Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
how to take vanity to a whole new level
All I could do while I scrolled down the page was laugh and say, "Wow! You LOVE yourself! You really, really LOVE yourself!"
I'm all about some self love, but...
"I'm too sexy for this shirt, too sexy for this shirt..."
And I do a little dance on the catwalk!
I'm all about some self love, but...
"I'm too sexy for this shirt, too sexy for this shirt..."
And I do a little dance on the catwalk!
Friday, July 29, 2005
left hanging
Ok. I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (inbetween the commercials on sci-fi Friday) and now I'm going to have a fucking conniption.
When does the next book come out? When? When?
*pulls hair out*
When???
When does the next book come out? When? When?
*pulls hair out*
When???
Thursday, July 28, 2005
a pox upon Kids Bop
Is anyone else horrified by the Kids Bop commercials?
First, it's a CD of pop songs, with (gag) a bunch of kids singing OVER it? Who the hell would want that? And how are they now on Kids Bop 8, for God's sake?
Then the commercial itself is filled with kids lip synching the songs (retch) and the latest one has this little 9 year old in lip gloss and eye shadow lip synching her heart out to some song and all I can see is: a pedophiles dream come true.
I realize the irony of this after me discussing having lust-thoughts about Harry Potter, but he's NEARLY legal and I have no intention of ever actually going through with it. I won't even go into the millions of guys that waited for Mary-Kate and Ashley to come of age.
The difference is that they made this little girl look like a mini-ho! It just makes me ill and every time the damn thing comes on I have to stare in wretched disgust.
Damn you, Kids Bop! A pox be upon you and you're revolting marketing stategy!
*barfs angrily*
Also, Bratz also has my implicit invitation to rot in hell.
First, it's a CD of pop songs, with (gag) a bunch of kids singing OVER it? Who the hell would want that? And how are they now on Kids Bop 8, for God's sake?
Then the commercial itself is filled with kids lip synching the songs (retch) and the latest one has this little 9 year old in lip gloss and eye shadow lip synching her heart out to some song and all I can see is: a pedophiles dream come true.
I realize the irony of this after me discussing having lust-thoughts about Harry Potter, but he's NEARLY legal and I have no intention of ever actually going through with it. I won't even go into the millions of guys that waited for Mary-Kate and Ashley to come of age.
The difference is that they made this little girl look like a mini-ho! It just makes me ill and every time the damn thing comes on I have to stare in wretched disgust.
Damn you, Kids Bop! A pox be upon you and you're revolting marketing stategy!
*barfs angrily*
Also, Bratz also has my implicit invitation to rot in hell.
really
He makes me feel like such a dirty old woman. But I was 15 once, and I remember... and my walls would have been plastered with him. Really. So, let's just say the 15 year old girl that still exists within me has a crush. That sounds far less nasty, right? Right?
*echo*echo*echo*
Do you hear that echo? It is the sound of the empty chair before my computer since the library e-mailed me to let me know that my hold on the latest Harry Potter book was in. It's the best day after my birthday present ever! So I sped over to the library and got it, and had the little old lady librarian in stiches with my giddy little dance. I told her they should have been taking pictures of everybody that had it on hold, grinning like jackasses. And then I walked out the door with it, holding it close (my precious!) as if someone was going to mug me for it.
God I love Harry Potter. And also, I will so totally be his Mrs. Robinson if he should request it of me. I'm just saying...
Him and Elijah Wood. Whew. Those eyes.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
how I love sarcasm
Only The Onion could cover an issue near and dear to my heart so very eloquently.
You are Form 1, Goddess: The Creator.
"And The Goddess planted the acorn of life.
She cried a single tear and shed a single drop
of blood upon the earth where she buried it.
From her blood and tear, the acorn grew into
the world."
Some examples of the Goddess Form are Gaia (Greek),
Jehova (Christian), and Brahma (Indian).
The Goddess is associated with the concept of
creation, the number 1, and the element of
earth.
Her sign is the dawn sun.
As a member of Form 1, you are a charismatic
individual and people are drawn to you.
Although sometimes you may seem emotionally
distant, you are deeply in tune with other
people's feelings and have tremendous empathy.
Sometimes you have a tendency to neglect your
own self. Goddesses are the best friends to
have because they're always willing to help.
Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
nightmare
This one is...f-ed up. There's really no way around that.
I'm at my moms house, and trying to rush out the door to go to school. I'm late, I haven't packed a lunch, and I start throwing things into a bag to eat later.
I need to close the back door but I can't get it to shut and I'm cursing. I'm going to miss the bus. How will I get to school then? I realize I can drive now and go out to the garage. There's some guy out there who is supposed to be my dad, and he's horrible and cruel. He tells me I cannot drive aything but the little red radio flyer wagon. How the hell am I supposed to drive THAT? He tells me I can and I will and so I do. Defying him seems to be out of the question.
I get in the tiny thing and realize I can make it go forward but not terribly quickly, and steering it is a bit of a bitch. I've got some small metal shovel that I'm using like a paddle on the road, trying to speed myself up.
I get to the main road and it gets really dangerous, with actual cars driving by and me driving this tiny wagon, not to mention the erratic steering. But I start to go down a large hill and I'm picking up speed and fast. I realize I have no brake and the steering could flip me in a heartbeat and I'll land under the wheels of an oncoming truck. I start to drag the shovel on the ground in an effort to slow myself down, but I'm doing about 50 mph in this damn thing. There's construction at the bottom of the hill and I don't know how in the hell I'm going to steer around the bulldozers and shit. Panic!
~The dream fades to me being at school~
I'm exhausted, far beyond exhausted from trying to drive a damn kiddy wagon 5 miles. I'm in some room and there's Padme (yah, a Star Wars themed nightmare, just wait it gets worse). I hear the unmistakable sound of a dart ~ththththwt!~ and see the small blue feathered dart stab into her neck. She gasps and the guy next to her (who else but darling Anakin) tells her it's the Emperors dart. Who, I strickenly realize, is my dad. The epitome of evil. Padme suddenly blinks and gets wide eyed. She tells him she just felt something really weird happen in her mind. He gravely informs her that's the poison taking effect and it allows the Emperor to take control of her will. I realize this is what is wrong with me, this is what is causing my ungodly exhaustion. He is literally sucking the life out of me for his survival.
People are running, panic ensues. I look outside and see the rain is driving sideways. There is a storm of massive proportions coming. I run.
Suddenly I am in the back corner of what looks like a boiler room. I know I am far from everyone and the Emperor has stashed me away back here to keep me silent. I can barely move from exhaustion, and when I look around I see that instead of the typical boiler room pipes, these pipes are all made of clear plastic and there is fresh blood being pumped through them. I know that this is what is keeping him alive, and realize how many people must have been killed to fill the pipes with that much blood. There is, in fact, blood splattered everywhere back here. Bits of gore flung all around.
~This is where is starts getting really psychotic, and if you've ever seen the movie Event Horizon you can picture this easily- the flashes of various images, one after another. That's how this next part looks like in my dream~
I realize he's got me back here because he's been raping me. Repeatedly. I find blood splattered all over me and I don't know if it's mine or not. He's telling me to be quiet and I'm lost to total horror and hysteria. I start begging him, "Get me out of here! Oh my god, Daddy, help me get out of here!" I'm screaming and wild eyed and begging him, even though I know it is HIM that is doing this to me.
He looks at me angrily and tells me to be quiet. I silence myself with fear. I tell him I'm sorry, I'm sorry, is there anything I could do that would make him happy? He says yes, and then he's standing behind me and wraps his arms around me but then starts choking me to death with some bizarre curved metal tool. The tool is designed to choke people, and it's medieval looking. Everything starts flashing different psycho scenes of blood and rape and his evil face filled with murderous sexual rage, and there's some fucked up psycho metal music playing.
Then suddenly it stops and I hear his voice around the corner. He says, "Are you ok? Did you see that?" and sounds falsely kind. I can barely move and I know what he's saying is a lie but what can I do but play along? I tell him, "No, what happened?" And he tells me my sister came in and she was insane and tried to kill us so he killed her instead. I can peek through a few machines and see her lying on something, her neck ripped open, bits of bone and cartilage and plenty of blood on her clothes. Sinew, flesh, torn muscles, parts of her windpipe, all crystal clear. I can only think that I'm glad it wasn't me. I've gone into total shock and feel nothing looking at her.
I woke up, and Mr. Wonderful is saying, "Shh, baby, it's ok" because I've been crying in my sleep. I lay there panicked, not able to shake the horror of it, semi-certain there are people in our house going to murder us. He gets up and goes to the bathroom and I actually hallucinate voices talking. When he comes back I crawl into his arms and stay there, taking long slow jagged breaths and trying to calm down. I can't, and finally just get up.
What the hell? Fuck if I know. My doctor asked me why I take Benedryl every night before bed and I told her it works like a sedative (give me Xanax already goddamit) so I can sleep. But last night I didn't take it and then I get this.
I come up with some fucked up shit to dream about. ~sigh~
I'm at my moms house, and trying to rush out the door to go to school. I'm late, I haven't packed a lunch, and I start throwing things into a bag to eat later.
I need to close the back door but I can't get it to shut and I'm cursing. I'm going to miss the bus. How will I get to school then? I realize I can drive now and go out to the garage. There's some guy out there who is supposed to be my dad, and he's horrible and cruel. He tells me I cannot drive aything but the little red radio flyer wagon. How the hell am I supposed to drive THAT? He tells me I can and I will and so I do. Defying him seems to be out of the question.
I get in the tiny thing and realize I can make it go forward but not terribly quickly, and steering it is a bit of a bitch. I've got some small metal shovel that I'm using like a paddle on the road, trying to speed myself up.
I get to the main road and it gets really dangerous, with actual cars driving by and me driving this tiny wagon, not to mention the erratic steering. But I start to go down a large hill and I'm picking up speed and fast. I realize I have no brake and the steering could flip me in a heartbeat and I'll land under the wheels of an oncoming truck. I start to drag the shovel on the ground in an effort to slow myself down, but I'm doing about 50 mph in this damn thing. There's construction at the bottom of the hill and I don't know how in the hell I'm going to steer around the bulldozers and shit. Panic!
~The dream fades to me being at school~
I'm exhausted, far beyond exhausted from trying to drive a damn kiddy wagon 5 miles. I'm in some room and there's Padme (yah, a Star Wars themed nightmare, just wait it gets worse). I hear the unmistakable sound of a dart ~ththththwt!~ and see the small blue feathered dart stab into her neck. She gasps and the guy next to her (who else but darling Anakin) tells her it's the Emperors dart. Who, I strickenly realize, is my dad. The epitome of evil. Padme suddenly blinks and gets wide eyed. She tells him she just felt something really weird happen in her mind. He gravely informs her that's the poison taking effect and it allows the Emperor to take control of her will. I realize this is what is wrong with me, this is what is causing my ungodly exhaustion. He is literally sucking the life out of me for his survival.
People are running, panic ensues. I look outside and see the rain is driving sideways. There is a storm of massive proportions coming. I run.
Suddenly I am in the back corner of what looks like a boiler room. I know I am far from everyone and the Emperor has stashed me away back here to keep me silent. I can barely move from exhaustion, and when I look around I see that instead of the typical boiler room pipes, these pipes are all made of clear plastic and there is fresh blood being pumped through them. I know that this is what is keeping him alive, and realize how many people must have been killed to fill the pipes with that much blood. There is, in fact, blood splattered everywhere back here. Bits of gore flung all around.
~This is where is starts getting really psychotic, and if you've ever seen the movie Event Horizon you can picture this easily- the flashes of various images, one after another. That's how this next part looks like in my dream~
I realize he's got me back here because he's been raping me. Repeatedly. I find blood splattered all over me and I don't know if it's mine or not. He's telling me to be quiet and I'm lost to total horror and hysteria. I start begging him, "Get me out of here! Oh my god, Daddy, help me get out of here!" I'm screaming and wild eyed and begging him, even though I know it is HIM that is doing this to me.
He looks at me angrily and tells me to be quiet. I silence myself with fear. I tell him I'm sorry, I'm sorry, is there anything I could do that would make him happy? He says yes, and then he's standing behind me and wraps his arms around me but then starts choking me to death with some bizarre curved metal tool. The tool is designed to choke people, and it's medieval looking. Everything starts flashing different psycho scenes of blood and rape and his evil face filled with murderous sexual rage, and there's some fucked up psycho metal music playing.
Then suddenly it stops and I hear his voice around the corner. He says, "Are you ok? Did you see that?" and sounds falsely kind. I can barely move and I know what he's saying is a lie but what can I do but play along? I tell him, "No, what happened?" And he tells me my sister came in and she was insane and tried to kill us so he killed her instead. I can peek through a few machines and see her lying on something, her neck ripped open, bits of bone and cartilage and plenty of blood on her clothes. Sinew, flesh, torn muscles, parts of her windpipe, all crystal clear. I can only think that I'm glad it wasn't me. I've gone into total shock and feel nothing looking at her.
I woke up, and Mr. Wonderful is saying, "Shh, baby, it's ok" because I've been crying in my sleep. I lay there panicked, not able to shake the horror of it, semi-certain there are people in our house going to murder us. He gets up and goes to the bathroom and I actually hallucinate voices talking. When he comes back I crawl into his arms and stay there, taking long slow jagged breaths and trying to calm down. I can't, and finally just get up.
What the hell? Fuck if I know. My doctor asked me why I take Benedryl every night before bed and I told her it works like a sedative (give me Xanax already goddamit) so I can sleep. But last night I didn't take it and then I get this.
I come up with some fucked up shit to dream about. ~sigh~
| What eating utensil are you? Hands You are the most primitive, most convenient, most portable, least expensive, and certainly messiest of all eating utensils--you are also the only one that people are actually born with.However, many regard you as crude, impolite, and improper—not that it matters in the least to you.
|
| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
basking in the birthday love
I got my first pickled ginger fix of this week. Oooohhhh God it was soooo good.
So me and my friend Missy Disappearing Pants went to Otani (I think that's what it's called). The place always makes me think of Jawas yelling (but they yell "Oootini!") She loves the white shrimp sauce they have there, I could care less. But they do make a mean tempura and the avocado cucumber rolls are heavenly. And ooooh that pickled ginger!
Then we went to check out the new "adult boutique" that's going up in town and it looks huge- I am terribly excited about the possibilities there, I assure you.
And then we just sat on the beach talking about sex and smoking pot (which I don't do anymore but used to do a hell of a lot of). All in all a quite lovely evening.
I came home to find Mr. Wonderful seated here writing me a most adorable bit for my site and then I just had to do him for it. Yah.
Today I've spent the day accumulating my birthday love from various sources and my smoochylovekins Padoodles brought me roses. And now I'm baking myself a carrot cake (my favorite) and then I shall lounge about in the bath for a ridiculous amount of time making sure my every part is a state of spankable perfection.
Then it's time for Chinese food, then eat the cake, and then.....?
(...to be continued)
So me and my friend Missy Disappearing Pants went to Otani (I think that's what it's called). The place always makes me think of Jawas yelling (but they yell "Oootini!") She loves the white shrimp sauce they have there, I could care less. But they do make a mean tempura and the avocado cucumber rolls are heavenly. And ooooh that pickled ginger!
Then we went to check out the new "adult boutique" that's going up in town and it looks huge- I am terribly excited about the possibilities there, I assure you.
And then we just sat on the beach talking about sex and smoking pot (which I don't do anymore but used to do a hell of a lot of). All in all a quite lovely evening.
I came home to find Mr. Wonderful seated here writing me a most adorable bit for my site and then I just had to do him for it. Yah.
Today I've spent the day accumulating my birthday love from various sources and my smoochylovekins Padoodles brought me roses. And now I'm baking myself a carrot cake (my favorite) and then I shall lounge about in the bath for a ridiculous amount of time making sure my every part is a state of spankable perfection.
Then it's time for Chinese food, then eat the cake, and then.....?
(...to be continued)
more bizarre crap to waste time with
You can control her with your cursor. Just click on it.
Totally freaking odd.
Totally freaking odd.
great birthday present for me
turn the speakers on folks
Got some time to burn this morning?
(My son found this far more hilarious than I did, so you know.)
But this one is rather priceless. If anyone knows this guy, tell him I want to be his new best friend. I am sooo not kidding. Guy singing Dutch techno, we will have so much fun! Write to me!
It's about damn time the rabbit got some trix.
(My son found this far more hilarious than I did, so you know.)
But this one is rather priceless. If anyone knows this guy, tell him I want to be his new best friend. I am sooo not kidding. Guy singing Dutch techno, we will have so much fun! Write to me!
It's about damn time the rabbit got some trix.
The Poker
Last night I was sitting out on the beach with my one of my friends. We were sitting up on the lifeguards chair, gazing out at the ocean and of course, talking about sex.
In the course of conversation I came across a memory that was best forgotten but she found it so ridiculous and bizarre that I thought I should share.
The Poker.
I dated a guy who was A Poker. As in, his idea of foreplay was to actually poke me with his boner. There would be no rubbing, no carressing, no kissing, no sexy words, just poking. He would roll over in bed and just start poking me in the leg, butt, whatever, with his dick.
(shakes head slowly in disbelief)
At first I thought it was funny, until I realized that was the extent of his foreplay skills. And then it was REALLY funny, but I am generally a kind hearted person and didn't want to outright laugh in his face.
So I'll wait 11 years and do it on the Internet, instead.
The thing of it that just killed me was that he seemed to think that his dick being hard turned it into a magical instrument of lust for women, that the fact alone that his cock was hard would make me just roll onto my back and spread my legs for him. That worked about as well as trying to turn over an engine that's out of oil.
Really wretched? Most of the time I would be asleep and this was how he would wake me up. Poke. Poke. Poke. I would try to just ignore him and pretend I was sound asleep but it only made him do it MORE. PokepokepokepokePOKEpokepokePOKEpokepokepoke...
And I would be trying so hard to not burst into peals of laughter.
He loved the band Widespread Panic, and there was one song by them called "Pigeons" that had this line in it:
"Wake up - leave your body lying there
It's like another - just another wrinkle in the sheets
Wake up - I'm gonna poke you if you don't wake up!"
And I would lay there with that song running through my head, with this imbecile of a man poking me with his wanker and me trying my best to not crack up. I doubt I need explain to you that this did NOT turn me on. And that it didn't get him laid. By the time I finally gave up and rolled over to look at him I was stuck with the image in my head that his dick was a skin wrapped padded stick or maybe a cattle prod or something, I don't know. I certainly didn't want the thing inside me, I just wanted to dress it up in funny clothes and take pictures of it or something. Make a video of him standing butt naked in a room poking stuff with his dick, maybe.
I broke it off with him pretty quickly as you may have guessed. Not so much for the poking but for the general attitude he had that I was a piece of pretty meat for him to show off. His whole attitude just sickened me. Who the hell pokes a woman with his cock without so much as touching her? How in the bloody hell did he learn this "skill"? It was just so typical of the rest of his personality that I should have seen it as the big red flag it was.
A man who doesn't bother to try to arouse you but merely pokes you with his cock should be avoided at all costs. Just direct him to a realistic doll and tell him you've met the perfect girl for him: an always ready hole. She will love his pokings. Thats what she's there for, after all. And you, you can go about your business and find a man who has, I don't know... a clue? Yes. A clue.
In the course of conversation I came across a memory that was best forgotten but she found it so ridiculous and bizarre that I thought I should share.
The Poker.
I dated a guy who was A Poker. As in, his idea of foreplay was to actually poke me with his boner. There would be no rubbing, no carressing, no kissing, no sexy words, just poking. He would roll over in bed and just start poking me in the leg, butt, whatever, with his dick.
(shakes head slowly in disbelief)
At first I thought it was funny, until I realized that was the extent of his foreplay skills. And then it was REALLY funny, but I am generally a kind hearted person and didn't want to outright laugh in his face.
So I'll wait 11 years and do it on the Internet, instead.
The thing of it that just killed me was that he seemed to think that his dick being hard turned it into a magical instrument of lust for women, that the fact alone that his cock was hard would make me just roll onto my back and spread my legs for him. That worked about as well as trying to turn over an engine that's out of oil.
Really wretched? Most of the time I would be asleep and this was how he would wake me up. Poke. Poke. Poke. I would try to just ignore him and pretend I was sound asleep but it only made him do it MORE. PokepokepokepokePOKEpokepokePOKEpokepokepoke...
And I would be trying so hard to not burst into peals of laughter.
He loved the band Widespread Panic, and there was one song by them called "Pigeons" that had this line in it:
"Wake up - leave your body lying there
It's like another - just another wrinkle in the sheets
Wake up - I'm gonna poke you if you don't wake up!"
And I would lay there with that song running through my head, with this imbecile of a man poking me with his wanker and me trying my best to not crack up. I doubt I need explain to you that this did NOT turn me on. And that it didn't get him laid. By the time I finally gave up and rolled over to look at him I was stuck with the image in my head that his dick was a skin wrapped padded stick or maybe a cattle prod or something, I don't know. I certainly didn't want the thing inside me, I just wanted to dress it up in funny clothes and take pictures of it or something. Make a video of him standing butt naked in a room poking stuff with his dick, maybe.
I broke it off with him pretty quickly as you may have guessed. Not so much for the poking but for the general attitude he had that I was a piece of pretty meat for him to show off. His whole attitude just sickened me. Who the hell pokes a woman with his cock without so much as touching her? How in the bloody hell did he learn this "skill"? It was just so typical of the rest of his personality that I should have seen it as the big red flag it was.
A man who doesn't bother to try to arouse you but merely pokes you with his cock should be avoided at all costs. Just direct him to a realistic doll and tell him you've met the perfect girl for him: an always ready hole. She will love his pokings. Thats what she's there for, after all. And you, you can go about your business and find a man who has, I don't know... a clue? Yes. A clue.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Here is my present to you. Enjoy. And think of me while it's running through your head as you're trying to get to sleep. And know that I do this for you because I love you.
Also, when your washing machine agitates at the same speed you will think of me. And badgers.
Also, when your washing machine agitates at the same speed you will think of me. And badgers.
I'm an apparently intelligent, liberal, tight as fuck, pathetically simple-minded, dribbling child!
See how compatible you are with me!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
Can't say I have any problems with that.
See how compatible you are with me!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
Can't say I have any problems with that.
so damn cheerful/pickled ginger whore
I'm just in a spanky mood today, folks. Could it be the Zoloft? The sunshine? The fact that my birthday is tomorrow? I don't know.
What I do know is that tea, and a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich is just the best, as is sitting in this gorgeously sunny window next to my deck overlooking the bay.
And cheerful am I to finally talk to my friend S. who I haven't talked to in maybe a month and I was starting to worry that maybe she didn't love me no mo after I wrote that sex blog about me fantasizing about her. (See the sex blog for those details...) She never actually saw it, she said. Oops. My bad. (laughs) She's just a busy bee. Well, whatever. As long as we're going to get to go out to eat for my birthday it's all good.
My lovely Padoodles and I are going out for Japanese this weekend, and maybe I'll go eat Japanese food twice this week. Cause it's my birthday, dammit. And I looooooove Japanese food. Ooooooohhhhhhhhh (moans) yes I do. Pickled ginger, hell yes. Cucumer avacado rolls, bring it! I salivate at you! I will devour you into my greedy hungry birthday mouth hole! Indeed.
I realized something about myself. I like people in groups of two, meaning me and them. Going out with big groups is ok and all but I love the intimate conversations between two people alone. And we all know I am a very intimate girl....(grins hugely) so this floats my boat. I could go out to eat with both of them on the same day but individually is so much better! I get each of them all to myself (not to mention twice as much miso and green tea, drool!)
I've always thought that maybe it was lame that I don't have a huge group of friends that were all friends with each other, but I realize now that it's just a part of who I am. One, I am insanely fucking picky about who I let in to my inner circle of friends. It takes a lot, and it is mostly a test of character more than anything else. Lying, two faced close minded assholes need not apply. Also those with little patience; I'm a time consuming bitch when I'm needy. Which is quite often. But really, I'm worth it. No one could love you as whole heartedly as I. That might be because there are so few people I care deeply about...(shrugs)
At any rate, things are good. I lost most of my winter pudge, I've got an actual suntan this year and friends! (The best part, of course.) My web site is going good (despite all those lurkers that don't post comments, geez! Don't you understand your comments are a source of food for me?) I'm managing to find the time (and energy) to write quite a bit, which isn't easy when you're writing about sex and your 8 year old likes to sneak up and read over your shoulder, I assure you. Gotta be quick with the "minimize" click. Uh huh.
And best of all, the air conditioning. No, really. It's hot. Heat indexes between 105 and 115 for the next few days, and I'm comfy as hell in my favorite jeans sitting in this incredibly sunny window. I'll be cuddled up in the flannel sheets and blankets (both in the laundry now) tomorrow morning, content and comfy in my Birthday Suit.
No visits from my mom coming up that I know about...nothing really to stress about...and lots of Japanese food and great girly conversation. Twice! In one week!
Life is sweet. So is pickled ginger. God how I love pickled ginger.
What I do know is that tea, and a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich is just the best, as is sitting in this gorgeously sunny window next to my deck overlooking the bay.
And cheerful am I to finally talk to my friend S. who I haven't talked to in maybe a month and I was starting to worry that maybe she didn't love me no mo after I wrote that sex blog about me fantasizing about her. (See the sex blog for those details...) She never actually saw it, she said. Oops. My bad. (laughs) She's just a busy bee. Well, whatever. As long as we're going to get to go out to eat for my birthday it's all good.
My lovely Padoodles and I are going out for Japanese this weekend, and maybe I'll go eat Japanese food twice this week. Cause it's my birthday, dammit. And I looooooove Japanese food. Ooooooohhhhhhhhh (moans) yes I do. Pickled ginger, hell yes. Cucumer avacado rolls, bring it! I salivate at you! I will devour you into my greedy hungry birthday mouth hole! Indeed.
I realized something about myself. I like people in groups of two, meaning me and them. Going out with big groups is ok and all but I love the intimate conversations between two people alone. And we all know I am a very intimate girl....(grins hugely) so this floats my boat. I could go out to eat with both of them on the same day but individually is so much better! I get each of them all to myself (not to mention twice as much miso and green tea, drool!)
I've always thought that maybe it was lame that I don't have a huge group of friends that were all friends with each other, but I realize now that it's just a part of who I am. One, I am insanely fucking picky about who I let in to my inner circle of friends. It takes a lot, and it is mostly a test of character more than anything else. Lying, two faced close minded assholes need not apply. Also those with little patience; I'm a time consuming bitch when I'm needy. Which is quite often. But really, I'm worth it. No one could love you as whole heartedly as I. That might be because there are so few people I care deeply about...(shrugs)
At any rate, things are good. I lost most of my winter pudge, I've got an actual suntan this year and friends! (The best part, of course.) My web site is going good (despite all those lurkers that don't post comments, geez! Don't you understand your comments are a source of food for me?) I'm managing to find the time (and energy) to write quite a bit, which isn't easy when you're writing about sex and your 8 year old likes to sneak up and read over your shoulder, I assure you. Gotta be quick with the "minimize" click. Uh huh.
And best of all, the air conditioning. No, really. It's hot. Heat indexes between 105 and 115 for the next few days, and I'm comfy as hell in my favorite jeans sitting in this incredibly sunny window. I'll be cuddled up in the flannel sheets and blankets (both in the laundry now) tomorrow morning, content and comfy in my Birthday Suit.
No visits from my mom coming up that I know about...nothing really to stress about...and lots of Japanese food and great girly conversation. Twice! In one week!
Life is sweet. So is pickled ginger. God how I love pickled ginger.
the Mistress of Pancakes
Sometimes it's just fun to be on IM discussing the way to make a perfect pancake. There's a trick, people. There are, actually, quite a few. Excellent pancakes are the work of a master. Which, I might add, I happen to be. Bow down, bitches, and let me serve you. You will be fatter, but you won't care.
happy beachness
Yesterday we all went down to the beach. We played in the ocean and laid around on the sand, munched on sandwiches and had an all around grand time.
My son, who had only seen the ocean for the first time last summer, was particularly taken with it once he got his sea legs. I've been very adamant about him not running into the water since he can't swim well and his enthusiasm tends to get the better of him at times. The likelihood of him dashing off into the waves and being overcome was pretty high.
However, my friend has been teaching him how to swim (love you PD!) and he's good enough to handle himself throughout the few waves that swept him off his feet as long as he can touch ground inbetween them. And so...this was the first time he got to REALLY get in the water, and he was nearly beside himself. At first he was pretty freaked out and got knocked loopy by a few waves, looking pretty freaked out when he came up gasping for air. Then I told him to grab his goggles, and after that he was much better. It's less scary when there's not sand in your eyes and salt water up your nose, you see. So he ventured further and further out and started catching much bigger waves and riding them.
It was so damn cute to see him yelling, "Oh yah, did you see that one? That was like, the biggest wave EVER in the history of the WORLD! And I paddled it! Oh yah!" I was all, "Yep, you the man." He was freaking proud of himself once he got his confidence in his ability to tame the mighty ocean with his bad ass 8 year old self.
In the meantime, I was trying really hard to keep my bikini top on. The guys in the water around me were smiling at me a lot. (rolls eyes and laughs) And Mr. Wonderful discovered that his new swim trunks were extremely clingy once they were wet. He walked up beside me and said, "These are kinda...package-y, aren't they? I feel like people are staring." I looked down and grinned hugely and said, "I sure as hell am, I don't know about everyone else..." and laughed.
We finally managed to drag my little beach bum out of the water and headed home. As we drove back to the house he was in the back seat saying, "The ocean.....! It is so far away! Nooooooooooooooo!" in the goofy dramatic voice he uses sometimes.
We got home and crashed. I let them eat cereal for dinner I was so wiped out. (They love it.) We watched the Simpsons and Family Guy and American Dad and went off to bed. I lay there looking at Mr. Wonderfuls cute pink face and fresh lovely freckles and he just looked like a happy little kid. I could have burst. He then did me most thoroughly and we fell asleep.
What an excellent day. Ahhhhh.
My son, who had only seen the ocean for the first time last summer, was particularly taken with it once he got his sea legs. I've been very adamant about him not running into the water since he can't swim well and his enthusiasm tends to get the better of him at times. The likelihood of him dashing off into the waves and being overcome was pretty high.
However, my friend has been teaching him how to swim (love you PD!) and he's good enough to handle himself throughout the few waves that swept him off his feet as long as he can touch ground inbetween them. And so...this was the first time he got to REALLY get in the water, and he was nearly beside himself. At first he was pretty freaked out and got knocked loopy by a few waves, looking pretty freaked out when he came up gasping for air. Then I told him to grab his goggles, and after that he was much better. It's less scary when there's not sand in your eyes and salt water up your nose, you see. So he ventured further and further out and started catching much bigger waves and riding them.
It was so damn cute to see him yelling, "Oh yah, did you see that one? That was like, the biggest wave EVER in the history of the WORLD! And I paddled it! Oh yah!" I was all, "Yep, you the man." He was freaking proud of himself once he got his confidence in his ability to tame the mighty ocean with his bad ass 8 year old self.
In the meantime, I was trying really hard to keep my bikini top on. The guys in the water around me were smiling at me a lot. (rolls eyes and laughs) And Mr. Wonderful discovered that his new swim trunks were extremely clingy once they were wet. He walked up beside me and said, "These are kinda...package-y, aren't they? I feel like people are staring." I looked down and grinned hugely and said, "I sure as hell am, I don't know about everyone else..." and laughed.
We finally managed to drag my little beach bum out of the water and headed home. As we drove back to the house he was in the back seat saying, "The ocean.....! It is so far away! Nooooooooooooooo!" in the goofy dramatic voice he uses sometimes.
We got home and crashed. I let them eat cereal for dinner I was so wiped out. (They love it.) We watched the Simpsons and Family Guy and American Dad and went off to bed. I lay there looking at Mr. Wonderfuls cute pink face and fresh lovely freckles and he just looked like a happy little kid. I could have burst. He then did me most thoroughly and we fell asleep.
What an excellent day. Ahhhhh.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Things that keep you up at night:
What does a water balloon look like if you pop it in zero gravity?
And the darling Google has finally answered an ancient question that has been burning in all of human minds for eons...(you'll have to hit the + key repeatedly to get close enough to find the answer and question both.)
Now go to sleep.
And the darling Google has finally answered an ancient question that has been burning in all of human minds for eons...(you'll have to hit the + key repeatedly to get close enough to find the answer and question both.)
Now go to sleep.
Friday, July 22, 2005
I leave you with this for the weekend...
...and although I've posted it before you really can't see it enough.
Also, I give you this.
And remember, Cat! I'm a kitty cat, and I dance dance dance and I dance dance dance. Which, of course, MAKES ME FEEL GREAT! OH YAAAHHHH!
Also, I give you this.
And remember, Cat! I'm a kitty cat, and I dance dance dance and I dance dance dance. Which, of course, MAKES ME FEEL GREAT! OH YAAAHHHH!
I love Padoodles
Is there anything better than sitting around with your friend and acting like a spastic thirteen year old, talking about BOYS and SEX and stuff? And giggling like maniacal freakasauruses?
Nay, I think not!
Nay, I think not!
haiku for the jets
jets fly overhead
I picture them exploding
raining plane parts down
this does not soothe me
these paranoid images
me: coo coo kachoo
I think of moving
far away from screaming jets
I might get lucky
"possible closure"?
music to my bleeding ears;
unpatriotic...?
but I love my home!
the ocean, the bay, the trees
it is glorious
I just want to sit
and listen to the wind blow
the sea gulls circling
watch the falcon swoop
scooping fish out of the bay
landing in my tree
stillness and quiet
except for the cicadas
shrieking, "It's summer!"
westward sun setting
light shimmers off the water
to dance on my wall
jet thunders again
breaking the spells of nature
startled reverie
my fists clench in rage
shaking my fist at the sky
puny human bug
I picture them exploding
raining plane parts down
this does not soothe me
these paranoid images
me: coo coo kachoo
I think of moving
far away from screaming jets
I might get lucky
"possible closure"?
music to my bleeding ears;
unpatriotic...?
but I love my home!
the ocean, the bay, the trees
it is glorious
I just want to sit
and listen to the wind blow
the sea gulls circling
watch the falcon swoop
scooping fish out of the bay
landing in my tree
stillness and quiet
except for the cicadas
shrieking, "It's summer!"
westward sun setting
light shimmers off the water
to dance on my wall
jet thunders again
breaking the spells of nature
startled reverie
my fists clench in rage
shaking my fist at the sky
puny human bug
arrrrrrrr, mateys!
Really. I could try to come up with a clever witty joke about this but I think it speaks for itself far better.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
random fact about me:
Whenever I put eggs away they have to be arranged symmetrically in the carton. If I have an odd egg, it pains me. I have actually thrown the extra egg out a few times. I know this is weird, and that doesn't stop me in the least. Embrace my symmetrical egg habits.
shut me up
Few things irritate me more than the sound of my own whining. I am sleep deprived and irritated as hell. So much to write about if I could just drown out the incessant sound of my own whining inside my skull. Alas. Sex and a nap would help but neither is to be found. ~sigh~
me no watchy scarey movies
You know, in all the time since I've heard of the movie Alien vrs. Predator, it only occurred to me just this morning: who won?
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
sand on the toes, salt on the skin
Sometimes I have so much to say (write) that it's just overwhelming and I can't figure out where to start. Theres been so many huge moments and epiphanies in the last few days (most of the about sex and thus written in the sex blog and not here, my dears).
But instead of telling you about any of that I think I will tell you that I, Mr. Wonderful, and my son have been going for walks along the beach at night. Playing in the waves. Smelling the salt air. Feeling the joy of summer. Being at peace and in love with each other.
That pretty much sums up everything else quite nicely.
But instead of telling you about any of that I think I will tell you that I, Mr. Wonderful, and my son have been going for walks along the beach at night. Playing in the waves. Smelling the salt air. Feeling the joy of summer. Being at peace and in love with each other.
That pretty much sums up everything else quite nicely.
more fun with blog stats
countries reading my blog, in order of most visits to least:
United States
Canada
Singapore
Malaysia
Australia
Netherlands
Germany
Sweden
United Kingdom
Japan
France
Brazil
Denmark
Iceland
Mexico
New Zealand
Belgium
Chile
Philippines
Switzerland
Argentina
Hong Kong
Iran, Islamic Republic of
Poland
Portugal
Samoa
Austria
Croatia
Finland
Ireland
Italy
Norway
Russian Federation
South Africa
Taiwan, Province of China
Trinidad and Tobago
Yemen
Singapore is third? I wonder why...(scratches head)
What's up Yemen? Whooot! (Whatever that means....*shrugs*) Sending some love out to Iceland! Oh yah.
If only they would all comment. Alas. I am not so comment friendly, it would seem. Strangely, most people opt to send me e-mail. Why, I do not know. Perhaps because my comments are novel length? hmmm...
United States
Canada
Singapore
Malaysia
Australia
Netherlands
Germany
Sweden
United Kingdom
Japan
France
Brazil
Denmark
Iceland
Mexico
New Zealand
Belgium
Chile
Philippines
Switzerland
Argentina
Hong Kong
Iran, Islamic Republic of
Poland
Portugal
Samoa
Austria
Croatia
Finland
Ireland
Italy
Norway
Russian Federation
South Africa
Taiwan, Province of China
Trinidad and Tobago
Yemen
Singapore is third? I wonder why...(scratches head)
What's up Yemen? Whooot! (Whatever that means....*shrugs*) Sending some love out to Iceland! Oh yah.
If only they would all comment. Alas. I am not so comment friendly, it would seem. Strangely, most people opt to send me e-mail. Why, I do not know. Perhaps because my comments are novel length? hmmm...
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
z-o-l-o-f-t
Went back to the doc, she upped my meds. She was actually very nice this time so maybe she's just got a weird little Jeckyl and Hyde thing going on, I don't know. But now I'm taking twice as much Zoloft and feeling r-e-a-l-l-y w-e-i-r-d. I'm hoping it will make me feel better...what the hell, what do I have to lose? Crazy versus pukey? I mean, really.
Zolofts one redeeming quality? Ween sings a song about it.
Gimme that z, o-l-o-f-t
Gimme a grip, make me love me
Suckin' 'em down, I'm happy man
Can feel it inside, makin' me smile
...realize that the sky's not made of gold
don't disguise the nature of your soul
Gimme that z, o-l-o-f-t
No longer pissed and you don't bother me
I'm makin' it through, I'm givin' my all
When base are loaded, I'm whacking the ball
...don't suck the mind, don't drain the source
the path of life's not so easy to course, buddy
Zolofts one redeeming quality? Ween sings a song about it.
Gimme that z, o-l-o-f-t
Gimme a grip, make me love me
Suckin' 'em down, I'm happy man
Can feel it inside, makin' me smile
...realize that the sky's not made of gold
don't disguise the nature of your soul
Gimme that z, o-l-o-f-t
No longer pissed and you don't bother me
I'm makin' it through, I'm givin' my all
When base are loaded, I'm whacking the ball
...don't suck the mind, don't drain the source
the path of life's not so easy to course, buddy
Monday, July 18, 2005
top recent searches that led to this blog:
sexy girls iragi
introspectre
daygloradio.com/
"having an emotional affair"
"maintenance alcoholic"
craving for shrimp and vitamin deficiency
"spunk stories"
"boobie flex"
www sex tiny girl fuck me and suck my dick
You're not like the others, you like the same things I do. Wax paper, boiled football leather, dog breathe! We're not hitchhiking any more, we're Riding!
"sluts with morals"
"i hate summer" skanks
why am I "attracted to alcoholics"
wreching vomiting
"ugly duckling syndrome"
bowflex 50 year
bumper sticker for a sweet boyfriend
how can i im someone in yahoo
Now that's amusing.
introspectre
daygloradio.com/
"having an emotional affair"
"maintenance alcoholic"
craving for shrimp and vitamin deficiency
"spunk stories"
"boobie flex"
www sex tiny girl fuck me and suck my dick
You're not like the others, you like the same things I do. Wax paper, boiled football leather, dog breathe! We're not hitchhiking any more, we're Riding!
"sluts with morals"
"i hate summer" skanks
why am I "attracted to alcoholics"
wreching vomiting
"ugly duckling syndrome"
bowflex 50 year
bumper sticker for a sweet boyfriend
how can i im someone in yahoo
Now that's amusing.
coo coo kachoo
I can't access my web site at all and it's driving me nuts. I was thinking it was a problem with the server but Mr. Wonderful checked on it all from work and said it was working fine, for some reason I can't get to it. Bizarre.
*fidget*fidget*fidget*
But but but I check it all the time! What do I do with myself? Argh!
*fidget*fidget*fidget*
But but but I check it all the time! What do I do with myself? Argh!
Sunday, July 17, 2005
demented dysmorphia
I've been hating the mirror recently.
My hair seems completely fucked up and I rue the day I cut it off. I resent Mr. Wonderful for ever thinking it was a good idea. I keep dreaming about having long hair again and I miss it so bad it makes me sick. I think about getting hair extensions just to make me feel better. I see women with long hair and I feel sick with envy and hideously ugly by comparison.
The same thing happens with boobs. I want them. I am nearly ready to go under the knife for them. I'm sick of feeling less then because of having a small chest. It pissed me off.
I should just accept the body I have, because the fact is that I am very sexy and cute as could be. And on a good day I love my little self.
But on a bad day I curse that damn mirror and wish I wasn't so fucking neurotic.
Also, I've been very jealous and insecure and I've been trying to keep that under wraps as much as possible. I don't want to let on and let Mr. Wonderful know the extent of my current state of crazy. It's humilating. It's embarrassing. He just encourages me and reassures me. I feel like a dipshit anyway.
I'm sure it has a lot to do with spending time with my mom. Her conditional love always leaves me feeling battered. Do I want to jump through her hoops of approval for it? Is it worth it? If I bother I always feel like I sold myself out. I know that she would never approve of the person I am. I know this because she constantly reminds me with little bitter comments to remind me of her never ending disapproval of the person I am. Does she mean to do this? I don't think she has any idea that she sends out the messages she does. Should I tell her? I can't even begin to muster up the strength to desire to tell her. ~sigh~ I gave up a very long time ago.
Little bitter me.
ps) zoloft is supposed to help with body dysmporphia. What the fuck ever, zoloft! You can blow me you little bastard pill.
My hair seems completely fucked up and I rue the day I cut it off. I resent Mr. Wonderful for ever thinking it was a good idea. I keep dreaming about having long hair again and I miss it so bad it makes me sick. I think about getting hair extensions just to make me feel better. I see women with long hair and I feel sick with envy and hideously ugly by comparison.
The same thing happens with boobs. I want them. I am nearly ready to go under the knife for them. I'm sick of feeling less then because of having a small chest. It pissed me off.
I should just accept the body I have, because the fact is that I am very sexy and cute as could be. And on a good day I love my little self.
But on a bad day I curse that damn mirror and wish I wasn't so fucking neurotic.
Also, I've been very jealous and insecure and I've been trying to keep that under wraps as much as possible. I don't want to let on and let Mr. Wonderful know the extent of my current state of crazy. It's humilating. It's embarrassing. He just encourages me and reassures me. I feel like a dipshit anyway.
I'm sure it has a lot to do with spending time with my mom. Her conditional love always leaves me feeling battered. Do I want to jump through her hoops of approval for it? Is it worth it? If I bother I always feel like I sold myself out. I know that she would never approve of the person I am. I know this because she constantly reminds me with little bitter comments to remind me of her never ending disapproval of the person I am. Does she mean to do this? I don't think she has any idea that she sends out the messages she does. Should I tell her? I can't even begin to muster up the strength to desire to tell her. ~sigh~ I gave up a very long time ago.
Little bitter me.
ps) zoloft is supposed to help with body dysmporphia. What the fuck ever, zoloft! You can blow me you little bastard pill.
Harmony. It's inner peace for you, or at least
trying to find it. The shell you live your life
in is akin to monks of old. You'd be more
comfortable if things were less stressed and
made a little more sense, so you try to get
just that. You survive the end by not letting
it happen. You didn't stop it, but you
supported those who did. I'm glad you took a
break from meditation to take the quiz...
How would you survive the end of the world?
brought to you by Quizilla
Friday, July 15, 2005
finally.....!
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
being eaten alive is special! it means you're "extra"!
Yesterday my friend (let's call her U.A, shall we? Ok) comes over and I'm talking to her about my son going camping with my mom and how it worries me. I'm trying really hard to just enjoy the time alone and not think about what could be happening. I think back to all the horrible things that happened to me as a kid and how trusting my mother was of strangers and how she shouldn't have been. She's very naive. Among other things...
I'm telling U.A. about my mothers particular version of Christianity. One part religion, twelve parts denial, fourteen parts just-plain-making-shit-up and how I fear for my son since he isn't used to dealing with this sort of bullshit. He is an intelligent and inquisitive soul (like his mother...) and wouldn't know when was a good time to bite his tongue with her, and is quite likely to face her lunacy with a straight up, "Are you nuts? That's crazy."
For example:
While she was in town we went to the park, the three of us. I'm telling my mom about the pelicans that frequently soar over the lake scooping up fish. My son, Mr. Softhearted Vegetarian that he is, interjects with, "Awwww, the poor fish!" I tell him, "Pelicans have to eat, too, you know." Agriculture skills aren't high on the pelicans resume. My mom...(shakes head)...my mom tells him, "Don't worry about the fish. God made EXTRA fish to feed the pelicans." I stare at her for a moment and debate pointing out what a retarded thing that is to say, and I can see my son in the back seat about to open his mouth and beat me to it.
I decide to be first and say, "You know mom, I really doubt the fish that are being eaten consider themselves to be 'extra'..." She shoots me a foul little look that clearly says, "Will you shut up?" so of course I continue, "I doubt anything that is being eaten alive considers itself expendable." My son nods in the back seat and agrees, "Yah!"
My mom is silent and irritated. I am irate and dumbfounded. I want to teach my child about reality and science and the food chain, and she's doing her usual "let's just gloss over the truth with this conveniant little lie". I ponder what a total miracle it is that I managed to not get myself killed growing up with the naivete I was handed. It was no gift, I assure you. With an upbringing like that it's no surprise that I found the world to be a harsh bitter place full of unpleasant realities constantly slapping me in the face.
And it irritates me so much I just want to goad her on. I want to burst out, "Yah, I can see it now! We're on an African safari and a lion comes up and sinks his teeth into my guts. As he's dragging me off and you're hysterical and crying I'll wave and cheerfully yell out, 'It's ok Mom! I'm just extra! I thought I was a person but God must have picked me to be extra! Who knew? Bye!' and get dragged off into the bush to be eaten alive."
>smacks head face first onto desk<
Moronic.
I'm telling U.A. about my mothers particular version of Christianity. One part religion, twelve parts denial, fourteen parts just-plain-making-shit-up and how I fear for my son since he isn't used to dealing with this sort of bullshit. He is an intelligent and inquisitive soul (like his mother...) and wouldn't know when was a good time to bite his tongue with her, and is quite likely to face her lunacy with a straight up, "Are you nuts? That's crazy."
For example:
While she was in town we went to the park, the three of us. I'm telling my mom about the pelicans that frequently soar over the lake scooping up fish. My son, Mr. Softhearted Vegetarian that he is, interjects with, "Awwww, the poor fish!" I tell him, "Pelicans have to eat, too, you know." Agriculture skills aren't high on the pelicans resume. My mom...(shakes head)...my mom tells him, "Don't worry about the fish. God made EXTRA fish to feed the pelicans." I stare at her for a moment and debate pointing out what a retarded thing that is to say, and I can see my son in the back seat about to open his mouth and beat me to it.
I decide to be first and say, "You know mom, I really doubt the fish that are being eaten consider themselves to be 'extra'..." She shoots me a foul little look that clearly says, "Will you shut up?" so of course I continue, "I doubt anything that is being eaten alive considers itself expendable." My son nods in the back seat and agrees, "Yah!"
My mom is silent and irritated. I am irate and dumbfounded. I want to teach my child about reality and science and the food chain, and she's doing her usual "let's just gloss over the truth with this conveniant little lie". I ponder what a total miracle it is that I managed to not get myself killed growing up with the naivete I was handed. It was no gift, I assure you. With an upbringing like that it's no surprise that I found the world to be a harsh bitter place full of unpleasant realities constantly slapping me in the face.
And it irritates me so much I just want to goad her on. I want to burst out, "Yah, I can see it now! We're on an African safari and a lion comes up and sinks his teeth into my guts. As he's dragging me off and you're hysterical and crying I'll wave and cheerfully yell out, 'It's ok Mom! I'm just extra! I thought I was a person but God must have picked me to be extra! Who knew? Bye!' and get dragged off into the bush to be eaten alive."
>smacks head face first onto desk<
Moronic.
I feel really puny and weird. I hope I'm not getting sick. Maybe I'm still having panic attacks. The weird thing is, it's hard to tell sometimes. I keep trying to lay down and nap but I feel antsy and agitated and scared. I slept for a few minutes then woke up with a start and felt like shit. Before I fell asleep I was hideously cold. Now I'm hot and pained. Argh. If you can imagine what a piece of microwaved dog crap feels like, that would be an apt description. Old semi-nuked dog crap.
so stupid
Every once in a while I'll run across something that is just so asinine I am dumbfounded. And Gir seems to sum it up for me quite nicely.
Monday, July 11, 2005
strange dreams by Yours Truly
I'm in Michigan, near my moms house, and riding in a semi truck my friend Anne is driving. I look up into the woods and I see what can only be Bigfoot. I say, "Whoa! Anne! It's Bigfoot! Stop! Look!" and she stops and we both stare out the window into the forest. Sure enough, there is Bigfoot. He's big and brown and....made of sticks? Yes. The Bigfoot in my dream has a body entirely composed of sticks, as if someone has very quickly sketched him with a pencil and each scratch of their pencil was actually a branch or a twig. Bizarre. And I'm yelling out the window, "Hi Bigfoot! I love you! I love you!" in case he was tired of people hunting him and misunderstanding him, you know, I thought perhaps throwing a little admiration his way might just make his Bigfooted day or something. I don't know. Apparently I am a big fan of Bigfoot.
We continue up the road a little ways, and I'm staring off into the forest, with a sense foreboding. I see where my sons dad lives (suddenly we are in North Carolina) and it's this road leading off into the forest, into a valley barely carved out of the mountains, protected and sheltered from outsiders. A sort of secret little area of sorts, with a dirt road mostly grown over with grass. If you didn't know where to look you'd probably just pass it right by without noticing. My sense of foreboding worsens.
I realize that this must be where the chupacabra lives. But this is no ordinary chupacabra. This thing is giant, and white (think Abominable Snowman or Yeti) and I suddenly realize that this explains the recent rash of murders I'd been hearing about. It must be eating people.
The next thing I know I'm in a huge building with a lot of other people, mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings. The building is like a giant school, with lots of back hallways and stairways and secret paths and we're all running and screaming and terrified because the chupacabra is somewhere inside the building on a bloody rampage and eating people. At one point I come around a corner just in time to look down to the floor below and see the chupacabra rip some guy apart. He only screams for a second and then his body is in pieces. While all of us are horrified, no one can help but think, "glad it's you and not me" and hope that maybe this thing will have it's fill and stop soon. We keep running.
At some point I realize that Santa Claus is there and he's getting the hell out of Dodge thanks to those reindeer and sleigh he keeps handy. I go running up, up, up, thinking surely if Santa is taking off from anywhere it must be the roof, right? I see him, and so does the chupacabra. But as I'm running towards the sleigh and Santa's getting the reindeer in motion, a gigantic hog comes squealing around the corner and chupacabra thinks that will make a delicious snack, thank you, and that buys me a few moments. I throw myself into the back of Santas sleigh as he takes off, and he's none too happy about me weighing him down. If he wasn't so terrified I think he'd have thrown me out but he's desperately trying to get the reindeer to go up, up already and get above the gigantic chupacabras reach.
We fly away from the building but can't seem to get any height (Santa keeps shooting me terrible looks as if to say, "You're weighing us down, Fatass!") and at some point I jump out onto a moving train. It seems like a safe bet, moving away from the place where the chupacabra is, happily feasting on a building full of delectable humans.
Turns out to be a very bad plan indeed as I get inside one of the train cars to realize it's full of corpses and zombies that are feasting on them. There's a giant pile of human bodies, some of them still moaning and alive until the ravenous zombies descend upon them like a pack of starving wolves (with rabies). I'm trying to hide among the bodies and not look like a food source, and thankfully I awake a moment later.
What's with this dream? The anxiety! A Bigfoot made of sticks? Santa Claus thinks I'm a fatass? That's the pot calling the kettle black, eh? And what's with all the mythical creatures? Did I miss anyone? The tooth fairy? Easter bunny? A couple of big eyed aliens performing autopsies? Sorry guys, maybe I can work you all in next time.
Until then, sweet dreams everyone. Hope yours are better than mine!
We continue up the road a little ways, and I'm staring off into the forest, with a sense foreboding. I see where my sons dad lives (suddenly we are in North Carolina) and it's this road leading off into the forest, into a valley barely carved out of the mountains, protected and sheltered from outsiders. A sort of secret little area of sorts, with a dirt road mostly grown over with grass. If you didn't know where to look you'd probably just pass it right by without noticing. My sense of foreboding worsens.
I realize that this must be where the chupacabra lives. But this is no ordinary chupacabra. This thing is giant, and white (think Abominable Snowman or Yeti) and I suddenly realize that this explains the recent rash of murders I'd been hearing about. It must be eating people.
The next thing I know I'm in a huge building with a lot of other people, mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings. The building is like a giant school, with lots of back hallways and stairways and secret paths and we're all running and screaming and terrified because the chupacabra is somewhere inside the building on a bloody rampage and eating people. At one point I come around a corner just in time to look down to the floor below and see the chupacabra rip some guy apart. He only screams for a second and then his body is in pieces. While all of us are horrified, no one can help but think, "glad it's you and not me" and hope that maybe this thing will have it's fill and stop soon. We keep running.
At some point I realize that Santa Claus is there and he's getting the hell out of Dodge thanks to those reindeer and sleigh he keeps handy. I go running up, up, up, thinking surely if Santa is taking off from anywhere it must be the roof, right? I see him, and so does the chupacabra. But as I'm running towards the sleigh and Santa's getting the reindeer in motion, a gigantic hog comes squealing around the corner and chupacabra thinks that will make a delicious snack, thank you, and that buys me a few moments. I throw myself into the back of Santas sleigh as he takes off, and he's none too happy about me weighing him down. If he wasn't so terrified I think he'd have thrown me out but he's desperately trying to get the reindeer to go up, up already and get above the gigantic chupacabras reach.
We fly away from the building but can't seem to get any height (Santa keeps shooting me terrible looks as if to say, "You're weighing us down, Fatass!") and at some point I jump out onto a moving train. It seems like a safe bet, moving away from the place where the chupacabra is, happily feasting on a building full of delectable humans.
Turns out to be a very bad plan indeed as I get inside one of the train cars to realize it's full of corpses and zombies that are feasting on them. There's a giant pile of human bodies, some of them still moaning and alive until the ravenous zombies descend upon them like a pack of starving wolves (with rabies). I'm trying to hide among the bodies and not look like a food source, and thankfully I awake a moment later.
What's with this dream? The anxiety! A Bigfoot made of sticks? Santa Claus thinks I'm a fatass? That's the pot calling the kettle black, eh? And what's with all the mythical creatures? Did I miss anyone? The tooth fairy? Easter bunny? A couple of big eyed aliens performing autopsies? Sorry guys, maybe I can work you all in next time.
Until then, sweet dreams everyone. Hope yours are better than mine!
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Mr. Wonderful: still living up to his name
I had the worst migraine today. It was bad, then it got worse. But with all the neck and back pain going on, I thought that was the cause. So when Mr. Wonderful got home from work he knuckled all the most agonizing places and I thought that would fix it. Oh no. My head felt like it was being crushed from the front and behind. My head hurt so bad even the cartilage in my nose hurt, for Gods sake. My teeth, my eyes, my jaw, my sinuses, the entire thing. It would radiate waves of agony from the back to the front. I was dizzy, nauseous, bright lights hurt, noise hurt.
The really fun part? With an ulcer I couldn't take a damn thing!
Well, that's not entirely correct. I took Tylenol with Darvocet. Enough to knock out a medium sized mammal and perhaps a small horse. What happened? Nada. Nothing at all.
That's when I started to panic. What could I do? What in the hell was I going to do? I finally came staggering out of the darkened bedroom and knelt at Mr. Wonderful's knees. He looked down at me. With my bleary bloodshot eyes I gazed up at him. He said, "Oh no. Baby, are you ok?" I said, "No. I need Motrin." But I cannot take Motrin. It will eat a fucking hole in my stomach. I said, "Maybe I can take the baby stuff, cause it's liquid. Maybe it won't hurt my stomach so bad?" looking at him hopefully, praying he'll agree with me. He asks me if I want him to go get me some. I could cry. "Please?" He hops up, disregarding the fact that it is his bedtime, and goes to the store. Even brings me the grape flavor that I like. (Bubblegum is horrid!)
I eat some toast, trying to brace my stomach for the onslaught, praying it won't cause me agony. I take two teaspoons. I eat more toast. 20 minutes later my migraine is fading. Not gone, hell no, but the screaming agony of it is fading. I tell him so and inform him that I was getting really scared that I would have to go to the hospital and have them inject me with something because I couldn't take it by mouth. I was really freaking out. Anyone who has had a true migraine knows this pain. You would do anything, ANYTHING to make it stop.
And so I ask him to lay down on the couch and lay his head in my lap. I know his neck was hurting him, too, and he had a really hard day. So I rub his neck with one hand (the other side had been spasming earlier and I didn't dare try to use that arm) and tell him over and over how thankful I am that he takes such good care of me, and how in love with him I am. He lays in my lap and smiles and murmurs how much he loves me too.
Finally I can see he's falling asleep and I tell him to go to bed and he asks if I'll rub his head some more. Of course I will. And I do. And then I kiss him a whole bunch on his ear and his cheek and his forehead and tell him good night.
I can't go to sleep yet. I have to make sure all the Motrin in my stomach is digested before I go to sleep. I'll be royally screwed if it sits in there overnight. Like, bawling stomach bleeding agony. So I sit and I eat toast, and I tell you about what a total doll my man is.
How I do love him....
The really fun part? With an ulcer I couldn't take a damn thing!
Well, that's not entirely correct. I took Tylenol with Darvocet. Enough to knock out a medium sized mammal and perhaps a small horse. What happened? Nada. Nothing at all.
That's when I started to panic. What could I do? What in the hell was I going to do? I finally came staggering out of the darkened bedroom and knelt at Mr. Wonderful's knees. He looked down at me. With my bleary bloodshot eyes I gazed up at him. He said, "Oh no. Baby, are you ok?" I said, "No. I need Motrin." But I cannot take Motrin. It will eat a fucking hole in my stomach. I said, "Maybe I can take the baby stuff, cause it's liquid. Maybe it won't hurt my stomach so bad?" looking at him hopefully, praying he'll agree with me. He asks me if I want him to go get me some. I could cry. "Please?" He hops up, disregarding the fact that it is his bedtime, and goes to the store. Even brings me the grape flavor that I like. (Bubblegum is horrid!)
I eat some toast, trying to brace my stomach for the onslaught, praying it won't cause me agony. I take two teaspoons. I eat more toast. 20 minutes later my migraine is fading. Not gone, hell no, but the screaming agony of it is fading. I tell him so and inform him that I was getting really scared that I would have to go to the hospital and have them inject me with something because I couldn't take it by mouth. I was really freaking out. Anyone who has had a true migraine knows this pain. You would do anything, ANYTHING to make it stop.
And so I ask him to lay down on the couch and lay his head in my lap. I know his neck was hurting him, too, and he had a really hard day. So I rub his neck with one hand (the other side had been spasming earlier and I didn't dare try to use that arm) and tell him over and over how thankful I am that he takes such good care of me, and how in love with him I am. He lays in my lap and smiles and murmurs how much he loves me too.
Finally I can see he's falling asleep and I tell him to go to bed and he asks if I'll rub his head some more. Of course I will. And I do. And then I kiss him a whole bunch on his ear and his cheek and his forehead and tell him good night.
I can't go to sleep yet. I have to make sure all the Motrin in my stomach is digested before I go to sleep. I'll be royally screwed if it sits in there overnight. Like, bawling stomach bleeding agony. So I sit and I eat toast, and I tell you about what a total doll my man is.
How I do love him....
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
astrologer does not appreciate explosions
As someone who occasionally dabbles in astrology (and I mean reading charts not just reading the forecast in the newspaper) I am totally embarrassed by the occasional lunatic who makes us all look...well, insane.
I could see her point. But then she went for $300 million dollars for her "moral sufferings" and I had to shake my head. Thats a hell of a lot of morals and suffering, woman. Even Mother Thersa wouldn't have that much morality. Puh-lease!
I could see her point. But then she went for $300 million dollars for her "moral sufferings" and I had to shake my head. Thats a hell of a lot of morals and suffering, woman. Even Mother Thersa wouldn't have that much morality. Puh-lease!
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
to the many ants who visit my kitchen:
Hello. You don't know me but I am the giant that walks by, thundering over your head while you go about your business searching for food. I sometimes lean down over you and admire your ability to drag a crumb 12 times your body size vainly across the floor. I admire you, I do. But there's a problem. Although I have no problem with the symbiotic relationship we have (you cleaning up the crumbs I unwittingly drop, me feeding your Queen and other workers) I do have a serious problem with the constant fear I have of crushing you. I tire of the hop skippity dance I have to do when you venture out, especially when there is more than 5 of you. I do not wish to kill you. And so, you may have already noticed that I have been finding your entry places and gluing them shut. It is no lack of love, I assure you, merely that I wish for you to live a longer and more meaningful life that doesn't end in my heel.
Fare thee well, and good luck!
~the giant
Fare thee well, and good luck!
~the giant
Monday, July 04, 2005
mastery and acceptance
I have to admit, the Zoloft seems to be mostly working. But it has been a serious uphill battle that is not won yet, I sadly note.
Ok- the day of the doctors visit (see "zoloft up your ass" post) I flipped out completely. But I tried to hold it together as best I could. The next morning I woke up at 4:30 am, nauseous, dizzy, stomach pain, and those hot flashes you get right before you puke (this has been happening quite a lot lately- panic attacks so bad I nearly pass out). I tried to eat, knowing my stomach would feel better if I ate. I took my new ulcer medication and tried to eat some toast, but every time I stuck it in my mouth I would gag and my throat would close up. "NO TOAST!" screams my innards. "It's good for you, come on..." I plead. No deal.
I sat here in a moaning agonized stupor for hours. I couldn't read even, it made me dizzy. And my back started cramping, ah, and I forget the neck pain and headache. All around a super good time! I was exhausted but in way too much pain to fall asleep. It reminded me, to a lesser extent, of being in labor (I labored for 23 hours.)
At 7 am Mr. Wonderful gets up and asks me if I'm ok. When he sees that I'm crying he realizes that I am so NOT ok. I tell him I need to eat but I can't do it. He hands me the toast and COMMANDS me to eat it. I choke it down, a piece and a half, and it takes me at least an hour to do it. But I did feel better.
Since then I've been eating like a pig (it's really hard to eat like a pig when all you can eat is bland squishy food, I note), trying to keep food in my stomach so (God forbid) it doesn't happen again.
In the meantime, I started taking the Zoloft and it does seem to be helping. I feel a lot better, not great yet, but less like a super stressed out bitch who is bordering on suicidal with the amount of pain and agony that is wracking her over worked nervous system.
So why all the huffing and puffing about Zoloft? I am very deeply irritated that I am unable to master my own psyche. My plan was to go to the doctor, get some Xanax for when shit got really bad, and then work the rest of it out in my head. I only wanted the Xanax to short circuit the panic; sometimes when it gets going I can't stop it, meaning, sometimes when I have panic attacks I'm so worried about having more that I freak myself out and end up having more because I'm so freaked out about it.
HELMET!!!! (inside joke)
Anyway, I wanted to be able to master my own emotions, not be put on SRI's that do it for me. And I was very angry and insulted about it. Which is goofy, since I've been on them before and I know that they work. But they also make my hoo hoo numb as could be and that's so not cool. (When I was on Paxil I tried masturbating one day and couldn't get off no matter how hard I tried. After 45 minutes I was pissed off and tired of trying.) So going back on SRI's sounds like a big bunch of shit to me, but we'll see.
Mr. Wonderful pointed out to me that the amount of ups and downs that I have could be lessened by medication and maybe it's not a bad thing. He said that I do have some pretty massive emotional swings, to which I conceded. I pointed out to him, "But I'm USED to them. I've always been that way." If that means I've always had a chemical imbalance, well, so be it. The thing of it is, I just assume that it's part of me, that those ups and downs are just part of my personality.
Maybe they aren't?
Odd.
At any rate, I'm going to give it a try, because I promised Mr. Wonderful I would (despite me giving serious thought to flushing all that Zoloft down the toilet and telling that bitchy doctor it didn't work. I mean, she didn't even smile once the whole time. What is she, Borg? "You shall be medicated, resistance is futile.") And so far it's going ok, except for the panic attack I had at 3 am this morning. More of the same- woke up freaked out and couldn't breathe right, felt all hot and pukey. Had to get up, try to eat, sitting here in a tank top and underwear sweating like mad trying not to vomit. Good times, good times.
I just want to master me. But perhaps my mastery lies less in control and more in acceptance.
Hmmm.
Ok- the day of the doctors visit (see "zoloft up your ass" post) I flipped out completely. But I tried to hold it together as best I could. The next morning I woke up at 4:30 am, nauseous, dizzy, stomach pain, and those hot flashes you get right before you puke (this has been happening quite a lot lately- panic attacks so bad I nearly pass out). I tried to eat, knowing my stomach would feel better if I ate. I took my new ulcer medication and tried to eat some toast, but every time I stuck it in my mouth I would gag and my throat would close up. "NO TOAST!" screams my innards. "It's good for you, come on..." I plead. No deal.
I sat here in a moaning agonized stupor for hours. I couldn't read even, it made me dizzy. And my back started cramping, ah, and I forget the neck pain and headache. All around a super good time! I was exhausted but in way too much pain to fall asleep. It reminded me, to a lesser extent, of being in labor (I labored for 23 hours.)
At 7 am Mr. Wonderful gets up and asks me if I'm ok. When he sees that I'm crying he realizes that I am so NOT ok. I tell him I need to eat but I can't do it. He hands me the toast and COMMANDS me to eat it. I choke it down, a piece and a half, and it takes me at least an hour to do it. But I did feel better.
Since then I've been eating like a pig (it's really hard to eat like a pig when all you can eat is bland squishy food, I note), trying to keep food in my stomach so (God forbid) it doesn't happen again.
In the meantime, I started taking the Zoloft and it does seem to be helping. I feel a lot better, not great yet, but less like a super stressed out bitch who is bordering on suicidal with the amount of pain and agony that is wracking her over worked nervous system.
So why all the huffing and puffing about Zoloft? I am very deeply irritated that I am unable to master my own psyche. My plan was to go to the doctor, get some Xanax for when shit got really bad, and then work the rest of it out in my head. I only wanted the Xanax to short circuit the panic; sometimes when it gets going I can't stop it, meaning, sometimes when I have panic attacks I'm so worried about having more that I freak myself out and end up having more because I'm so freaked out about it.
HELMET!!!! (inside joke)
Anyway, I wanted to be able to master my own emotions, not be put on SRI's that do it for me. And I was very angry and insulted about it. Which is goofy, since I've been on them before and I know that they work. But they also make my hoo hoo numb as could be and that's so not cool. (When I was on Paxil I tried masturbating one day and couldn't get off no matter how hard I tried. After 45 minutes I was pissed off and tired of trying.) So going back on SRI's sounds like a big bunch of shit to me, but we'll see.
Mr. Wonderful pointed out to me that the amount of ups and downs that I have could be lessened by medication and maybe it's not a bad thing. He said that I do have some pretty massive emotional swings, to which I conceded. I pointed out to him, "But I'm USED to them. I've always been that way." If that means I've always had a chemical imbalance, well, so be it. The thing of it is, I just assume that it's part of me, that those ups and downs are just part of my personality.
Maybe they aren't?
Odd.
At any rate, I'm going to give it a try, because I promised Mr. Wonderful I would (despite me giving serious thought to flushing all that Zoloft down the toilet and telling that bitchy doctor it didn't work. I mean, she didn't even smile once the whole time. What is she, Borg? "You shall be medicated, resistance is futile.") And so far it's going ok, except for the panic attack I had at 3 am this morning. More of the same- woke up freaked out and couldn't breathe right, felt all hot and pukey. Had to get up, try to eat, sitting here in a tank top and underwear sweating like mad trying not to vomit. Good times, good times.
I just want to master me. But perhaps my mastery lies less in control and more in acceptance.
Hmmm.
Friday, July 01, 2005
that's a big ass fish
Fishermen in northern Thailand have netted a fish as big as a grizzly bear, a 646-pound Mekong giant catfish, the heaviest recorded since Thai officials started keeping records in 1981. The behemoth was caught in the Mekong River and may be the largest freshwater fish ever found.
"It's amazing to think that giants like this still swim in some of the world's rivers," said Dr. Zeb Hogan, a WWF Conservation Science fellow and leader of a new World Wildlife Fund (WWF) and National Geographic Society project to identify and study all freshwater fish over 6 feet long or 200 pounds. "We've now confirmed now that this catfish is the current record holder, an astonishing find."
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