In my rant about the soft wood that we walk upon, I forgot to mention the silly carpet in the bedrooms. I'm never a carpet fan. Despite cold Montana winters, I hate the stuff. I would rather have a hard-wood floor and some throw rugs that don't slip.
Anyway, someone who owns the house put in light beige berber carpet in the bedrooms. Then came the Fluffy. She was the cat who used to live here, if you've been following the plot to date. She was a marker. Bad, bad Fluffy. It took me a couple of weeks, with numerous applications of special enzyme solutions from the pet store to remove eau du Fluffy from the bedrooms. And on really damp days, there is a ghost...of a smell...and it's NOT me.
Pets and carpet are icky. Not to mention that they're havens for the fleas that infest the place. We bombed after moving in too- Sylvester, our foster kitty was infested. Luckily he didn't have worms. So carpet is stupid too. And the light color is even worse- the back bedroom is the walkway for getting into the house..from the garage...now, seriously, how stupid is that.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Back from the abyss
We went to Borders tonight. To spend holiday gift certificate.
On the way, I stopped to put my paycheck in the bank.
Whilst filling out the envelope and preparing to deposit, a man raged into the atm area. He shoved Kenga aside screaming, "get the FUCK out of my way." He went to the door, shouting, "what fucking time is it?" The bank was closed- had been since 2. He hit the door, took his sunglasses from his head, threw them on the floor where they shattered, while screeching, "fucking pieces of shit." Then he kicked the glass doors to the street, and rushed out.
While this was going on, the onlookers sort of huddled away from him. He was tall, and his face was covered in scabs- he looked like he had been severely beaten rather recently. I was preparing to use my ballpoint pen as a stabbing weapon if he came near me or Kenga again.
We left after I deposited my check. He was on the street a ways off, trying to pick another fight. There was a cop car nearby, so we figured that he couldn't get into too much trouble.
Then after we left the bookstore, and were going to the car, we passed a homeless guy rummaging for cans. He didn't like what he found, and shouted, "ARRRGGG...mumble, mumble, mumble....ARRRGGG!!!" We crossed the street, laughing and went to the car. The rain stops, and the whack jobs come out to play.
On the way, I stopped to put my paycheck in the bank.
Whilst filling out the envelope and preparing to deposit, a man raged into the atm area. He shoved Kenga aside screaming, "get the FUCK out of my way." He went to the door, shouting, "what fucking time is it?" The bank was closed- had been since 2. He hit the door, took his sunglasses from his head, threw them on the floor where they shattered, while screeching, "fucking pieces of shit." Then he kicked the glass doors to the street, and rushed out.
While this was going on, the onlookers sort of huddled away from him. He was tall, and his face was covered in scabs- he looked like he had been severely beaten rather recently. I was preparing to use my ballpoint pen as a stabbing weapon if he came near me or Kenga again.
We left after I deposited my check. He was on the street a ways off, trying to pick another fight. There was a cop car nearby, so we figured that he couldn't get into too much trouble.
Then after we left the bookstore, and were going to the car, we passed a homeless guy rummaging for cans. He didn't like what he found, and shouted, "ARRRGGG...mumble, mumble, mumble....ARRRGGG!!!" We crossed the street, laughing and went to the car. The rain stops, and the whack jobs come out to play.
And finally for today
I know that I'm being shockingly prolific today. It's just the mood, I guess.
20 years ago today, we buried my beloved Uncle. He died at the age of 33 of an alcohol overdose- either intentional, or not- we'll never know. My dad was the one who found him. I'll miss him until the day I die- he was one of my favorite people on the planet, despite being totally screwed up in many ways. He was funny, smart, and very kind. I was always afraid of not lasting past my 33rd year- call it silly superstition. Obviously I did.
We returned from the cemetary and saw that the Challenger had blown up. It was a universal shitty day.
20 years ago today, we buried my beloved Uncle. He died at the age of 33 of an alcohol overdose- either intentional, or not- we'll never know. My dad was the one who found him. I'll miss him until the day I die- he was one of my favorite people on the planet, despite being totally screwed up in many ways. He was funny, smart, and very kind. I was always afraid of not lasting past my 33rd year- call it silly superstition. Obviously I did.
We returned from the cemetary and saw that the Challenger had blown up. It was a universal shitty day.
Something we decided last night
Kenga and I were talking while falling asleep last night, and we decided that the bands Asia, Kansas, Boston (saw them live-in the 80's), Toto (also saw them live in the 80's) and Foreigner were all the same. We are unsure as how to classify them exactly- album rock? FM rock? I dunno. But they are the same.
Ones from that period that are slightly different include the Southern rock bands, Styx (their albums had themes and all), REO Speedwagon (Kevin Cronin's voice was nastily original), Journey (ditto Steve Perry) and the really hard stuff like AC/DC, etc.
I won't add Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, or the earlier ones to the list, as I think they have earned some respect for being earlier.
What really hurts, and I mean really, really hurts, is the fact that I know the words to so many of the aforementioned bands' songs. And if you knew how many of their albums I used to own, I would die a little inside. So I'm not telling. Taking that one with me to the grave, I am. Funny though- remember Shawn from the previous post? He used to send me lists of his record collection. I reciprocated. Kinda sexy, no? No.
Ones from that period that are slightly different include the Southern rock bands, Styx (their albums had themes and all), REO Speedwagon (Kevin Cronin's voice was nastily original), Journey (ditto Steve Perry) and the really hard stuff like AC/DC, etc.
I won't add Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, or the earlier ones to the list, as I think they have earned some respect for being earlier.
What really hurts, and I mean really, really hurts, is the fact that I know the words to so many of the aforementioned bands' songs. And if you knew how many of their albums I used to own, I would die a little inside. So I'm not telling. Taking that one with me to the grave, I am. Funny though- remember Shawn from the previous post? He used to send me lists of his record collection. I reciprocated. Kinda sexy, no? No.
On a literary note
Last week I read a bio of Aleister Crowley. I am not in the least interested in becoming a follower. Nor do I have aspirations to be a magician. In the tacky showbiz sense or otherwise. I just really wanted to know what the fuss was about.
It was a well-written one, and I got a good sense of who the man was. It made me sad, overall. I thought that in summation, he was an extraordinarily intellegent and talented man. I don't know if the magick actually existed in anything but his head, but he did believe. (there were so many drugs involved, that I wouldn't rule out mass halucinations). I think that if he had focused in a different direction, he could've been great. But he made me sad. He was so ruled by his sexual passions that he let them mutate his character in an ugly way. He would've been much happier if he had been born 50 years later, too. He was bisexual, and spent an enormous amount of energy hiding the homosexual side of his person.
As for being the most evil man in the world, well, we've seen Stalin, Hitler, Idi Amin, etc. since him, and he doesn't even come close. The ritual murders, etc. are dispelled as myths. He struggled. Against drugs after they took over, against poverty after he spent his inheritence, and against himself. Kinda reminded me of Orson Welles in a way. Too bloody smart for their own good, and too arrogant to understand that there are limitations. But then, they both accomplished creative greatness. So who the fuck am I to complain? I just see that both died very unhappy and unhealthily. Reminds me of the Greek philosopher (can't remember who, and Kenga isn't here to ask) who said, "never judge a man happy until he is dead."
It was a well-written one, and I got a good sense of who the man was. It made me sad, overall. I thought that in summation, he was an extraordinarily intellegent and talented man. I don't know if the magick actually existed in anything but his head, but he did believe. (there were so many drugs involved, that I wouldn't rule out mass halucinations). I think that if he had focused in a different direction, he could've been great. But he made me sad. He was so ruled by his sexual passions that he let them mutate his character in an ugly way. He would've been much happier if he had been born 50 years later, too. He was bisexual, and spent an enormous amount of energy hiding the homosexual side of his person.
As for being the most evil man in the world, well, we've seen Stalin, Hitler, Idi Amin, etc. since him, and he doesn't even come close. The ritual murders, etc. are dispelled as myths. He struggled. Against drugs after they took over, against poverty after he spent his inheritence, and against himself. Kinda reminded me of Orson Welles in a way. Too bloody smart for their own good, and too arrogant to understand that there are limitations. But then, they both accomplished creative greatness. So who the fuck am I to complain? I just see that both died very unhappy and unhealthily. Reminds me of the Greek philosopher (can't remember who, and Kenga isn't here to ask) who said, "never judge a man happy until he is dead."
General stuff
I have 15 more days of the job. That's it. Then I can do something that maybe actually clicks into more than just my latent OCD.
It's raining heavily again- always makes me wonder if our house will slide down the hill. But since it's been here since 1911, and has a new foundation, circa 2004, not likely.
I've been using the light lamp that my mom gave me a year ago. I don't know if it makes a damned bit of difference, but I feel a little less like putting my head in an oven. But that could also be the effect of sleeping in and leisurely enjoying my tea.
Watched Eric Von Stroheim's Greed last night. Had to use the single fast forward feature on the Tivo control. Too fucking long otherwise. 4 hours to be exact. I don't think I could endure a 4 hour silent film in and of itself. I watched Birth of a Nation probably 15 years ago, and about died.Then, being a masochist, I watched Intolerance. Damn. I enjoy lots of the silents, but lack the patience to deal with any lonnnngggg movie- silent or otherwise. I can just see where edits could be made to make the story flow more concisely. But many of these directors have their egos intact, and don't see where their vision might be flawed by self-indulgence. Being told you're a genius seems to have this effect. Kinda like reading an Anne Rice novel- the early ones are pretty good- great plots, excellent character development, and they move along pretty nicely. But then came The Witching Hour. Damn. I would've cut at least 150 pages from that monstrosity. And reading her discussing her work was unbearable at that point. Every word was sacred. No editing was to be done by anyone but herself. Thus wasn't to be done at all. Damned shame, if you ask me. She could've used the discipline. There again, ego. But she's got the cash in the bank to show that she knows something about her fans. I just won't buy her books anymore- and sneak them out of the library with a strong sense of guilt. The kind of guilt inspired by sittting down to a Sara Lee pound cake and eating the whole thing in one sitting- alone. Not that I've ever done that...I promise!
It's raining heavily again- always makes me wonder if our house will slide down the hill. But since it's been here since 1911, and has a new foundation, circa 2004, not likely.
I've been using the light lamp that my mom gave me a year ago. I don't know if it makes a damned bit of difference, but I feel a little less like putting my head in an oven. But that could also be the effect of sleeping in and leisurely enjoying my tea.
Watched Eric Von Stroheim's Greed last night. Had to use the single fast forward feature on the Tivo control. Too fucking long otherwise. 4 hours to be exact. I don't think I could endure a 4 hour silent film in and of itself. I watched Birth of a Nation probably 15 years ago, and about died.Then, being a masochist, I watched Intolerance. Damn. I enjoy lots of the silents, but lack the patience to deal with any lonnnngggg movie- silent or otherwise. I can just see where edits could be made to make the story flow more concisely. But many of these directors have their egos intact, and don't see where their vision might be flawed by self-indulgence. Being told you're a genius seems to have this effect. Kinda like reading an Anne Rice novel- the early ones are pretty good- great plots, excellent character development, and they move along pretty nicely. But then came The Witching Hour. Damn. I would've cut at least 150 pages from that monstrosity. And reading her discussing her work was unbearable at that point. Every word was sacred. No editing was to be done by anyone but herself. Thus wasn't to be done at all. Damned shame, if you ask me. She could've used the discipline. There again, ego. But she's got the cash in the bank to show that she knows something about her fans. I just won't buy her books anymore- and sneak them out of the library with a strong sense of guilt. The kind of guilt inspired by sittting down to a Sara Lee pound cake and eating the whole thing in one sitting- alone. Not that I've ever done that...I promise!
Friday, January 27, 2006
Renovation tip #1
For those of you thinking of putting in wood flooring- from experience I speak. Do NOT use soft wood. Never, never, never. It's stupid. The people who did our rental used redwood. It scratches like a motherfucker. It's dumb. Cat claws scratch it. It is much like balsawood. Stupid flooring.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Pen pal
Another blog (not my own) mentions Nazareth's Hair of the Dog album. Brings back the 80's memories- heavy. Back in the day I had this friend. Since I haven't spoken to him in over 20 years, we'll call him Shawn. Why the hell not.
I met Shawn at Youth Legislature Freshman year in high school. He was a Junior. He was from another town. He let me hang out with him and his friends. They were cool, older and very funny. We were the Communist party. Not because of the ideology, but to piss of everyone else. Kind of the punk way.
His girlfriend- or ex- or something, was part of their group. She never spoke to me, and spent the entire time with another guy, basically making out. Shawn seemed a little upset by this. He flirted. I was interested.
He went home. We started writing to eachother. Basically a letter or two every several days for a couple of years. Until he went to college, and wrote me a Dear Jane letter.
Funny though. In my Soph. year, I went north to a town near his for a conference my dad was attending. I got to tag along, because dad is pretty cool. I went to Shawn's house. Met his family. Hung out. He had made some pretty strong statements about his feelings for me by this time. I took him at his word. We went to a movie. I kept expecting something. Anything. Anything at all. But nothing. When he dropped me off, I expected a hug at least. Nothing. It was really strange. Confusing. It made me mad.
I actually broached the subject in a letter after I got home. He claimed that he was possibly getting back together with the ex-girlfriend. It was odd again. Because I pretty much knew that this was bullshit.
Then came the kiss off letter. What a little shit. The way I figured the whole thing out, after re-reading the letters, was that he was closeted. And I was the "girlfriend in Canada" so to speak. Great in theory for proving hetero qualities, but inconvenient, not to mention awkward as hell in the flesh. And I wasn't shy about what I would've liked from what I considered to be a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. (he brought up the whole relationship thing- not me...)
He gave me the Nazareth vinyl for my birthday. Along with Asia's first album. How fucking romantic. The little shit. (actually not so little- the fucker was really tall.) Anyway, a minor pox on his home. Period.
I met Shawn at Youth Legislature Freshman year in high school. He was a Junior. He was from another town. He let me hang out with him and his friends. They were cool, older and very funny. We were the Communist party. Not because of the ideology, but to piss of everyone else. Kind of the punk way.
His girlfriend- or ex- or something, was part of their group. She never spoke to me, and spent the entire time with another guy, basically making out. Shawn seemed a little upset by this. He flirted. I was interested.
He went home. We started writing to eachother. Basically a letter or two every several days for a couple of years. Until he went to college, and wrote me a Dear Jane letter.
Funny though. In my Soph. year, I went north to a town near his for a conference my dad was attending. I got to tag along, because dad is pretty cool. I went to Shawn's house. Met his family. Hung out. He had made some pretty strong statements about his feelings for me by this time. I took him at his word. We went to a movie. I kept expecting something. Anything. Anything at all. But nothing. When he dropped me off, I expected a hug at least. Nothing. It was really strange. Confusing. It made me mad.
I actually broached the subject in a letter after I got home. He claimed that he was possibly getting back together with the ex-girlfriend. It was odd again. Because I pretty much knew that this was bullshit.
Then came the kiss off letter. What a little shit. The way I figured the whole thing out, after re-reading the letters, was that he was closeted. And I was the "girlfriend in Canada" so to speak. Great in theory for proving hetero qualities, but inconvenient, not to mention awkward as hell in the flesh. And I wasn't shy about what I would've liked from what I considered to be a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. (he brought up the whole relationship thing- not me...)
He gave me the Nazareth vinyl for my birthday. Along with Asia's first album. How fucking romantic. The little shit. (actually not so little- the fucker was really tall.) Anyway, a minor pox on his home. Period.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
I AM the man
I am now the team lead. Only reason- because I am still there. I am the second longest person on the job from the temp side of things. Funny. Not that the work is all that hard- it's just rough on the body being in the cold and climbing around the stuff that we're counting. But it's funny.
I'm convinced that a trained monkey could do my job. Not particularly well, mind you, but well enough. What makes me so exceptional, you ask? Well, I would say that it's my OCD in full roar. Have to be accurate, or I won't sleep tonight. Actually, it's all about longevity. That's basically it.
The people I work with are lovely. My problem with the job is getting out of bed in the morning. I'm not liking that at all. Very difficult. Hate it, in fact.
Stupid mornings.
I'm convinced that a trained monkey could do my job. Not particularly well, mind you, but well enough. What makes me so exceptional, you ask? Well, I would say that it's my OCD in full roar. Have to be accurate, or I won't sleep tonight. Actually, it's all about longevity. That's basically it.
The people I work with are lovely. My problem with the job is getting out of bed in the morning. I'm not liking that at all. Very difficult. Hate it, in fact.
Stupid mornings.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Foggy day in kitten town
For some reason it's been rough getting to sleep lately. What with the job (cough, cough) and all, I'm just tired. Thus the not many posts in the last week or so.
Lots of vivid dreams. Not VIVID like the porn studio- but just active. Wake up in a funk. And this morning it's seriously foggy outside. Matches the mental state inside.
All I got to say is that the word for the day is reluctance. I am reluctant to get out of bed. Equally reluctant to go outside into the fog. Reluctant to go do my silly job. What appeals is a nice pot of tea and the bed. Not in that order, and not at the same time. But I'm pretty sure you're smart enough and can make the leap of imagination to figure out what I'm saying.
Lots of vivid dreams. Not VIVID like the porn studio- but just active. Wake up in a funk. And this morning it's seriously foggy outside. Matches the mental state inside.
All I got to say is that the word for the day is reluctance. I am reluctant to get out of bed. Equally reluctant to go outside into the fog. Reluctant to go do my silly job. What appeals is a nice pot of tea and the bed. Not in that order, and not at the same time. But I'm pretty sure you're smart enough and can make the leap of imagination to figure out what I'm saying.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Nice work if you can get it
Today I was able to work all day indoors. This made the whole think kind of fun. Like, I might make it 5 weeks fun. We'll see. Let's also say that they put all of the really cute firemen in West Seattle. And I found them. I'm holding my breath for naked Thursdays at the firehouse!
On the news today, they arrested a bunch of ecoterrorists. I always get apprehensive- not for myself. I had a friend in college- Kris- who became an ardent Earth Firstie. I always worry that she will have done something really stupid and gotten prison time. She was really great, but tended to get carried away with the passion of the cause. Good news- she wasn't on the list of suspects. She dropped out of school and off the grid years ago, so I have no idea where she is anymore. No Google search finds her. Off the grid. Probably in Alaska- patron state of the terminally damaged.
On the news today, they arrested a bunch of ecoterrorists. I always get apprehensive- not for myself. I had a friend in college- Kris- who became an ardent Earth Firstie. I always worry that she will have done something really stupid and gotten prison time. She was really great, but tended to get carried away with the passion of the cause. Good news- she wasn't on the list of suspects. She dropped out of school and off the grid years ago, so I have no idea where she is anymore. No Google search finds her. Off the grid. Probably in Alaska- patron state of the terminally damaged.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Crappy job- more info
So I spent 4 hours this afternoon outside. After being told to dress in corporate casual. Fuckers. It was blasted cold. Luckily I had raincoat. That helped a bit. I'll not be wearing corporate anything for the duration of this particular crappy job. So there. I'm going to go get warm. Or drunk. Or maybe even both. Hah HAH.
Not gonna sit here and whine
Just gotta go to a crappy temp job. Didn't get the other one. Was one of the last 2 candidates. Like that counts.
Just am wondering- what exactly have I accomplished in the last 10 years? Bad question to ask this morning, as I prepare for the aforementioned crappy temp job. The question remains- I just can't answer it right now. If I think about it too hard, I will wind up back in bed, and discover that I don't have the fortitude to leave the house.
Just am wondering- what exactly have I accomplished in the last 10 years? Bad question to ask this morning, as I prepare for the aforementioned crappy temp job. The question remains- I just can't answer it right now. If I think about it too hard, I will wind up back in bed, and discover that I don't have the fortitude to leave the house.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Something to ponder
From msnbc.com-
Playboy magazine asked Hugh Laurie — a Brit who plays an American on the show House — which American actor had the worst British accent. “I suppose at the top of every Englishman’s list would be Dick Van Dyke in ‘Mary Poppins,’” he replied. “That would have to be construed as a virtual act of war.”
And now I must go. I have an 8 hour job interview at the place I interviewed at on 12/29. I have high hopes on this one. Things could be turning some kind of employment corner....I dunno.
Playboy magazine asked Hugh Laurie — a Brit who plays an American on the show House — which American actor had the worst British accent. “I suppose at the top of every Englishman’s list would be Dick Van Dyke in ‘Mary Poppins,’” he replied. “That would have to be construed as a virtual act of war.”
And now I must go. I have an 8 hour job interview at the place I interviewed at on 12/29. I have high hopes on this one. Things could be turning some kind of employment corner....I dunno.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Ripoff- by me!
I love Toothpaste for Dinner. He makes me happy every morning. I had to steal this and share with all of my lovely blog readers. (All 4 of you who are brave, and my beloved shy lurkers out there- I know who some of you are!!!). Anyway, if you want, check out his site- it's delicious.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Remembering this one
In college I had a wonderful advisor. He was funny, very kind and just my kind of older gentleman protector. He was from New Orleans, and full of charm and southern gentlemanliness. Great guy. Retired just as I went into grad school, which was quite a pity, as I could've used his help in that pursuit. In a big way.
Anyway, he had been in the navy during the Korean War. Got his education on the GI Bill- like most of the professors there of that vintage. Really fun teacher. Had a distinct spit zone, though- you didn't want to sit in the front row- a touch impassioned, shall we say.
He told me this story one day- I thought it was really good.
Seems they had some time off in Hawaii during the war. They were told to be good- not to do any damage to themselves, as their bodies were property of the US Government. Warned that anything that made them unfit for duty would be punishable by a court marshal. Seemed kinda extreme, but I don't know what kind of knotheads were in the group- and what they had done in the past to merit that kind of warning.
After about 48 hours of leave, they were trying to collect stragglers. One guy in particular was missing. Seems that he had spent the entire day on the beach. In his swimsuit. Tanning. Seems that he couldn't move. The sunburn was too extreme. The guys were in a panic- he would be in dire straights if the CO saw him in this state. Blistered and in pain. So they came up with a plan. They sent a couple of guys to the drug store. They put him in a bathtub in the hotel. They poured a half dozen bottles of after shave on him to cure the burn. Then they dressed him in his uniform and propped him up to get him to the boat. Seems that it worked, and Johnny burns a lot wasn't punished. Any more than a second-degree sunburn under full military uniform would be punishment, that is. As a pale (very, very pale) girl born in high altitude, where the sun is evil- I can definately empathize.
He told me this story after I returned from a Mexican vacation with the worst sunburn of my life. I blame the tropics, Coronas and Mexican sunscreen. Along with my own idiocy.
I hope he's still around- I sure liked the guy- he also had a wonderful wife, who was an absolute rock.
Anyway, he had been in the navy during the Korean War. Got his education on the GI Bill- like most of the professors there of that vintage. Really fun teacher. Had a distinct spit zone, though- you didn't want to sit in the front row- a touch impassioned, shall we say.
He told me this story one day- I thought it was really good.
Seems they had some time off in Hawaii during the war. They were told to be good- not to do any damage to themselves, as their bodies were property of the US Government. Warned that anything that made them unfit for duty would be punishable by a court marshal. Seemed kinda extreme, but I don't know what kind of knotheads were in the group- and what they had done in the past to merit that kind of warning.
After about 48 hours of leave, they were trying to collect stragglers. One guy in particular was missing. Seems that he had spent the entire day on the beach. In his swimsuit. Tanning. Seems that he couldn't move. The sunburn was too extreme. The guys were in a panic- he would be in dire straights if the CO saw him in this state. Blistered and in pain. So they came up with a plan. They sent a couple of guys to the drug store. They put him in a bathtub in the hotel. They poured a half dozen bottles of after shave on him to cure the burn. Then they dressed him in his uniform and propped him up to get him to the boat. Seems that it worked, and Johnny burns a lot wasn't punished. Any more than a second-degree sunburn under full military uniform would be punishment, that is. As a pale (very, very pale) girl born in high altitude, where the sun is evil- I can definately empathize.
He told me this story after I returned from a Mexican vacation with the worst sunburn of my life. I blame the tropics, Coronas and Mexican sunscreen. Along with my own idiocy.
I hope he's still around- I sure liked the guy- he also had a wonderful wife, who was an absolute rock.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Joke du jour
We have this funny white cat. Yeah- HE's a BOY. Pretty, yes. Prettier than you are. I don't care who you are. He's prettier. But he is most certainly a boy. His name is Mika. After the F1 Finnish driver. Not Mika the girl. Mika the boy. It gets to him sometimes. He cries. Because he's secure, but gets down about it.
So the joke is that he's pretty, cute and very white. He poops marshmallows. And they're like the Lucky Charms marshmallows. Magically delicious. We decided that this was the case, that my cat was chock full of elvin magic over drinks. Many, many drinks. See, he's about as masculine as Orlando Bloom as the elf. Delicious, yes. But prettier than any girl, and with better hair. The bastard. Can't possibly do a man with prettier hair than mine. I remember guys like that in Jr. High- they carried banana combs in their back pockets. Rumor had it that they used curling irons in the morning. Hmmmm.
So the joke is that he's pretty, cute and very white. He poops marshmallows. And they're like the Lucky Charms marshmallows. Magically delicious. We decided that this was the case, that my cat was chock full of elvin magic over drinks. Many, many drinks. See, he's about as masculine as Orlando Bloom as the elf. Delicious, yes. But prettier than any girl, and with better hair. The bastard. Can't possibly do a man with prettier hair than mine. I remember guys like that in Jr. High- they carried banana combs in their back pockets. Rumor had it that they used curling irons in the morning. Hmmmm.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Just some things
Here is stuff that I want to say- just because it occurred to me over the last couple of weeks:
Suffering is not a competition. It's also not a religion. Pain is pain, you can choose to get over it or not, and mine is no worse nor better than yours. Deal.
Ladies, when in a bar, please DO NOT squat over the toilet whilst peeing- I do not appreciate sitting in your piss. Just sit the fuck down. You'll expose others to fewer germs and experience same that way. Idiots.
Finding your first white hair south of the border, so to speak is a surefire way to feel old. Even if you still get carded.
Apple cider drunk is strange, and yields a surprising array of blank spots in an evening. I don't plan on doing that again. Ever.
As far as I'm concerned, and this is my blog, so my rules- if you're still re-hashing a breakup, firing, or any kind of that stuff that doesn't involve death, sickness, or the law, there is a shelf life for bitching about it. War stories need to remain current, or they just become meaningless bellyaching. No one cares about the fish you caught when you were 12. Ditto the job you lost when you were 22 (and you're in your mid 40's).
Humidity + my hair is very bad. And makes me sad. I give up.
That's all that I need to say for now. No doubt I'll have more later. I am, after all, a big old windbag!
Suffering is not a competition. It's also not a religion. Pain is pain, you can choose to get over it or not, and mine is no worse nor better than yours. Deal.
Ladies, when in a bar, please DO NOT squat over the toilet whilst peeing- I do not appreciate sitting in your piss. Just sit the fuck down. You'll expose others to fewer germs and experience same that way. Idiots.
Finding your first white hair south of the border, so to speak is a surefire way to feel old. Even if you still get carded.
Apple cider drunk is strange, and yields a surprising array of blank spots in an evening. I don't plan on doing that again. Ever.
As far as I'm concerned, and this is my blog, so my rules- if you're still re-hashing a breakup, firing, or any kind of that stuff that doesn't involve death, sickness, or the law, there is a shelf life for bitching about it. War stories need to remain current, or they just become meaningless bellyaching. No one cares about the fish you caught when you were 12. Ditto the job you lost when you were 22 (and you're in your mid 40's).
Humidity + my hair is very bad. And makes me sad. I give up.
That's all that I need to say for now. No doubt I'll have more later. I am, after all, a big old windbag!
Monday, January 02, 2006
And now for the future
I ate too damned much. I put on some girth. Gotta admit it. Too many cookies. It is all in the snacking and the long car rides, and the staying in bed too late in the morning. And the wine. And the dinners.
I refuse to do the New Year's resolution thing. It is only a set up for let down. But it would be nice to lose what I have gained in this instance. So I'll eat like a normal human again, and walk around more.
There was a job interview when we returned- I think I stand a very good chance of getting this one- I just have to play my next step wisely. I do have a plan there. It is a good one. In the same building downtown as the last one. Maybe I should see that as a sign.
Sometime while we were gone, the two cats that hated eachother fell in love. They will not leave eachother alone. They are both boys. Don't tell me that being gay has nothing to do with nature. If you saw them, you would know differently. They are blissfully happy.
I refuse to do the New Year's resolution thing. It is only a set up for let down. But it would be nice to lose what I have gained in this instance. So I'll eat like a normal human again, and walk around more.
There was a job interview when we returned- I think I stand a very good chance of getting this one- I just have to play my next step wisely. I do have a plan there. It is a good one. In the same building downtown as the last one. Maybe I should see that as a sign.
Sometime while we were gone, the two cats that hated eachother fell in love. They will not leave eachother alone. They are both boys. Don't tell me that being gay has nothing to do with nature. If you saw them, you would know differently. They are blissfully happy.
Ghost of Christmas present
It was a warm holiday. Plenty of time spent with my darling friends, family, and ghosts. Probably too much drinking, all told, but I didn't make an ass of myself, so can't feel too bad about it.
Good with bad. Fun times with some, and kind of sad times spent with others- my Grandmother is on the strong decline. Not much time left before her mind is spent. It's like a baloon released in the room- all of the air fizzing out of it. We're struggling against one of Newton's laws. Not gravity, or gravitas- but entropy.
It was the time to say goodbye for the last time to my Grandfather's house. Where the past was stronger than the present. Where the future didn't come into play. And soon will never come into play. It will remain a mental time capsule. I dream myself there most of the time. I have been dreaming about him and his home since I came home. Good dreams, not bad. Unsettling that I'm finally having to let go. I'm not good at that. I get nervous at letting those strings loose, and letting the balloon sail off into the night sky. Knowing that I'll never see it again. That it is a finite thing to begin with. But for a while it was mine.
Good with bad. Fun times with some, and kind of sad times spent with others- my Grandmother is on the strong decline. Not much time left before her mind is spent. It's like a baloon released in the room- all of the air fizzing out of it. We're struggling against one of Newton's laws. Not gravity, or gravitas- but entropy.
It was the time to say goodbye for the last time to my Grandfather's house. Where the past was stronger than the present. Where the future didn't come into play. And soon will never come into play. It will remain a mental time capsule. I dream myself there most of the time. I have been dreaming about him and his home since I came home. Good dreams, not bad. Unsettling that I'm finally having to let go. I'm not good at that. I get nervous at letting those strings loose, and letting the balloon sail off into the night sky. Knowing that I'll never see it again. That it is a finite thing to begin with. But for a while it was mine.
Ghost of Christmas past
I was 5 I think. It was late. The music was loud. The basement, where we all were was warm. There was a fire in the magic fireplace, covered in colored rocks and agate. Everyone was happy. Everyone was laughing. We had opened presents. The old beer signs were on. My dad picked me up and was dancing with me. Neil Diamond's "Cracklin Rosie" was playing. It was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. The dead were still with us.
I savor that one. Christmas was never that wonderful, magical and warm again. But I have that one to treasure, lock away and keep deep in my heart. Where I can remember all of it. What I wore. The smell of the fire. The sound of the stereo. The feeling of being in my father's arms when I was so small. The happiness of getting presents. Safety, security, and being loved. I can trot all of that out when I'm having a rough day. And know that it happened once.
The hard part is being able to recognize that I am all that is keeping the memory alive- it can't be replicated, and the place itself will be gone soon. It has been falling apart for a long time. But it shouldn't be a sad thing- only something to expect and to make allowances for.
I savor that one. Christmas was never that wonderful, magical and warm again. But I have that one to treasure, lock away and keep deep in my heart. Where I can remember all of it. What I wore. The smell of the fire. The sound of the stereo. The feeling of being in my father's arms when I was so small. The happiness of getting presents. Safety, security, and being loved. I can trot all of that out when I'm having a rough day. And know that it happened once.
The hard part is being able to recognize that I am all that is keeping the memory alive- it can't be replicated, and the place itself will be gone soon. It has been falling apart for a long time. But it shouldn't be a sad thing- only something to expect and to make allowances for.
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