Bubbles of Joy

Mybestfriend is pregnant. I am so happy for her. She tried long and hard (haha) to get that way. Last night she called me to tell me that she felt the baby for the first time. She described it as "bubbles on your skin, but inside." She's sure it wasn't gas, she has become a certified Gas Expert recently. She was so giddy.

I enjoy being able to share this stuff with her. It's so fun. I was worried there for a little while (2.7 seconds, to be exact) that because I NEVER have wanted, currently do NOT want, and can NOT foresee wanting in the future a baby of my own, that one of two things would happen: A) I would suddenly desperately want a baby. B) Because I DIDN'T want a baby we would drift apart during what is probably the most interesting part of her life. Thankfully, neither has happened! She says my biological clock goes Vroom! Vroom! instead of Tick! Tock! (I ended up wanting a 2005 Mustang, desperately). AND, I think I was the first person she called when she felt the baby last night. Now that may not be a big deal to some people, but it meant the world to me. She has continued to put up with my good natured mockery and my baby cooty phobia when normal people would have turned their back on me and started knitting baby booties with their happily married parent friends. Thank the gods for friends that you can live vicariously through!

Ya Think?!

MyBigStupidHero gave me an award yesterday! You know, I haven't gotten an award since Hiwassee College when my Social(ist) Studies professor gave me the "Walks to the Beat of Their Own Drummer" award. It was an award he made up probably because I was the only person in his class who understood that to debate an issue you didn't have to actually be willing to die for the side you were advocating. The ironic thing about receiving the "Walks to the Beat of Their Own Drummer" award: I tripped walking off the stage.

I think this "Little Nutty" award is my favorite award ever! It might even rank above the first place Poetry ribbon I won at Roane State my Junior year of highschool. "Why does this particular award make me so happy?" you ask? Because when someone with a screw loose awards you as being "A Little Nutty" then the Nuttyness factor is increased exponentially!

I am tagging my BestestFriendInTheWholeWideWorld with this Nutastic award! Pregnancy is making her crazier by the day.

New Things

I have added a couple of new links to the decor. I never take change lightly (I am Southern after all) so the two links I added this morning are very intergral pieces of my life that I am very glad to be able to share with complete strangers.

The first new link will take the unwitting traveler to the blog home of my bestest friend in the whole wide world. There are a million reasons why she is my best friend and there were a million reasons why it has taken her this long to allow me to link to her. Almost all of those reasons are deeply embarrassing to someone... However, after months of anonymity she has agreed to come out of the shadows and be seen by the unwashed masses that devour my every word. I attribute this change to her getting knocked up recently. Apparently pregnancy has the same effects on her judgement as drinking. Go check her out - she's already putting her hands on peoples arms when she talks to them and saying things like "I'm sorry" & "I love you." By the end of the next trimester she'll be starting fights and dancing on the table...

The second link I added will transport you to quiet possibly the funniest comic ever. I think I find it so heartrendingly funny because it seems to me to be the doodles in the margins of the script of my life. So funny, so true, and you don't always understand them - but you always know someone who would. There are days when this comic makes me laugh so hard I have to call someone and tell them how much I appreciate having them in my life.

My friends won't leave me alone!

Blog meme - Fifty questions.

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
“Gonna have to wear barrettes today…”

2. How much cash do you have on you?
$18 and lots of dimes for some reason.

3. What’s a word that rhymes with DOOR?
Roar.

4. Favorite planet?
Pluto. And there’s not a damn thing some smug, son of a bitch, scientist can do to change it!

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
Mom.

6. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
The one that sounds like an old rotary dial phone ringing. I can’t be bothered to have any of them new fangled music ringtones that those young whippersnappers use.

7. What shirt are you wearing?
Pink long sleeved blouse with vivid red, pink, blue, yellow, and green flowers embroidered on it.

8. Do you label yourself?
Probably, but not consciously. Do warning labels count?

9. Name the brand of the shoes you’re currently wearing?
American Eagle.

10. Bright or Dark Room?
Dark. Pitch Black if possible.

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?
Diane is my best friend. I think she’s smart and brave and funny and has “issues.” One of those issues is a problem displaying or coping with deep emotion. “I love you Diane!” hahahahaha. Take that, bitch!

12. What does your watch look like?
What watch? What, do I have to be somewhere? Why are you always trying to “confine” me? Leave me alone!

13. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sleeping quietly with my cat Jack.

14. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?
Night. I love you.

15. Where is your nearest 7-11?
ACTUAL 7-11? I think there’s one in Athens. We have a “corner store” (BP) in Riceville less than a mile from my house.

16. What's a word that you say a lot?
"Seriously” is MY word. My best friend answered this question with “Seriously,” but it’s MY word. It has been since High School. Seriously.

17. Who told you he/she loved you last?
My Hal.

18. Last furry thing you touched?
My kitty, Jack. I love him. We played tag under the closet door this morning while I was getting ready for work.

19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?
None. Unless you count caffeine or hard liquor. In which case, I have had as follows: Two cups of coffee every morning, four cups of coffee at the board meeting Tues, and a shot(s) of SoCo the other night with some chocolate and a good book.

20. How many rolls of film do you need developed?
None. My Hal has a digital camera. We do have a ton of photos to get off memory sticks though.

21. Favorite age you have been so far?
Twenty-three.

22. Your worst enemy?
Real or imaginary? Just kidding. It’s my ex-husband.

23. What is your current desktop picture?
My black, long haired, Cycloptic kitty, Jack.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone?
”I’d do that for a hundred dollars.”

25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be?
A million bucks. There’s lots of stuff I CAN do and no time to enjoy it. A million bucks would go a long way towards enabling me to have the free time to enjoy the skills and dreams I have already.

26. Do you like someone?
Yes. Let’s see… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6… hmm, 6 seems to be the limit of people I don't hate at the moment.

27. The last song you listened to?
”Lebanese Blonde” by Thievery Corporation.

28. What time of day were you born?
3:15pm

29. What’s your favorite number?
Seven.

30. Where did you live in 1987?
In Riceville, in the first house my father ever built. I had a door to Nowhere in my room. I was 11 years old.

31. Are you jealous of anyone?
I don’t think so. Diane would be the only person that might occasionally instill jealousy in me. As long as you can live vicariously through your friends the jealousy never seems to last but a moment... She may end up with a beautiful little baby, but the fact that I won’t have to shoot something bigger than a breadbox out of my body also serves to reassure me that I’m not missing out. I don’t see it as jealousy; I see it as forced perspective.

32. Is anyone jealous of you?
I don’t think so. Diane might be in about 71/2 months… and then again in about 13 years.

33. Where were you when 9/11 happened?
I was in my truck driving to work when I heard.

34. What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
Curse it, literally. You might not want to use the one outside the food court at Hamilton Place.

35. Do you consider yourself kind?
Yes. I am soft hearted, yet I hate people. When I’m kind to you (and I will be…very) I’m actually testing the phrase “kill them with kindness.” I have a theory about it being a culminative effect…

36. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?
The small of my back.

37. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
French. If this is just wishful thinking, then I would really like to learn Hindi but considering I can barely read French (and I took that class for 3 years) it will probably just stay wishful thinking…

38. Would you move for the person you loved?
Eh. Maybe. I’m melodramatic. I would probably just let them leave and then wither away from a broken heart.

39. Are you touchy feely?
Yes. Especially if I’m drunk or happy.

40. What’s your life motto?
When a dog runs at you, whistle for him – Henry David Thoreau

41. Name three things that you have on you at all times?
My silver Buddha charm, my cat ear cuff, and the memory of my dead brother.

42. What’s your favorite town/city?
The city of Agra in India. It is home to the Taj Mahal (the largest erection ever inspired by a woman).

43. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
Sparkly colored bindis so I could play dress up with my friend Crystal’s little girl, Emily.

44. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?
Last year.

45. Can you change the oil on a car?
Yes. I can also hot wire a car, start a car that has a bad solenoid by shorting it out with a screwdriver, and I have been known to be able to jimmy the lock on my truck in under 1 minute.

46. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her?
Bipolar-Born Again Christian-homeless-alcoholic. Pretty sure most of that is my fault (especially since I cursed him). Well, all except the Bipolar part, that’s the reason he was my FIRST not my last. Amendment: Part of the credit/fault should go to a friend of mine. (she gets her nose out of joint if you don't acknowledge her help) Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Catholic virgin to help you perform a hex?

47. How far back do you know about your ancestry?
I had a great uncle who did all that stuff all the way back to my Scotch-German ancestors who came over and fought in the Revolutionary War. To be quiet honest, I’m not having any children so I figure that a vague knowledge plus the family rumors I’ve gleaned over the years will be all I really want to know.

48. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy?
Last week for my Best Friend’s hoity toity fund raiser at the Museum.

49. Does anything hurt on your body right now?
The arches of my feet ache a little from bellydance class.

50. Have you been burned by love?
Yes. By love, for love, same difference.

My friends ARE more important than my work - REALLY.

Quite a while ago I was tagged with a request to tell a little something about a good friend of mine on his blog. Now, I've been REALLY crazily busy at work and the holidays make my head implode, so I was really ashamed that I did not even realize I had been tagged until this past Monday (nigh on a two weeks since I was originally tagged). This friend was none other than MyBigStupidHero. I posted my brief bit of intimate information in the comments of his post, however I have since been riddled with guilt at the fact that the piddly ass every day crap in my life had reduced me to ignoring my friends' ramblings. I have spent the last little bit of my lunch poking around the interweb catching up with my friend's lives. I am making myself get off my ass and spend some time with them also. Tonight I am going over to my friend Crystal's house and playing dress up with her 3 1/2 year old - Emily. I even bought sparkly little bindis for her to wear since she liked mine so much the last time we were out. ANYWAY... the point of this long diatribe is that I've let my life eclipse MY LIFE. And I'm done. No more!

I am including in this post my observations on MyBigStupidHero as well as two of my favorite memories of him. Here they are - Nothing fancy, just me recalling somethings that still make me smile and/or cringe:

Observations on my friend Big Stupid Tommy:

Tommy IS a giant.
Should it ever come down to Tommy in his underwear throwing boulders from a hilltop versus villagers with torches and pitchforks Tommy would win. Hands down. Every time.

Tommy is NOT stupid.
Tommy is probably the smartest man I know.
He is intelligent, well read, and a joy to talk with.

Now for some quirks which always make me smile:
Upon being handed a book Tommy will open it up and smell it.
Tommy HATES red licorice.
Tommy dives into water like a grizzly bear.
Tommy performs a very nice underwater handstand.
Tommy has slept sitting upright in a chair.
Tommy does not use straws.
Tommy’s kill command is “Fennel.”
Tommy will tolerate Diane and myself when anyone else would run away screaming with bleeding ear drums or collapse into a catatonic stupor.
And though this will undoubtedly embarrass him… I have always thought that with his kind heart, wonderful wit, boundless loyalty, and quiet demeanor he has an air of the romantic hero about him.

My friend Tommy.
I took way too long to find out I’d been tagged with this request to share a little of my insight into the Big Stupid which is Tommy. I apologize for the delay. I will attempt to make amends by sharing things that others may not know about our mutual friend. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of meeting the Tommy in person let me say Big Stupid Tommy is an impressive man. He stands well over 6’ tall and is a very reassuring presence to have on your side in dark alleys or impromptu wrestling matches. I would like to share two stories to illustrate this fact and illuminate a little of the personality which is Big Stupid Tommy:

One time, long ago on a very drunken night at a Con in Atlanta (I don’t remember which one) our good friend Tommy had paid for the hotel room with his credit card and then we had all pitched in cash to repay him. Sometime during the evening it came to our attention from the front desk that our room had to pay a very small amount either to make a phone call or to pay for a call or something… Anyway, Thomas explains politely over the phone that they have his credit card information on file, just add this expense to the bill. The dumbass at the front desk says “We can’t do that.” Thomas tries gallantly to explain the concept of room billing and the magical properties of credit cards, but alas the front desk insists that cash in an amount of less than $3.00 is required of our Big Stupid friend. Thomas then proceeds to gather the exact amount required in the form of loose change procured from the various inhabitants of our room. Our esteemed friend then pours all the change into a sock (yes my friends - a sock, which may or may not have been clean) and ventures down to the front desk to pay his fee. I, of course am dying to see what happens and request to go with him. He, being ever the gentleman, allows me to accompany him, even though I am thoroughly intoxicated and a bit of a hindrance at this point. We arrive at the front desk and to my delight Thomas dumps the change out of the mens sports sock and onto the counter in front of the stunned clerk. I was too delighted by this in my inebriated state to notice all the nuances that occurred, but I do remember the look of embarrassed horror and slight fear on the desk clerk. I believe there had to be another clerk brought from the backroom and it seems to my memory that Tommy loomed over the counter until they had counted every last smelly penny and nickel. He then turned and regally departed for the elevator. I am loving every moment of this spectacle to the point I believe I even bounced up and down and clapped my hands (I am known to do this when drunk) However, when the elevator reaches our floor and the doors swing open they reveal to my utter horror that we are BETWEEN floors! Now it wasn’t like the hallway floor was beyond our reach or that we could see duct work and wiring, but there was distinctly a large amount of space that one should NOT be able to see when one arrives at their floor. I froze. I was terrified. Every movie I’ve ever seen that involved elevators flashed through my drunken mind. I turn stuttering to my Big Stupid Hero. He doesn’t not let me down. He simply says “Yeah, I know. That’s weird, let’s just get out.” I’m not sure, but I think I made him hold my hand as I stepped UP into the hotel hallway. Now granted, I was drunk, and I am me, so things seem more drastic than they are sometimes, but that is one of the many times I have been thankful to have Thomas as my friend, by my side.

Now for the flip side of having Big Stupid Tommy as a personal friend:

Once, long ago, on a summer afternoon at my place of employment our hero Thomas was busy doing some freelance work (I think he was helping me clean out the storage room - for a fee) Now on this particular day there were two small kittens running amuck in our office. (Don’t ask. It’s enough to know that there were two small kittens.) We turned our backs for a few minutes and found that one of the little furballs had squeezed back behind the large metal heat and air contraption in the corner of the room. I could see it. I could touch it with my fingertips. I went to pull the little booger out and realized to my sickening horror that my arm was stuck. Now, you have to realize this all happened very quickly… My arm is pinned behind a huge piece of metal work. I am sitting crouched on the floor panicking. I look up and see my Big Stupid Hero standing over me looking quizzical. I reach my arm out towards him and say “Help me! I’m stuck!” Then in a flash I see Thomas as a looming giant, his large hand reaching towards me ready to swallow my shaking fingers in his vice-like grip. I am now frantic. All I can picture is one good tug from him popping my arm right off my shoulder. I can actually see him standing above me puzzledly looking at my disembodied arm held in front of him as I scream in pain and then faint dead away. Suddenly I am giggling up at him and stammering “No! No! It’s alright! I’ll get out. Really. Don’t touch me!” I manage to free myself clumsily and after great frantic effort, but that feeling of absolute panic and vulnerability still creeps into my nightmares some nights.

Tag! My friends think I have "free time"

My BigStupidHero tagged me with a Big Stupid Music meme just to be mean. So here it goes...

What music are you currently grooving to?

Tsiftetelli by The Toids (This is the song my bellydance class performed, with slightly different choreography, for our class recital.)


I picked this particular video of this song because, A.) I can't find an actual video for the song on YouTube and B.) It comes closer than any other choreography I saw to the level of "skill" (I use that term loosely when I apply it to myself) our class exhibited during our bellydance "class recital." This is not to say these girls aren't great, but what they do "drunk/hopped up on cold medicine" is what I can strive to claim stone cold sober on a good day.

What, if push comes to shove, is your all-time favourite album?

Are You Experienced - Jimi Hendrix



I couldn't choose at first, but then I remembered how much I loved this album during my formative years. I can, and did, listen to it over and over and over. I know, it explains alot doesn't it.

What was the first record you ever bought? And where did you buy it?

I can't believe I'm actually going to admit this...
Hangin' Tough - New Kids on the Block





I had other tapes, but this was the first one I can remember actually buying with my own money. Sad, but true.

Which musician have you ever wanted to be?

Joan Jett!


Now I am adding my own variation of this question, because when I first read that last question I thought it said "Which musician have you ever wanted to be WITH?" and I had two or three answers I thought of right off the bat and it's a shame to waste them. So here we go:

Which musician have you ever wanted to be WITH?

1. Henry Rollins - I fell for him the first time I heard him on a Black Flag album and never looked back. Damn. He's still top of my list in his mid forties and his button down shirt. Damn, I say. I'm sorry, what was the question?


2. Nuno - What can I say? Great fingers on a pretty pretty man. mmmmmm.... Nuno!


What do you sing in the shower?

Dead or Alive - You Spin Me Round

Now you can sing it too! Go ahead, you know you want to.

What is your favourite Saturday night record?

Okay, I don't know what this means... and neither did the person who Tagged me. I'm gonna put my own interpretation on this and go with "Saturday night record" as "Make Out Album." So here I'm linking to my Favorite Make Out Album, because I can.

The Southern Harmony & Musical Companion - The Black Crowes


I don't know why but there's just something about that whole album that's just always made me feel warm and loose, could've been the Southern Comfort...

And your Sunday morning record?

Okay, I really don't know what the hell this means, but again I am going to choose my own interpretation... I'm going to say it means your "Makes You Feel Like You've Found Religion Album." So here's mine.

Mule Variations - Tom Waits

"Cold Water" is my favorite song off that album. My favorite line from any song ever written is in that song: "I found an old dog and it seems to like me..."

Well, there it is - My musical soul laid bare. You might want to go wash out your ears. Because of extenuating circumstances, my best friend does not allow outside links to her super secret personal blog. Soooo, I am going to tag her via email instead of calling the bitch out in public like she needs. If it's really embarrassing I'll be sure to share a little of it.

Stardust

Went to see Stardust last night with my BigStupidHero. I don't have time for my usual page long wandering and ranting so I'll make a few quick observations...

First and foremost: Go See this Movie! Seriously. This is one of those few in a lifetime just plain old GOOD movies. Don't pussy around and miss seeing it in the theaters.

Second and secondmost: I cringed at the "Princess Bride" comparisons I have heard bandied about the last few weeks. Princess Bride is my favorite movie of all time and I did not want to set my hopes that high and then resent a perfectly good movie for failing to meet my ridiculously high benchmark. I beat my inner child into submission and went to see Stardust with that wonderful ability of mine to completely wipe my mind blank on demand. At the end of the movie I was left sitting in the dark and quiet when suddenly in the back corner of my mind my twelve year old self cried out; "It was! It was! I told you it could happen!" For the first time in years I didn't reprimand her out loud for her impertinence.

Third and thirdmost: There are parts that are different. It has been nigh on a decade or more since I read the book. I intentionally did NOT reread it before seeing the movie. Again I was protecting myself against disappointment. I know there were things, they are nudging me from my peripheral consciousness. This has only served to make me want to reread the book. I do NOT think the book will make me love the movie less or visa versa. There are things that must be done to make things fit in a reasonable movie time limit. I think this should be held out as a beautiful example of doing so without losing the "good bits."

Fourth and fourthmost: My BigStupidHero stated drolly as the credits rolled; "I believe that Ricky Gervais could take a shit on the floor and I would find it the funniest damn thing I'd ever seen." I can go on a page long explanation of why Gervais amazes me, but I will not. I will simply say that there was not a throw away part in this movie. Every piddly ass character given screen time was wonderful. Gervais stole his scenes effortlessly even sharing it with a personal favorite of mine: Robert DeNiro. And let me say this... I worried when DeNiro strode through his first scene. I thought "what the hell is he doing? it seems so over the top, so unnatural, so overacted! why?! shit, don't let DeNiro ruin this for me. please ye gods not DeNiro, I LIKE him!" I should never have doubted him. I beg forgiveness. He stole my heart yet again, this time all the sweeter for the doubting. Even the goat made me smile... until he... well that was just... I'm still not sure what I think about that.

Lastly and hindmost: This movie restored my faith in movies. What George Lucas strangled slowly and painful to death, Stardust breathed the breath of life into. (Lord of the Rings doesn't count as restoring my faith in movies as I was still in the anger stage of grief and could not bring myself to love again...yet.)

I end my review with one word and if that one word does not sway you then you are a vapid heartless cold cruel horrible person with no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

UNICORN!

Where's my angry elephant when I need it!?

Edit:
I have decided that I need to include a mood indicator on my posts kinda as a warning system of some sort...
The forecast for this post is: Overcast early on with a 90% chance of nihilism and scattered rage storms by late afternoon.

I hate working in a public building with a public bench directly outside my very old and very uninsulated window. In this old building the windows are anything but sound proof and if you happen to sit outside my window and speak in anything other than a conspiratorial whisper I can and will hear abso-fucking-lutely everything you say. And being the horribly judgemental hateful person I am I will most likely repeat it verbatim to anyone who might remotely find it interesting, pathetic, funny, or instructive. I found the conversation of a thirty-something mother who sat on my bench this afternoon to be ALL those things and more, so I thought I would post it in it's entirety. The following occurred precisely as I've recorded for your reading pleasure (the bits in quotation marks are spoken into a cell phone):



No.
Sit here.
No.
You will sit here and you will stay here.
No.
One way or another you will learn to sit here and you will learn to obey.
Stop.
No.
Sit.
Stop.
Stop.

"No.
I have to stay here because they won’t behave."

Sit.

"What?
What?
Well, alright."

You will learn to listen
You will learn to behave
One way or another you will learn
The hard way or the nice way
Are you guys gonna sit down and behave?
No?
Sit down.

"He doesn’t want to sit.
He won’t sit on the bench like he’s supposed to.
He just wants to kick things."

You will sit.
Why are your shoes off?

"He will learn to behave."

You’ll be sorry.
Sit.
Sit.
Be quiet.
Stop it.

"Oh my god, these kids."

Stop it now.
Now.
Quit.

"*muttering *… you would of thought.
Uh-oh."

Stop.
You’re a naughty boy.

"I don’t know."

Say please.
No.
Alright babies, be good!

"I can't go back in, they won't behave."

No.
You can't you back in.
Only good kids get to go in there.
They don't want you.
You have to sit.
Sit.
No.
No.
Behave.
Sit.
Be quiet.

"I have to go.
They won't behave."

Stop it.
Stop it.
There’s no reason to cry.
Aw fudge! (That's right folks, she won't curse in front of the little bundles of joy God blessed her with. Probably because it would be unChristian to do so. Just a guess on the motive there, but I'd be willing to lay down money on it.)
You listen!
Stop.
Sit.
Sit.
No.
No.
Be quiet.
Stop it.
Get to the car.



That's it. That's the conversation this wonderfully charming person carried on with, and about, her babies. I did not leave anything out, except for the bit that was muttered, and that certainly wasn't uplifting and caring sounding by the tone. Speaking of tone, almost all of this was delivered at conversational volume in an almost monotone, as though she had said this a kajillion times. The two children, one boy and one girl both under the age of 3-4 years old, took turns crying, quietly and persistently, throughout this 15 minute ordeal. When I stepped outside an hour later to leave work I spotted something sitting on the bench under my window. A solitary cheap white plastic cigarette lighter. I feel sorry for the woman, and even sorrier for the kids. Yet, wait, ...no. No I don't. Fuck 'em. I chose not to have children and will die a lonely old witch, so I say "That's what you get for fucking without thinking!" Sure the miserable little tykes will end up paying for their parents horrible judgement, but really don't we all... So yeah, fuck 'em. I hate people and the people who turn them turn into the people I hate.

A View of the Death of Hustle on a Perfect Southern Summer Evening

My bigstupidhero was gracious enough to allow me to accompany him to a bashball game last night. The evening weather was absolutely fabulous! It had rained ALL day, right up to the start of the game, so it had stayed cool and didn't even turn steamy once the rain ended like it does sometimes down round these parts. The sun hid behind the clouds and I only had to shield my eyes through part of one early inning. My Big Stupid Hero only asked one favor of me the whole evening; "Could you do something about that sun?" Alas, this heroine lacked sufficient strength in her pointer finger to push the offending orb below the mountain horizon. I still think I should get points for effort though, which brings me to the point of this post... I watched Hustle die a slow and painful death on a perfect southern summer evening. Early on the visiting team hit a couple of home runs. Now, I can't play ball worth a flip, so I my love of sports (bashball in particular) is a very observational one. I love to watch the pivot and arc of a player REALLY swinging for a ball, whether he hits it or not often times doesn't matter to me. I do root for favorite teams, but I am a fickle and easily swayed fan and tend to care more for the effort a team puts into their season than the wins. So those first few home runs curving away over the outfield made me happy. I foolishly thought the old Lookouts would step up and refuse to be outdone and I would be treated to a rare evening of repeated long balls over the back fence or at least of players hustling to play a game like that. Alas. As the evening slid leisurely past the home town team seemed to slow more and more, become looser and less interested in their own game. Now I realize they are a Double A minor league team and they get paid squat and I don't expect a World Series level passion and effort, but after months of playing in dry horrendously hot southern summer drought weather I expected a certain pep, a certain joyeux de vie, brought about by the cool evening breeze, the overcast sky which had been washed clean of dust, pollen and cynicism, and the crack of bat against ball sounding out like a heavy gauntlet thrown down upon the water sparkled outfield grass. Alas. In the latter innings there was a loose ball, I believe it was a pop up foul, but I was so surprised by the following moments that I can't remember exactly what led up to them... The catcher goes to throw the ball to third base to make an out (which, unless I'm a truly horrible judge of distance he should have been able to make) when suddenly I am left wondering where the third baseman is. Then I realize that the player I thought was the shortstop just standing there at the edge of my peripheral vision is indeed the third baseman. For a moment I flashback to the images of my little brother's long and unremarkable T-Ball career. The kids standing feet wide apart, arms hanging limp, over sized gloves dangling from fingertips, and heads tipped skyward pondering the imponderables of a perfect southern summer evening with no school the next day...

I found that not even the death of Hustle could make me sad on such a perfect southern summer evening spent talking with a dear friend and knowing that what little sleep I do manage to grab before getting up and going back to work will be the sleep of a girl I used to be many years ago when it didn't matter which team the little boy played for we were all just glad someone finally hit a ball and that the weird boy pulled his finger out of his nose long enough to throw that ball halfway back towards first base with all his might.

Go Ahead and Scoff

86%

Maybe if it's not too big a waste of ammo, I'll shoot you in the head when the Zombies really do show up. This has always been one of my biggest fears. Hell, it might just be my biggest fear if I really own up to it. I'm sure it's a phobia of some sort since it is rather unrealilistc. See, I admit it. The possibility is very slim. But we'll just see who ends up a drooling walking corpse when the time comes. You tell me if Mad Cow Diease isn't just a cover up for rare cases of spontaneous Zombieism. I have my cast iron ladle and I know how to use it!

What the Fuck?

I was NOT surprised (much) to find that my blog merited a NC-17 rating. I was however surprised by WHAT merited such a rating!

This is what displayed directly below my rating after I submitted my site:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
shit (9x)
ass (8x)
fucking (3x)
steal (2x)
masochist (1x)

Ok, I admit, I'm a bit of a potty mouth when left to my own devices. But can anyone tell me why MASOCHIST is on that list? I don't even think I used it in a sexual context, though truth be told a little spanking is always appreciated. And STEAL? What the hell people?!

Now for a story...
When I was a young girl I lived on a farm. On this farm we had a dozen cows, a few chickens, and an ass. It was my chore to muck out the barn every day after school. It was very hard work. The cows weren't too bad, as they usually stayed outside, but the ass slept in the barn every night. One day after shoveling ass shit from a barn stall, I wandered over to the hen house to steal their eggs off their nests for breakfast the next morning. On my way I passed two of the cows fucking. It looked uncomfortable. I figured the heifer had to be a masochist to enjoy that. Right then some ass fucking moral majority piece of shit decided to steal my right to free speech and he actually thought I would roll over and take it like some masochist bitch. I killed him and wrote this story using his petrified dick and a pint of his own blood.

Parts of this story are fictional, but not all of it. You decide which is which.
And Always Remember Kiddies - Words Don't Mean Shit!

Generation Gap

I was forced by my Bestest Friend in the Whole Wide World to buy new shoes recently. I absolutely fell in love with them. They spoke to the outcast in me. The girl who would refuse to speak for days at a time and thought drowning herself a suitable escape plan from the hell of school in Podunk, USA. The poet who killed and perished between lines. The punk who wore combat boots to work in the kitchen of her own restaurant where she would sleep in the booths at night rather than drive home. The elegantly melancholy ghost who dabbled in l'amour with blonde haired hippies whose fingers could play anything, pool playing Jeep driving good ol' boys, wicked wiccans, and punk rock drummers who rolled their cigarette packs up in their shirt sleeves. The woman who still takes her coffee how she leaves her men; dark & bitter.

I manage to forget my own age until something I take for granted is challenged. And so it happened. When I showed off my kick ass - ass kickers the first reaction I got was "Those are great Pirate shoes!" Pirate shoes?, I asked in astonishment. What? I have long lusted after Pirate shoes, those beautiful soft leather boots that loosely encircle your thighs like a lover. These shoes were NOT Pirate shoes! They were Punk shoes! They were kick your ass sexy irrelevant PUNK skull and crossbones shoes! Dammit all to Hell the thought NEVER crossed my mind... Pirate shoes, pfffft. As if. Though I lust after Johnny Depp with every other woman who felt those first vague stirrings while watching 21 Jump Street, I would never look at these shoes - my PUNK, Cyndie Lauperish, pointy toed, pieces of footwear perfection, that I would have gladly worn to see Henry Rollins perform back in the 90's - and think "Cool sparkly fingernail polish, LOL, Avril is soooo much cooler than Ashlee, teenage angst shoes!" When did it happen that my anti-establishmentarian hieroglyph become some banal Walt Disney trademarked rub-on tatoo!? When did the irreverant become the endorsed? I'm done. I need a couple of swigs straight from the old SoCo bottle to restore my faith in the world. Shit. Henry Rollins now does stand up. The whole thing is beyond me some days.

Genius!

I had one of those lightning strike moments of pure genius last night at 3 o'clock in the morning! (Which, by the way, is what time the Geek stumbled in after going bowling after work with all the other little Geeks) We were talking and I was confused because I couldn't remember what day of the week it was (Which, now that I think about it, was probably brought on by the fact that it was IN FACT technically Friday when I was trying to talk to my Geek about what had gone on during my day and what my plans were for tomorrow while in point of fact my "today" had become "yesterday" and my "tomorrow" had become "today," and I had consumed endless amounts of coffee for nigh on a week now...) Anyway, I was struck instantly by the idea that my life would be soooo much easier to keep track of if the work week only consisted of 4 Tuesdays and a Friday. Then, whenever I said anything to anyone what required a "day" reference I would have a much much higher probability of getting it right. If for some reason I got it wrong and some smart ass corrected me it would sound something like this: "What the hell are you talking about, it's Friday not Tuesday!" Then instead of thinking what a know-it-all little smart ass the person is I just think "Shit, it's Friday already, yahhh!" So that's what I want 4 Tuesdays, 1 Friday, and 2 Saturdays (so I never suddenly realize that it's Sunday when I thought it was Saturday and still had half a weekend to get shit done around the house) I think Franklin Covey should make day planner pages like that. I'd use them in a heartbeat! Well, that's it, my brilliant idea...

Destruction

I've been meaning to write an entry, even if it's just some stupid little piddly piece of fluffy kitten vomit, but I've said I'm too busy, too tired, too far gone in my own deep dark spring time induced little grey funk to be able to muster something so pointless as a blog entry.

Bull shit.

I'm officially getting the fuck over it.

Here goes:

Last Friday I awoke late way too early, did my entire bathroom routine in the dark (the fluorescent bulbs my Geek has replaced all my nice 25 watt bulbs with is WAY too bright some mornings so I just get dressed in the dark... which explains alot, I know) feed all the whiny needy defective pets I have, couldn't find the mate to one of my favorite shoes, had to wear my crappy black flats instead, and was heading out the door late way too early, when I spotted a note. Written in black Sharpie on a blank piece of what I still refer to as "Typing Paper" was the following:

Hey Sweetie,
I hope these make your day a little "sweeter!"

Kisses -- *My Geek*

The note was weighted down by a Dark Chocolate Orange (you know the big round orange liqueur flavored chocolates you whack on the table and break apart the little segments to eat) and a can of Mango Juice. Let's just say that at 3pm while drinking that heavenly nectar and lingering over my dark chocolate fix I cried because I was so lucky.

Today as I write this, I am safe and sound at my job, and my best friend is safe and sound at her job, and my Geek is safe and sound at his job, and my parents are safe and sound at their home and jobs, and that is enough to make me cry just a little bit.

When the world is as stupid and pointlessly violent and ignorant as it is today and everyday for all it's history sometimes you have to be a little self indulgent just to feel anything at all...

You can't change Time, you can only change your Mind

This whole "Spring Forward" time change shit is ridiculous. I realize that I hate change and I do claim anarchist tendencies, but I can't be the only one who thinks this is some sort of conspiracy or perhaps a social experiment. I mean, I try to get my boss to think it's 4:30pm when it's really just 3:30 so...

Seriously! Why, if it REALLY matters, can't we just change what time we go to work, school, and church. I wouldn't mind going into work an hour earlier if I could leave an hour earlier.

I think that my solution is just as valid and arbitrary as theirs (whoever "they" are). I say lets start a petition. Leave the fucking clocks alone! Just get your ass out of bed earlier. It's what you're being forced to do against your will anyway. STRIP AWAY THE ILLUSION! You aren't going to work at 9am, you're being FORCED to show up an hour early. I say tell the world the ugly truth! We're all just stumbling along like some sort of jet lagged zombie. Sleeeeep. Sleeeeep. Must have sleeeep...

LEAVE THE FUCKING CLOCKS ALONE, THEY'RE RIGHT ALREADY! THERE'S NOTHING "WRONG" WITH THEM!
STRIP AWAY THE ILLUSION!
FREE YOURSELF FROM THE TIME FASCISTS!

work when you want, sleep when you want, play when you want, and fuck the fascist pigs who try to control society in the most piddly ass ways imaginable

Being a grown up sucks

I've had no time to do ANYTHING! Except work, read, take long baths, walk the dog, clean the house, burn a brush pile, celebrate the time change with sex, plant flowers, belly dance, and pack for a business trip. As you can tell, blogging ranks down towards the bottom of my "To Do" list. I have been reading alot lately, and as soon as I can make myself put a book down for any length of time I will post some of the fabulous little tidbits that I've discovered. I have done a tiny bit of writing and maybe, perhaps, I might consider posting some of my drafts of poems... maybe.




Today's Trivia:



a group of cats is called a clutter.










You can call my dog an idiot whether he's in a group or not.

That is my dog, J, ready to go out in the rain. I have to love him because my father and my geek tell me I have to. He's high strung, high maintanence, allergic to everything, and refuses to piss in the rain. Some women attract loser boyfriends, I attract damaged pets. I guess it could be worse.

Good books and good friends...

I just realized something for the first time today. I always knew it as fact, but I never truly appreciated it the way I should... It was one of those things you just take for granted.

I have friends that buy me books!

Not those kind of "friends" who hear you go on and on about a book that you've been dying to read and then go out and buy it for you, nor am I talking about the type of "acquaintance" who simply buys you a book because it was on Oprah's book club or the New York Times Best Seller List. I am talking about the type of friend who reads a book and goes "Wow, that was great, I bet So-and-So would get a kick out of that one..." I am talking about the type of friend who wants to share their favorite author with you. I am talking about the type of friend who looks at some book they would never read in a million years, unless it was the ONLY book on a desert island and the natives said "Read book 'bout kittens, rainbows, and ponies or we fricassee your ass for dinner," and says I would never read a book about kittens, rainbows, and ponies in a million years unless it was the last book on earth and I had a choice between reading it and being fricasseed, BUT I bet So-and-So would LOVE it, so they buy it for you against their own better judgement and taste. THOSE types of friends are one of the best things you could ever have happen to you!

Even if you don't really enjoy the book, or if you've read it before, or if you set it on the floor and your dog eats it, a book given with thought from a friend is probably one of the best presents I could ever hope to receive.

There are many joys in life. Books, friends, kittens, ponies, rainbows, and any combination there of, are among the best!

By Lamplight

Since moving from my idyllic Springhouse I have gained central heat & air and lost, among the many many many charms of my prior abode, the ability to watch that most beloved of inventions - Television. As my friends are aware I am a bit of a masochist, so it isn't as bad as it could be... I have found however that such primitive conditions are very conducive to my addictive almost obsessive love of reading. I also realized that there is no real rhyme or reason to when or what I read. And that though this lends me a charming eccentric air it also leaves me bewildered at times as to where I read that line, you know the one, the one that gets lodged in your head, the seed of an idea, the simple ten word explanation of something which you've wrestled internally with most of your adult life, the perfect pick up, the exact right thing to say when you can't say anything to help someone, that line. Well, it used to be that I would highlight things, fold a page in an almost origamic way so that the tip of one page would point to the exact sequence of words that salved my soul. Alas, this only ensured I would never remember what I gained from my books until at some future point I reread that exact book (and I ALWAYS reread, at least once, books that I like enough to keep on my bookshelves, except of course Les Miserables, and no one can fault me on that!) Anyway, all this rambling is to bring me to this point:

I must start keeping track of what I read, and what strikes me when I read it!

So here it is, my starting point. I am going to list which books I am currently reading and when something strikes me about one of them I will record it. At some point I will take a little precious time away from work, and friends, and family, and pull my nose out of a book long enough to set this up as some kind of permanent list of some sort with a link and all that spiffy shit, but for now here is window into my current reading life:

Saving Fish from Drowning, by Amy Tan
She wrote The Joy Luck Club. I am ashamed to admit this, but I saw the movie and did not read the book. It is a very good read. I am fascinated by how the author took an interest in automatic writings (where the departed communicate through the writings of the living) and turned it into a brilliant plot for a novel. It solves all those nasty complicated point of narrative problems I encounter if I write more than three pages of anything. So far there have been no life enhancing quotes or thoughts, but I'm only 2/3 of the way through it, so I'll keep you posted. I did find an origami page marking what I think is the most beautifully funny names I've ever seen in print. (For my own reasons, I have a weakness for characters, real or fictional, with unusual names.) The following is the excerpt that I marked:
"The rusty-headed twins were two who remained, from the lineage of the Lord of Nats and his Most-Most Favorite Concubine. She was much higher in status than the Most Favorite Concubine, and somewhat lower than the Most-Most Favored Wife. This was according to the twins grandmother, who was not from the paternal side, and so not of the divine lineage. But she was the one who named the boy "Loot" and the girl "Bootie," English words meaning "goods of great value taken in war." She kept them from being that, as she now testified to the tribe and the Younger White Brother."
Also there is a part where describes the tribe making a plan to evade the military regime of Burma by this elaborate hoax of leaving their village intact and living in the rain forest mountains. Then abruptly it says "We made another plan." As though the plans we all just merely collective decisions that the tribe set forth for everything, all the time. Kind of a "If A, then B. If X, then Y." some sort of group Chose Your Own Adventure Book. I just found it amusing. Probably because I'd had a glass of wine in a very hot bath...

This Book Will Change Your Life "365 Daily Instructions for Hysterical Living", by Benrik
I originally picked this one up as a gift for My Best Friend. She's been a little twitchy lately... But as I flipped through it I realized just exactly how fabulous it was! Kind of along the lines of "Steal This Book," with a zenish twist. Not quite as anarchist as "Steal this Book" or "The Anarchist Cookbook," but also it is not outdated yet. You will not find the recipe for Heroine in this book, but you will find a list of backdoors for hacking and premade vegetable stickers. It is irrelavent on the surface, but if you look too deeply, you will find that the "Daily Instructions" are actually practices in self realization. I am quite looking forward to randomly opening to a page anytime I'm feeling in a rut. Examples of "Daily Instruction":
Day 65 - Today learn a poem by heart. (Sounds great & enlightening doesn't it...)
Day 27 - Today you are not allowed to use the words "yes" or "no."
Day 239 - Bullshit Today. Log on to an internet chatroom and participate in a discussion you know nothing about for as long as you can without being exposed as a fraud.
Day 224 - Cut in line.
Day 148 - Leave a note on someone's car windshield. (They give several examples. My favorite is "I've left someone in your trunk. I'll pick him up next week if that's OK.")

There are two other books that I've started, but I'm having a hard time thinking coherently right now...I know this has been long and rambling, but I'm on cold medication so cut me some fucking slack.

*These are NOT book reviews, just simply my thoughts. Which makes this entire process useless to anyone but me, which is exactly how I like it.

Animal Farm Economics

Cow Economics without the Bull Shit
Thanks to Cows I now understand what I couldn't be bothered to pay attention to in high school Economics class! Geez, if someone had just bothered to EXPLAIN it to me maybe I would have learned a little something instead of playing cards, reading Eudora Welty, and writing morbid poetry during 6th period that year. In all honesty I can say that I never understood the Gold Market until I read this piece.

Desk Testing

This is a test. hope it works... Hey, "you know who" it worked. Ask me how!

Monkey Business

Given enough time, monkeys, and keystrokes, I too can create masterpieces. Unfortunately my boss expects results with relatively little time and even fewer monkeys. If I am not given the proper resources can I be blamed for flinging feces.

Funny cause it's True

The Hole - video powered by Metacafe

This explains some of what I find in the bathroom when I come home from work some days...

Today the birds are silent and only we cry

The weeping willow is heavy,
damp snow clinging
To long thin branches where
birds should be singing

If I strain my ears
all I can hear
Is the sound of crying
soft and near

Like mourning doves
we sob and sigh
Strut and flutter
and quietly cry

I hope our songs
can reach her now
That she stops for a moment
with curly head bowed

That she pauses
and smiles just like before
When the bird songs she heard
were too sweet to ignore

shyam 2/1/07

Dying Grandmother died.

Her son finally made the trip home to see her from Utah less than 24 hours earlier. I think she was waiting for him.
My mother, of course was with her also. Just like 22 hours out of every single day for the last several months.
I was at work. She knew I loved her and that I would be there at 5pm, "same bat time, same bat channel."

The music stopped and I didn't have a chair.

George III

I am sad to say that His Majesty the King has taken ill.

We are discussing allowing the Prince of Wales to act as Regent in his stead. There is much debate in parliment. It is said His Majesty engaged in consversation with a tree recently. I believe His Majesty may have indeed been conversing with the King of Prussia.

Until such time as he is needed the Prince shall continue to hold court at his Country Estate.

Not

I've not got Jack today.

I haven't gotten Jack Shit from anyone. And you won't catch me doing Jack for the rest of the day.

From now on, any time I'm beat down to the point I can't lift my head, I'm just going to post a picture of my pretty kitty Jack to remind me that someone somewhere does love and appreciate me for no apparent reason. I know I have people in my life who love me, but I have to, at some point, interact with them in a certain way to maintain that love. Jack, on the other hand, has the attention span of a goldfish and always seems to assume that just five minutes ago I fed him, petted him, took a lazy afternoon nap with him, offered him catnip, or saved him from certain death, when in point of fact I have been sitting with my Dying Grandmother for two hours after slaving away all day at work.

Here are a few facts and tidbits about me that I will post as a quick reference list on the side eventually:

*The Jack that I will be referring to frequently is my black, fuzzy, psychotic, cycloptic, feline friend. He was a stray when I found him and later had to have his eye removed due to advanced Glaucoma. He loves me unconditionally and after he dies I plan on having him turned into a tiny bearskin rug.

*The Dying Grandmother is my grandmother, and she is dying. I'm laying good money on her breathing her last on or VERY near the first anniversary of my Dead Grandfather's (my Dying Grandmother's Dead Husband) death.

*My mother and I take turns sitting with my Dying Grandmother every day. It is like some sort of horribly morbid game of Death Watch Musical Chairs. Mom is there with her ALL day until I show up after work and relieve her for two hours or so. The way my luck is running I'll be sitting in the chair when Dying Grandmother decides to die.

*My Best Friend does love me unconditionally, but she has "attachment" issues due to Dead Father Syndrome and is allergic to hugs and tears. She does love chocolate, but does NOT appreciate being given Hershey Kisses instead of hugs. She's a freak and has a blog, but wishes to remain anonymous.

*I have a lover - The Geek. He's wonderful, but he's a Geek, and sometimes the wireless router gets all his attention. He humours my melodramatic tendencies so I tolerate his geekiness. We've had a one night stand for the past seven years and haven't killed each other yet... I think it might be Love.

Well, that's all I've got today. I told you I didn't have Jack... but I do feel a little better for having vented. So thank you, "you know who," for giving me the idea to start spouting incoherent nonsense into the vast vacuum of the online universe. It helped.

She made me do it!

She's done it again. My best friend/worst tormentor has gone and done something...again. She started a blog, and thus has silently double dog dared me to do one also. There it is. One more waste of time in the vast wasteland which is my life. All because SHE had to go and start shit.

It would actually be a neat social experiment to compare and contrast our insanely differing views of the exact same events.

...By the way, I finally decided on BRUTALLY as the honesty setting for this particular blog so "you know who" (and you know who you are!) is not allowed to be offended by anything I might say here.