Ok, Ok, you get a little but more today. A girls got to blog while she has the chance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Amusing searches that have pulled up my blog:
Post Tramaic stress (apparently I misspelled it, too, conveniantly)
how much does ludacris weigh (a question that frequently keeps me up at night)
bowflex 50-year-old grandma photo
bowflex commercials with 50 year old woman
abercrombie work pics in asheville
Interesting. And by interesting, I mean people are really weird.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today is so wonderful. The psychic vibe right before a holiday is pretty cool. This one's maybe better than Christmas (as far as adults go) because Thanksgiving is a way more chill holiday. The Christmas psychic vibe is awesome for kids (coming FROM kids, that is) but the adults give off a lot of stress, so that tempers it.
But today is freaking great. People are off work, or getting off work early, or getting off work at a normal time but have a 4 day weekend, and there's a tangible sense of elation. Yummy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of yummy, I bought a craptacular store bought pumpkin pie. We're going to visit Mr. Wonderfuls mom for a few days, and Yours Truly is an absolute whore for pumpkin pie. Pumpkin just-about-anything really. So I thought maybe I should get a quick fix before we go over there and I stare wantonly at her pumpkin pie. And get up in the middle of the night and get caught with a fork in it. And thusly do not make a very good first impression.
Speaking of first impressions, I went and bought some Pamprin or whatever the crap that stuff is called. Mr. Wonderful suggested last night maybe some PMS help-in-a-box would assist me in being not so insane. And I looked up the ingredients and it seems pretty blah (acetometiphin, a diuretic, and an antihistimine? Come on. Bring on the Xanax and we'll be talkin') but I figure what the hell? Could it be WORSE than I already feel? (shrug)
It occurs to me I haven't yet mentioned (except in passing) that we are going to visit Mr. Wonderfuls family. Yes. The family that I have not met yet.
Am I nervous? Yea, verily. But not in any real way. I'm nervous because we'll be at their house for a few days, and therefore I am out of my element and therefore neurosis is kicking in full swing. What if their house is too cold? I must bring warm clothes. Too hot? Cool clothes. I need caffeine (I bought a buttload of Diet Pepsi, already in the truck). Snacks (I hate to ask for food when I'm nibbly). Do I bring towels? Pillows? What if the house is dusty? (I'm allergic) Should I bring Benedryl?
(hangs head)
Yes, I know I'm a bit of a control freak, due to my neurosis and all. I blame it all on Girl Scouts, who made me raise three fingers and repeatedly swear I would "Always Be Prepared".
Come to think of it, I could sue them for their cookies making me fat, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While my son and I were on our way to the store, I was marveling at the South, and it's warmness. We had the windows down and both had long sleeve shirts on but no jackets or anything.
Driving around in Michigan the day before Thanksgiving with your windows down is an invitation for pneumonia. And an asylum. Maybe both.
Anyway, it's warm here, and it's lovely. Yay South. Yay warm.
Yay general holiday vibe.
Ahhhhhh.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
First off, let me clearly state (ahem) PMS BLOWS.
Now that THAT is off my chest, let me welcome you to my seesaw of mental stability. Welcome. Come stay awhile. Oh, be careful of the black holes of resentfulness and irritation (not in that order). Also take care to avoid the wormhole of misconstrued intent, that ones a bitch there. But if you can manage to dodge the sudden attacks of hysteria, you'll be fine and quite possibly amused. Just be careful, ok?
All right, we seem to have covered all the bases.....
Onward.
Well, my friends that have hooked up on Friendster apparently met yesterday. I found a 2:30 am IM from the one saying, "Wow. I mean, WOW" and no details (obviously the male half of this union; any chick would have gone on long enough to qualify for an e-mail but instead sent it in 7 consecutive IM messages).
Now I'm dying to find out what happened, how it went, and what SHE thinks, but judging from his (albeit short) version, it seems to have gone well.
Happiness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It looks like vegetarianism is upon me. I put it this way for a reason. Which I will very slowly explain in the most roundabout manner possible, because that is what my whimsy dictates I must do . (You didn't know whimsy could dictate? Yes. Yes it can.)
The other day I'm shopping with my son, and as we stroll around the corner and down an isle, I notice he looks all verklempt. I ask him what's wrong, and he chokes out, "The poor innocent sea animals! What did they do to deserve that?" referring to the seafood counter. I blink. Think fast. Then make some smart ass comment about, "Well, they were born delicious." To which he realizes I am kidding and smiles weakly. I explain about the food chain and how tigers don't feel bad about eating antelope, but that humans have a choice, and how much does he love chicken Mcnuggets....? He drops it.
The next day Mr. Wonderful is talking about eating weird things and relating a story to my son about HIS dad hunting when HE was a child and how he ate squirrels and snakes, rabbits and quail, and my son starts BAWLING. He beseeches Mr. Wonderful, "HOW COULD YOU EAT ALL THOSE INNOCENT ANIMALS????" I explain that this is a conversation that has cropped back up recently (we've had these talks before....) and tell him about the seafood counter incident. We calm him down and Mr. Wonderful tells him what his daddy used to tell HIM about the animals spirits being ok with dying,and that they knew that it was part of their purpose in life, and the whole food chain thing again. We explain more about how it is a personal CHOICE of humans to eat meat, and that they can eat other things instead. We explain that he will have to eat more new things though, if he wants to be a vegetarian, since he really only eats mac and cheese and cereal (ok, there's more but not a lot). I tell him that I fully support him being a vegetarian, and that if that is what he chooses I will be happy to help him with that.
The fact is, I was a very strict vegan for years. Unfortunately, I felt like crap the whole time. When I went back to eating meat I felt MUCH better. But now that I think about it (lightbulb goes off over head) that was back before I was treated for my sugar allergy. Back when carbohydrates were NOT my friend, and sugar would make me black out. (Go way back in the blog archives for more on that.) You know, maybe..... maybe now that I'm not so hideously allergic to sugar that FRUIT would make me ill, maybe now I CAN be a vegan. (I hear Erica cheering.) Hmmmm. All these years I've assumed my body was simply not able to tolerate a vegan diet, but maybe it was just the allergy....well, shit me a brick. Hmm.
At any rate, even if I do have to eat the occasional meaty thing, being mainly vegetarian is better than not at all. I would rather be a vegetarian. I just thought it wasn't a possibility for me, what with the reaction I had to it back then. Huh. (Still staring at lightbulb over head in amazement.) Anyway, morally I think it is the right thing to do, but I had to justify it because otherwise I would have had to spend my life in a vegan coma. Not cool.
And being Buddhist, meat eating is not congruent. Chewing up other sentient beings is not the way to go about being peaceful.
So it seems vegetarianism is upon me again. We'll see how it goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. Crazypants (my boss) has been behaving a lot better. I have had hope (notice the past tense usage there, eh?) that maybe this job could turn out to be bearable after all but had my hopes squashed by a co-worker that I talked to the other day. I was telling her how he seems to be much better after that talk I had with him and maybe he's going to be manageable. She is silent for a second than says, "No, honey, he's just broke." I say, "Yah, it's amazing he's been so calm about it! I totally think he would be freaking out being so broke right now." And she says grimly, "NO, honey, it's because he's broke." I scratch my head and she says, "I'm not saying I think he has a major coke habit or anything...." and trails off, clearly implying that that is exactly what she thinks. I say, "OOOOOoooooooooooooooooh." And silence. I ask her if this broke=calm and has- money=asshole thing has occurred before. She says, "Yup." Silence. I take a deep breath and thank her for the reality check, saying that I had thought the job was maybe something I wanted to keep but at the first sign of THAT shit starting up again I'm gone.
Sad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The leaves are still falling and the water is still appearing. Gorgeous. I think I'm going to love winter, even if it means I can see the highway, too. Looking out and seeing the bay and thinking about the crabs and marine critters swimming around in there is infinitely cool. I've never lived so close to a large body of water, and certainly not anywhere NEAR and ocean.
Moments like this make me so glad I moved here. So glad I left Asheville. So glad I left the crap load of horrible memories I had behind. I miss my friends, horribly sometimes. But...it's nice to not be constantly reminded of a heart wrenching past.
For example, the other day we were in the mall, coming down the escalator. I suddenly felt self conscious, in the way of knowing that everyone could see me from that vantage point, and how, if we were in Asheville, I would be thinking about who I might run into while we were walking around. But here, there's nobody. The People I Know is a very small list. And it's nice. It's a relief to know I'm not going to run into some whore that fucked my boyfriend, or an ex-boyfriend that fucked some whore.
Being here is a blessing.
(pause)
Even with the jets, which are periodically screaming over my house as they land.
Dude.
They are SO loud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had a long talk with Mr. Wonderful about psychic matters last night. It was a horrible conversation, due in large part to my emotional instability and my general paranoia. Although he was trying to convey a logical skepticism in it all, I took it to mean that he didn't believe me and thought I was a blithering moron whenever I talked about it. He tried repeatedly to convince me that that wasn't so. I laid there and cried and felt like no one in the whole world understands me. It was an amazingly pitiful moment. Even as I knew I was being ridiculous and could view myself being ridiculous, I still couldn't seem to pull myself out of it.
PMS is miserable. I wish a nice doctor would hook me up with some Xanax for moments like that. Ok, days. Whatever. Shut up about it already, geeez. Can't you see I'm having a neurotic episode here?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While shopping in Marshalls, Mr. Wonderful found a Mr. Wonderful t-shirt. No foolin. As soon as I fix my camera I'll take a shot. Of course you won't get to see him gorgeous face, but I'll see what I can do for a nice pec shot. I'm not making any promises.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HOLY CRAP these jets are loud. It occurs to me that I'm usually in work when they're doing all these runs and the sheer size of the building I work in muffles it. I had forgotten how loud they are when I'm home in the middle of the day. Whooooaaa-oa-oa-oa.
Yah. In the ten seconds it took me to type that here comes another.
Odd. It used to be Monday was the loudest day of the week, where they come in right over our house. And I mean RIGHT OVER. I look up and there it is, maybe 300 yards straight up, and I can (hear comes another) read the lettering on the side of the thing as it gets over to the west a little bit.
Anyway, it seems they rotate when they land in certain areas (and another), and then rotate the weekly schedules even. So Monday used to be the loudest day, then for a while it was Tuesday now it's Wednesday. Sunday is always quiet. And on the off days it's do-able, but this is so loud I can plug my ears inside my house.
Having PTSD does NOT help. The noise makes my heart race. Yuck.
(Here comes another.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All right, that's all you get for now. I know, I used to be such a good little blogger. But then again, I used to spend a LOT of time alone. I miss that. Even as much as I love Mr. Wonderful, I really enjoyed living alone for that brief time. My son would go to sleep and I would mostly be online half the night, writing to my little hearts content. The only reason I got to do it today was the holiday, and my son is getting out of school early, and I told my stupid boss I had to be home by 11:30 am. Whatever. Like I care what he thinks. (shrug)
Anyway, some day I'll get time to write. Until then, adieu.
Now that THAT is off my chest, let me welcome you to my seesaw of mental stability. Welcome. Come stay awhile. Oh, be careful of the black holes of resentfulness and irritation (not in that order). Also take care to avoid the wormhole of misconstrued intent, that ones a bitch there. But if you can manage to dodge the sudden attacks of hysteria, you'll be fine and quite possibly amused. Just be careful, ok?
All right, we seem to have covered all the bases.....
Onward.
Well, my friends that have hooked up on Friendster apparently met yesterday. I found a 2:30 am IM from the one saying, "Wow. I mean, WOW" and no details (obviously the male half of this union; any chick would have gone on long enough to qualify for an e-mail but instead sent it in 7 consecutive IM messages).
Now I'm dying to find out what happened, how it went, and what SHE thinks, but judging from his (albeit short) version, it seems to have gone well.
Happiness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It looks like vegetarianism is upon me. I put it this way for a reason. Which I will very slowly explain in the most roundabout manner possible, because that is what my whimsy dictates I must do . (You didn't know whimsy could dictate? Yes. Yes it can.)
The other day I'm shopping with my son, and as we stroll around the corner and down an isle, I notice he looks all verklempt. I ask him what's wrong, and he chokes out, "The poor innocent sea animals! What did they do to deserve that?" referring to the seafood counter. I blink. Think fast. Then make some smart ass comment about, "Well, they were born delicious." To which he realizes I am kidding and smiles weakly. I explain about the food chain and how tigers don't feel bad about eating antelope, but that humans have a choice, and how much does he love chicken Mcnuggets....? He drops it.
The next day Mr. Wonderful is talking about eating weird things and relating a story to my son about HIS dad hunting when HE was a child and how he ate squirrels and snakes, rabbits and quail, and my son starts BAWLING. He beseeches Mr. Wonderful, "HOW COULD YOU EAT ALL THOSE INNOCENT ANIMALS????" I explain that this is a conversation that has cropped back up recently (we've had these talks before....) and tell him about the seafood counter incident. We calm him down and Mr. Wonderful tells him what his daddy used to tell HIM about the animals spirits being ok with dying,and that they knew that it was part of their purpose in life, and the whole food chain thing again. We explain more about how it is a personal CHOICE of humans to eat meat, and that they can eat other things instead. We explain that he will have to eat more new things though, if he wants to be a vegetarian, since he really only eats mac and cheese and cereal (ok, there's more but not a lot). I tell him that I fully support him being a vegetarian, and that if that is what he chooses I will be happy to help him with that.
The fact is, I was a very strict vegan for years. Unfortunately, I felt like crap the whole time. When I went back to eating meat I felt MUCH better. But now that I think about it (lightbulb goes off over head) that was back before I was treated for my sugar allergy. Back when carbohydrates were NOT my friend, and sugar would make me black out. (Go way back in the blog archives for more on that.) You know, maybe..... maybe now that I'm not so hideously allergic to sugar that FRUIT would make me ill, maybe now I CAN be a vegan. (I hear Erica cheering.) Hmmmm. All these years I've assumed my body was simply not able to tolerate a vegan diet, but maybe it was just the allergy....well, shit me a brick. Hmm.
At any rate, even if I do have to eat the occasional meaty thing, being mainly vegetarian is better than not at all. I would rather be a vegetarian. I just thought it wasn't a possibility for me, what with the reaction I had to it back then. Huh. (Still staring at lightbulb over head in amazement.) Anyway, morally I think it is the right thing to do, but I had to justify it because otherwise I would have had to spend my life in a vegan coma. Not cool.
And being Buddhist, meat eating is not congruent. Chewing up other sentient beings is not the way to go about being peaceful.
So it seems vegetarianism is upon me again. We'll see how it goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. Crazypants (my boss) has been behaving a lot better. I have had hope (notice the past tense usage there, eh?) that maybe this job could turn out to be bearable after all but had my hopes squashed by a co-worker that I talked to the other day. I was telling her how he seems to be much better after that talk I had with him and maybe he's going to be manageable. She is silent for a second than says, "No, honey, he's just broke." I say, "Yah, it's amazing he's been so calm about it! I totally think he would be freaking out being so broke right now." And she says grimly, "NO, honey, it's because he's broke." I scratch my head and she says, "I'm not saying I think he has a major coke habit or anything...." and trails off, clearly implying that that is exactly what she thinks. I say, "OOOOOoooooooooooooooooh." And silence. I ask her if this broke=calm and has- money=asshole thing has occurred before. She says, "Yup." Silence. I take a deep breath and thank her for the reality check, saying that I had thought the job was maybe something I wanted to keep but at the first sign of THAT shit starting up again I'm gone.
Sad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The leaves are still falling and the water is still appearing. Gorgeous. I think I'm going to love winter, even if it means I can see the highway, too. Looking out and seeing the bay and thinking about the crabs and marine critters swimming around in there is infinitely cool. I've never lived so close to a large body of water, and certainly not anywhere NEAR and ocean.
Moments like this make me so glad I moved here. So glad I left Asheville. So glad I left the crap load of horrible memories I had behind. I miss my friends, horribly sometimes. But...it's nice to not be constantly reminded of a heart wrenching past.
For example, the other day we were in the mall, coming down the escalator. I suddenly felt self conscious, in the way of knowing that everyone could see me from that vantage point, and how, if we were in Asheville, I would be thinking about who I might run into while we were walking around. But here, there's nobody. The People I Know is a very small list. And it's nice. It's a relief to know I'm not going to run into some whore that fucked my boyfriend, or an ex-boyfriend that fucked some whore.
Being here is a blessing.
(pause)
Even with the jets, which are periodically screaming over my house as they land.
Dude.
They are SO loud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had a long talk with Mr. Wonderful about psychic matters last night. It was a horrible conversation, due in large part to my emotional instability and my general paranoia. Although he was trying to convey a logical skepticism in it all, I took it to mean that he didn't believe me and thought I was a blithering moron whenever I talked about it. He tried repeatedly to convince me that that wasn't so. I laid there and cried and felt like no one in the whole world understands me. It was an amazingly pitiful moment. Even as I knew I was being ridiculous and could view myself being ridiculous, I still couldn't seem to pull myself out of it.
PMS is miserable. I wish a nice doctor would hook me up with some Xanax for moments like that. Ok, days. Whatever. Shut up about it already, geeez. Can't you see I'm having a neurotic episode here?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While shopping in Marshalls, Mr. Wonderful found a Mr. Wonderful t-shirt. No foolin. As soon as I fix my camera I'll take a shot. Of course you won't get to see him gorgeous face, but I'll see what I can do for a nice pec shot. I'm not making any promises.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HOLY CRAP these jets are loud. It occurs to me that I'm usually in work when they're doing all these runs and the sheer size of the building I work in muffles it. I had forgotten how loud they are when I'm home in the middle of the day. Whooooaaa-oa-oa-oa.
Yah. In the ten seconds it took me to type that here comes another.
Odd. It used to be Monday was the loudest day of the week, where they come in right over our house. And I mean RIGHT OVER. I look up and there it is, maybe 300 yards straight up, and I can (hear comes another) read the lettering on the side of the thing as it gets over to the west a little bit.
Anyway, it seems they rotate when they land in certain areas (and another), and then rotate the weekly schedules even. So Monday used to be the loudest day, then for a while it was Tuesday now it's Wednesday. Sunday is always quiet. And on the off days it's do-able, but this is so loud I can plug my ears inside my house.
Having PTSD does NOT help. The noise makes my heart race. Yuck.
(Here comes another.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All right, that's all you get for now. I know, I used to be such a good little blogger. But then again, I used to spend a LOT of time alone. I miss that. Even as much as I love Mr. Wonderful, I really enjoyed living alone for that brief time. My son would go to sleep and I would mostly be online half the night, writing to my little hearts content. The only reason I got to do it today was the holiday, and my son is getting out of school early, and I told my stupid boss I had to be home by 11:30 am. Whatever. Like I care what he thinks. (shrug)
Anyway, some day I'll get time to write. Until then, adieu.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Honesty can be cultivated by transforming your inner language. For example, you might think: "I am no good" or "They are not good." Is this true? For some strange reason, people want to wallow in the idea of being either the best or the worst. What is true in this moment? How close can we get to the reality of our experiences?
-Martine Batchelor, "Meditation For Life"
-Martine Batchelor, "Meditation For Life"
Monday, November 22, 2004
Note to self: quit being so amusing
I notice I have a qoute about altruism from the Dalai Lama, then a blog titled "jackass" then a blog about homeless people.
Nice, self, nice.
Nice, self, nice.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
homeless quandry
While we were out shopping today we drove up Lynnhaven, and there next to the highway is a guy with a cardboard sign asking for money.
I have such a plethora of mixed emotions when I see things like this.
My first feeling is compassion. I feel bad for WHATEVER reason this guy is out on the side of the road. Even if it IS drugs.
Second feeling is judgment. It probably IS drugs. I find myself wondering if he lives up the street or something and just walks down there after dinner. You know, scrape up some cash for that crack habit. I pick apart his shoes (awfully nice), his face (freshly shaved) and his clothes (mighty clean).
Next feeling is guilt. Who am I to judge this guy? Being clean is no indicator of homelessness. Maybe he really is and is washing his clothes in McDonalds bathroom for all I know. Just because he isn't filthy doesn't mean he's lying. Maybe his story is truly sad and I'm just a bitch who doesn't want to help for fear I am merely enabling a drug problem? Well, that doesn't make me a bitch. Not wanting to help someone get MORE drugs isn't bitchy. I would want to help them get OFF drugs. But do I do anything?
Nope.
I just look at him and drive on by, confused and disturbed by it all.
There have been plenty of times (two last week, actually) where I've given people money ($3 and $1, respectively). Another guy asked for $30. He seemed sincere, but his story was too long and sounded too rehearsed. But there is that same moment of standing there in front of him and not knowing if he's truly hurting (and I give him the $30) or he's lying (which would anger me, wanting MY hard earned money that could by my child two pairs of shoes for that much!).
What to do?
I told that guy to come back later (he came into my work!) and I'd see what I could do. He didn't come back.
~sigh~
The homeless have always been a particular soft spot for me, after seeing the crazy box people in Detroit (living in a cardboard box with newspapers stuffed in their clothes for added warmth while it's 15 degrees and snowing. THAT is hard core.)
And maybe I judge the people on the side of the road BECAUSE of the box people. The box people never asked for anything, and if they did it was only whatever spare change I had or a cigarette. Never heard a story about their hard times and why I should feel bad for them. Because those people were straight up fucked, and they didn't WANT to talk about it. Back then I smoked and would always come downtown with an extra pack of smokes for those guys. I'd hand em 75 cents and 5 cigarettes and they would be totally surprised and genuinely say, "Thanks."
It was weird, when I moved down South I was really freaked out by how forward and demanding street people were. I've been accosted by guys saying they fought in the WAR, how DARE I not help a brother out?
When I was pregnant with my son I flipped out on one guy. I wanted a nectarine so badly....(cravings) but couldn't even scrape up the change enough to get one. I was so depressed, and went to work. Some guy at the corner asked me for money, and all I could think about was that I was on my way to work, and his ass was sitting on the side of the road, and all I wanted was a fucking nectarine and I was so nauseous, I had eaten all the crackers I had and couldn't afford any of those either and how many days was it till payday, my boss is a psychotic crazy bitch but I get up every day and go anyway because it's a JOB after all, and I wonder if I'm going to get evicted, and THIS motherfucker wants some of MY money (to smoke crack or whatever)? I came close to screaming, just wanted to sit at the stoplight and scream at the top of my fucking lungs while my head exploded from the stress of trying to pull the shambles of my life together in time for the birth of my son. I drove away in tears and parked and sobbed into my hands,"I just wanted a nectarine, all I wanted was a nectarine...."
Oh. Yes. Where was I? Ah, the homeless people. I have a soft spot for them. I have been homeless, but at least had friends to fall back on. I slept a few times in my car (preferred it actually but the cops told me I couldn't). Some people have nobody to fall back on. And the problem that usually occurs with homeless folk that is the most overlooked is their mental health.
Yah. They need help.
I mean, you can give them somewhere to stay and clean clothes and a shower and a job, and maybe they'll hold in together and get back on their feet. But a lot of them don't.
And it's not because of the drugs. The drugs are merely a symptom of a deeper underlying problem. Most homeless people are horribly depressed.
One could argue that homelessness would depress anyone, but look closer. Most of these people ended up where they are through passivity, through apathy.
No, no, I'm not saying everyone. There are extenuating circumstances, but they're pretty rare.
No, anyone who has dealt with debilitating depression knows what I'm talking about. When you're depressed, you just can't get up the energy to change things. Your life could be falling apart before your eyes (and likely is) but you don't have the willpower to even fight it. So your life goes from bad to a thousand times worse and it all seems so hopeless, why bother?
It doesn't take long to be on the street.
And then what? You've got nowhere further down to go, so what the hell? From the people I've talked to, the bottom is comforting in it's own horrible way. Things can't be worse. You literally have NOTHING to lose.
Why try climbing up to fail? Fuck it.
And there they stay.
~deep breath~
I have a vision. Some day, and some day soon I would like to start a non profit organization that is aimed directly at mental health services for the homeless. Something that can work WITH the other services out there, the shelters and what not. They could lead them my way or what not.
Get them on medication. I mean, some are depressed, but when you get into the schizophrenics it's actually dangerous. They can become murderous and just snap. Some people on the street are truly dangerous.
I want to help them.
And the people with drug problems: why does ANYONE do drugs? To make life more interesting, better, suck less, whatever. For a lot of the drug addicts on the street, some Zoloft would do wonders. Getting a chance to talk to a shrink a few times a week would be great, someone to vent to. Having group therapy were they can all feel understood and support each other would be beautiful.
Yah. I need to get on that.
As soon as I lick this depression and apathy.
~sigh~
I have such a plethora of mixed emotions when I see things like this.
My first feeling is compassion. I feel bad for WHATEVER reason this guy is out on the side of the road. Even if it IS drugs.
Second feeling is judgment. It probably IS drugs. I find myself wondering if he lives up the street or something and just walks down there after dinner. You know, scrape up some cash for that crack habit. I pick apart his shoes (awfully nice), his face (freshly shaved) and his clothes (mighty clean).
Next feeling is guilt. Who am I to judge this guy? Being clean is no indicator of homelessness. Maybe he really is and is washing his clothes in McDonalds bathroom for all I know. Just because he isn't filthy doesn't mean he's lying. Maybe his story is truly sad and I'm just a bitch who doesn't want to help for fear I am merely enabling a drug problem? Well, that doesn't make me a bitch. Not wanting to help someone get MORE drugs isn't bitchy. I would want to help them get OFF drugs. But do I do anything?
Nope.
I just look at him and drive on by, confused and disturbed by it all.
There have been plenty of times (two last week, actually) where I've given people money ($3 and $1, respectively). Another guy asked for $30. He seemed sincere, but his story was too long and sounded too rehearsed. But there is that same moment of standing there in front of him and not knowing if he's truly hurting (and I give him the $30) or he's lying (which would anger me, wanting MY hard earned money that could by my child two pairs of shoes for that much!).
What to do?
I told that guy to come back later (he came into my work!) and I'd see what I could do. He didn't come back.
~sigh~
The homeless have always been a particular soft spot for me, after seeing the crazy box people in Detroit (living in a cardboard box with newspapers stuffed in their clothes for added warmth while it's 15 degrees and snowing. THAT is hard core.)
And maybe I judge the people on the side of the road BECAUSE of the box people. The box people never asked for anything, and if they did it was only whatever spare change I had or a cigarette. Never heard a story about their hard times and why I should feel bad for them. Because those people were straight up fucked, and they didn't WANT to talk about it. Back then I smoked and would always come downtown with an extra pack of smokes for those guys. I'd hand em 75 cents and 5 cigarettes and they would be totally surprised and genuinely say, "Thanks."
It was weird, when I moved down South I was really freaked out by how forward and demanding street people were. I've been accosted by guys saying they fought in the WAR, how DARE I not help a brother out?
When I was pregnant with my son I flipped out on one guy. I wanted a nectarine so badly....(cravings) but couldn't even scrape up the change enough to get one. I was so depressed, and went to work. Some guy at the corner asked me for money, and all I could think about was that I was on my way to work, and his ass was sitting on the side of the road, and all I wanted was a fucking nectarine and I was so nauseous, I had eaten all the crackers I had and couldn't afford any of those either and how many days was it till payday, my boss is a psychotic crazy bitch but I get up every day and go anyway because it's a JOB after all, and I wonder if I'm going to get evicted, and THIS motherfucker wants some of MY money (to smoke crack or whatever)? I came close to screaming, just wanted to sit at the stoplight and scream at the top of my fucking lungs while my head exploded from the stress of trying to pull the shambles of my life together in time for the birth of my son. I drove away in tears and parked and sobbed into my hands,"I just wanted a nectarine, all I wanted was a nectarine...."
Oh. Yes. Where was I? Ah, the homeless people. I have a soft spot for them. I have been homeless, but at least had friends to fall back on. I slept a few times in my car (preferred it actually but the cops told me I couldn't). Some people have nobody to fall back on. And the problem that usually occurs with homeless folk that is the most overlooked is their mental health.
Yah. They need help.
I mean, you can give them somewhere to stay and clean clothes and a shower and a job, and maybe they'll hold in together and get back on their feet. But a lot of them don't.
And it's not because of the drugs. The drugs are merely a symptom of a deeper underlying problem. Most homeless people are horribly depressed.
One could argue that homelessness would depress anyone, but look closer. Most of these people ended up where they are through passivity, through apathy.
No, no, I'm not saying everyone. There are extenuating circumstances, but they're pretty rare.
No, anyone who has dealt with debilitating depression knows what I'm talking about. When you're depressed, you just can't get up the energy to change things. Your life could be falling apart before your eyes (and likely is) but you don't have the willpower to even fight it. So your life goes from bad to a thousand times worse and it all seems so hopeless, why bother?
It doesn't take long to be on the street.
And then what? You've got nowhere further down to go, so what the hell? From the people I've talked to, the bottom is comforting in it's own horrible way. Things can't be worse. You literally have NOTHING to lose.
Why try climbing up to fail? Fuck it.
And there they stay.
~deep breath~
I have a vision. Some day, and some day soon I would like to start a non profit organization that is aimed directly at mental health services for the homeless. Something that can work WITH the other services out there, the shelters and what not. They could lead them my way or what not.
Get them on medication. I mean, some are depressed, but when you get into the schizophrenics it's actually dangerous. They can become murderous and just snap. Some people on the street are truly dangerous.
I want to help them.
And the people with drug problems: why does ANYONE do drugs? To make life more interesting, better, suck less, whatever. For a lot of the drug addicts on the street, some Zoloft would do wonders. Getting a chance to talk to a shrink a few times a week would be great, someone to vent to. Having group therapy were they can all feel understood and support each other would be beautiful.
Yah. I need to get on that.
As soon as I lick this depression and apathy.
~sigh~
Some friends of mine have hooked up on Friendster. One is in North Carolina, the other is in Florida. They've been talking on IM and the phone for hours every day, and now they are going to meet each other.
It's weird, I am so touched by this it's kind of scary. Like, what if they don't like each other? I can't imagine they won't. The whole thing is so sweet, to see two different friends who were both alone to be giddy maniacs struck with smittenness.
AH, LOVE!!!!!!
The funny thing is, it never would have even occured to me to hook these two up. But now it seems obvious, like, how did I not see that? (shrug) But then, I've never played Cupid before, I've never even tried to introduce Friend A to Friend B so it didn't enter my mind.
I'm so happy and nervous for the both of them.
Exciting!
Whoohooooo!
Everyone think happy thoughts for them, ok? Ok.
It's weird, I am so touched by this it's kind of scary. Like, what if they don't like each other? I can't imagine they won't. The whole thing is so sweet, to see two different friends who were both alone to be giddy maniacs struck with smittenness.
AH, LOVE!!!!!!
The funny thing is, it never would have even occured to me to hook these two up. But now it seems obvious, like, how did I not see that? (shrug) But then, I've never played Cupid before, I've never even tried to introduce Friend A to Friend B so it didn't enter my mind.
I'm so happy and nervous for the both of them.
Exciting!
Whoohooooo!
Everyone think happy thoughts for them, ok? Ok.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Friday, November 19, 2004
I did it again.
Maybe once or twice a year I'll try googling everyone I knew from high school to see if anyone new has cropped up in cyberspace. I googled them, I tried Friendster, and Classmates and anything else I could come up with.
I came up with: (drum roll please) Nada.
Just like every other time.
Ah well.
Now my brain hurts from staring at this blasted box.
Ugh.
By the way, if Maria Jose (Riera?) Suarez ever sees this, I am waiting for you to translate La Bomba for me again. The Dead shows are no longer an option, but I'm sure we can figure out something to do.
Maybe once or twice a year I'll try googling everyone I knew from high school to see if anyone new has cropped up in cyberspace. I googled them, I tried Friendster, and Classmates and anything else I could come up with.
I came up with: (drum roll please) Nada.
Just like every other time.
Ah well.
Now my brain hurts from staring at this blasted box.
Ugh.
By the way, if Maria Jose (Riera?) Suarez ever sees this, I am waiting for you to translate La Bomba for me again. The Dead shows are no longer an option, but I'm sure we can figure out something to do.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
even MORE awesome!
In September, a Roanoke (Va.) Times story documented the righteous complaint of Melissa Williamson, 35, that street construction noise outside her home in southeast Roanoke, especially by jackhammers, would have a harmful effect on her unborn child, then two months from term. The published Times story ignited a firestorm of reader mail because it was accompanied by a candid photo of Williamson in her front yard, looking annoyed at the construction mess, but puffing away on a cigarette. [Roanoke Times, 9-27-04]
totally awesome
Laurie David is the social-activist wife of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" TV star Larry David, well known for speaking out on, and rallying other activists on, environmental issues, such as the need for energy conservation. According to a report in the September Atlantic Monthly, David shuns commercial airliners to get to her speeches (even though the increase in fuel usage to carry a person of her size would be negligible), preferring to make special trips each time by private jet, which a New Republic columnist calculated uses as much fuel in one cross-country round-trip as a Hummer uses in a year. [The Atlantic Monthly, September 2004]
dear mother of God.....
North Carolina state Sen. Sam Ellis' bill to change a section of state law that actually gives an enormous right to rapists failed in committee this year, with the result that some rapists may inevitably go free. If a rape victim chooses to carry her baby, and then place it for adoption, state law requires that both parents agree to the adoption in writing, with no exception for babies conceived by rape. Thus, rapists might withhold their consent, thwarting the mother's wishes, unless she agrees not to press charges for the rape. According to a September Raleigh News and Observer story, at least three women have recently been in that situation. [Raleigh News and Observer, 9-6-04; Associated Press, 7-17-04]
jelly bean garbage
One of the other girls was at work today and informed me that the boss ate HER lunch out of the garbage can on Tuesday.
(laughing)
What a funny funny man.
My neighbor/co-worker was eating jelly beans the other day and dropped one on the floor and our boss accidently stepped on it. She said, "You stepped on it! I was going to EAT that! Now I'll have to throw it away!" (She was, of course, joking. The floor is filthy.)
He said something to her about dusting it off but I told her, "Never mind. Just throw it in the trash. (Crazypants) can eat it later." We were both howling with laughter.
He just looked at us and smiled in that weird "It's supposed to be funny but I don't get it so I'll just grin like I know what everyone is talking about" way that he does, and then says, "Yah, just make sure it doesn't go to the bottom, that's where all the gross stuff is."
We fell out.
Oh, yah. He was serious.
(laughing)
What a funny funny man.
My neighbor/co-worker was eating jelly beans the other day and dropped one on the floor and our boss accidently stepped on it. She said, "You stepped on it! I was going to EAT that! Now I'll have to throw it away!" (She was, of course, joking. The floor is filthy.)
He said something to her about dusting it off but I told her, "Never mind. Just throw it in the trash. (Crazypants) can eat it later." We were both howling with laughter.
He just looked at us and smiled in that weird "It's supposed to be funny but I don't get it so I'll just grin like I know what everyone is talking about" way that he does, and then says, "Yah, just make sure it doesn't go to the bottom, that's where all the gross stuff is."
We fell out.
Oh, yah. He was serious.
bathroom horror and table top fun
My partner in crime at work is gone for the week (also known as my gorgeous neighbor). Today was boring, lackluster, and all around dull. It's amazing how much cooler work is when you have someone there to crack you up.
Yesterday she sneaked up behind me while I was mopping out the bathroom. Now, those of you who either know me or read my blog would know that I am a serious PTSD case. If you walk into the room unexpectedly I will jump and maybe squeak a little bit.
So she sneaked up behind me, and SCREAMED at the top of her freaking lungs, the most blood curdling scream I have ever witnessed outside of a movie.
Screams echo quite well in a small tiled lined bathroom.
According to her, I whirled around and did some crazy dance like I was going to attack her with the mop. She jumped out of the doorway crazy-fast, that I know. I stood there trying to convince my brain that it was just her and my life wasn't in imminent danger. When she finally stopped laughing and came back to the doorway I shakenly informed her, "You should hug me now because I'm going to start crying" and burst into tears. Like, I don't know, my brain couldn't process it was ok until I saw her face again or something, and then it was ok to cry? Weird. I don't know. But she hugged me and I cried into her shoulder and was embarrassed while she felt horrible for making me cry and apologized over and over. Then we laughed and it was ok.
Keeping me on my toes, oh yah.
Earlier we noticed that some glass was dirty and so I went over and stuck my face on it. Oh yah, makeup face grease, that's classy! She laughed and joined me, then went nuts and kept rubbing her face on the glass until she had a big enough smear to write her name in. In big, goofy, swirly middle school girl cursive, with a big circle over the "i". I almost pissed myself laughing so hard. It would be funny if anyone did it, but you have to imagine a girl beautiful enough to be a Barbie doll doing it, just mashing her face all over a table, long perfectly curled natural blond tresses draping over the edge of the dust, and then grinning back up at me with her beautifully bleached white smile to really get the full impact of hilarity. That would definitely fall into the "Now I know why we're friends" category.
Other than that we spent the day laughing at our boss in his freakazoid state.
More stories to come.
Good times. Good times.
Yesterday she sneaked up behind me while I was mopping out the bathroom. Now, those of you who either know me or read my blog would know that I am a serious PTSD case. If you walk into the room unexpectedly I will jump and maybe squeak a little bit.
So she sneaked up behind me, and SCREAMED at the top of her freaking lungs, the most blood curdling scream I have ever witnessed outside of a movie.
Screams echo quite well in a small tiled lined bathroom.
According to her, I whirled around and did some crazy dance like I was going to attack her with the mop. She jumped out of the doorway crazy-fast, that I know. I stood there trying to convince my brain that it was just her and my life wasn't in imminent danger. When she finally stopped laughing and came back to the doorway I shakenly informed her, "You should hug me now because I'm going to start crying" and burst into tears. Like, I don't know, my brain couldn't process it was ok until I saw her face again or something, and then it was ok to cry? Weird. I don't know. But she hugged me and I cried into her shoulder and was embarrassed while she felt horrible for making me cry and apologized over and over. Then we laughed and it was ok.
Keeping me on my toes, oh yah.
Earlier we noticed that some glass was dirty and so I went over and stuck my face on it. Oh yah, makeup face grease, that's classy! She laughed and joined me, then went nuts and kept rubbing her face on the glass until she had a big enough smear to write her name in. In big, goofy, swirly middle school girl cursive, with a big circle over the "i". I almost pissed myself laughing so hard. It would be funny if anyone did it, but you have to imagine a girl beautiful enough to be a Barbie doll doing it, just mashing her face all over a table, long perfectly curled natural blond tresses draping over the edge of the dust, and then grinning back up at me with her beautifully bleached white smile to really get the full impact of hilarity. That would definitely fall into the "Now I know why we're friends" category.
Other than that we spent the day laughing at our boss in his freakazoid state.
More stories to come.
Good times. Good times.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Boobie Flex
I know it's been a long time since I blogged about commercials. Stupid commercials. Funny thing. I barely ever watch TV anymore.
But tonight we're watching Megascience and this Bowflex commercial keeps coming on. In the commercial a 50 year old woman is strutting her ass around in a bikini, and raving about her Bowflex body. Oh, yah, she's super hot. No doubt about that. She's cut. No doubt about that. She has a boob job. No doubt about that. Had a face lift. No doubt about that.
It's annoying false advertising. Part of what makes her incredibly hot at 50 is the fact that she has huge supple boobs that have magically defied gravity for 50 freakin years. Please. And her face? Skin tight and collagen-y, I think not. Come on now. I'm 30 and my face isn't that tight. But maybe if I buy a Bowflex it will be? Will Bowflex make my boobies big and beautiful too? Gee whiz. I do have this pocket full of money I'm too stupid to spend wisely, perhaps if I call this 800 # I can safely part full of this pocket full of financial confusion. Whew.
Also, you may want to watch out for this.
Oopsiedoo.
But tonight we're watching Megascience and this Bowflex commercial keeps coming on. In the commercial a 50 year old woman is strutting her ass around in a bikini, and raving about her Bowflex body. Oh, yah, she's super hot. No doubt about that. She's cut. No doubt about that. She has a boob job. No doubt about that. Had a face lift. No doubt about that.
It's annoying false advertising. Part of what makes her incredibly hot at 50 is the fact that she has huge supple boobs that have magically defied gravity for 50 freakin years. Please. And her face? Skin tight and collagen-y, I think not. Come on now. I'm 30 and my face isn't that tight. But maybe if I buy a Bowflex it will be? Will Bowflex make my boobies big and beautiful too? Gee whiz. I do have this pocket full of money I'm too stupid to spend wisely, perhaps if I call this 800 # I can safely part full of this pocket full of financial confusion. Whew.
Also, you may want to watch out for this.
Oopsiedoo.
Today I was walking around with a customer who overheard a few choice asshole-y comments from my boss. She was getting more and more annoyed, while the other girl and I were laughing it off. We were SERIOUSLY amused, actually. Like, laughing out loud at him, while he of course doesn't get whats funny. He almost never does (another weird autistic trait, I'm guessing).
~You know, it occurs to me that I am laughing at a retarded person. As easy as it might be for you to judge me for this, you must understand that I am merely hypothosizing he is autistic. I have no proof, other than oodles of his bizarre and eccentric behavior.
If I were to start singing Dead Milkmens "Taking Retards to the Zoo" you could assume I've taken it too far. But I'm not singing it, I'm merely pointing out that it's a song that may be apt if he went to the zoo.~
~.....I just took it too far, didn't I?~
Anyway, he's being a total jerk, except the only one who is annoyed is this customer. We employees are just nyucking it up, being amused by him.
This is a beautiful thing.
Instead of being enraged at his thoughtless and seemingly cruel behaviour, I'm amused. Because now I have a feeling of compassion, like, "Geez, this guy is really a mess with this autism thing. Let me help him out." Before when I helped him with anything I felt like I was enabling a sadistic bastard, which did not feel good at all, nosireebob.
Compassion totally rules.
~You know, it occurs to me that I am laughing at a retarded person. As easy as it might be for you to judge me for this, you must understand that I am merely hypothosizing he is autistic. I have no proof, other than oodles of his bizarre and eccentric behavior.
If I were to start singing Dead Milkmens "Taking Retards to the Zoo" you could assume I've taken it too far. But I'm not singing it, I'm merely pointing out that it's a song that may be apt if he went to the zoo.~
~.....I just took it too far, didn't I?~
Anyway, he's being a total jerk, except the only one who is annoyed is this customer. We employees are just nyucking it up, being amused by him.
This is a beautiful thing.
Instead of being enraged at his thoughtless and seemingly cruel behaviour, I'm amused. Because now I have a feeling of compassion, like, "Geez, this guy is really a mess with this autism thing. Let me help him out." Before when I helped him with anything I felt like I was enabling a sadistic bastard, which did not feel good at all, nosireebob.
Compassion totally rules.
about my boss:
Shadow Syndromes brings clarity to the biology behind personality, helping us to understand the real causes of the "treacherous moods and behavior that can hold us back" and providing guidance as to how to emerge from behavioral shadows towards a "positive and lasting change in ourselves and in those we love."
Topics of chapters include masked depression, intermittent rage disorder, mild ADD, addiction, and anxiety. "Autistic Echoes" is our focus here. Here are a few echoes.
All shadow syndromes strike at the heart of social life. "The world of work is easier to negotiate than that of love and friendship." Paid employment, not love, provides the main source of structure—with its schedules, routines and rhythms of work. "Shadow syndromes flourish in the open spaces of our private relationships. Mild depression, mild mania, mild ADD: all can sabotage the bonds of love and friendship. But in autism, full-blown and mild, social difficulties are the disorder." There seems to be a genetic or hereditary factor in families affected by autism, as mild autistic tendencies may often be noted in parents, siblings or other relatives.
The authors describe a mild form of autism that is compatible with marriage, parenting, satisfactory heterosexual-sexual performance, and gainful employment. "Who," the authors ask, "is the person with a hidden or shadow form of autism?" The odd duck, the person (usually male) called a "geek" or "nerd" because he is socially awkward. Tech types recognize this quality in themselves. MIT offers a course in social skills to its students. There is a decided connection between autism and computerdom. Bill Gates reports such autistic qualities as rocking, jumping on trampolines, not making eye contact, lacking social skills to enter a group conversation.
Topics of chapters include masked depression, intermittent rage disorder, mild ADD, addiction, and anxiety. "Autistic Echoes" is our focus here. Here are a few echoes.
All shadow syndromes strike at the heart of social life. "The world of work is easier to negotiate than that of love and friendship." Paid employment, not love, provides the main source of structure—with its schedules, routines and rhythms of work. "Shadow syndromes flourish in the open spaces of our private relationships. Mild depression, mild mania, mild ADD: all can sabotage the bonds of love and friendship. But in autism, full-blown and mild, social difficulties are the disorder." There seems to be a genetic or hereditary factor in families affected by autism, as mild autistic tendencies may often be noted in parents, siblings or other relatives.
The authors describe a mild form of autism that is compatible with marriage, parenting, satisfactory heterosexual-sexual performance, and gainful employment. "Who," the authors ask, "is the person with a hidden or shadow form of autism?" The odd duck, the person (usually male) called a "geek" or "nerd" because he is socially awkward. Tech types recognize this quality in themselves. MIT offers a course in social skills to its students. There is a decided connection between autism and computerdom. Bill Gates reports such autistic qualities as rocking, jumping on trampolines, not making eye contact, lacking social skills to enter a group conversation.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
My boss is autistic.
That is the conclusion I have come to.
After the lady at work made some comment about him being autistic, and I took it to be somewhat sarcastic, my good old curiosity got the better of me. I looked it up. Yessiree.
Although he would not qualify as a seriously autistic person, he definitely would fit into the "shadow autism" category.
It all makes more sense now, and I'll elaborate later when my neck isn't a pinched nerve mess. Typing: not my friend right now.
But the interesting side effect of it all is that I have finally managed to find a place of compassion for him. Because before, he would do dumb ass things and I would want to scream, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT YOU RETARDED ASSHOLE?!?!" but now I actually understand. Yes. And it all makes sense, all the little things about not moving things and doing things a certain way (that make no sense to ANYONE but him) and the sudden outbursts of anger and the social retardation.
Example: a lady came in with her two daughters today. And he goes to talk to her before she leaves and I hear him say, "Wow. (awkward long pause) They, uh, really look like they're, uh, sisters, all right."
Like, yah, good job lady! You totally can't tell that one of those girls was actually fathered by the pizza delivery boy!
I mean, what the hell is he talking about? How about, "What beautiful girls" or "My, they both have such curly hair!" or even the good old, "Awww, they're so cute." But "they really look like sisters"?!? (eyes rolling)
It may not seem like much. But you haven't the other ones. He's asked women what race they are (quote) because he likes the color of their skin, it's real nice. (Yeesh). Or asking women how old they were when they HAD their kids, because they look WAY too young to have children (I'm surprised he wasn't knocked out for that one). I mean, he thinks he's complimenting them on looking young, when any woman would take it is, "Holy shit! Were you twelve when you had that baby? Dude, you must have been a freaky skank!"
It's pitiful.
Did I mention he ate my coworkers salad out of the garbage can? She got down to the scrappy dressing soaked scraps and threw it into the trash, then noticed he was eating it an hour later. Yah. He dug her old food out of the garbage can and ate it.
Wow.
Neck is screaming. Enough typing for now.
That is the conclusion I have come to.
After the lady at work made some comment about him being autistic, and I took it to be somewhat sarcastic, my good old curiosity got the better of me. I looked it up. Yessiree.
Although he would not qualify as a seriously autistic person, he definitely would fit into the "shadow autism" category.
It all makes more sense now, and I'll elaborate later when my neck isn't a pinched nerve mess. Typing: not my friend right now.
But the interesting side effect of it all is that I have finally managed to find a place of compassion for him. Because before, he would do dumb ass things and I would want to scream, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT YOU RETARDED ASSHOLE?!?!" but now I actually understand. Yes. And it all makes sense, all the little things about not moving things and doing things a certain way (that make no sense to ANYONE but him) and the sudden outbursts of anger and the social retardation.
Example: a lady came in with her two daughters today. And he goes to talk to her before she leaves and I hear him say, "Wow. (awkward long pause) They, uh, really look like they're, uh, sisters, all right."
Like, yah, good job lady! You totally can't tell that one of those girls was actually fathered by the pizza delivery boy!
I mean, what the hell is he talking about? How about, "What beautiful girls" or "My, they both have such curly hair!" or even the good old, "Awww, they're so cute." But "they really look like sisters"?!? (eyes rolling)
It may not seem like much. But you haven't the other ones. He's asked women what race they are (quote) because he likes the color of their skin, it's real nice. (Yeesh). Or asking women how old they were when they HAD their kids, because they look WAY too young to have children (I'm surprised he wasn't knocked out for that one). I mean, he thinks he's complimenting them on looking young, when any woman would take it is, "Holy shit! Were you twelve when you had that baby? Dude, you must have been a freaky skank!"
It's pitiful.
Did I mention he ate my coworkers salad out of the garbage can? She got down to the scrappy dressing soaked scraps and threw it into the trash, then noticed he was eating it an hour later. Yah. He dug her old food out of the garbage can and ate it.
Wow.
Neck is screaming. Enough typing for now.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
curious forms of expression
I've never really heard of a truck with blue balls before, but hey. What the hell do I know?
Men are funny funny creatures.
I think I will hang some ovaries from my bumper.
my littlest boyfriend
This baby is going to be singlehandedly responsible for me getting all mushy headed and wanting to have more babies.
SMOOSHY YUMMY FAT BABY!
I love this baby.
sitting on the deck of the bay
We live on a small bay. It's very exciting right now, because there is a stand of tall trees between us and the majority of the view of the water. Since we moved in over the summer, I've never seen the view in wintertime. And every day more leaves drop and more water appears. I love water. It's fabulous. At sunset, the sun hits the water at just the right angle to leave shimmering reflections all through the living room and kitchen, it's really beautiful.
It's windy again today, and I am rooting for the wind, absolutely.
It's windy again today, and I am rooting for the wind, absolutely.
old ladies with hatchets are pissed off at bushes
I talked to my friend Sara for a long time yesterday. Ah, friends.
We were talking about Kerry losing to Bush and how upset the Kerry supporters are (myself included). She said her Grandma, who is "a nice little old Quaker lady" was so upset that she went outside and chopped down a forsythia bush. And Sara laughed, and said, "I just like the image of little old ladies, all over America, chopping down bushes in protest."
Although the little old forsythia bush did nothing wrong (although maybe it did, I don't know) I also like the image. I mean, what kind of travesty does it require for old ladies to pick up an ax, you know? Whoooooooooooooo.....
And also Sara informed me that (someone she knows, I forget who) lives in Ohio in a tiny city of 800 voters, yet 2000+ voted in the election for Bush? Interesting. She then said she thought this was probably the first year her Bubby (grandma) voted (her grandmother lived in Florida, but died). You get the idea.
The story about her Grandma made me feel a little less loony for my reaction to the whole thing. I mean, I blogged an angry pissy storm, but I did not pick up any sharp pointy hacking tools (one could argue words are weapons, but Eminem beat you to it. GREAT song.)
Was the election rigged? Will I ever know? ~shrug~ I don't know. What I do know is that this recent bout of depression started the day Kerry conceeded. That was definetely the catalyst.
And it was the fact that Bush was voted back into another four years of destruction as much as the knowledge that the majority of Americans thought that was a good idea that actually blew me away. Ouch. I thought I knew America. I thought I understood. It's a rude awakening to find out I didn't and I don't. Me no likey.
Alas.
Forsythia bushes of the world, beware.
The little old ladies are pissed.
We were talking about Kerry losing to Bush and how upset the Kerry supporters are (myself included). She said her Grandma, who is "a nice little old Quaker lady" was so upset that she went outside and chopped down a forsythia bush. And Sara laughed, and said, "I just like the image of little old ladies, all over America, chopping down bushes in protest."
Although the little old forsythia bush did nothing wrong (although maybe it did, I don't know) I also like the image. I mean, what kind of travesty does it require for old ladies to pick up an ax, you know? Whoooooooooooooo.....
And also Sara informed me that (someone she knows, I forget who) lives in Ohio in a tiny city of 800 voters, yet 2000+ voted in the election for Bush? Interesting. She then said she thought this was probably the first year her Bubby (grandma) voted (her grandmother lived in Florida, but died). You get the idea.
The story about her Grandma made me feel a little less loony for my reaction to the whole thing. I mean, I blogged an angry pissy storm, but I did not pick up any sharp pointy hacking tools (one could argue words are weapons, but Eminem beat you to it. GREAT song.)
Was the election rigged? Will I ever know? ~shrug~ I don't know. What I do know is that this recent bout of depression started the day Kerry conceeded. That was definetely the catalyst.
And it was the fact that Bush was voted back into another four years of destruction as much as the knowledge that the majority of Americans thought that was a good idea that actually blew me away. Ouch. I thought I knew America. I thought I understood. It's a rude awakening to find out I didn't and I don't. Me no likey.
Alas.
Forsythia bushes of the world, beware.
The little old ladies are pissed.
fun for the whole family
Saturday, November 13, 2004
aaaah/rambling
Seriously.
I am so stuffed full of cookies it's somewhat ridiculous. But MAN do I make a mean cookie.
Ok, I got through the shortbread cookies- that took about two hours all said and done. Turns out you must have them icey cold and covered in powered sugar to get them to roll out properly. Took me awhile to get the hang of that mess (and then clean it all up).
Banana bread- browner than I would have liked but still in the realm of tasty and acceptable.
Crowning jewel of the day? The sugar cookies with colored maple icing. Oh my goodness I have just outdone myself. Not only are they adorable to look at (fun with icing drizzles, oh yah!) they are freaking scrumptious.
Seriously.
This brings me great joy, because I'm sending the best and prettiest of the bunch to my Grandparents who will be totally happy to get a Big Box of Yum. I mean, they're Grandparents, you know? How often do Grandparents get care packages? I'm saying!
Ok, so I baked all day long. I finally made dinner at almost 8 (salmon with dill, mmmmm mmmmmm) and had another cookie while the laundry is going.
I feel accomplished. It is good.
Also, Mr. Wonderful got a Jack Johnson album online. We've been getting rid of all our unlicensed music and replacing it with licensed stuff. Ok, I've put all of mine in a pile and haven't had the nuts to throw it away yet. But it is in a pile. It's a big painful pile. But it is the right thing to do and there you have it. Anyway, one of the replacement albums is Jack Johnson, who so totally rules.
Jack, I love you.
This album is the one I was listening to endlessly before I moved here from Asheville. This was my falling-in-love-with-Mr.-Wonderful album, the album I would have quietly in the background while talking to him for hours every night. Back when my neck and head were both killing me every day but I couldn't figure out why (then realized it was from talking to him for hours....) and thought I needed glasses or some such craziness.
This album fills me with a happy expectant joy that's just wonderful and I've been missing that feeling. Man does depression suck.
My mood does seem to be mostly up, not so much down.
I'm not sure if it's from actively pursuing my old self or the 5 HTP I've been taking. Or maybe it's a combination of things that includes being proactive about the things that are bothering me. I'm not sure I can include my job in there. I mean, I should be seeking a new one, but I have been very assertive and occasionally aggressive about the sack of crap that is my job, and I'll be damned if my boss hasn't been responding to it. Oh, he's nuts, and always will be. But if I can impart some little nugget of wisdom on how to treat people before I go, that would be rewarding.
I suddenly got very tired.
Stupid job. It's like some evil Rubik's Cube, I swear.
I talked to some customer out in the parking lot the other day and she was telling me she's known my boss for years and she thinks "He's autistic". I laughed, and she said, "No, I'm serious". I believe her. He is so NOT right.
But enough about him. He manages (through my own passivity and apathy) to eat enough of my attention and energy as it is. Blech.
Anyway, laundry is going and baked goods are ready and wrapped and the kitchen is (mostly) clean and I feel better.
Also, my Mom called and told me my Grandma looked better today. No hallucinations and was eating more. I won't allow myself the delusion of her being all better but I am relieved. (deep breath)
I love my Grandma. In case you hadn't caught on by my last two weeks of gathering neurosis/depression.
Feeling better. It's so good.
I am so stuffed full of cookies it's somewhat ridiculous. But MAN do I make a mean cookie.
Ok, I got through the shortbread cookies- that took about two hours all said and done. Turns out you must have them icey cold and covered in powered sugar to get them to roll out properly. Took me awhile to get the hang of that mess (and then clean it all up).
Banana bread- browner than I would have liked but still in the realm of tasty and acceptable.
Crowning jewel of the day? The sugar cookies with colored maple icing. Oh my goodness I have just outdone myself. Not only are they adorable to look at (fun with icing drizzles, oh yah!) they are freaking scrumptious.
Seriously.
This brings me great joy, because I'm sending the best and prettiest of the bunch to my Grandparents who will be totally happy to get a Big Box of Yum. I mean, they're Grandparents, you know? How often do Grandparents get care packages? I'm saying!
Ok, so I baked all day long. I finally made dinner at almost 8 (salmon with dill, mmmmm mmmmmm) and had another cookie while the laundry is going.
I feel accomplished. It is good.
Also, Mr. Wonderful got a Jack Johnson album online. We've been getting rid of all our unlicensed music and replacing it with licensed stuff. Ok, I've put all of mine in a pile and haven't had the nuts to throw it away yet. But it is in a pile. It's a big painful pile. But it is the right thing to do and there you have it. Anyway, one of the replacement albums is Jack Johnson, who so totally rules.
Jack, I love you.
This album is the one I was listening to endlessly before I moved here from Asheville. This was my falling-in-love-with-Mr.-Wonderful album, the album I would have quietly in the background while talking to him for hours every night. Back when my neck and head were both killing me every day but I couldn't figure out why (then realized it was from talking to him for hours....) and thought I needed glasses or some such craziness.
This album fills me with a happy expectant joy that's just wonderful and I've been missing that feeling. Man does depression suck.
My mood does seem to be mostly up, not so much down.
I'm not sure if it's from actively pursuing my old self or the 5 HTP I've been taking. Or maybe it's a combination of things that includes being proactive about the things that are bothering me. I'm not sure I can include my job in there. I mean, I should be seeking a new one, but I have been very assertive and occasionally aggressive about the sack of crap that is my job, and I'll be damned if my boss hasn't been responding to it. Oh, he's nuts, and always will be. But if I can impart some little nugget of wisdom on how to treat people before I go, that would be rewarding.
I suddenly got very tired.
Stupid job. It's like some evil Rubik's Cube, I swear.
I talked to some customer out in the parking lot the other day and she was telling me she's known my boss for years and she thinks "He's autistic". I laughed, and she said, "No, I'm serious". I believe her. He is so NOT right.
But enough about him. He manages (through my own passivity and apathy) to eat enough of my attention and energy as it is. Blech.
Anyway, laundry is going and baked goods are ready and wrapped and the kitchen is (mostly) clean and I feel better.
Also, my Mom called and told me my Grandma looked better today. No hallucinations and was eating more. I won't allow myself the delusion of her being all better but I am relieved. (deep breath)
I love my Grandma. In case you hadn't caught on by my last two weeks of gathering neurosis/depression.
Feeling better. It's so good.
strange day
My ever shifting moods are disorienting but whats new?
Today is the first really wintry day I've seen. It was 48 degrees this morning and is only dropping. It's windy and dark, and I've been watching the last remaining leaves on the trees giving up the ghost and letting go, to be whipped away twirling towards Destination: Decomposition.
I-Tunes has this fabulous radio station that is "80's New Wave Alternative Ska Punk". Does it get any better than that? I think not. The electronic attitude-drenched music of that era (my childhood) seems to fit every thought in my warped head, from dark to uplifting.
I'm baking. After looking up rental car prices and flight prices to MI, I've decided to put it off for the time being. Well, unless my Grandma suddenly declines. Let's hope not. Anyway, I'm baking them ridiculous amounts of food. Shortbread cookies and banana bread are first, then the maple-sugar cookies and gingerbread, after that oatmeal raisin cookies...well, maybe not in that order. And the peanut butter cookies? Hmmm.
It's like this: my Grandparents are my image of a perfect partnership. There is a division of labor, the same as there has always been. Unfortunately, because they've been together forever, there are certain inadequacies when they're apart. My Grandmother has no idea how to pump gas for herself. My Grandpa probably couldn't fix himself a sandwich. Maybe cereal. Maybe. And laundry? He cried because my Mom came over and did some of his laundry while Grandma is in the hospital.
~sigh~
So knowing that even after she gets home, she is not allowed to stand around and cook for him, he's gonna need some instant snacks. And since she will be eating what he brings her, I'm going to make damn sure he's going to bring her something delightfully good.
Besides, it's making me feel better. Sitting 700 miles away is driving me insane. I have to do something before my guilt ridden brain completely consumes itself.
Am I baking out of love or neurosis? (shrug) Does it matter right now? Both?
Back to the kitchen.
Today is the first really wintry day I've seen. It was 48 degrees this morning and is only dropping. It's windy and dark, and I've been watching the last remaining leaves on the trees giving up the ghost and letting go, to be whipped away twirling towards Destination: Decomposition.
I-Tunes has this fabulous radio station that is "80's New Wave Alternative Ska Punk". Does it get any better than that? I think not. The electronic attitude-drenched music of that era (my childhood) seems to fit every thought in my warped head, from dark to uplifting.
I'm baking. After looking up rental car prices and flight prices to MI, I've decided to put it off for the time being. Well, unless my Grandma suddenly declines. Let's hope not. Anyway, I'm baking them ridiculous amounts of food. Shortbread cookies and banana bread are first, then the maple-sugar cookies and gingerbread, after that oatmeal raisin cookies...well, maybe not in that order. And the peanut butter cookies? Hmmm.
It's like this: my Grandparents are my image of a perfect partnership. There is a division of labor, the same as there has always been. Unfortunately, because they've been together forever, there are certain inadequacies when they're apart. My Grandmother has no idea how to pump gas for herself. My Grandpa probably couldn't fix himself a sandwich. Maybe cereal. Maybe. And laundry? He cried because my Mom came over and did some of his laundry while Grandma is in the hospital.
~sigh~
So knowing that even after she gets home, she is not allowed to stand around and cook for him, he's gonna need some instant snacks. And since she will be eating what he brings her, I'm going to make damn sure he's going to bring her something delightfully good.
Besides, it's making me feel better. Sitting 700 miles away is driving me insane. I have to do something before my guilt ridden brain completely consumes itself.
Am I baking out of love or neurosis? (shrug) Does it matter right now? Both?
Back to the kitchen.
pulled from WLOS website:
Operation Recognition
A mountain school system gives some World War II veterans an honor they've never had; they get their diplomas.
The Veterans Day ceremony at Southwestern Community College is part of "Operation Recognition." It's a program that gives academic credit to those who skipped school in order to help save the world.
Eighteen World War II veterans who left their homes in Jackson County as teenagers, to fight overseas were given long overdue high school diplomas.
Jackson County officials believe this may the first graduation of it's kind so far in the state.
(posted at 10:15pm, 11/11)
That choked me up.
Thanks.
A mountain school system gives some World War II veterans an honor they've never had; they get their diplomas.
The Veterans Day ceremony at Southwestern Community College is part of "Operation Recognition." It's a program that gives academic credit to those who skipped school in order to help save the world.
Eighteen World War II veterans who left their homes in Jackson County as teenagers, to fight overseas were given long overdue high school diplomas.
Jackson County officials believe this may the first graduation of it's kind so far in the state.
(posted at 10:15pm, 11/11)
That choked me up.
Thanks.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Well, my Grandma is no better but no worse. She is still hallucinating, which blows and makes me take pause. I still feel like crap about not being there for her but I've started to think of ways I could help from here and make her feel better and better taken care of even from far away.
So that is lessening the sense of panic and urgency I have.
Hmm.
So that is lessening the sense of panic and urgency I have.
Hmm.
Wow.
This isn't a problem I encounter, but for the women of the world I say thank you.
Although, I must say I find this a bit disconcerting......
If approved for this use, the orgasmatron device and implantation could cost up to $17,000, but Meloy says he believes some women would be happy to pay that amount to have the orgasmatron permanently embedded in their lower backs. He says the device could be implanted on an outpatient basis.
This isn't a problem I encounter, but for the women of the world I say thank you.
Although, I must say I find this a bit disconcerting......
If approved for this use, the orgasmatron device and implantation could cost up to $17,000, but Meloy says he believes some women would be happy to pay that amount to have the orgasmatron permanently embedded in their lower backs. He says the device could be implanted on an outpatient basis.
That's just nuts.
Lots of people would have been upset by the magnitude of this peanutty mess – about half the size of a football field – but Doughtie was delighted with his good fortune.
“They told me I could take all I wanted,” the retiree said, grinning. “I’ve already gotten up four or five buckets. I’m going to roast them. Make candy.”
Lots of people would have been upset by the magnitude of this peanutty mess – about half the size of a football field – but Doughtie was delighted with his good fortune.
“They told me I could take all I wanted,” the retiree said, grinning. “I’ve already gotten up four or five buckets. I’m going to roast them. Make candy.”
I'm not sure if this guy should be put in jail or whisked away to a laboratory so scientists can study his Mighty Liver of Steel.
We plant merit with our minds, and we commit crimes with our minds. With our minds, we imprint images. This one mind is like an artist. It can draw anything, and what it draws is realized. If you surrender your impressions, ideas, thoughts, and so on at the moment they arise without imprinting them on your mind, your minds will not be tainted, just as the lotus flower is not tainted by the muddy water whence it grows.
-Jae Woong Kim, "Polishing The Diamond"
My mind has been wretchedly tainted lately. Hmmmm.
-Jae Woong Kim, "Polishing The Diamond"
My mind has been wretchedly tainted lately. Hmmmm.
cheerfully baffled
Well, today offered up a bizarre turn of events:
My boss was vaguely nice today.
His version of nice, you must understand, means that he didn't yell at anyone or berate them with sarcasm. He was within 4 feet of me most of the day and was actually bearable.
Ok, so he wasn't nice.
But bearable is ok, too.
I'll take what I can get.
And I realized as I left that I wasn't running out the door with steam coming out of my ears. And that was unusual.
So I drove home and hung out for awhile and was happy. Wow.
I miss happy. We should become reacquainted.
My boss was vaguely nice today.
His version of nice, you must understand, means that he didn't yell at anyone or berate them with sarcasm. He was within 4 feet of me most of the day and was actually bearable.
Ok, so he wasn't nice.
But bearable is ok, too.
I'll take what I can get.
And I realized as I left that I wasn't running out the door with steam coming out of my ears. And that was unusual.
So I drove home and hung out for awhile and was happy. Wow.
I miss happy. We should become reacquainted.
I talked to my Mom last night and she told me when my Grandma came out of surgery she saw some nurse that looked like me and started crying because she was so happy to see me. It took my Mom a few minutes to convince her that it wasn't me.
When she told me that I bawled like a baby for a while.
guilt.
guilt.
guilt.
~sigh~
When she told me that I bawled like a baby for a while.
guilt.
guilt.
guilt.
~sigh~
Thursday, November 11, 2004
I was contemplating depression last night, and my apparent immersion into it.
Lately I haven't wanted to do anything, eat anything, or even talk to people for the most part. I had a good day when Sabrina and I went shopping, but other than that, nothing. My sullen moodiness follows me everywhere. I realize that my Grandma used to take me shopping, and that's why it cheers me up. Last night Mr. Wonderful, my son and I went shopping. Even if it's not for me, it still cheers me up.
~sigh~
My Grandma is still in the hospital. Turns out her appendix was abscessed, and all kinds of stuff was wrong. They took out her appendix and did a hysterectomy. Last night she was hallucinating and throwing things and yelling at the doctors (sounds about right). They called my mom who tried to talk to her over the phone but all she did was sob into my moms ear. They have since taken her off the morphine and sedated her.
This alone rips my heart out.
So I called my Grandpa to try to soothe him. I talked to him for at least an hour, and he kept crying. I managed to not bawl, trying to be strong for him. I told him how I had the same reaction to the narcotics they gave me after my C Section and that Grandma is ok, she's not lost her mind or anything, just having a bad reaction to the painkillers.
Hearing your Grandfather cry has got to be one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever heard.
I feel so far away and..well, worthless. It's driving me nuts to not help.
745 miles away, to be exact.
You know, I had been trying to get a new job. They turned me down. I was morbidly depressed about that and came on here to blog about my dwindling self esteem when I got this e-mail from my Mom about my Grandma.
Put it all in perspective for me.
This situation with my Grandma is really working me over. I realize most people might not fall apart when their Grandma is ill, but she is my guiding light, my beacon of hope in a family that otherwise doesn't seem to care much. My Mom makes an effort, but -as I have blogged before- it's always a strained weirdness between us. My Grandma is the only person I'm related to that I feel actually LIKES me. (thinking) I guess she's the only one who has given me acknowedgement and made me feel like she approves of me. I mean, I've come a hell of a long way. She reminds me of that and congratulates me on it. It's nice. I guess I never realized till now just how much I get my emotional strength from the love she gives. I always knew, but not how much.
~sigh~
(long pause)
On another note: why didn't this new job jump and hire me? I'm worried my psychosis is showing. Apparently only psychos want to hire me. Am I so wretched? I mean, I feel like it lately. I feel like a bundle of angry seething neurotic bullshit. I certainly don't feel like my loving magnanimous self anymore. I am seriously fucking pissed off all the time. Spite comes way too easily. I keep trying to "get over it" and work it out, but it stays.
Maybe because my boss is the Asshole of the Century and it's wearing me out? So much so that I don't even want to fight it. I feel resigned and apathetic all the time. Customers bitch about shit and I just agree with them. I'll have customers call up and complain and I just tell them, "Yah, I've had 4 other calls like this today. I'm really sorry. I know it's awful. I wish there was something I could do to help you." But the fact is, I can't. There really is nothing I can do, short of poisoning my boss and sporting a nice violent coup d'etat. And it's a thought. Well, not the poisoning part. He seems to be doing a pretty good job of that himself with the cocaine. I doubt he needs any assistance in that department.
blah blah blah
I even bore myself lately, I'm so apathetic and annoyed.
And cooking? Forget about it. I don't care. I'm going to spend some time looking through cookbooks today in the hopes of finding something interesting before Mr. Wonderful and my son rise up in a spirit born of boring-food-indignation.
Most of what I've eaten today is Diet Pepsi and jelly beans. The jelly beans are ok, not anything to write home about. I think it's their cheerful colors that appeal to me. Appeal in the sort of way that I want to gnash between my teeth and destroy.
(a lame attempt to make fun of my morbidity)
Anyhow.
blah
blah
I'll try this later. Maybe more caffeine will help. Hasn't yet, but I drink assloads of it ever day in the attempt to not sleep through my life right now.
I really need to just be angry. And do something about it.
Damn it, I'm tired of being angry.
Lately I haven't wanted to do anything, eat anything, or even talk to people for the most part. I had a good day when Sabrina and I went shopping, but other than that, nothing. My sullen moodiness follows me everywhere. I realize that my Grandma used to take me shopping, and that's why it cheers me up. Last night Mr. Wonderful, my son and I went shopping. Even if it's not for me, it still cheers me up.
~sigh~
My Grandma is still in the hospital. Turns out her appendix was abscessed, and all kinds of stuff was wrong. They took out her appendix and did a hysterectomy. Last night she was hallucinating and throwing things and yelling at the doctors (sounds about right). They called my mom who tried to talk to her over the phone but all she did was sob into my moms ear. They have since taken her off the morphine and sedated her.
This alone rips my heart out.
So I called my Grandpa to try to soothe him. I talked to him for at least an hour, and he kept crying. I managed to not bawl, trying to be strong for him. I told him how I had the same reaction to the narcotics they gave me after my C Section and that Grandma is ok, she's not lost her mind or anything, just having a bad reaction to the painkillers.
Hearing your Grandfather cry has got to be one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever heard.
I feel so far away and..well, worthless. It's driving me nuts to not help.
745 miles away, to be exact.
You know, I had been trying to get a new job. They turned me down. I was morbidly depressed about that and came on here to blog about my dwindling self esteem when I got this e-mail from my Mom about my Grandma.
Put it all in perspective for me.
This situation with my Grandma is really working me over. I realize most people might not fall apart when their Grandma is ill, but she is my guiding light, my beacon of hope in a family that otherwise doesn't seem to care much. My Mom makes an effort, but -as I have blogged before- it's always a strained weirdness between us. My Grandma is the only person I'm related to that I feel actually LIKES me. (thinking) I guess she's the only one who has given me acknowedgement and made me feel like she approves of me. I mean, I've come a hell of a long way. She reminds me of that and congratulates me on it. It's nice. I guess I never realized till now just how much I get my emotional strength from the love she gives. I always knew, but not how much.
~sigh~
(long pause)
On another note: why didn't this new job jump and hire me? I'm worried my psychosis is showing. Apparently only psychos want to hire me. Am I so wretched? I mean, I feel like it lately. I feel like a bundle of angry seething neurotic bullshit. I certainly don't feel like my loving magnanimous self anymore. I am seriously fucking pissed off all the time. Spite comes way too easily. I keep trying to "get over it" and work it out, but it stays.
Maybe because my boss is the Asshole of the Century and it's wearing me out? So much so that I don't even want to fight it. I feel resigned and apathetic all the time. Customers bitch about shit and I just agree with them. I'll have customers call up and complain and I just tell them, "Yah, I've had 4 other calls like this today. I'm really sorry. I know it's awful. I wish there was something I could do to help you." But the fact is, I can't. There really is nothing I can do, short of poisoning my boss and sporting a nice violent coup d'etat. And it's a thought. Well, not the poisoning part. He seems to be doing a pretty good job of that himself with the cocaine. I doubt he needs any assistance in that department.
blah blah blah
I even bore myself lately, I'm so apathetic and annoyed.
And cooking? Forget about it. I don't care. I'm going to spend some time looking through cookbooks today in the hopes of finding something interesting before Mr. Wonderful and my son rise up in a spirit born of boring-food-indignation.
Most of what I've eaten today is Diet Pepsi and jelly beans. The jelly beans are ok, not anything to write home about. I think it's their cheerful colors that appeal to me. Appeal in the sort of way that I want to gnash between my teeth and destroy.
(a lame attempt to make fun of my morbidity)
Anyhow.
blah
blah
I'll try this later. Maybe more caffeine will help. Hasn't yet, but I drink assloads of it ever day in the attempt to not sleep through my life right now.
I really need to just be angry. And do something about it.
Damn it, I'm tired of being angry.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
update on the matriarch
I came home to a message from my Mom, saying mt Grandma is on her way into surgery for a complete hysterectomy. Apparently the cysts on her ovaries have tripled in size in the last 4 days. ~sigh~
My Grandpa is freaking out, my Grandma is tearful but ready to go in and be relieved of the pain, and I'm waiting...
waiting...
waiting....
(insert sounds of pacing and ringing of hands)
My Grandpa is freaking out, my Grandma is tearful but ready to go in and be relieved of the pain, and I'm waiting...
waiting...
waiting....
(insert sounds of pacing and ringing of hands)
Monday, November 08, 2004
Grandma
I just got a call from my mom, and she sounds all happy. I've been on pins and needles (and panic attacks) since she told me earlier she was taking my Grandma back to the emergency room.
So the phone rings, she sounds happy and says they're admitting her. I wait....and she says the doctors are pretty sure it's diverticulitis, which my Grandma has had problems with before. I say, "Are you SURE it's not cancer? Can I relax now?" And she says they are 90% sure.
I very nearly burst into tears anyway and decide to wait.
She's calling me tomorrow morning.
One more night and we should know.
~~~~breath~~~~breath~~~~~breath
~~~~~~breath~~~~~breath~~~~~
So the phone rings, she sounds happy and says they're admitting her. I wait....and she says the doctors are pretty sure it's diverticulitis, which my Grandma has had problems with before. I say, "Are you SURE it's not cancer? Can I relax now?" And she says they are 90% sure.
I very nearly burst into tears anyway and decide to wait.
She's calling me tomorrow morning.
One more night and we should know.
~~~~breath~~~~breath~~~~~breath
~~~~~~breath~~~~~breath~~~~~
commenting on Christianity/ thanks to the Mormon bloggerettes
Having grown up Methodist, I have a good handle of the Christian faith, I thought. Although after moving South, I discovered I am a heathen in the eyes of the Baptists. I discovered that I think the Baptists are insane. It was the moment my X's dad tried to convince him that dinosaur bones were the work of the Devil that made me think that.
Having been in the South for a while has really turned me off to Christianity. The zealots in particular, who shove Christianity down the throats of anyone, regardless of anything at all. There is such a lack of love or concern...
~sigh~
Anyway, I've blogged about religion long ago, but to recap it goes like this:
I was a good little Christian kid who was very involved in church: Sunday school and youth group and bell choir and Sacred Dance and regular choir and vacation bible school and every fund raiser and help at the soup kitchens and whatever.
Into my teenage years I started noticing the hypocrisy among the grown ups. How evil and bitchy my mom was, but so sweet and sugary at church. What the hell? And my friends parents were so nice at church but I find out are raging alcoholics...(who pass out at the Christmas Eve candlelight service, nice.)
Then I find out that the Bible has been rewritten a bazillion times to suit whoever and their brother to fit their particular belief systems and then I was pissed off. People can just change the Bible? I thought it was the word of God! What do you mean it's been rewritten and there's all these different kinds of Bibles? How am I supposed to know what is true?
And my faith in Christianity has been forever shattered.
Now a goofy little Buddhist supergeek (who has been very very angry lately, be patient with me, I'm working through this....) I am very pleasantly surprised by a few of the Mormons I know with blogs.
Like I said, after living in the South for the last ten years I've grown accustomed to Christian=Lunatic. But these are Southern Baptists, and they are a weird breed.
But reading the blogs of the Mormons has been a real eye opener; instead of the endless preaching, these blogs are about life itself, with a religion interwoven. It is respectable (although I don't believe what they believe) that they can talk about life and be open minded and religious.
I had forgotten that these things could co-exist.
So thank you, wonderful and fabulous Mormons whose blogs I peruse.
Thank you.
Having been in the South for a while has really turned me off to Christianity. The zealots in particular, who shove Christianity down the throats of anyone, regardless of anything at all. There is such a lack of love or concern...
~sigh~
Anyway, I've blogged about religion long ago, but to recap it goes like this:
I was a good little Christian kid who was very involved in church: Sunday school and youth group and bell choir and Sacred Dance and regular choir and vacation bible school and every fund raiser and help at the soup kitchens and whatever.
Into my teenage years I started noticing the hypocrisy among the grown ups. How evil and bitchy my mom was, but so sweet and sugary at church. What the hell? And my friends parents were so nice at church but I find out are raging alcoholics...(who pass out at the Christmas Eve candlelight service, nice.)
Then I find out that the Bible has been rewritten a bazillion times to suit whoever and their brother to fit their particular belief systems and then I was pissed off. People can just change the Bible? I thought it was the word of God! What do you mean it's been rewritten and there's all these different kinds of Bibles? How am I supposed to know what is true?
And my faith in Christianity has been forever shattered.
Now a goofy little Buddhist supergeek (who has been very very angry lately, be patient with me, I'm working through this....) I am very pleasantly surprised by a few of the Mormons I know with blogs.
Like I said, after living in the South for the last ten years I've grown accustomed to Christian=Lunatic. But these are Southern Baptists, and they are a weird breed.
But reading the blogs of the Mormons has been a real eye opener; instead of the endless preaching, these blogs are about life itself, with a religion interwoven. It is respectable (although I don't believe what they believe) that they can talk about life and be open minded and religious.
I had forgotten that these things could co-exist.
So thank you, wonderful and fabulous Mormons whose blogs I peruse.
Thank you.
excerpt from e-mail to Erica:
So many times a day my boss is an asshole and I think
to myself: WWED? (What Would Erica Do?)
The fun thing about this job: he's an asswipe but I
don't care if I get fired so now I just rip on him. To
other employees, to his face, to the customers. Yah,
it's fucking swell. Ranks right up there with E. Coli.
Today he shows us the cover of some magazine and says
he's got a date with the chick on the cover. Me and
Sabrina were in hysterics laughing at him. He tried to
defend himself saying, "Really! She called me!" and I
almost pissed myself laughing and wrapped my arms
around myself and said, "I didn't know they could make
calls from the asylum!" and mimicked her in a
straightjacket.
He was not so amused. Sabrina was howling. But he ran back
out the door (hurry scurry Coke Head Man!) and then
Sabrina fell apart when she looked at the calender and
saw "Date" written on it for this Saturday.
Good times. Good times.
to myself: WWED? (What Would Erica Do?)
The fun thing about this job: he's an asswipe but I
don't care if I get fired so now I just rip on him. To
other employees, to his face, to the customers. Yah,
it's fucking swell. Ranks right up there with E. Coli.
Today he shows us the cover of some magazine and says
he's got a date with the chick on the cover. Me and
Sabrina were in hysterics laughing at him. He tried to
defend himself saying, "Really! She called me!" and I
almost pissed myself laughing and wrapped my arms
around myself and said, "I didn't know they could make
calls from the asylum!" and mimicked her in a
straightjacket.
He was not so amused. Sabrina was howling. But he ran back
out the door (hurry scurry Coke Head Man!) and then
Sabrina fell apart when she looked at the calender and
saw "Date" written on it for this Saturday.
Good times. Good times.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Oooook.
A few minutes ago I was in the bathroom. Mr. Wonderful is putting my son to sleep. I hear this noise, that sounds like a person laughing, but the recording quality that a kids toy would make. It is so loud that I am sure it is Mr. Wonderful outside the bathroom door, messing with me. Then I realize my son does not have a toy that sounds anything like that.
I go into my sons room, and stand there for a second, perplexed. They both look at me. I say, "What was that noise? It sounded like a kids toy, laughing." They both look at me. Mr. Wonderful says, "What noise?" And then, "There was no noise. You're just crazy, baby." The thing of it is, he's serious. I don't know what the hell made that sound but now I have images of Chucky running through my house, hiding somewhere.
The only thing I can come up with is my downstairs neighbor is fucking with me, and holding up something to the fan, so I can hear it in my bathroom.
No matter what, it's disturbing.
And not terribly funny.
Seriously, I know I'm stressed out, but I don't think I just imagined that!
Did I?
(wrings hands and looks around pensively)
Yeesh.
A few minutes ago I was in the bathroom. Mr. Wonderful is putting my son to sleep. I hear this noise, that sounds like a person laughing, but the recording quality that a kids toy would make. It is so loud that I am sure it is Mr. Wonderful outside the bathroom door, messing with me. Then I realize my son does not have a toy that sounds anything like that.
I go into my sons room, and stand there for a second, perplexed. They both look at me. I say, "What was that noise? It sounded like a kids toy, laughing." They both look at me. Mr. Wonderful says, "What noise?" And then, "There was no noise. You're just crazy, baby." The thing of it is, he's serious. I don't know what the hell made that sound but now I have images of Chucky running through my house, hiding somewhere.
The only thing I can come up with is my downstairs neighbor is fucking with me, and holding up something to the fan, so I can hear it in my bathroom.
No matter what, it's disturbing.
And not terribly funny.
Seriously, I know I'm stressed out, but I don't think I just imagined that!
Did I?
(wrings hands and looks around pensively)
Yeesh.
why isn't this hanging up at my work?
Ah yes. Because the place is a pigsty. You'd never find it anyway.
the circle of life
I found out a few days ago my Grandmother is sick. I tried not to worry too much, thinking she'll get over it, everything will be ok.
Today I called to see how she was feeling (she sounded pretty good 2 days ago) and my Grandpa says she hasn't gotten out of bed. She isn't eating. She's lost about 30 pounds since spring. They're thinking it's cancer. She goes to get tested Wednesday. She's in excrutiating pain. She doesn't even want to drink water. It doesn't look good.
I got through the call with my Grandpa and called my Mom. That was worse. But I made it through that call, too and then hung up and cried for a good hour or so. I kept trying to stop, but everything about it is sad.
For me personally it's awful because my Grandma is the one person in my family I feel an affinity to. My Mom and I....well....I love her, you know? But I don't really like her. It's mutual. Although I'm sure she would state it some other way, as I would if I knew she were reading this. (shrug) But that's the way it is and has always been. I think since the moment (at 16) I confided in her that I had been raped and she coldly eyed me and said, "Oh? Were you drunk?" I have given up on ever liking her. You may see my point. She's about as warm as a surgical table.
Then there's my Dad, who tried to kill himself repeatedly when I was a child. Can't say I look up to him. His apathy towards life is not inspiring.
My Brother I adore, but we differ on some major points. Like, he feels gays are not human. That's an actual qoute. Having been told by some of the skanks in high school about the threesomes he was in (him and two chicks), I feel that perhaps he feels lesbians are ok as long as they're letting him fuck them...and that pisses me off.
But my Grandma...well, she's everything to me. She's the reason I go back to visit. Despite her homophobia, despite her racist attitudes; I guess maybe I forgive her for these things because she is old. I figure she's set in her ways, and those ways are old school. I don't know. I'm rambling a bit. I'm on edge, wondering if she ever got up today and too scared to call again. I'm afraid the phone will ring and I'll find out she died. I've been trying to figure out what I should do, seeing as how I feel impotent 600+ miles away; do I drive up there now? What if she dies? Should I wait, and go then, so I can cook for my Grandpa and help him through the transition? What do I do?
~~~Deep breath~~~
So today my son, Mr. Wonderful and I go to the park. I am desperately trying to pull myself together enough to go. We go. I am nauseous and freaked out, but it's rather beautiful and we have a good time.
This is a new park for us, and it's gorgeous. It's near the ocean and has tons of grass and sand, and these incredible stands of really old trees throughout. While kids are playing and laughing (and occasionally fighting), the breeze was faint and the smell of some kind of flower was hanging in the air. What it was I never could place- it was like a combination of lilac and honeysuckle, which is ridiculous because neither would be in bloom in November. It was odd.
Anyway, I kept looking up at the tree canopy, and thinking how those fabulously tall trees are probably the same age as my Grandmother, maybe older (she's 85)...and how they have stood there for all those years and observed the passing of time... I felt this interconnectedness (there's a word that rolls off the tongue) with the world, with the planet, with the way things are, and came to a sense of peace about it. Not acceptance but an understanding I guess you could say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's not her I'm worried about. She's in a lot of pain, and if it is cancer, it will be worse. But I have the feeling it will be fast, also.
It's my Grandpa I'm worried about, and my Mom. Although my Mom will buck up and pull through for the most part. She has that amazing ability to use her coldness for good as well: playing poker face to her own Dad while explaining how his wife could die soon and he should brace himself for the worst (her actual words today).
~eyes rolling~
I mean, she could be the one who plans the funeral while everyone else falls apart. I'm sure she's upset; she just won't let anyone witness it. I've seen her cry once in my 30 years, and it was about a clock she loved that broke. It had sentimental value, she said.
It's the only time I ever remember seeing her shed a tear. Mostly it sticks in my head because she took the Lords name in vain, and I had never heard her do THAT before (or since) and I came running FAST. And there she was, knelt on the floor crying with the pieces of this clock in her hands.
~sigh~
Anyway, she will also need support. In her own way, without ever admitting it, she will need support through this, too.
Um...anyway....
I feel as if everyone up there has given up, that they expect her to die, and soon. She's not eating, not drinking water, and not getting up. And yet my Mom says, "Oh, I'm going over there on Wednesday to take her to the doctors." Did she not hear the tone in her fathers voice? Cause I heard it! I would have rushed over. Shit, I want to jump in the truck now and race up there and take care of them. I don't know...has anyone thought of dehydration? How is she supposed to fight anything at all if she isn't eating or drinking water? She's wasting away; why isn't she back in the hospital?
The only conclusion I can come up with is she's dying, and that's why nobody is fighting her to drink or eat. I could be wrong. But it is completely like my Mom to not tell me if she knew, and tell me later saying, "I knew you would skip work on Monday and drive up here if you knew..." like I care about my crap ass job.
It occurs to me I could be nuts and maybe it's not that bad and she'll pull through and live for another 10 years.
But...I just don't know about that.
~sigh~
Today I called to see how she was feeling (she sounded pretty good 2 days ago) and my Grandpa says she hasn't gotten out of bed. She isn't eating. She's lost about 30 pounds since spring. They're thinking it's cancer. She goes to get tested Wednesday. She's in excrutiating pain. She doesn't even want to drink water. It doesn't look good.
I got through the call with my Grandpa and called my Mom. That was worse. But I made it through that call, too and then hung up and cried for a good hour or so. I kept trying to stop, but everything about it is sad.
For me personally it's awful because my Grandma is the one person in my family I feel an affinity to. My Mom and I....well....I love her, you know? But I don't really like her. It's mutual. Although I'm sure she would state it some other way, as I would if I knew she were reading this. (shrug) But that's the way it is and has always been. I think since the moment (at 16) I confided in her that I had been raped and she coldly eyed me and said, "Oh? Were you drunk?" I have given up on ever liking her. You may see my point. She's about as warm as a surgical table.
Then there's my Dad, who tried to kill himself repeatedly when I was a child. Can't say I look up to him. His apathy towards life is not inspiring.
My Brother I adore, but we differ on some major points. Like, he feels gays are not human. That's an actual qoute. Having been told by some of the skanks in high school about the threesomes he was in (him and two chicks), I feel that perhaps he feels lesbians are ok as long as they're letting him fuck them...and that pisses me off.
But my Grandma...well, she's everything to me. She's the reason I go back to visit. Despite her homophobia, despite her racist attitudes; I guess maybe I forgive her for these things because she is old. I figure she's set in her ways, and those ways are old school. I don't know. I'm rambling a bit. I'm on edge, wondering if she ever got up today and too scared to call again. I'm afraid the phone will ring and I'll find out she died. I've been trying to figure out what I should do, seeing as how I feel impotent 600+ miles away; do I drive up there now? What if she dies? Should I wait, and go then, so I can cook for my Grandpa and help him through the transition? What do I do?
~~~Deep breath~~~
So today my son, Mr. Wonderful and I go to the park. I am desperately trying to pull myself together enough to go. We go. I am nauseous and freaked out, but it's rather beautiful and we have a good time.
This is a new park for us, and it's gorgeous. It's near the ocean and has tons of grass and sand, and these incredible stands of really old trees throughout. While kids are playing and laughing (and occasionally fighting), the breeze was faint and the smell of some kind of flower was hanging in the air. What it was I never could place- it was like a combination of lilac and honeysuckle, which is ridiculous because neither would be in bloom in November. It was odd.
Anyway, I kept looking up at the tree canopy, and thinking how those fabulously tall trees are probably the same age as my Grandmother, maybe older (she's 85)...and how they have stood there for all those years and observed the passing of time... I felt this interconnectedness (there's a word that rolls off the tongue) with the world, with the planet, with the way things are, and came to a sense of peace about it. Not acceptance but an understanding I guess you could say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's not her I'm worried about. She's in a lot of pain, and if it is cancer, it will be worse. But I have the feeling it will be fast, also.
It's my Grandpa I'm worried about, and my Mom. Although my Mom will buck up and pull through for the most part. She has that amazing ability to use her coldness for good as well: playing poker face to her own Dad while explaining how his wife could die soon and he should brace himself for the worst (her actual words today).
~eyes rolling~
I mean, she could be the one who plans the funeral while everyone else falls apart. I'm sure she's upset; she just won't let anyone witness it. I've seen her cry once in my 30 years, and it was about a clock she loved that broke. It had sentimental value, she said.
It's the only time I ever remember seeing her shed a tear. Mostly it sticks in my head because she took the Lords name in vain, and I had never heard her do THAT before (or since) and I came running FAST. And there she was, knelt on the floor crying with the pieces of this clock in her hands.
~sigh~
Anyway, she will also need support. In her own way, without ever admitting it, she will need support through this, too.
Um...anyway....
I feel as if everyone up there has given up, that they expect her to die, and soon. She's not eating, not drinking water, and not getting up. And yet my Mom says, "Oh, I'm going over there on Wednesday to take her to the doctors." Did she not hear the tone in her fathers voice? Cause I heard it! I would have rushed over. Shit, I want to jump in the truck now and race up there and take care of them. I don't know...has anyone thought of dehydration? How is she supposed to fight anything at all if she isn't eating or drinking water? She's wasting away; why isn't she back in the hospital?
The only conclusion I can come up with is she's dying, and that's why nobody is fighting her to drink or eat. I could be wrong. But it is completely like my Mom to not tell me if she knew, and tell me later saying, "I knew you would skip work on Monday and drive up here if you knew..." like I care about my crap ass job.
It occurs to me I could be nuts and maybe it's not that bad and she'll pull through and live for another 10 years.
But...I just don't know about that.
~sigh~
Been having a good laugh over here. The following pics come in all kinds of different T-Shirts.
Erica, I think I found your Christmas present. Don't worry, they still have the wrapping paper you loved so dearly. I won't be buying it, but maybe this one. I mean, it's never out of season! Aaahh.
Sometimes a good laugh is needed.
Now is that time.
Erica, I think I found your Christmas present. Don't worry, they still have the wrapping paper you loved so dearly. I won't be buying it, but maybe this one. I mean, it's never out of season! Aaahh.
Sometimes a good laugh is needed.
Now is that time.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Boys and big pants/ Girls and small pants
I realize this is perhaps funny, coming directly after the blog about Eminems video....
Call it co-ink-a-dink.
I've been pondering boys and their big pants. I realize girls also do the big pants thing once in a while, but it's not very often.
There's a guy I work with that has the big pants thing going on. Finally one day I just up and asked him what was up with that. He looks at me confused. He asks, "Are my pants that big?" (He swims in them.) I say, "Yes. Quite. What's the deal?" He says, "I never noticed they were that big...." and looks perplexed. I point out, "They're falling off of you. You can see a good 6 inches of your drawers hanging out." He says, "Well, I don't mean for you to see my underwear." And he looks sufficiently embarrassed enough for me to believe him.
Now, I'm not talking about when you have pants, you lose weight, you can't afford smaller sizes, no no. I mean when you BUY them that size, and think it is accurate.
Likewise, I've been developing a pet peeve concerning girls pants: when the butt is tight and the chub flows over the top. Yah, I'm talking gut. Love handles. All of it. I see a lot of girls who wear the low rider jeans and they should not. Frankly, very few people should. Today in particular I saw a girl, a rather buttless girl, whose pants fit her ass but not her waist, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Now, I'm not trying to go all Fashion Police on you (although I did catch a great episode of What Not To Wear last night.) What I'm pondering here is the psychological process involved in dressing oddly.
Since when did women start thinking that the way the ass fits in their pants completely overrides the waist? As long as the butt fits, the rest doesn't matter? Huh? Again, I'm not talking about pants not fitting because of weight gain or loss. I mean when people BUY them that way. When a chick walks out of the dressing room with her gut overflowing the waistband and she says, "Perfect!" I am totally perplexed.
Likewise, when a guy walks out and has to hike up his pants to keep them from falling off, yet says, "I'll take them!" I have to wonder what is going through their minds.
The girls, I'm guessing, are enjoying the SIZE of their pants. Maybe it makes them feel better to fit into a smaller size? And guys? Shoo. I don't know. Hiding their small stature? Trying to look bigger?
Odd. Funny humans, we are.
Call it co-ink-a-dink.
I've been pondering boys and their big pants. I realize girls also do the big pants thing once in a while, but it's not very often.
There's a guy I work with that has the big pants thing going on. Finally one day I just up and asked him what was up with that. He looks at me confused. He asks, "Are my pants that big?" (He swims in them.) I say, "Yes. Quite. What's the deal?" He says, "I never noticed they were that big...." and looks perplexed. I point out, "They're falling off of you. You can see a good 6 inches of your drawers hanging out." He says, "Well, I don't mean for you to see my underwear." And he looks sufficiently embarrassed enough for me to believe him.
Now, I'm not talking about when you have pants, you lose weight, you can't afford smaller sizes, no no. I mean when you BUY them that size, and think it is accurate.
Likewise, I've been developing a pet peeve concerning girls pants: when the butt is tight and the chub flows over the top. Yah, I'm talking gut. Love handles. All of it. I see a lot of girls who wear the low rider jeans and they should not. Frankly, very few people should. Today in particular I saw a girl, a rather buttless girl, whose pants fit her ass but not her waist, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Now, I'm not trying to go all Fashion Police on you (although I did catch a great episode of What Not To Wear last night.) What I'm pondering here is the psychological process involved in dressing oddly.
Since when did women start thinking that the way the ass fits in their pants completely overrides the waist? As long as the butt fits, the rest doesn't matter? Huh? Again, I'm not talking about pants not fitting because of weight gain or loss. I mean when people BUY them that way. When a chick walks out of the dressing room with her gut overflowing the waistband and she says, "Perfect!" I am totally perplexed.
Likewise, when a guy walks out and has to hike up his pants to keep them from falling off, yet says, "I'll take them!" I have to wonder what is going through their minds.
The girls, I'm guessing, are enjoying the SIZE of their pants. Maybe it makes them feel better to fit into a smaller size? And guys? Shoo. I don't know. Hiding their small stature? Trying to look bigger?
Odd. Funny humans, we are.
taking assertiveness to bizarre new realms
My favorite part:
“This was an extremely dangerous thing for him to do,” she said. “If he had continued to cling in there with the aircraft taking off at over 200 per hour, he might have fallen out and could have been sucked up by an engine.”
“If he had survived that and was in the wheel well when the landing gear was retracted, he could have been crushed by the mechanism. And if not he very likely would have frozen to death during the 15 1/2 hour flight at 30,000 feet while wearing no clothes.”
“This was an extremely dangerous thing for him to do,” she said. “If he had continued to cling in there with the aircraft taking off at over 200 per hour, he might have fallen out and could have been sucked up by an engine.”
“If he had survived that and was in the wheel well when the landing gear was retracted, he could have been crushed by the mechanism. And if not he very likely would have frozen to death during the 15 1/2 hour flight at 30,000 feet while wearing no clothes.”
shopping therapy
Typing without the finger I just tried to saw with a bread knife....(it's bandaged) this could take awhile....
Ok, comments are disabled until further notice. Sorry to all nice people like Faye, Lisa, and the other 3 people who read my blog (grin).
Since this blog is about my own self discovery, and cranky people don't understand, I'm cutting them off.
~snip~
Onward.
I spent the day shopping with the gorgeous neighbor. She throws me. She's like the kind of girl I hated in high school, because she's gorgeous and tiny and rich (she would dispute the rich part right now though) and looks like a freakin Barbie. Sometimes she's got that blond ditzy thing going, and that's always turned me off. What I have recently learned: she's a wonderful girl.
What's sad is that her boyfriend is a dolt, and since they are on the break up verge, she's going to be moving soon. Crap! I just made a friend, and now she's moving. Alas. For her mental health, I bid her adieu. It's a crappy situation for her and she deserves better. I want her to be happy, not just local. But she'll be moving 3 states away, and that blows. (sigh)
So today we had lunch and shopped. Her Dolt was pissy and kept checking up on her and generally being an ass. The kind of ass where you feel embarrassed FOR them, because it's that desperate cling at the end and everyone can see the desperation and it's pitiful. At the same time, he's being a possessive demanding asshole and so you can only feel so sorry for him, since he's made his bed and now it's time to lie in it.
The consequence of being a jerk.
And she really is just the sweetest thing. I notice the more I get to know her the more protective I feel towards her. She's a little blond sometimes but she always has a sense of humor about it (as opposed to the ditzy that doesn't even know). It's terribly cute. And she's somewhat naive, and it's charming. Do I miss being naive? (sigh) Sometimes.
She told me at lunch she's frightened at how she's becoming angry. I told her to run before it becomes jaded. I told her stories about my past relationships with control freaks and how that turned out.
At one point she leans over her second empty fruity drink and says, "I like how you tell me stories, and they make everything clear. I think it was meant to be, that you were sent to me." I chuckle, and feel really appreciated. It's nice. I tell her, "That's why I tell you stories. I hate it when people tell me what to do. But if I have experience and I share it with you, and you come to the same conclusion as me telling you, you're much more likely to use it." She smiled. I mean, yah, I'd love to be like, "That stupid bastard! You deserve better! You need to leave his ass! blah blah blah" but that speech is old. She knows, in her heart. What she may not know is how BAD it can get. My control freak nightmare story clearly illustrated that for her.
It hurts.
I know she's two doors down, and her relationship has crashed, and he's coming home any minute, and it's awkward. I know how those last days are, and it's awful. I told her if it gets too bad to come over and stay here.
I worry about her. So as much as I want her to stay and be my friend, I want her to be safe and happy and get on with her life. I want her to go, and hurry.
Emotional conflict. It's weird.
I'll miss her.
Ok, comments are disabled until further notice. Sorry to all nice people like Faye, Lisa, and the other 3 people who read my blog (grin).
Since this blog is about my own self discovery, and cranky people don't understand, I'm cutting them off.
~snip~
Onward.
I spent the day shopping with the gorgeous neighbor. She throws me. She's like the kind of girl I hated in high school, because she's gorgeous and tiny and rich (she would dispute the rich part right now though) and looks like a freakin Barbie. Sometimes she's got that blond ditzy thing going, and that's always turned me off. What I have recently learned: she's a wonderful girl.
What's sad is that her boyfriend is a dolt, and since they are on the break up verge, she's going to be moving soon. Crap! I just made a friend, and now she's moving. Alas. For her mental health, I bid her adieu. It's a crappy situation for her and she deserves better. I want her to be happy, not just local. But she'll be moving 3 states away, and that blows. (sigh)
So today we had lunch and shopped. Her Dolt was pissy and kept checking up on her and generally being an ass. The kind of ass where you feel embarrassed FOR them, because it's that desperate cling at the end and everyone can see the desperation and it's pitiful. At the same time, he's being a possessive demanding asshole and so you can only feel so sorry for him, since he's made his bed and now it's time to lie in it.
The consequence of being a jerk.
And she really is just the sweetest thing. I notice the more I get to know her the more protective I feel towards her. She's a little blond sometimes but she always has a sense of humor about it (as opposed to the ditzy that doesn't even know). It's terribly cute. And she's somewhat naive, and it's charming. Do I miss being naive? (sigh) Sometimes.
She told me at lunch she's frightened at how she's becoming angry. I told her to run before it becomes jaded. I told her stories about my past relationships with control freaks and how that turned out.
At one point she leans over her second empty fruity drink and says, "I like how you tell me stories, and they make everything clear. I think it was meant to be, that you were sent to me." I chuckle, and feel really appreciated. It's nice. I tell her, "That's why I tell you stories. I hate it when people tell me what to do. But if I have experience and I share it with you, and you come to the same conclusion as me telling you, you're much more likely to use it." She smiled. I mean, yah, I'd love to be like, "That stupid bastard! You deserve better! You need to leave his ass! blah blah blah" but that speech is old. She knows, in her heart. What she may not know is how BAD it can get. My control freak nightmare story clearly illustrated that for her.
It hurts.
I know she's two doors down, and her relationship has crashed, and he's coming home any minute, and it's awkward. I know how those last days are, and it's awful. I told her if it gets too bad to come over and stay here.
I worry about her. So as much as I want her to stay and be my friend, I want her to be safe and happy and get on with her life. I want her to go, and hurry.
Emotional conflict. It's weird.
I'll miss her.
noisy nuts and the urge of procreation
Ok, apparently I need to get off the topic of politics so the crazies will go away. This is exactly why I don't ever talk politics. Someone starts talking out of their butt and continues on louder and louder until you ackowledge them in some way they find gratifying.
So to clarify for anyone unaware:
This is a blog.
It is here for my own personal self discovery.
Nothing else.
If it amuses you, great.
If it angers you, so be it.
Don't get your panties in a wad. It's a freaking blog.
Back to a topic we all love: sex.
Every month I get a wee bit testy. (WHAT? NO!) It's not about PMS, it's about ovulation. It's about seriously-you-need-to-stuff-me-full-of-babies-right-now. My usual nympho tendencies go completely out of control to the point I am in pain. Actual physical pain.
It's odd. The first ten years of my sex life were mostly very unpleasant, due to being being raped and hating sex and being horribly confused and traumatized about it all. Then I got pregnant with my son and (long story short) it changed me. But I always had this wretched pain, I just didn't know what it was.
I dated a guy back then who used to tell me when I got cranky I needed to have sex. MAN did it piss me off. I always thought he was just saying some trite little thing to get laid, and it annoyed me more. It was only years later that I realized he was right.
As I got older (and more comfortable with sex) I realized what was wrong: my body seems to have some sort of auto pilot concerning procreation.
The last few years I have not wanted, neigh verily, to conceive any more children. After the hell I went through with my sons father, I have had no desire, not even an inkling, to bear more children. A few years ago I seriously debated having my tubes tied, but decided not to, in case my boyfriend should decide he simply would not be complete without having children. The boyfriend then was the X of ill repute that I blogged so much of last winter. Well, that didn't work out so well, and now Mr. Wonderful wants dearly to have kids. Well, just one, he says (grin). Hmmmm, yes. So when he first brought this up I was somewhat terrified at the thought of reliving all of my sons early years all over again. But as I have watched Mr. Wonderful with my son, and seeing first hand what an incredible father he is, I want to give him this gift that he seeks. All of my fears and trepidations are melting away, and sometimes I can't remember exactly what it is I was afraid of.
And now? Now ovulation hits and it's very clear what the problem is. So clear, in fact, that it's causing me to hurry up and plan the wedding. Because there will be no making of babies before the wedding...
Geez.
I had this whole blog planned out but Mr. Wonderful and my son keep clamoring for my attention. I'm just going to give up for now and finish this thought later.
Family fun awaits.
So to clarify for anyone unaware:
This is a blog.
It is here for my own personal self discovery.
Nothing else.
If it amuses you, great.
If it angers you, so be it.
Don't get your panties in a wad. It's a freaking blog.
Back to a topic we all love: sex.
Every month I get a wee bit testy. (WHAT? NO!) It's not about PMS, it's about ovulation. It's about seriously-you-need-to-stuff-me-full-of-babies-right-now. My usual nympho tendencies go completely out of control to the point I am in pain. Actual physical pain.
It's odd. The first ten years of my sex life were mostly very unpleasant, due to being being raped and hating sex and being horribly confused and traumatized about it all. Then I got pregnant with my son and (long story short) it changed me. But I always had this wretched pain, I just didn't know what it was.
I dated a guy back then who used to tell me when I got cranky I needed to have sex. MAN did it piss me off. I always thought he was just saying some trite little thing to get laid, and it annoyed me more. It was only years later that I realized he was right.
As I got older (and more comfortable with sex) I realized what was wrong: my body seems to have some sort of auto pilot concerning procreation.
The last few years I have not wanted, neigh verily, to conceive any more children. After the hell I went through with my sons father, I have had no desire, not even an inkling, to bear more children. A few years ago I seriously debated having my tubes tied, but decided not to, in case my boyfriend should decide he simply would not be complete without having children. The boyfriend then was the X of ill repute that I blogged so much of last winter. Well, that didn't work out so well, and now Mr. Wonderful wants dearly to have kids. Well, just one, he says (grin). Hmmmm, yes. So when he first brought this up I was somewhat terrified at the thought of reliving all of my sons early years all over again. But as I have watched Mr. Wonderful with my son, and seeing first hand what an incredible father he is, I want to give him this gift that he seeks. All of my fears and trepidations are melting away, and sometimes I can't remember exactly what it is I was afraid of.
And now? Now ovulation hits and it's very clear what the problem is. So clear, in fact, that it's causing me to hurry up and plan the wedding. Because there will be no making of babies before the wedding...
Geez.
I had this whole blog planned out but Mr. Wonderful and my son keep clamoring for my attention. I'm just going to give up for now and finish this thought later.
Family fun awaits.
One Bad Apple
I'd like to say I'm sorry to all of you who would care to leave comments but don't have a blogger account. I have disabled Anonymous comments on my blog, due to one pissy bad apple (read the next blog).
I told Mr. Wonderful about it and he observed that "a lot of people who are passive and ineffectual in real life use the internet..." as a way to act out (I actually interupted him by nodding and saying I know, I know).
So let's say I'm doing this as a favor for all you ineffectual people, to assist you in being more assertive.
And this way you can't annoy me with your attacks in hiding.
Ugh.
By the way, the only pissy comments I've ever gotten in my blog were Anonymous.
Note: if you don't want me to judge you as A Total Weenie, don't act like one.
And if you don't care what I think, why are you reading this? Food for thought, indeed.
I told Mr. Wonderful about it and he observed that "a lot of people who are passive and ineffectual in real life use the internet..." as a way to act out (I actually interupted him by nodding and saying I know, I know).
So let's say I'm doing this as a favor for all you ineffectual people, to assist you in being more assertive.
And this way you can't annoy me with your attacks in hiding.
Ugh.
By the way, the only pissy comments I've ever gotten in my blog were Anonymous.
Note: if you don't want me to judge you as A Total Weenie, don't act like one.
And if you don't care what I think, why are you reading this? Food for thought, indeed.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
What irks me is that I expected MORE of America. I really expected Kerry to win.
And also, America has proved that left to their own devices, the majority of Americans have a penchant for stupidity.
Pathetic.
I suspect I am supposed to find peace in this somehow. I think even Buddha would shake his head on this one.
I'm trying to work through this one.
I'll let you know.
And also, America has proved that left to their own devices, the majority of Americans have a penchant for stupidity.
Pathetic.
I suspect I am supposed to find peace in this somehow. I think even Buddha would shake his head on this one.
I'm trying to work through this one.
I'll let you know.
I keep thinking I'm starting to get over it then I read things like this and freak out. (The comment following her blog, not the blog itself.)
Dude, what's up with this? I talked to my dad for almost 2 hours tonight, he was shocked and pissed off and disheartened. He went off for an hour about how it HAD to be rigged, how there's no way in hell that many people could be so stupid to vote for Bush. How could they, knowing all the crap Bush has done wrong?
Not just during his presidency, but his whole stinking lying two faced life?
I mean, was there some brain washing I missed? Was it rigged? How can that many people be stupid and duped?
I keep waiting for the "Just kidding" announcement. For someone to announce that it WAS rigged, and that Kerry is president and Bush goes down in flames.
By the way, my dad said he was called repeatedly by people claiming to be part of Kerry's campaign, saying that "Kerry supports abortions, and using the dead babies for stem cell research". Yah. Nice. That's the cool kind of people who support Bush. How awesome. And when my dad got furious and demanded to speak to a supervisor, they hung up on him. Don't worry, they called him back again later! And he yelled at them.
How great is that? To lie and deceive and call a 72 year old man and hang up on him a few times. You fucking losers. I'd like your goddamn throats sitting on my kitchen table. Just the throats. Nothing else.
Son of a bitch, this whole thing makes me so fucking mad.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?????
I don't know how America suddenly went stupid, but I will not lay down and die you evil bastards. And I will not ever be quiet about politics again.
Now you've pissed me off.
Now it's time for a good old fashioned Whoop Ass.
It make take me years. But it will come. I will never forgive you America. How dare you turn your backs on yourselves, your country, the world. How dare you? How do you justify what is going to happen in the next four years? How do you justify the last four?
Part of me almost hopes this country goes right down the fucking tubes, just to prove to you how costly your error is.
You don't ever give a power hungry puny moron a green flag.
I can't beleive you would do that.
I don't even know if I want to move past the anger. I'm afraid of what's going to happen next, where I have to mourn this entire fucking country.
I mean, I had hoped at least after the last four year debacle, America might somehow prove to the world that it makes a mistake, sure, but then it cleans it up.
No. Instead the whole world just got the message that we APPROVE of Bushs behaviour.
We're so fucked.
Dude, what's up with this? I talked to my dad for almost 2 hours tonight, he was shocked and pissed off and disheartened. He went off for an hour about how it HAD to be rigged, how there's no way in hell that many people could be so stupid to vote for Bush. How could they, knowing all the crap Bush has done wrong?
Not just during his presidency, but his whole stinking lying two faced life?
I mean, was there some brain washing I missed? Was it rigged? How can that many people be stupid and duped?
I keep waiting for the "Just kidding" announcement. For someone to announce that it WAS rigged, and that Kerry is president and Bush goes down in flames.
By the way, my dad said he was called repeatedly by people claiming to be part of Kerry's campaign, saying that "Kerry supports abortions, and using the dead babies for stem cell research". Yah. Nice. That's the cool kind of people who support Bush. How awesome. And when my dad got furious and demanded to speak to a supervisor, they hung up on him. Don't worry, they called him back again later! And he yelled at them.
How great is that? To lie and deceive and call a 72 year old man and hang up on him a few times. You fucking losers. I'd like your goddamn throats sitting on my kitchen table. Just the throats. Nothing else.
Son of a bitch, this whole thing makes me so fucking mad.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?????
I don't know how America suddenly went stupid, but I will not lay down and die you evil bastards. And I will not ever be quiet about politics again.
Now you've pissed me off.
Now it's time for a good old fashioned Whoop Ass.
It make take me years. But it will come. I will never forgive you America. How dare you turn your backs on yourselves, your country, the world. How dare you? How do you justify what is going to happen in the next four years? How do you justify the last four?
Part of me almost hopes this country goes right down the fucking tubes, just to prove to you how costly your error is.
You don't ever give a power hungry puny moron a green flag.
I can't beleive you would do that.
I don't even know if I want to move past the anger. I'm afraid of what's going to happen next, where I have to mourn this entire fucking country.
I mean, I had hoped at least after the last four year debacle, America might somehow prove to the world that it makes a mistake, sure, but then it cleans it up.
No. Instead the whole world just got the message that we APPROVE of Bushs behaviour.
We're so fucked.
the only thanks Bush supporters get from me
Hmmmmm. Well.
So I need to note here that after Kerry conceded, my boss came in to work. He was being an asshole, as usual.
I was frustrated, depressed, and generally pissed off (as my blog may relate). I really was in NO mood for an idiot spouting off idiocy in my direction, and he started in the second he came flying in the door. I smarted off to him, not really giving a crap what the outcome was, really in the mood to just say, "Yah, whatever, I quit" and walk out. I waited until he and I were in the back office and everyone else walked away.
What happened:
He flies though the door and starts bitching as soon as he's within sight. All 3 of us were busy, but had paused for the moment to talk to this customer, so all he sees is us standing around yakking. Without bothering to see what had been done, he starts in to bitching, saying this and that needs to get done NOW why isn't it done (but doesn't wait for an answer) and berates us for being slow and too stupid to accomplish this measly bit of work he needs, does it take 3 girls to have a conversation with one customer, what does he pay us for, blah blah blah. Then he asks me what I have these girls busy doing? What projects do I have them working on? I snort and say, "I don't have them working on anything," in a dismissive like-I-give-a-crap manner, which throws him and he's actually speechless for a second. Then he asks, "Why not? You're supposed to be supervising them!" And I snort again and reply deadpan, "Wow. That's the first I've heard. I didn't know I was a supervisor." And he looks indignant and says, "Well, yah!" And hustles us all into the office with Terribly Important Shit To Do. As soon as the girls walk away he says, "So, yah, I want you supervising things while I'm not here!" and I disinterestedly say, "Yah. I didn't know that." He says, "Well, you're the only one who seems to know what to keep busy with, and the girls need direction." I ask, "So I'm a supervisor?" because the next sentence out of my mouth is gonna be, "With how much you pay me? I don't think so, Jack." But apparently he senses this coming and backs up by saying, "Well, I mean you're supervisor MATERIAL, you know, maybe someday we can...." and I think Yah I'm fucking material all right. You want me to DO the supervisor work but not PAY the supervisor rates, whatever you asshole. So I interrupt his little meaningless speech and say, "Look, I'm not going to be here much longer, so it doesn't really matter. I'm not leaving today, but it will be soon. I can't take this anymore." He stares at me. He asks, "Is it me?" with such certainty it's almost amusing. I say, "Yup." He says, "Hmm. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" I say, "Nope." The conversation continues for a second about how much he values me and what a loss it is and I tune him out, listening to the squeaky doors of freedom opening up inside my mind, and noticing that I feel lighter all of a sudden.
He hasn't said a shitty thing to me since.
As a matter of fact, I'm thinking he shot up before he came in today, or did some kind of drug that's seriously tranquilizing. Dude. He was so chill it was freaking weird.
The point of all this was I've not been pissed off enough to quit. I've put it off for weeks now, afraid of him yelling at me and firing me on the spot instead.
But because Bush got voted in to office again, I no longer give a shit. It made me so fucking angry I just couldn't care anymore.
One more asshole ruining my day was unacceptable.
At least something good came out of this crap election, eh?
So I need to note here that after Kerry conceded, my boss came in to work. He was being an asshole, as usual.
I was frustrated, depressed, and generally pissed off (as my blog may relate). I really was in NO mood for an idiot spouting off idiocy in my direction, and he started in the second he came flying in the door. I smarted off to him, not really giving a crap what the outcome was, really in the mood to just say, "Yah, whatever, I quit" and walk out. I waited until he and I were in the back office and everyone else walked away.
What happened:
He flies though the door and starts bitching as soon as he's within sight. All 3 of us were busy, but had paused for the moment to talk to this customer, so all he sees is us standing around yakking. Without bothering to see what had been done, he starts in to bitching, saying this and that needs to get done NOW why isn't it done (but doesn't wait for an answer) and berates us for being slow and too stupid to accomplish this measly bit of work he needs, does it take 3 girls to have a conversation with one customer, what does he pay us for, blah blah blah. Then he asks me what I have these girls busy doing? What projects do I have them working on? I snort and say, "I don't have them working on anything," in a dismissive like-I-give-a-crap manner, which throws him and he's actually speechless for a second. Then he asks, "Why not? You're supposed to be supervising them!" And I snort again and reply deadpan, "Wow. That's the first I've heard. I didn't know I was a supervisor." And he looks indignant and says, "Well, yah!" And hustles us all into the office with Terribly Important Shit To Do. As soon as the girls walk away he says, "So, yah, I want you supervising things while I'm not here!" and I disinterestedly say, "Yah. I didn't know that." He says, "Well, you're the only one who seems to know what to keep busy with, and the girls need direction." I ask, "So I'm a supervisor?" because the next sentence out of my mouth is gonna be, "With how much you pay me? I don't think so, Jack." But apparently he senses this coming and backs up by saying, "Well, I mean you're supervisor MATERIAL, you know, maybe someday we can...." and I think Yah I'm fucking material all right. You want me to DO the supervisor work but not PAY the supervisor rates, whatever you asshole. So I interrupt his little meaningless speech and say, "Look, I'm not going to be here much longer, so it doesn't really matter. I'm not leaving today, but it will be soon. I can't take this anymore." He stares at me. He asks, "Is it me?" with such certainty it's almost amusing. I say, "Yup." He says, "Hmm. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" I say, "Nope." The conversation continues for a second about how much he values me and what a loss it is and I tune him out, listening to the squeaky doors of freedom opening up inside my mind, and noticing that I feel lighter all of a sudden.
He hasn't said a shitty thing to me since.
As a matter of fact, I'm thinking he shot up before he came in today, or did some kind of drug that's seriously tranquilizing. Dude. He was so chill it was freaking weird.
The point of all this was I've not been pissed off enough to quit. I've put it off for weeks now, afraid of him yelling at me and firing me on the spot instead.
But because Bush got voted in to office again, I no longer give a shit. It made me so fucking angry I just couldn't care anymore.
One more asshole ruining my day was unacceptable.
At least something good came out of this crap election, eh?
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
I'm a sore conceeder, I agree
By Tom Curry
National affairs writer
MSNBC
Contrary to much ballyhoo and self-promotion from Democratic-allied groups such as Rock the Vote, voters aged 18 to 29 did not show up in unprecedented numbers and accounted for the very same proportion of the electorate as they did in 2000, 17 percent.
You lazy bastards.
If you drown in your own vomit at a keg party, well, so be it.
National affairs writer
MSNBC
Contrary to much ballyhoo and self-promotion from Democratic-allied groups such as Rock the Vote, voters aged 18 to 29 did not show up in unprecedented numbers and accounted for the very same proportion of the electorate as they did in 2000, 17 percent.
You lazy bastards.
If you drown in your own vomit at a keg party, well, so be it.
The pretzel choker won again
America, I am ashamed. I am ashamed of you.
I thought you were smarter than this.
After four irrefutable years of failure and destruction of your country, you voted him in AGAIN?
Are you really such simple minded sheep?
Do you really believe he's a Christian?
Do you think maybe he'll do better in the NEXT four years, that maybe the first four years were a warm up and now that he's got the hang of it he'll do better?
Are you so easily swayed by patriotic speeches spun like gnarly wool that you don't see the wolf?
Did you vote him in for the higher good of us all, or for your own belief system?
Have you ever even questioned what the good of America might be, and how that may be achieved? Do you think preventing stem cell research and abortions will benefit us all?
How do you foresee that future? A bunch of unwanted children growing up...
At least they can be killed off in another unwanted war.
I mean, unwanted children and unwanted war are different. At least the people being killed in an unwanted war are OTHER people's kids, so that's ok. It's just not ok to kill American children, right? Or, at least not till they turn eighteen. Then all bets are off.
I am disgusted.
I thought you were smarter than this.
After four irrefutable years of failure and destruction of your country, you voted him in AGAIN?
Are you really such simple minded sheep?
Do you really believe he's a Christian?
Do you think maybe he'll do better in the NEXT four years, that maybe the first four years were a warm up and now that he's got the hang of it he'll do better?
Are you so easily swayed by patriotic speeches spun like gnarly wool that you don't see the wolf?
Did you vote him in for the higher good of us all, or for your own belief system?
Have you ever even questioned what the good of America might be, and how that may be achieved? Do you think preventing stem cell research and abortions will benefit us all?
How do you foresee that future? A bunch of unwanted children growing up...
At least they can be killed off in another unwanted war.
I mean, unwanted children and unwanted war are different. At least the people being killed in an unwanted war are OTHER people's kids, so that's ok. It's just not ok to kill American children, right? Or, at least not till they turn eighteen. Then all bets are off.
I am disgusted.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
nervous wreck
Sitting here waiting for the results to come in.
Also fretting about my Grandma all day. She went to the hospital At midnight, they kept her overnight, now they don't know exactly what's wrong with her, did some tests, gave her pain killers, sent her home. SO now she's home, with the possibility of cancer or maybe nothing, who knows? We certainly don't. I do know she's 600+ miles away and I can do nothing for her from here. It's making me crazy.
I want to gorge myself and at the same time, vomit.
I want to drive to Michigan and stay with her till she's better, just stay with her forever so I know she's ok, I don't know, I'm bordering on hysterical here.
I thought maybe I could blog about it and it would make me feel better but it makes me want to scream instead. Ok. Never mind. I'll pull myself back together and come back later. Or not. Who knows.
Also fretting about my Grandma all day. She went to the hospital At midnight, they kept her overnight, now they don't know exactly what's wrong with her, did some tests, gave her pain killers, sent her home. SO now she's home, with the possibility of cancer or maybe nothing, who knows? We certainly don't. I do know she's 600+ miles away and I can do nothing for her from here. It's making me crazy.
I want to gorge myself and at the same time, vomit.
I want to drive to Michigan and stay with her till she's better, just stay with her forever so I know she's ok, I don't know, I'm bordering on hysterical here.
I thought maybe I could blog about it and it would make me feel better but it makes me want to scream instead. Ok. Never mind. I'll pull myself back together and come back later. Or not. Who knows.
Election Day
Geez.
Here I sit, irritated and excited both.
It might be the Dr. Pepper and Halloween candy.
It might be the fact that my boss keeps calling but since he's a stupid bastard who can't keep his own ass straight I'm not answering the phone to save him from the latest dilemma he's created for himself and have actually turned off the ringer on my phone. Nonetheless, I know he's there...I sense his evil.
It might be because it's election day.
Oh yah, Election Day.
Election Day is a funny day here inside my brain. Yes. There's the obvious- hoping my guy will win, hoping the other guy won't. There's the sense of urgency; getting other people to vote (particularly those who want to vote for my guy, not the other guy). There's the tension in waiting to see if the country will be run by an ex coke addict who wouldn't BE in the military cause he was too busy drinking and doesn't want unborn babies to die but now has no qualms about sending them off 18 years later to get blown to smithereens...
for another 4 years. Despite losing the popular vote 4 years ago. Not that I'm so droll as to point this out again or anything.
(Clears throat, burps up Snickers bars. Notices they taste good even in Burp-form. Takes a moment to appreciate the miracle of that.)
So anyway, there's the usual Election Day stuff that most people think about and feel. Then there's the total barrage of emotion that an empath picks up, from the bajillion people voting and not voting and waiting to see who's gonna win...
I can tell you this: if Bush wins the electoral but not popular vote AGAIN there's going to be some rioting.
And I think Kerry's going to win.
My sense is that the people voting for Bush are: the religious right, the rich (the ones who are greedy and not terribly bright), the poor (who are easily swayed by bullshit patriotic speeches and aren't very bright), and last but not least, the stupid (who think Bush is appointed by God, that voting for Kerry is a vote for pro-terrorism, that Kerry will personally come eat your unborn children, or whatever other jackass inspired notion crosses their I-Don't-Even-Want-To-Go-There minds).
Everybody else is voting for Kerry, except for some idealists who think voting for the other people will accomplish anything.
Don't get me wrong, Nader could be my man. But it isn't going to happen and I'm not risking a single freaking vote, nosirree bob!
You know, I really should quit drinking caffeine.
But I have to stay up late! To see what's gonna happen! And if it goes down like it did 4 years ago, I may have to stay up for a few months to find out.
That would be suck total Supercrap.
Here I sit, irritated and excited both.
It might be the Dr. Pepper and Halloween candy.
It might be the fact that my boss keeps calling but since he's a stupid bastard who can't keep his own ass straight I'm not answering the phone to save him from the latest dilemma he's created for himself and have actually turned off the ringer on my phone. Nonetheless, I know he's there...I sense his evil.
It might be because it's election day.
Oh yah, Election Day.
Election Day is a funny day here inside my brain. Yes. There's the obvious- hoping my guy will win, hoping the other guy won't. There's the sense of urgency; getting other people to vote (particularly those who want to vote for my guy, not the other guy). There's the tension in waiting to see if the country will be run by an ex coke addict who wouldn't BE in the military cause he was too busy drinking and doesn't want unborn babies to die but now has no qualms about sending them off 18 years later to get blown to smithereens...
for another 4 years. Despite losing the popular vote 4 years ago. Not that I'm so droll as to point this out again or anything.
(Clears throat, burps up Snickers bars. Notices they taste good even in Burp-form. Takes a moment to appreciate the miracle of that.)
So anyway, there's the usual Election Day stuff that most people think about and feel. Then there's the total barrage of emotion that an empath picks up, from the bajillion people voting and not voting and waiting to see who's gonna win...
I can tell you this: if Bush wins the electoral but not popular vote AGAIN there's going to be some rioting.
And I think Kerry's going to win.
My sense is that the people voting for Bush are: the religious right, the rich (the ones who are greedy and not terribly bright), the poor (who are easily swayed by bullshit patriotic speeches and aren't very bright), and last but not least, the stupid (who think Bush is appointed by God, that voting for Kerry is a vote for pro-terrorism, that Kerry will personally come eat your unborn children, or whatever other jackass inspired notion crosses their I-Don't-Even-Want-To-Go-There minds).
Everybody else is voting for Kerry, except for some idealists who think voting for the other people will accomplish anything.
Don't get me wrong, Nader could be my man. But it isn't going to happen and I'm not risking a single freaking vote, nosirree bob!
You know, I really should quit drinking caffeine.
But I have to stay up late! To see what's gonna happen! And if it goes down like it did 4 years ago, I may have to stay up for a few months to find out.
That would be suck total Supercrap.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
