The flu

Laying there with the wheels spinning, only they don't touch the ground.
Fixating on yet another thing that can't be fixed.
Or even touched.
It's all the same.
Shudders and sighs.
Not caused by anything exciting, just a virus.
In the system.
Then there's the heaviness in the lungs.
Like running uphill, only without legs.
And still the wheels on the bus go round and round.
Today it's problems at work.
Then it's on to problems in the past.
Boys.
Then parents.
Then back to boys.
Then back to parents and further back.
Finally, in a desperate bid for sleep, fixate on something good.

Early morning in the station- Grandma is brewing coffee and cooking scrambled eggs. I am sleepy. Grandpa has already opened for business. Sunlight streams through the screen door that divides public and private- when night comes, the heavy metal door will be shut, and we will be sealed inside. It is warm. There is soft butter in a bowl on the counter. This is where I would live, if my life were like "Groundhog Day," and if I had a choice.

Then I sleep. The sleep of the just, perhaps. The sleep of the innocent, not likely. The sleep of the dead, not yet- but sleeping with the dead, surely. Because they gave me those moments. And I keep them.

And sweet Jebus

I just don't want this blog to become a celebration of testes.

So, don't make me go there, people!!! Because I can, and I will if I have to.

Don't make me turn this car around!

No dessert for you, mister.

Damn- I really have to lay off the coffee.....

There are some wack jobs in the blog world

All chock full of venom and threats to shoot people's trucks. Because their prissy little sense of self-righteous perspective only allows for one opinion- their own.

That is the kind of thing that is total crap- and gets people in other countries killed- or imprisoned. There was an article last week that a blogger in Egypt got prison time for criticizing the President. There you have it. Someone took exception to their opinion, there aren't safeguards for free speech in place, and blammo- a poor schmuck who just likes to write and post his opinions is looking at 5 years. In an Egyptian Prison- betcha that's a hell hole.


Sigh. But that in a way is neither here nor there. The person who courageously remained anonymous in commenting on my last post got me thinking. About my right to say and think whatever the hell I want. They appear from their response to be the kind of bully who would resort to violence to make their point. Which makes their point just plain stupid and wrong.

I am therefore calling Anonymous out. Right the fuck now. This person thinks that it's ok to threaten to shoot a truck with truck balls, just to protect the delicate sensibilities of his/her no doubt surprisingly resilient granddaughters. Well then. That's not an overreaction. Not at all. Just like trying to pass legislature banning the damned things is not an overreaction. Not at all. It's comforting to know that a group of legislators thinks that this is the SINGLE most important thing to focus on while doing their jobs. And spending tax payers' money. Right. There aren't any other things that they ought to be doing. Just protecting us from the horrible sight of little balls hanging off of trucks. Well. I suppose I should be thankful. Because as a delicate flower of womanhood, someone needs to protect me from the cruel and unforgivingly vulgar world. However, I am a child of the 60s/70s, and not a Victorian maiden. (bet that's a surprise to those who know me!) And I resent the idea that there is something out there that I as an adult American should not be exposed to, because it offends someone else. Fuck that shit.

So. I have called Anonymous out. I now declare Shenanegans. I will watch porn if I want to. With my curtains open. So don't walk your grandkids by my house. It would be too educational. I will hang truck balls from my Outback if I want to. Or even better, from Kboy's Miata. And you will just have to fucking deal with it. Because that is the way it is, Grandpa/ma! I will also put chrome titty women on my car if I want. Because I can. And I know that it will likely piss someone off. And that appears to be kind of fun.

The gauntlet has been thrown. And for the record, I NEVER use the N word. Never have. Won't even type it. But my critic throws it out as equally as offensive as truck balls. I just don't know where to begin in slamming that little non-sequitur down. But I'll try. Because I have had coffee, and am ready to roll.

First and foremost, truck balls were never used as an object of opression and racial hatred. Truck balls were never used as an excuse to deny another human being their humanity or their rightful opportunities as human beings. Truck balls were never screamed threateningly at a person to elicit terror and keep someone in their place. Truck balls are inanimate objects, not hateful words. Truck balls aren't hate personified and focused on a group of people.

There. I feel much better now. If Anonymous decides to come back and play, I sincerely hope that he/she has the BALLS to use their real sign on name. Because it's fine to throw on a white sheet and try and scare someone. But it's really not the way to win a fair fight.

People who appear to have NOTHING to do

I just enjoy a funny tale of someone trying to inflict their offended sensibilities upon the rest of us. Like their experience of being insulted is in any way universal.

I found this story on msnbc.com

When fake bull testicles are outlawed ...

Bill would ban anatomically explicit vehicle decorations in Maryland

ANNAPOLIS, Md. - Fake bull testicles and other anatomically explicit vehicle decorations would be banned from Maryland roads under a bill pending in the state legislature.

The measure was filed in the General Assembly on Monday by Delegate LeRoy E. Myers Jr., who says children shouldn't be exposed to giant plastic gonads dangling from pickup truck trailer hitches. The bill also would ban displaying images of naked human breasts, buttocks or genitals, with offenses punishable by fines of up to $500.

"It's time to take a stand," Myers told The (Hagerstown) Herald-Mail.

The American Civil Liberties Union objected to Myers' bill.

"The legislation is overly broad, and would probably make it illegal to have a sticker on your car of the Venus de Milo from an art museum," ACLU of Maryland spokeswoman Meredith Curtis wrote in an e-mail.

Pamela Campbell, whose Bullhead City, Ariz., business sells fake bull testicles, suggested that the swinging decorations can prompt healthy discussions about anatomy and reproduction.

"Do we have to neuter all dogs that walk by us?" she asked. "Where does it stop?"

Last week, Arizona's legislature rejected a measure that would have banned vehicle splash guards bearing racist terms or silhouettes of naked women.

(All I gotta say is thank God for the ACLU- protecting my right to be offended by bumper tchotchkes!)

Ongoing travelogue

We had been on the road since early in the morning, but that was 2 1/2 states ago. It was late evening, and even in the summer in the north, the sun goes down. It was proceeding to do just that. On the two lane highway, the deer were approaching the edges of the road. The air was noticeably cooler, and the sky had deepened to a Maxfield Parrish blue. Stars would appear soon.

We topped a hill and saw the road stretched before us- going over another hill in the far distance. To our left were the shattered mountains of the Rocky Mountain Front. No cars on the road but us. Just nothing. If we had pulled over and shut the motor off, there would be only the sound of the wind. Nothing.

The only thing I could think of during the Shins concert last night was the roadtrip. And how much it reminded me of the music I was hearing. It would be amazing to drop the band and their gear (with generators, of course) and a couple dozen people in the middle of the landscape and just listen. With the mountains. And the isolation.

They were lovely. And since it was Kbot's birthday present, it was fitting. He likes them more than I do, but I still was happy. They reminded me upon reflection, of driftwood- soft and a little furry on the surface, but an interesting shape.

And that is probably the last time in a very long while that I go out on a school night. Rather tired today, and must get on with it.

Pondering some more

And being ponderous.

Well, mes amis, today it is a rainy Monday. And we celebrate dead presidents by buying sheets and towels. For sleeping and drying things. Something symbolic there, I guess.

So let's chat about death, shall we?

I have been thinking about it a lot lately. Not to worry- not something that I particularly crave. Just a shift in the tectonics of how I think about it. I blame Lance Armstrong.

See he was on the Colbert Report the other night. And I was listening to him talk about fighting cancer. And it started me thinking. About how futile in a way his fight (and mine back in the day) really was. Just because all it is was buying some time. That's all it ever is. Because no matter what, it's where we're all going. Very comforting thought that. No way to escape. Just let it roll. Doesn't have to happen today. Or tomorrow. Or next Tuesday. Just it will happen. And when it does, well, there you have it.

Makes me a bit nervous thinking about the end of what I know of as me. That the consciousness that I depend upon to get me through the day will be over, and something unknown happens. But there again, nothing that I can do about it. No way. Even Mr. Richy McRichRich himself, Bill Gates will die some day. It just happens like that. So.

No, I don't welcome the green darkness and the weight of lungs filling with fluid and stopping. I don't welcome the end of my selfness. I don't welcome the replay of all my past. Especially not that. I do that often enough that it's not only regrettable, but not necessarily comfortable. I welcome none of it yet. Probably never will. But just the realization makes a difference.

Damn. I guess this means I'm not 21 any more. Shit.

Things that keep me awake nights

I'll say it up front- sometimes I am a dumbass. Just lying there, pondering things. Things that make no sense, and that don't matter in the least.

Big one from last night- why does a certain kind of guy think that once they have fucked you, your IQ drops through the floor? Or did they always think you were an idiot, and faked thinking you were smart to get you in bed? Assholes. (this pertains to events in the far distant past- don't worry!) And really, the bitterness has lifted. Just a few blips here and there.

Another one from last night- is Tenacious D just irony personified? Do they really believe in what they do, or is it all one big tongue in cheek experiment in crowd control? It was lovely to be at a show where the entire audience sang along. Seriously. And they were filming it. So I am hoping that a DVD is in the future- filmed here, of course. Do they just love being silly, or do they take themselves more seriously than that? I just can't read it.

And then- will the little boy I saw yesterday on a walk with his dad remember the sunny day? He was about 4, walking along the road below our house with his sunglasses on. He was happy. He made eye contact with me while I drove slowly past, and we shared a smile. His dad was really attentive to whatever they were discussing. It was important to both of them. Will this last? Will he remember the day? I kind of hope not. I hope that this is a common enough occurance in their lives that it doesn't stand out as anything particularly unique. Just that they often went on walks together in the sunshine.

Messed up.

From MSNBC this morning:


Man's body found in front of TV year after death
Television was still on, authorities say; body partially mummified

HAMPTON BAYS, N.Y. - The partially mummified body of a man dead for more than a year has been found in a chair in front of his television, which was still on, authorities said.

Vincenzo Ricardo, 70, apparently died of natural causes, said Dr. Stuart Dawson, Suffolk County’s deputy chief medical examiner.

Police found Ricardo’s body this week when they investigated a report of burst pipes.

The home’s dry air had preserved his features, morgue assistant Jeff Bacchus said.

“You could see his face. He still had hair on his head,” Bacchus said.

Ricardo’s wife died years ago, and he lived alone, Dawson said.

“He hasn’t been heard from in over a year. That’s the part that baffles me,” he said. “Nobody sounded the alarm.”

Neighbors said they had thought Ricardo was in a hospital or nursing home.

“We never thought to check on him,” said neighbor Diane Devon.

Some Friday night

After a hectic week, there's nothing quite so grand as going to a live show. And almost falling asleep during the opening act. Quite seriously. Yawning, putting head on Kbot's shoulder, and struggling to keep awake. Luckily there were friends there who kept me awake.

But then it begins. The inexplicably entertaining Tenacious D show. Their second encore presentation of a cover of "Pinball Wizard" was appropriate. It was a rock opera. Scripted, acted and all. Funny as hell. I couldn't tell where the irony began and ended. And that was ok. Because Jack Black is a round, hairy elf. With a guitar. And Kyle Gass is bald. And funny. And a damned good guitarist.

Otherwise, nothing going on. But that was enough.

And after a troubled night, what's best?

I would say recognition that nothing has miraculously changed. All remains the same. Now some would say that it is more of a relief to wake up and have it all have been a bad dream. I would call them cowards. I don't mind bad reality, because I am the Eternal Optimist that you love to hate. Glass is certainly half full. My mother raised me this way. She gave me the pep talk when I called her from the parking lot at work yesterday. Things always work out for the best. These things happen for a reason.

Actually that is true in a way. Both Kboy and I are very relieved that the owners of the company, hereafter called TC, chose to finally put it out of its misery. They have poured enough soul into it. I am very fond of them, and hate to see the mad scramble continue. They will be fine. So will we. Kboy has had 2 interviews at very good companies where he has an in (in each- one actually very powerful), and stands a good chance of getting employed again soon- just needs to keep panic at bay, not go batshit, and position himself properly. Luckily for him, I am connected to some of the most business-savvy people in the world (no lie- these are The Pros- hereafter referred to as TPs), and they are all pulling for him. Pity he's not in my business- he would be bloody brilliant. But for him it would be a slow and painful death. By inches. And we can't possibly have that.

It was just one of those restless nights, where I was far too keyed up to sleep, despite the lingering effects of the headache. And the deep desire to sleep. Just kept reading my book, and finally slept. But fitfully. Because I kept starting awake with the realization that things have really changed. And at night keeping the fear and anxiety under control requires the strength of ten men. Or something mythic like that.

Anyway, all is reasonably well. And I have to go to work. And Kboy gets to go and play. After making a few calls.

Bootsbaby has a headache

And it's not going away any time soon.

And Kboy just lost his job. No shit.

Good thing there are prospects on the immediate horizon, and that he saw the blow coming. Just sucks though. The entire business closed shop, down the crapper. What kills me a little bit inside is that I spent 2 years there too. Blood of my blood, in a way. We all tried very hard. And saying goodbye is harder than I thought the second time around.

There you have it. Monday in hell. Welcome. Just take your shoes off at the door- we have beige carpets.

I believe that hell is all beige. Because beige isn't a real color.

Getting the blockage out...

There are times when a girl just has to get her head out of her ass, and get stuff done. Been overwhelmed by ennui lately, and need to overcome.

First step, give the relatives my fucking new address. I have been a very bad girl. Only one person outside of the group who helped us move knows where the hell I live. And my mother is getting sadder by the day. Girls who make their mothers sad are destined to go to hell. It's in writing somewhere, and no doubt I signed the contract.

Second step, get coffee to kill the nasty headache I woke up with- slept in too late and didn't dose at the proper time. It hurts. It will go away, though.

Third step, unpack some more shit. Sort and throw away at least a third of it. Because there is only so much crap that needs to be carried around from house to house across the blasted country. I am finding cleaning supplies from our apartment in Tempe, for Christ's sake! That was 9 years ago. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Fourth step, give Kboy a haircut. He looks like a beatnik. He calls it the preliminary BeeGee stage. If his hair gets any longer, it gets puffy and very wavy. Looks kind of girly. He hates it. I think it's cute as hell, but get vetoed every time. Doesn't help that we're exactly the same height, etc. and get mistaken for lesbians from a distance when he gets shaggy hair. It has happened more than once. Probably inflicts more damage on the boy than he cares to admit.

Fifth step, continue to finish the stack of half-read books that I found in a box. There were exactly five of them, making this the appropriate step. I finished one yesterday. Am diligently working on another. Not that I didn't enjoy them. They just got replaced by something more pressing at the time- usually from the library, with a deadline attached. Now I need to finish and move on.

Sixth step, get more coffee...All right, that's much better.

Seventh step- start killing off the list of crap that needs to be done around the house. I emailed it to myself last week. Because it was bugging me and I could forget about it once I mailed it off. Now to dig it out and do something.

I don't feel like overloading the circuitry (like the computer talk???) and listing any more things. This is sufficient.

Going to go finish my coffee and then cut some hair. And call the relatives and give them address aplenty.

Some maintenance required

So I have just been worn out. More than the usual I am tired because work is draining kind of worn out. More like sustaining the whole illusion is getting to me.

About the illusion. Seems that people who don't come here and connect the dots think I'm about the most positive and calm person in existence. Seems that someone at work said she is amazed at how very calm I always remain. Seems that I keep the rage and everything else buried pretty well, then. Because it's bullshit. Smoke and mirrors.

This is a place where I whine almost constantly. Because it has to happen somewhere. But seriously, there is more. Much more that I want to say. But I can't. I have so much invested in self-censure. Protection. Lack of inclination to debate the point. Not wanting to expose a certain opinion and have it broadcast more widely. Too many people know me. Not enough anonymity. There has been a strong temptation to take it all underground- hide out in the blog land and never come back. Because out there I could say all kinds of shit and no one would connect it to me.

But I don't do it. Just like I never was one of those people who just took off on a Friday evening and drove into the mountains. That was Kboy. I just buried myself in books. Took my mind, not my body elsewhere.

And I still don't do it. Too attached to the world I've created right bloody here. Because even if I have to edit, it seems worthwhile to share with people who actually exist in my life. Not just the strangers, and fellow travelers.

And see-I've put my famous positive spin on it. Because that is the way I appear to roll. And it's fuck-all exhausting. But it is just built in. Like the kitchen cabinets. Even comes with a spice rack. Which doesn't properly fit the larger bottles of spices- very disappointing, that.

Maybe I'll just start a porno blog on the side, or something. Something that no one expects. And let it be that. But porno doesn't move me. Not the way that writing about things that matter to me does. Now that is one hell of an obvious statement. And I'm turning into an idiot on the spot. Time for more coffee. And some tv. Sweet tv, eases the pain of the reflection.

Coming up for air

And finally sanity is starting to settle in. Not only do I know where all of my shoes are (even in the same room), know where the plates will live, and am starting to think about cooking outside the microwave, but I've also gotten a handle on the malaise.

All it took was just getting over the abject feeling of total lack of control over everything. And that happened only because I focused on feeling ill-treated at work. When I'm not. It was just a stupid self-generated mind game. Which I am over, at least temporarily.

Other than that, nothing new to report, except to say that it appears that NASA doesn't have psychological profiles on the astronauts. Must not be important. Or it was part of the last round of budget cuts.

That's all I really have to say. Baby steps and all. Just give me a good night's sleep (over 3 hours) tonight, and I'll be golden.

And there is blockage

Of the writing variety. Just can't do it. Just can't think of diddly squat to say. Nothing. Zip.

Pisses me off.

Gonna go and try and think of something. Anything. Because it appears that I have hit a creativity nadir. And I don't think I like it very much.

Technical issues resolved

Life is on the upswing, I figgur.

We are getting things together. And unpacking. I still haven't found some of my kitchen stuff. Kind of important stuff when it comes to actually cooking...but it will happen.

I'm looking out the window at the sun rising over the Cascades. Yes, that view that I didn't know we had. Big trees in the middle of it, but I can cope with that. Trees are good. Until the next big wind storm and said trees knock out our power for a week. It can happen. Or so I'm told.

Nothing else to report here. Just gotta go get ready for the killer 10 minute commute. God, I hope Kbot doesn't read this- he's probably getting kind of steamed about his drive...and I shouldn't rub it in. He's been quite a trouper with this move and all. Gets to ride his motorcycle with his buddy into the city. Kind of a play date, as I see it. The little ruffians.