend to have. Maybe you'll keep in touch now, knowing that I don't have any designs on your future. I hope the fish is alive.
That's about it. "Guy from the bank" guy has a phobia of committment and we got along well, but there was never any premise of a future.
So, now there's only one man in my life and I sincerely hope that it stays that way forever. Spike, are you thinking what I'm thinking?
I met someone.
He's not just anyone. In fact, if there truly is, as they say, someone out there for everyone, I'm almost completely positive that I've found him. For the purposes of this blog, I'll call him "Spike". The nickname is due to the fact that Mr. Wonderful sports a 12"+ tall mohawk. (*swoon*) We met on MySpace (I'll have to eat crow about internet dating later) and it was amazing from the beginning. Each responding email was full of "ohmygosh, you like...too?" There were movies I didn't think anyone else had seen. There were bands I didn't think anyone else had heard of. And it turns out that not only had he heard of all these things, but he really liked them too. Then came the shocker (hi Shenry). I was scrolling through his profile and noticed something about vegetarianism. I swifted an email, daring to hope for a second, to ask him if he was, in fact, a veggie as well. The answer was "yes" and that's when I knew we had to meet in person.
So, we met and promptly fell head over heels for each other. This time I'm sure it's not a one way street. I'm sure there's no lie behind his eyes. No doubts. I won't say that there haven't been fears and that I haven't been afraid. I've wondered, "Can this be for real? Is this one of those dreams where I imagine an entire loving relationship and wake up alone?" I've been frightened by the strength of my emotions. I've remembered how I've been hurt before, cautious about letting myself hope, and afraid that maybe I'm being fooled again. Those feelings have lessened. They're still there, but they're not poking their nasty heads up as often.
We only met a week ago. A little bubble pops up over my shoulder with my therapists face and she says, "Slow down". Spike and I are moving at light speed if you heed the conventional advice. But, I don't think either one of us are conventional people. Something Roach said to me today on the phone gave me courage. She told me that it's okay to say all these things I'm already hoping for. She let me know that when it's right, it's right and fuck all the prohibitive quotations. She's married to the first man she gave herself to and they've been together 10 years. She's someone I'm not suspicious of taking advice from.
So, if you're reading this Spike (and I don't think he is), "yes" to everything. Yes, I want to live with you. Yes, I would consider taking a second chance on marriage. Yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't think I've ever been this happy. Have you ever been on such an emotional high that your feelings don't have anywhere else to go except out of your tear ducts? Have you ever cried when someone told you they loved you and you knew they meant every syllable? Have you ever been so certain of something that you'll let nothing get in the way? Right now, that's me all over. You won't see anyone else's name on this blog for a long time. Even if all these hopes and dreams that I'm daring to wish for never come true, I'm in heaven right now and that's what really matters.
Other men? Well, I was seeing a few and a couple of them deserve a sincere apology. First, there's Chucky. Hey, Chucky, I know it's spineless of me to break things off in such a fashion, but that's the way it is. You were sweet and nice and didn't do a thing to make me like you any less. I had fun with you. If you can bear to see me again, I'd still like to go shooting and see your band. But, you've got to know that there's only one man in my heart and that's not going to change anytime soon. I still have your shorts. Want them back? I hate to let you down and I hate to make you feel bad, but that's what I have to do. I should have done a better job of this, but I just couldn't face it. You're a great guy and I wish you the best.
Hello Mayor McCheese. I haven't heard from you in a while and I get the impression that you aren't interested anymore anyway, so I don't feel so bad about letting you know. We had some good times. I hope things are looking up for you and I think you'd be a great friend to have. Maybe you'll keep in touch now, knowing that I don't have any designs on your future. I hope the fish is alive.
That's about it. "Guy from the bank" guy has a phobia of committment and we got along well, but there was never any premise of a future.
So, now there's only one man in my life and I sincerely hope that it stays that way forever. Spike, are you thinking what I'm thinking?
6.02.2006
I Am Hell’s Burning Wreckage
I actually drove somewhere today. Speeding down Kipling on the way back home, I catch a glimpse of red. I decide that the traffic signal by the grocery strip mall isn’t something I need to stop for. The front end of my ancient Nissan barely clears the crosswalk before it makes 45 mph contact with something large. Looking up, after what seems like an eternity, and blinking the red sticky liquid from my eyes, I think I see a police car through the haze. The cruiser looks like it was hit by a meteor. As the paramedics cut me from my burning vehicle, I think that maybe I should have put $12 in the tank, instead of a superstitiously doomed $13. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in the ER.
What you just read didn’t actually happen. You might have been clued in by the fact that I couldn’t blog from my theoretical hospital bed. But, here’s what did happen. I saw the light. I stopped in time. The first car to cross the intersection to my left was a Sheriff’s vehicle. No accident. No burning wreckage. Everyone’s safe. But, I did put the 13 bucks daddy left me this morning into the gas tank. Good thing that number’s never been an unlucky one for me.
These are the kinds of visions I’ve been having. They sometimes trigger a panic attack. It’s good that I’ve learned to control “panic mode” to a certain degree. Have you ever seen any of the Final Destination movies? It’s like looking for signs. And while it’s unlikely that I’ll ever find myself in an elevator with a perverted old man holding a box of prosthetic arms, I sometimes feel like I’m getting ½ of a premonition. Just promise me that if I die, you’ll go into my apartment and clean out all the porn and drug paraphanellia before my mom sees it.
They started after my “situation” with the ex and haven’t quit or subsided in the almost two years they’ve been going on. They don’t haunt me strictly in motor vehicles either. Sometimes I’ll see jagged glass in the street and envision the child whizzing around on his scooter crashes just shy of the glittery debris. But then, his momentum slides him across the gravel like a human hunk of cheese and a piece of broken beer bottle flies up and takes out his eye; little flecks of flesh sticking to the rocky terrain. Granted, I do have a sick mind and sometimes imagine these things of my own free and somewhat vindictive will. Sometimes I hope that the asshole and his Beamer that just cut me off will careen into the embankment and Mr. Playgirl model will brake his nose beyond all cosmetic reconstruction on the steering wheel. Ha ha! That sort of thing (and a liberal middle finger) keeps down my road rage. But, that’s completely different from these “visions”.
Should I even label my anxious hypocondria as “visions”? As far as I know, they don’t ever come to pass. I’ve had ones that do, but those almost always come to me in my sleep. Once, I experienced a curious blending of the two. I was sitting facing upward on a hill. The region was in the midst of a snowstorm and, on that day, it took me 3 hours to get to work, whereas it was usually a 45 minute drive. Okay, so I’m sitting in traffic on an icy uphill slope. I thought to myself, “What if the lady in the Volvo in front of me suddenly lost traction on the ice and started sliding in reverse towards me?” Then, not two seconds later, that very same thing happened. Surprise, surprise.
What’s the point of this post, after all? I’m not trying to claim that I’m clairvoyant. I’m not trying to advertise the Final Destination series. I’m not intentionally trying to give the impression that I’m looney, although I think that’s probably apparent after a few reads. Nope. None of the above apply here. I guess I’m just babbling like always. Maybe this is just another creative writing exercise. But, if you see me flinch and go vacant for a few seconds, you’ll know that I sense impending disaster.
That said, I’m of f to the shooting range to blast some paper into oblivion. Who says paranoia and guns are a bad combination? Actually, who says that vegitarians are non-violent?!
What you just read didn’t actually happen. You might have been clued in by the fact that I couldn’t blog from my theoretical hospital bed. But, here’s what did happen. I saw the light. I stopped in time. The first car to cross the intersection to my left was a Sheriff’s vehicle. No accident. No burning wreckage. Everyone’s safe. But, I did put the 13 bucks daddy left me this morning into the gas tank. Good thing that number’s never been an unlucky one for me.
These are the kinds of visions I’ve been having. They sometimes trigger a panic attack. It’s good that I’ve learned to control “panic mode” to a certain degree. Have you ever seen any of the Final Destination movies? It’s like looking for signs. And while it’s unlikely that I’ll ever find myself in an elevator with a perverted old man holding a box of prosthetic arms, I sometimes feel like I’m getting ½ of a premonition. Just promise me that if I die, you’ll go into my apartment and clean out all the porn and drug paraphanellia before my mom sees it.
They started after my “situation” with the ex and haven’t quit or subsided in the almost two years they’ve been going on. They don’t haunt me strictly in motor vehicles either. Sometimes I’ll see jagged glass in the street and envision the child whizzing around on his scooter crashes just shy of the glittery debris. But then, his momentum slides him across the gravel like a human hunk of cheese and a piece of broken beer bottle flies up and takes out his eye; little flecks of flesh sticking to the rocky terrain. Granted, I do have a sick mind and sometimes imagine these things of my own free and somewhat vindictive will. Sometimes I hope that the asshole and his Beamer that just cut me off will careen into the embankment and Mr. Playgirl model will brake his nose beyond all cosmetic reconstruction on the steering wheel. Ha ha! That sort of thing (and a liberal middle finger) keeps down my road rage. But, that’s completely different from these “visions”.
Should I even label my anxious hypocondria as “visions”? As far as I know, they don’t ever come to pass. I’ve had ones that do, but those almost always come to me in my sleep. Once, I experienced a curious blending of the two. I was sitting facing upward on a hill. The region was in the midst of a snowstorm and, on that day, it took me 3 hours to get to work, whereas it was usually a 45 minute drive. Okay, so I’m sitting in traffic on an icy uphill slope. I thought to myself, “What if the lady in the Volvo in front of me suddenly lost traction on the ice and started sliding in reverse towards me?” Then, not two seconds later, that very same thing happened. Surprise, surprise.
What’s the point of this post, after all? I’m not trying to claim that I’m clairvoyant. I’m not trying to advertise the Final Destination series. I’m not intentionally trying to give the impression that I’m looney, although I think that’s probably apparent after a few reads. Nope. None of the above apply here. I guess I’m just babbling like always. Maybe this is just another creative writing exercise. But, if you see me flinch and go vacant for a few seconds, you’ll know that I sense impending disaster.
That said, I’m of f to the shooting range to blast some paper into oblivion. Who says paranoia and guns are a bad combination? Actually, who says that vegitarians are non-violent?!
5.29.2006
H isn’t for History Channel, H is for Hell
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)
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!!
4.20.2006
4.13.2006
Breeders Can Go To Hell (scroll down five)
Thirdly, but not lastly, is the most viable, in my opinion, of solutions. It combines some of the first method, only in that it involves government regulation. Citizens of every country should be issued a license in order to bear little ones. In order to qualify, a couple or individual, would have to meet certain qualifications to get their parenting license. To avoid public outrage, it would be as fairly negotiated as possible. You would have to meet employment criteria. Income bracket specifications would incite objections that only the rich might flourish. Using employment as a gage, the prospective matriarch and patriarch must bring in the average minimum, alone or seperately, that it takes to provide for their young. Done with welfare! Have you noticed that the couples with the lowest income tend to have the most kids? Doesn't seem in balance to me. There would be a background check involved as well. No man or woman who has been convicted of child abuse or molestation would be allowed to bear young.
There are more, drastically radical ideas floating around in my booze-addled mind that are probably best not shared with the public at large. They aren't viable anyway and would involve my incarceration for a very long, long time. Not desireable, compared to the alternatives.
And it is with that series of posts that I leave you. I leave you to ponder the issues of overpopulation and five-o-clock traffic.
There are more, drastically radical ideas floating around in my booze-addled mind that are probably best not shared with the public at large. They aren't viable anyway and would involve my incarceration for a very long, long time. Not desireable, compared to the alternatives.
And it is with that series of posts that I leave you. I leave you to ponder the issues of overpopulation and five-o-clock traffic.
Breeders Can Go To Hell (scroll down four)
Next, has long been a fantasy of mine, inspired partly by Christopher Walken and The Dead Zone movie. If I had one wish with which I could emboss myself with super powers, you wouldn't find me climbing walls or spinning the Earth wrong-way-round(the original post had something about shitting gold bricks). My super-human attribute would be the ability to grace any individual with infertility upon shaking my hand. I would be indescriminate in execution. No man, woman, local, foreigner, or race would be spared the embrace of my cursed hand. The only people I think I would avoid would be pregnant women, who should be avoided at all costs anyway.
Breeders Can Go To Hell (scroll down three)
This is not the only time such topic has flashed itself from neuron to neuron in my brain. No, I've pondered solutions from the recent past to the completely absurd. Firstly, there's the idea that citizens should only be allowed a certain number of offspring. It's been done. Think communist China. With this practice, there arises many problems. You've got a nation outraged that a government should try to control their populus this way. You've got parents either killing off or selling off their female children in order to save the two-children slots for the males, who will continue the family name. You've got an imbalance of the male to female ratio. Not going to work. Nix that idea.
Breeders Can Go To Hell (scroll down two)
The problem is, there are too many people! "This is suburban Colorado", I thought to myself, "I can only imagine what it's like in L.A." If only mankind would stop churning out offspring, then maybe the world would have a chance! Why, only yesterday, I was making my way toward the red and white gateway of a Target Superstore to buy some cottage cheese. I spotted a woman pushing a loaded shopping cart. What was it filled with? No, not affordable solutions for modern-day living - it was filled with children! "Good God," I thought, a thinly veiled look of disgust cast in her direction, "There are 5 of them!" They were clearly all product of her particular loins. There's got to be a limit, somehow, someway.
Breeders Can Go to Hell (scroll down one)
Here's the best attempt I can muster at reconstructing my previously hindered post. It went something like this....
"I'm having a cigarette, a bloodly mary, and a bag of chips and I damn well deserve all three. After making it through the work day without smoking, I was rewarded with an hour and a half drive home. The traffic was insane. I tried to escape, but each time I was confronted with a stalled car, bumper to bumper highway and a clutch that hasn't worked properly for quite some time. It's toasty outside today. My truck has no A/C. I almost paniced due to claustrophobia. And as I sat there, marinating in my own sweat, my mind started to boil like an egg.
I began to realize the problem..."
"I'm having a cigarette, a bloodly mary, and a bag of chips and I damn well deserve all three. After making it through the work day without smoking, I was rewarded with an hour and a half drive home. The traffic was insane. I tried to escape, but each time I was confronted with a stalled car, bumper to bumper highway and a clutch that hasn't worked properly for quite some time. It's toasty outside today. My truck has no A/C. I almost paniced due to claustrophobia. And as I sat there, marinating in my own sweat, my mind started to boil like an egg.
I began to realize the problem..."
MSN Can Go To Hell
My mouth, rendered sensitive by the "bold n spicy" bloody mary on the desk to my left, is barely able to cope with the katsup saturated, fresh out the oven, tater tots I'm trying to injest. My eyes, rendered blurry by the amount of alcohol in my bloodstream, are barely able to decifer the letters my fingers bring to life. My brain, overheated by my fustration, is barely able to cope with the fact that the eloquent post I was so proud of has disappeared. That's what you get when you combine a dial-up connection with a desperately un-de-fragged hard drive.
So, I shall attempt, to the best of my ability, to reconstruct my thoughts that were so arrogantly deleted by the god of users. I'll post, this time, in short bursts, as an attempt to foil the combination of hurdles in my way. (scroll up)
So, I shall attempt, to the best of my ability, to reconstruct my thoughts that were so arrogantly deleted by the god of users. I'll post, this time, in short bursts, as an attempt to foil the combination of hurdles in my way. (scroll up)
4.06.2006
I Am Hell's Bleeding Ears
I almost forgot the reason I fought so hard to get online this morning (afternoon). I've been working on a mix cd for my cousin this week, between all my other projects. Told you I had several going at once. I've finally ended up with a satisfactory arrangement and I burned 2 copies of it. The title is "Sugarplumbs and Suicide" and the track listing is as follows:
1. Fall Out Boy - "My heart is the worst kind of weapon" (acoustic)
2. Motion City Soundtrack - "Resolution"
3. My Chemical Romance - "Headfirst for Halos"
4. The Flaming Lips - "One more robot/sympathy 3000-21"
5. Ween - "Freedom of '76"
6. 3 - "Bramfatura"
7. Beck - "Scarecrow"
8. Weezer - "This is such a pity"
9. 3 - "Dogs of War"
10. The Flaming Lips - "Yoshimi battles the pink robots part 1"
11. My Chemical Romance - "Romance"
12. 3 - "Dregs"
13. Nine Inch Nails - "Every day is exactly the same"
14. Beck - "Missing"
15. The White Stripes - "Take, take, take"
16. Fink - "We are ninja"
It took me 3 days to get all the tracks in just the right order. Couldn't tell you if my cousin will like it or not. I haven't seen him for a year and a half and only spoke with him briefly since then. But, we somehow miraculously seem to be on the same level, so I'm trusting luck that he'll approve of my choices. It's just like me too, to turn this into some overblown art project. Instead of a simple track listing and black magic marker label, I'm birthing an entire booklet of pictures and blurbs about the songs. I made up a clever cover on the computer. I have copies of each album cover, which I'll embellish with lace and glitter, etc. On the back of each album page, I've written up a list of all the songs I used from that album, plus a little comment about each. It should amuse him.
Who gets copy #2, you ask? Shenry does, although he'll get the more basic version. He's the grand master of mix cds and in return for his advice, I'm sharing my creative energies with him.
What's next, you ask? The next mix cd, solely for my own amusement, will be "Songs for My Funeral" or some similar title. Shenry will get a copy of that one too, since I plan to elicit his assistance again.
1. Fall Out Boy - "My heart is the worst kind of weapon" (acoustic)
2. Motion City Soundtrack - "Resolution"
3. My Chemical Romance - "Headfirst for Halos"
4. The Flaming Lips - "One more robot/sympathy 3000-21"
5. Ween - "Freedom of '76"
6. 3 - "Bramfatura"
7. Beck - "Scarecrow"
8. Weezer - "This is such a pity"
9. 3 - "Dogs of War"
10. The Flaming Lips - "Yoshimi battles the pink robots part 1"
11. My Chemical Romance - "Romance"
12. 3 - "Dregs"
13. Nine Inch Nails - "Every day is exactly the same"
14. Beck - "Missing"
15. The White Stripes - "Take, take, take"
16. Fink - "We are ninja"
It took me 3 days to get all the tracks in just the right order. Couldn't tell you if my cousin will like it or not. I haven't seen him for a year and a half and only spoke with him briefly since then. But, we somehow miraculously seem to be on the same level, so I'm trusting luck that he'll approve of my choices. It's just like me too, to turn this into some overblown art project. Instead of a simple track listing and black magic marker label, I'm birthing an entire booklet of pictures and blurbs about the songs. I made up a clever cover on the computer. I have copies of each album cover, which I'll embellish with lace and glitter, etc. On the back of each album page, I've written up a list of all the songs I used from that album, plus a little comment about each. It should amuse him.
Who gets copy #2, you ask? Shenry does, although he'll get the more basic version. He's the grand master of mix cds and in return for his advice, I'm sharing my creative energies with him.
What's next, you ask? The next mix cd, solely for my own amusement, will be "Songs for My Funeral" or some similar title. Shenry will get a copy of that one too, since I plan to elicit his assistance again.
Hell in a Plastic Cup
It's half past 2 in the afternoon and I'm sitting here in my robe, sipping Chinese tea. I woke up about a half hour ago, toasted up some tater-tots and fought with the computer again. Our struggle ended badly last night, but I won this morning! I don't know how I'll manage to start working at 8 in the morning again. Two o'clock feels like hell. I guess it doesn't matter what time I arise, I still feel like crap. That might explain why I don't usually want to get out of bed. That might explain why I lose my job for not showing up.
But, I have a new job now! I had an interview yesterday afternoon and I aced it. They want me to take a drug test tomorrow before they can combine it with the results of my background check and decide if I'm still desireable as an employee. WEll, I'm not a felon or a junkie, so there shouldn't be issues. It pays to not get caught. I'll be working next week and onward for about 6 months in the legal department of an insurance company. Same old "file this" and "copy that" bullshit though. I haven't landed that art career or bass player gig yet, so this is what I get. I do plan to become a rep for Passion Parties, if I can swing the financial end. That'll give me a night job that could turn into a full time thing. Then, I can go from there.
More good news for Neko this week. On monday, I learned the results of my ex-husband's trial. The fucker gets 12 years. Did I post that already? Well, it bears repeating. That rotten, lowly bastard gets to be passed around for cigarettes for the next twelve years of his life as payment for what he did to me. Good! That'll give me time to skip town before he tries it again. Because, I don't believe he'll ever stop trying to kill me. Ever. I'm happy to have the whole court process over with. I'm happy that it wasn't continued AGAIN. It was almost 2 years ago that these crimes were committed and only now have we reached resolution. Jezus. Now, at least, I can move on and make more solid plans for myself.
With that hurdle reached, and my new job, I'll be ready to move soon. That will be great for my sence of pride and lack of personal space. Unless my future roommate's got a computer, I'll still have to visit this place for my net fix.
But, I have a new job now! I had an interview yesterday afternoon and I aced it. They want me to take a drug test tomorrow before they can combine it with the results of my background check and decide if I'm still desireable as an employee. WEll, I'm not a felon or a junkie, so there shouldn't be issues. It pays to not get caught. I'll be working next week and onward for about 6 months in the legal department of an insurance company. Same old "file this" and "copy that" bullshit though. I haven't landed that art career or bass player gig yet, so this is what I get. I do plan to become a rep for Passion Parties, if I can swing the financial end. That'll give me a night job that could turn into a full time thing. Then, I can go from there.
More good news for Neko this week. On monday, I learned the results of my ex-husband's trial. The fucker gets 12 years. Did I post that already? Well, it bears repeating. That rotten, lowly bastard gets to be passed around for cigarettes for the next twelve years of his life as payment for what he did to me. Good! That'll give me time to skip town before he tries it again. Because, I don't believe he'll ever stop trying to kill me. Ever. I'm happy to have the whole court process over with. I'm happy that it wasn't continued AGAIN. It was almost 2 years ago that these crimes were committed and only now have we reached resolution. Jezus. Now, at least, I can move on and make more solid plans for myself.
With that hurdle reached, and my new job, I'll be ready to move soon. That will be great for my sence of pride and lack of personal space. Unless my future roommate's got a computer, I'll still have to visit this place for my net fix.
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