"end, begin, all the same.

Big change. Sometimes good, sometimes bad." -- Augrah, The Dark Crystal

I love that movie.

Here we are, folks, at that point again. Humans are really into this boundary thing -- end, begin, here, there, mine yours theirs ours in out now then near far blah blah blah.

But it give us something to do.

So:

there are a few things about me that I am working on changing/learning/figuring out. I am seeing 30 on the horizon and moving fast. I am learing all about the anecdote that says you might as well do it now because if you don't, it won't get done, and you will be the same age if you do as if you don't.

Age.

I have become accustomed through most of my life to being the oldest in my social group. There are a couple of folks I hang around with that are older than me, but for the most part, I'm the elder. And now I am bearing down upon yet another landmark/milestone. I don't know how I feel about it, or should feel about it, or if I really ought to pay any attention to it at all.

Indecision.

A continuing trait throughout my life: the inability to make a decision. Or to stick with said decision, once made. I admire those folks who can come to a conclusion /pick something/ answer questions in a timely fashion and then make these things work for them. I have the horrible need to be right in my choices, even when there really is no right to be had.

Personality.

I have noticed that my Leo traits are beginning to truly blossom, now that I am much more secure in my self, my life; more safe. Mucho kudos to my best friend and dream guardian, Luigi. He has made a safe place in my life for me to really find out who and how I am and to be that person. I'm not really sure about some of the things about me, though.
Bossiness, for example. I am really becoming a pushy wench, and while I try to temper it with smiles and laughter, it doesn't change the fact. It's ok at work, I guess, because somebody has to lead/direct the team, point them in the right direction etc.; and they generally follow my direction. I don't have any more power than they do, nor even more responsiblity. I guess I just see it as a "somebody has to do it" situation, and as long as nobody complains I guess it works. What else:
I am more -- direct? Open? Public? Maybe comfortable. I am coming to grips with my physical self and being more relaxed about it. I'm not totally convinced that this is always a good thing. However, it could be that I am feeling my lack of sense of style -- this is affected distinctly by my lack of funding for wardrobe, I am sure. I have been ruled by my need to be comfortable instead of fashionable for years; now, I am doubting the wisdom of that trend and trying to make the twain meet.

Goals.

I am beginning to understand the idea of a career and a life plan. The question "where do you see yourself in five years" suddenly makes sense. I don't know that I actually have an answer yet (see "Indecision" above) but I get the point in it; I feel the movement of time.
So what do I want to do in my life?
Write.
Paint.
Maybe do the family thing; I'm not sure about that, it's pretty scary.
See the ocean again.
Own a house.
Make a cloak.
Sew a quilt.
Exercise more.
Get all those pictures scanned and/or into albums.
Write letters. Not email, but actual pen and paper letters. And regularly.
Keep a tidy and welcoming home. (Emphasis on the keep, there.)
There are many more, but I forget them on a regular basis.

Consistency.

I want to start doing a thing and continue it in a regular fashion. This applies to almost everything in my life right now. I am so terrible bad about beginning a thing and leaving off partway through.


I suppose that is more than enough for right now.

Happy New Year.

#100

Post # 99

Ok.
Had dinner with some of the webring folks (see just about everyone else's blogs for details) and there were photos taken. Red has a couple posted if you want to see. Ninsi's engagment pendant is truly lovely, it was nice to meet Red in person, got to see Zero and girlfriend again (he looked and acted like he felt pretty good) also got to see the Squid, and I am so going to have to look for one of those hats. You can see it in the group shot on Red's page.
We were invited to go along to Shreveport for the NYE festivities, but we're not going to go, after all. Sorry folks.


That's about all I wanted to say right now. There's more for tomorrow.

get a clue

It's damn near impossible to compete with the wedding noise; therefore, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?

So:

hey, Phlome. (/Ninsi)

You want to know why nobody has voted for the April 4, 2006 option?
'Cause it's on a damn Tuesday. That's why. A Friday, yeah. A Saturday, woot.
but a Tuesday??

Come on.

Really.

Aside from that, I think early April is lovely. So, how about, like, April 7? 8? 14?

Think about it.


Advice dispensed, I return to the Legends of Symphonia, which is currently keeping me from my sleeping for the next few days. I really dig the game, but it's a bit of a bitch trying to run it without the manual. Sigh.

saturday mornings

they used to be all about all the cereal you could eat (or get away with) and cartoons until the parents insisted you go outside or clean your room or whatever.

But now...
I don't like the cartoons that were on the last time I tried to watch them; and anymore I am still awake at the cartoon hour as opposed to getting up. And I don't really eat cereal anymore.

But I am thinking about ressurecting this ritual -- and if I don't like what is available on tv, I'll just have to find the old faithfuls -- on dvd, vhs, or downloaded, if necessary. I long for even the feeling of the more innocent times, when I didn't have demands for my time and money -- hell, when I didn't have money and it didn't matter one lick.

I just want to sit on the couch (yay, the couch! thanks again to M&W) and eat cereal or donuts or whatever and stare at the brightly colored pictures on the screen and run for the bathroom when a commercial interrupts in the third hour of watching. And after that, I may go back to bed.


what is/was your favorite cartoon?

"C-O-F-F-E-E,

coffee is not for me..."
what a lie this has become. Granted, I only drink my own, probably crappy, brew; but when I drink it, I drink a lot of it. I'm drinking some right now. I wonder why it tastes so different when you reheat it?...
I also don't drink it straight. I doctor mine: the favorite trick is to add hot chocolate mix -- this is called "coffee of shitness" around here. We attribute this discovery to the Goat, but I would like to say that I have always added cappucino to my coffee when purchased at QuikTrip. (I love QT, btw. Just so you know.) But she was definetly the one who graced the concoction with the title "coffee of shitness" so I guess I'll let it stand.

I do wish the picture had shown up on the last quiz; I kind of liked it.

I need to change the quote under the title of this page -- any suggestions?
maybe I could put up a poll, if I got enough good ones. Otherwise, I have no burning indecisions I need remedied by the masses, thank you. I'm trying to quit.

if I were a Disney Princess...

You Are Aurora! (A.K.A. Sleeping Beauty.)

Thoughtful and loving. Authority figures probably have been sheltering you all of your life. Thankfully you're a very tranquil person who is content with what life has given you, but secretly you want to know how the outside world works.

Which Disney Princess Are You?


wow and goddamn. don't you just hate it when some stupid piece of pop-pseudopsychology nails you?

just more mental crud.

Ninsi said she was getting spam comments. So I went back through the old posts, just skimming, to see what the comments said. I found a couple that said there were more comments than there really were, don't know what's up with that, but no spam comments. huh.
I also noticed that the last post was #70.
Ick. I hate this week. It makes me feel restless.
However, I have been able to do things at my table lately, and as I have actually been accomplishing things, I feel very satisfied about it.
I have no quiz to post, no list, no jokes. I'm just tired right now. Run down. Battery low.
The Lady W and Lord M gave us their old couch. Luigi and Lord M carried it down the street and it was a sonovabitch getting it into the apartment because of the way the apt is laid out. But it is tremendously comfortable, and Danger Cat has already claimed one corner as hers.

ok, I'm done.

Tony

Last Sun. we took in Dr. Nick's cat, Tony. He has another one, Mina, but she's gone to live with mom until he can get his own place.
The reason we took Tony is that Dr. Nick moved in with his friend J, and J's gf, K. K decided that she wanted her own cat, therefore Dr. Nick could not bring his. He wasn't happy about this, but that's not the story here.
So we get the cat.
You remember that we have a little cat ourselves, Danger Cat?
She was not happy.
Of course, that could have a bit to do with the fact that the first thing we did when we brought Tony in was to put flea drops on the necks of both cats, and that always makes her pissy. And then there's the whole "who is this in my territory" thing. We were prepared for a few fights, for lots of skulking and growling and hissing. Danger Cat did all the noise making. Tony just found a place to put his enormous ass and stayed there. He's solid black, long fur, yellow eyes. And so amazingly calm... Let me tell you, for such a small creature, she sure can make some big noises. Nowhere near as calm as Tony. But it's kind of hard to be that laid back...
She has gotten used to him, pretty much, and I'm sure the fact that he is so mellow and amazingly calm has a lot to do with it. She would growl and hiss at him, and he would just look at her -- or move. But he didn't really growl back, and he hasn't tried to take over. She told him that my drawing table was hers, goddamit, and he said ok then. The top of the chest by the window, the top of the drawers by the computer desk, and the computer desk itself -- these are his places. He wasn't nasty about it, at all, he just started hanging out there, and she didn't argue.
So today, after I get up off the floor where Luigi had made me a pallet in front of the fireplace, I go into the kitchen to make cinnamon rolls. (Mmmmm, cinnamon rolls....) Tony is having a bite to eat, and DC is sitting in front of the stove, behind him. She has taken to following him around, like she wants to play with him, but he won't really play. Of course, she is like 1/3 his size (no exaggeration.) and younger than he is. But last night, there was about 30 seconds of running chasing play going on. I'm thinking that by the time Dr. Nick comes to take Tony home, Tony and DC will be very good friends and she will be heartbroken when he leaves.

If I can catch them close enough together to get a picture, I will post it so you can see the size difference. But be warned -- Tony will probably just show up as a big black spot, maybe with some eyes in it.

ha ha!

I snuck past the blogstapo and phlome -- I'm not booted from the webring, ha ha ha!
ok, I'll be good.


Guess what I did for Thanksgiving.
go on, guess.

Ready?

Nothing.
that's right, I did nothing. I stayed up until noon, then slept until seven. It was good. Since then, we have not left the apt, nor have we put on proper clothes. We have been grazing on the spiral cut ham that we bought at 4 am on Thurs. and extra sharp cheese and these rolls that came in one big wheel... it is good. Right now, Luigi is building a nice little fire in the fireplace, and I think we will just lie around, read some books, maybe sleep some more... this is my idea of a holiday. No stress, good grazing foods, just a call or two between family members. No dressing up, no stressful cooking frenzy, no having to be places or do things. Just relaxing.

And, just like everyone else:
What I am thankful for.

• The ability to walk under my own power, without difficulty or pain. This is a great pleasure to me.
• a decent job. not the best, but definetly not the worst.
• good friends.
• family.
• Danger Cat.
• My best friend, my boyfriend -- Luigi.
• My storm-colored car, Fiona.
• decent hair.
• reasonably good skin.
• Smarties.
• Chocolate.
• Margaritas.
• graham crackers.
• seasons.
• Futurama.
• Boondock Saints, etc...
• Roe Vs. Wade
• The right to assemble
• Freedom of speech
• internet access
• my table! (oh, my table...)
• pens and paper (mmm, office supplies....)
• books and books and books
• warm blankets
• good socks
• the extra weight I carry, which means that I have plenty of food all the time
• clean, drinkable running water
• the fact that as a woman, I can vote and work and hold my own money and property; continue in this vein...
• good genes, that gave me a good strong body
• chrysanthemums

I also think that if you haven't already, you should check out Red's page and the poem/list she has there. I think she's got it right.

ok, I guess that's enough for now. I'll try to get back to this later. Phlome, thanks for missing me this time around. I'll be good.

mmmmmm...

yes! yes, ok, I'm posting!
before anyone gets their underwear in a wad, I'm posting.

rain, rain, rain, rain;
some that is like real rain rain and some that is good splattery sprinkling
not much sun, grey skies and cloudy
makes for good sleeping, which means it will stop all this once I get a chance to sleep.

working lots, thanks.
just got the biggest paycheck I've ever recieved to date. Love it; too damn bad it's all accounted for already (if I am good and pay things like I should.)

Not sure how I feel about the holidays being so frikken close, again;
not sure how I feel about not having the little sister here for stuff-your-face-and-fall-down day;
Not sure how I feel about much except more sleep, please, and lots more money for much less effort.

there you go. nice quick, short post.
If you're very very good, and I feel up to it, I may do it again in a much shorter amount of time than the last.

No, really --

I seriously had like three things I was going to blog about, none of which I can remember now. And seriously, they were important/good topics. Damn.

So, here's some mental junk for you.


I have never been one of those girls that wears makeup or does stuff with their hair everyday. I don't even do it "often". It's random and rare, usually reserved for very special occasions or when I just damn feel like it. Because sometimes I do feel like it. My mother always insisted, and still does, that when you feel - crappy - you should do the following:
1. wash your face (or have a bath, depending on time and inclination. )
2. eat something.
3. have a nap.

Sometimes it also helps to brush the hair; I have noticed that on the weekends, if I don't brush my hair I just can't get into the day.
So there's the makeup thing. My oldest sister works for MK, not as a MK lady but she goes to Dallas twice a year for like a month to work the behind-the-scenes part of the big conventions where they give away the fur coats, diamond rings and pink Cadillacs. She always comes home with bags and shirts and other stuff -- along with, of course, the latest "product", as they say. Cleansers, lotions, lipstick eyeshadow blush perfume mascara -- whatever is new, this time around.
So I apparently always have the newest colors, the hippest product. And I don't wear any of it, really. I do love the little perfume pendant, and I like the perfume when it is dispensed one tiny drop at a time; but I recently sorted out my collection of makeup and I still have a huge quantity for someone that wears it erratically. And I'm never really sure what colors actually look good on me, or how to figure this out. Makeup is too expensive to just *buy* random articles, just to try. I'd rather spend the money on books, or pens and paper, or Cheetos or something...
I apparently also have good hair. I don't know about this. It's curly and wild and I would rather it be much less curly and much much smoother and softer and tamer. I would so prefer some cute, easily maintained/manicured housecat haircut to the wild lion mane that I have. Add to this the fact that I work in a factory, and therefore it is either braided or wound into a bun, and we have me wanting to shave my head. Again. It's something that I think about more the less I want to do things with my hair. All of my sisters -- and my mom, I do believe -- have shaved their heads at one point or another. And they all look great. I don't think I can pull it off. I guess I am just too feminine, if only in my own mind. I like to think that I am classy/classically beautiful; but again, it could easily be in my own mind.

OH!
THAT was one of the things I wanted to talk about.
Over the weekend, I got called "CUTE". I don't recall ever being "cute". I've been "pretty" often and for a long while. I am occasionally "beautiful", but it's hard to take seriously. I don't think I've ever been "gorgeous", but that also is incredibly hard to take seriously. But anyway--
I was at a party, and was outside on the back porch where all the smokers were, and The God of Biscuits, etc. made some comments about the way my family is about something, I forget what -- and I drew myself up and put my hands on my hips in preparation to defend my clan, and the Goat burst out with "(Sleepwalker), you are so CUTE!"
( wtf? )
I was totally distracted from my defensive posture.
(Cute?
Where the hell did that come from?)
I have since then been wrestling with this idea. Cute how? Why not sexy, of alluring, or - something, I don't know. Why cute?
I asked Luigi about this, and he said it was something about how I moved when I went from relaxed and neutral to (I thought) imperious and righteous. The phrase "impertinent and saucy wench" was used.
again:
wtf?
Did I miss something?
I asked him again, the next day, and he said it also had to do with the fact that everyone knew that I wasn't really mad, so it was cute.

I'm still not sure I get it.
I have absolutely no idea what the movement was that provoked this response. I do this often, making a noise or a gesture that is totally non-reproduceable but is apparently very entertaining to whoever I am with.



Ok.
I think that's probably enough crap for today.
We'll try it again later.

saturday.

it is, again.

The nation has voted, the regime continues. I am sure that I don't have to say anything else, as you all feel me on this... and if you don't, then you don't want to hear it anyway.

Blech.

I'm down for moving to Mexico and building our own floating islands like that one guy did...

aside from that, the cold weather has arrived. The days are still kind of nice and warm, but the nights are becoming decidedly nippy.

And Christmas is sweeping the nation like a bad social disease. Thanksgiving isn't even "Christmas, part 1" anymore. It's more like a day of rest right before the madness truly begins.



By the way, before anyone tries to accuse me of being insensitive or uncaring about our poor Zero, let me just say that I do think about him every day, and I worry too, and if my opinion counted for anything, I would tell him to NOT get chemo, and go for the surgery thank you very much. but I haven't been asked, and as he plans to get second opinions, I guess all I can do is think about him just like the rest of you that can't reach him right now.
Good luck, man. You're on my worry list.

Ok.

Maybe someday I will dust off the soapbox and tell you exactly why I am so truly frightened about the next four years. But I don't have the strength or the time, and I can't guarantee that I would do a reasonable job.
Just remember that thanks to the "Patriot" Act, every (and I mean EVERY) phone in the country is subject to tapping, without notice or permission. That's right, folks; not just the public pay phones -- your home land lines and your private cell phones as well. Think about it. Good old Uncle Sam is turning into Big Brother Bush. Or maybe he already has.

Knats, I don't want any comments about the tone of my post. I can't do happy chirpy wacky right now, so deal. :P

Have a good weekend.

the tuesday usual

just so you folks officially know, if you hadn't noticed, I tend to post on the mornings of Tuesday and Friday. This is because they are the ends of the first and last day of my work week. When I work overtime, it moves to Saturday morning.
Just so you know.
also:

NINSI. If you are going to invite me/us to ride down with you or do visity things WOULD YOU PLEASE CALL. Neither one of us checks the blog regularly, and therefore it is an unreliable way to transmit time-sensitive messages. Thank you very much, love you.

that goes for everyone else, as well.

just so you know.

ok.
Halloween:

we live in an apartment, and we were not expecting any trick-or-treaters, but we had one intrepid young vampire knock at the door. I should have given the kid a handfull of candy, but I didn't. we carved pumpkins, an activity I really enjoy, Luigi for the first time. I just don't understand how people can get so pissed off about it... anyway. I'm sure you all share my feelings on the subject, insert your own rant here.
I also cut out a bat shape out of black paper and put brown tissue behind it and put it over the light outside the door; I think it looks really cool. I guess I should take it down to save it.
It rained too much for good trick-or-treating; we went driving around the local neighborhood and only saw kids getting in and out of cars. No wandering hordes of "demonlings" or whatever, only SUVs with popstar wannabes and the store bought witch. It really made me want to get out there and go door to door myself, just for the experience and nostalgia and to show these poor bubble-children how it is to be done, really. Luigi and I decided that it's not really about the candy, honestly. The candy is the excuse for the stomping around in the dark with friends and sometimes family, the dressing up as something you would like to be or something that scares you; the candy is the excuse for the outing.
Think about it:
The real fun of Halloween is the costumes, the activities after darkfall, the people you troupe around with. It's why grownups go to Halloween parties: because it's as close to what we did as kids as we feel like we can get away with. It's why teenagers still go out, whether they go door to door or not: it's the out in the dark with the homies, playing. It's why kids are so excited about Halloween. It's the night you can try out being whatever you want to be, whoever you want to be; it's the night you can be the thing that scares you, and thereby cancel some of the power it has over you.
So maybe next year, I'll dress up as a kid, pretending to be a grown-up, and I'll go door to door with my plastic pumpkin and glowstick and my grinning, laughing, giggling, snickering friends; and we will be the spirit of Halloween past. We will haunt the streets with glee, and stick our tounges out at those who accuse us of being too old for this. They'll just be jealous that we are doing what they know they want to do also. And maybe we will invite them to join us. And maybe the next year they will. And maybe, just maybe, the neighborhood streets on Halloween will be as they should: full of kids of all ages having a damn good time with their friends in the dark. Life is too short, and gets shorter the older you get. So which will you choose: the trick, or the treat?

not so bad now

just finished a craptastic week at work; our shift does pretty good, keeps up with our end of things, sets up pretty nice for the next shift -- but when we come back, it's all undone. Ground zero, start over. Sucks monkey ass. anyway --
Don't worry about me, thanks for those of you sending me bright white (furious!) love, it is appreciated. Maybe someday I'll put it all in here, but for now, let's just say things are in a state of change.
And I guess that's really all I've got for now... Luigi tried to watch the eclipse, but it rained like hell on him for the whole thing. And I was working. Ah well.

Um.

Welcome back, to Wickket, who has been absent for a while.


Everyone have much fun for your Halloween festivities, I have no costume ready as is the normal way of things. I really really really really wish I could get away with Trick-Or-Treating anymore, but I just don't think I can pull it off. Sigh.

aaaaaaaaaaand... I'm done!

I'm here.

but that's all I want to say about it right now.

I'll fill in the details as they happen.

Don't give up on me, I'm in here somewhere. I just don't think I feel much like talking at the moment.

yeah, I had to do it too.

Which Pulp Fiction Character Are You?

You're a hardworking individual enshrouded by an overwhelming sense of mystery, beauty, and intrigue. Though always on the go, you keep focused, helping -- often rapturing -- those you meet. Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.

again, I'm not sure about this one. I guess I just don't test well.

halfway cheating, just for Ninsi

Ok, real quick, just to assure you that I'm still here and kicking:

A few nights ago, I was leaving work, and as I passed the row of cars facing the building I noticed a big dark blue truck with a vanity plate that said:

Can

of

Corn

and I wished for not the first or last time that I had a decent digital camera.

So, just for you, Ninsi. I have no other details on this story and probably will never see that truck again. Mostly because I won't be actively looking. But if Fortune is kind, I will meet the person that owns that truck and I will ask. Just for you.

And now it's time for work. Again. For the 6th day in a row. Sucks for sleep, rocks for the paycheck, you know?

maybe, if I'm feeling ambitious, I'll post over the weekend. Though how I'll be able to compete with the NGfest audio posts and post party posts I don't know. But maybe, maybe, if you're really good (or at least ask nice) I'll post something.

don't read this post

read the one below.

It's Friday. Fuckoff.

I had to remove that last post w/pic; the image was just too damn big. It made the rest of the page act funny. I'm sure you noticed, you masters of perception, you.

We found most of the stuff from the cedar chest; a few things are still unaccounted for. I plan to go look at whatever likely shops I can find in the area, but I don't hold much hope for this.

Aside from that, it is now the middle of freakin' October, and it feels like it. This winter will probably be way too cold and much too long for my liking/comfort. We'll see how I hold up this time.


I have yet another project in the works: this one is in process, and it remains to be seen how far it will actually go. It may have to move and/or metamorphosize, maybe even more than once. It could be a good idea, however. I don't know. I'm rambling now, because it's like 8 in the morning and I'm still awake. Yes, still. Haven't you been paying attention?

There are emails in my inbox from some overly perky member of my graduating class -- it's time for that first damn reunion. 10 years; motherfucker. Wow. Don't remember ever thinking about where I would be at this time, or what I would be doing. Still not sure about it right now, for that matter. That can't be right; I can't be 28; there is now way it has actually been a decade -- a decade!!-- since I graduated.

Goddamn.

I suspect that the profanity ratio of this post is wildly askew; whether there is too much or not enough I cannot divine at this juncture.

Skroot. I'm gointa bed.

Enjoy your Friday, people. I plan to sleep through it.

weeping and wailing

Bemoan the death of a hero
the sighing dirge, unsung in my head
a red cape, forlorn,
lies enshadowed on the floor







Who will be my hero now?

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*


This news almost overshadows the excitement my family is dealing with. The house that that noone is living in right now (FJ, Ninsi, this is the one by the school, remember?) was broken into recently. They took: the antique furniture that we hadn't moved yet because it never occured to us that someone would break into the house and steal the biggest thing they could find. That wasn't all -- in addition to the loss of the genuinely antique desk and attatched hutch, they took the matched lingirie (?) drawers that belonged to the Eldest sister, and mom's cedar chest that Youngest sister had packed all of her very best, Keeping-for-the-rest-of-her-life, leaving-to-whoever-comes-after-me treasures. They also took miscellaneous articles that were in the desk and drawers.
We will, in all likelyhood, never ever see any of these things again.

The sanctity of the house we spent our growing-up time in is broken. The stronghold is overcome; the castle fallen.

Precious articles of family and memory are in the hands of the unrelated and uncaring; pawed over and sorted, treasures discarded as trash.

My family is wounded.


I think it is easier to deal with a death. This is violation, not only of the homestead but of the soul. We don't know how to deal with this; we have no coping skills for this tragedy. Almost anything else, dear God, we could handle better.

Why this?
Why us?

sweet dreams are made of this...

who am I to disagree?

I love that song. Love Annie Lennox, too. anyway.


Been dreaming a lot. In the old way, the way I used to : in color, in great sweeping story lines, in ways that I remember when I wake up. In one way, it's fun; it's nice to dream like that again.
In another way, it's not fun; it's a reminder that I am different than I used to be. I don't know if that is good or bad.



For a very long time, I wanted only to be a writer.
I don't do it very well. I am coming to terms with this.
For at least as long, or maybe longer, I wanted only to be a singer.
I am now out of practice. This is easily remedied, yes; but I don't think that I was ever as good as I thought I was.
For most of my life, I wanted to be a doctor/nurse/healer.
I can't cope with the real life situations of an institutional practitioner. And as for the holistic, energy working herb using type: Apparently, no one requires my aid. Strange, in more than one way.

I can't tell you if I ever really had a firm fix on "what I want to be when I grow up" and I don't seem to be making any headway at this point, either.


I live with the feeling that everyone else is out having adventures and good times and seeing Really Wild Things -- and I am not. I am always in the wrong place at the wrong time for such exciting stories to meet me. I am the collector of stories not my own. And I don't know what to do about it.


I occasionally suffer from what I have come to call the Wilding: when the air is just right, and the wind is blowing, and the moon is full, I feel full of -- static. I itch. I crave speed and action and Really Wild Things -- I feel that if I could just catch the wind in the right way I could fly -- I feel full of electric POWER
with no way to do anything.

Sometimes Luigi takes me walking on the Bridge, and I pace and talk with no direction and sometimes I cry for the fact that I can't cross dimensions and meet my destiny. And then he takes me home and I might pace some more, cry some more; eventually the Wilding is gone and I am so very very tired, completely drained, wrung as a threadbare dishtowel. He puts me to bed, and I curl up with him in The Comfortable Position and maybe cry some more, as he strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. Finally I sleep, empty and hollow, resoundingly so. I wake the next day, and my eyes feel like I have been crying; hot and puffy and a little dry. But the day after is only a little gray around the edges, and I go on.



(weather: cloudy, been raining 70F 88.4% S 9.2mph
moon: waning 31.3% of full
mood: withdrawn.)

still cheating, yes.

I am still posting just enough to stay in the blogring. Cheating? Probably. But I hate --hate-- being left out. So here I am.
I have a friend in the military in Iraq if anyone feels like writing email to people they don't know. Let me know if you want to and I'll send you his address.
um.
it's getting coldish in oklahoma, and I keep forgetting to take a jacket. but that's ok, for right now.
even though everyone else has done it, and is now tired of it ( i guess) I'll now try it too:
send me your questions! I reserve the right to ignore the ones that offend me or I just don't want to answer, but otherwise I will post the question and an answer as soon as I can... maybe this will cause me to post more often. so send me questions! ( i love to be the center of attention, can't you tell?...)
Oh. and as if anyone cared, for some reason Thursdays are the days I get the most views. Weird, huh?

trying to keep up

oh, there are several things I would love to discuss here, but I don't have the time to do more than list them today:

the things I want to tell you about...

• bra sizes
• weekend plans
• religion
• politics
• magic
• pansy plants
• babies
• fairy tales
• future plans
• emotions
• poetry
• potential.

and that's all I have for now.

Sorry.

ok, ok, ok...

I am with QTKatie. I will post when I can, if I no longer meet the requirments for the blogring, I will resign my position with a minimum of grief.

Aside from that : "...the blogstapo wants to read more sleepwalker."
wants to, ladies and gentlemen. Check that out...

So.

I commented on FHB, but I don't officially know email (although I now think that if I was smart I would just check in the comments but anyway) I can't send the proof I have that it is "pushmi-pullyu" and I would use the Hello! program provided by blogger, but I can't make it work right now, and I can't get my tripod/lycos site to work with me either (hate them, hate them, hate them...) so I don't know what to tell you. If someone wants to volunteer to take the image and post it, let me know. I'm tired. Maybe I'll try again later.

But to the blogstapo: thanks. I think. I'll try to be entertaining tomorrow.

May it please the jury...

I must begin with the defense of Ninsi's honor -- indeed, ladies and gentlemen, it was not her leopard print bikini underwear that was on sideways on the night in question. I am sure that whatever print or cut her underwear was that night, it remained properly oriented throughout the proceedings.

Now. On with the show:

It only takes me about 3.5 to 4 hours to make Draco's new digs from my home. This is with all the stopping for traffic lights (on the highway, no less!) and slowing down to go through small towns... I may take a different route next time, with similar results, I'm sure.
There was no spanking for Draco's festivities, probably only because few people had the brain cells functioning to remember or the motor skills to perform said feat. There was much stupidity, however. Mostly of the sitting-quietly-in-a-corner-contendedly-staring-at-the-crowd kind. There was a lot of that, and it was fueled in part by the Old Hippy Network that Draco has managed to fall into. May I say, Wow? Oh yes, I may, and I did. More than once. There was also much drinking. And eventually people filtered out, one by one and two by two, and then there were only five or six of us. And I had the itch in my hands to read cards. I had known this was going to happen, I had looked for my deck before we bailed out of Tulsa -- but they hid from me quite expertly, and remain hidden at this very moment. I ended up borrowing Draco's girlfriend's deck; it worked just fine. The cards were beautiful, if unfamilliar. And I discovered -again- that I don't read well for men, at all. I don't know why. It just doesn't flow as well. And then it was time for unconciousness.
We awoke to a room much brighter than we are accustomed to, and the smell of sausage cooking. We got up after a while, and came out to biscuits and gravy - quite good! And after a bit, we got directions from Draco & Girlfriend, and we went out into the sunshine.
We got a bit lost looking for the tattoo parlor they reccommended, but we weren't in a hurry, so it was ok. We found it, and the guy was good. Then we went across the street to that comforting familiar place, a QT, and discovered that the beer cases were locked. So we just went down the street a very small distance and went into the liquor store that was open. There we bought beer, and the hunt for food was on. We ended up eating at a place whose name is familliar, but I cannot now bring it to mind... we don't have them in Tulsa, anyway. But it was funny, in a way, because we ended up in a place that serves food just about exactly like where Dr. Nick works... the next stop was for lottery tickets, where we discovered that the debit card Luigi had in his wallet did not work. Lucky for us, Dr. Nick was funding this expedition, or we would have been in a sore spot of trouble. Or so we thought. Once we made it back home, we discovered that the functioning card was in my wallet. In my backpack. In the trunk.
Ha ha ha.
Oh well. Dr. Nick said he'd hook me up if he won... he will definetly have the room to spare some. the Jackpot was at about 95 million. That's right, 95 million. How 'bout them apples?
Of course, he still has to win it...
But i can dream. It gives me something to do at work.

Anyway. That's enough for now. We'll see how things are on Wed. or so.

weekend wackiness

ok, so it has been unofficially voted that my timing sucks. Thank you, sir, may I have another?
Ok. Btw, knats, you spoke first about how the men were reacting, and then went to the forklift. I understood that it was supposed to be tounge-in-cheek, but my strange sense of humor prompts me to react to the truth in such statements, mostly because that is the best way to pull people's feet out from under them. They don't expect it, and if you can straight-face it, they just get more confused by the second. Honestly, this doesn't always work the way I want it to. I don't know where I got this habit (probably learned it to deal with assholes in school) and I'm not sure I can shake it. But now you know a stinky little secret of mine.

So: on with the weekendness!

In the later hours of what is officially today, I will be driving to KC with two of my favorite guys, Luigi and Dr. Nick. We are going to see Draco for his birthday stupidity, and I am sure that the stupidity will abound. I do plan to be incoherent at some point, and will probably wake up way too early and have to drive way too long after a work week that lasted an extra ten hours/full day. The things you do for fun when you are young...

Speaking of drunken stupidity when you are young: Ninsi, do you remember the shoopashoo story? "oh my goodness... oh my goodness... why is my underwear on sideways?!?" I still laugh... oh, the leopard print bikini underwear. God, what a night that was.

I'm going to go and have my shower now, and in about 1.5 or 2 hours, I am going to take the car for an oil change, and then, maybe, I will sleep...

and in honor of Draco, I leave you with these words:

Dirty deeds, done with sheep;
Dirty deeds, done with sheep;
Dirty deeds, and they're done with sheep...

bird brained, part 2

and if the last one wasn't enough, here's more:


-----------------------------------------
Sparrow
2.

What is the death of a sparrow?
To most, it is nothing, a non-registering event that occurs without their knowledge or interaction. It is not a thing to think about, or worry over.
But sometimes the death of a sparrow is mor than that. Sometimes it impinges upon our reality in a manner that we cannot ignore. It touches something in us that we can't quite identify.
A sparrow is not food - it is much too small for humans to bother with, really. It is not (normally) a pet; there is no real emotional attatchment in either direction. It is not a predator - again, it is much too small and not near vicious enough.
So why do we feel bad when we watch one die? Why this sense of loss; why do we mourn a tiny bird that is neither friend nor food nor foe?
Perhaps because they are so small. Despite their size, they are full of life, of energy. They are a part of our world whether we are conciously aware of them or not. And maybe it is because to witness the death of something so small and yet so alive, so daring, is incredibly intimate. It is so small, a sparrow, yet the look in its gleaming eye connects with you in such a large way. You feel as though you should protect this tiny feathery life force, that it is daring you to do other wise.
There are so many sparrows in the world, and they seem so happy to stay out of our way and to catch the crumbs that we leave in our wake, as if there is no other purpose for us in their world.

bird brained

ok, kids, you've been hanging around for long enough so I have some personal writing to share with you. ("Personal" as in "I wrote it my very own self." )
There are a couple of pieces in this bit, and I'll put them up one at a time.
Feel free to comment.


-------------------------------------
Sparrow
1.

One day, about an hour before lunch, someone found the little bird. It was a sparrow, not quite ready to fly away on its own. It was just in the floor, someone said, I almost ran over it.
We work in a factory: it is big, and noisy, with huge bay doors that trailers can back right up to. So it is no real wonder that we have a couple of birds in the building all the time. But we only see the adults, though we know there must be nests with chicks somewhere. But as with most urban wildlife, the resident sparrows go largely unnoticed.
At least, until that day. News of the foundling spread through the plant; by the time lunches were all done the bird had a box, a dish of water, a dish of assorted crumbs, and a makeshift nest. It seemed as though half of the plant had been by to see it, in its box on the table in the break area. For the next few hours, there was always at least one person looking in the box every few minutes. Then the supervisors declared "that is enough, now, really." And for almost an hour, the box went untouched.
And then it was break.
A small croud gathered in the break area, and heads shook, and smiles faded. The bird had died.
It was widely speculated and accepted that the bird had fallen from a nest built high, perhaps even in the rafters, that it had mortally wounded itself somehow in its trip from home to us. Such a fall would surely have caused more than survivable damage to the tiny creature.
The tone of the day changed, for certain, after news of its demise spread. People were more sedate. Heads wagged, tounges clucked, poor little thing became the phrase of the day.
I think that the majority of the workforce was much more gentle in spirit after that, more melancholy; as if we all realized, unanimously, that something wonderful had left our world.

one more thing...

by the way, just in case you were wondering:




You're Lili St. Cyr!

What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
brought to you by Quizzilla

thinking

I often have the urge to write, now, mostly in the blog; but I guess I should work with what I have.

Lists I need to make:

• things I want to recieve as gifts
• things I just want
• things I want to do
• words I like
• people I miss
• people I should call
• places I want to go
• books I should read
• story ideas

um. what else?

• things I should remember
• letters I should write
• art ideas
• things I like about me
• things I want to change; and how to change them
• things I should just let go of, already...
• things I should tell my mom when she calls

I guess that's it, for now. I'm sorry I don't have anything better to say.

but this does sort of satisfy my need for wordcraft, I think.

so.

frankenbike

( I wrote this last week, and then forgot to post it... so here you go.)

so, a couple of months ago (has it been that long already?) we bought a bike for Luigi so he would have some mobility, because we have one car and it takes me to work which is about 30 miles away. Ok, 25.
Anyway.
I thought a bike was a great idea. I wanted one too.
So we bought the one that was sitting outside the neighbor's door since we moved in, because she was moving out.
Um. Just so you folks know, a bike should not be left outside in the weather for long periods of time.
Yeah.
So, essentially, I got a frame and tires. And the tires need air.
Well.
My brother, the amazing Dr. Nick, gave me his old bike. It just needed a little work.
I finally got around to doing that work yesterday (Friday) and thought "huh. all this needed was brake pads, and some tightening... I guess he just wanted a new bike."
Nope. I should have known that things are never that easy.
Anybody want to guess what I missed?
Anyone?
I'll just tell you -- it was missing a pedal.
And not just the pedal, the whole arm of the thing. As in there was nothing on that side of the gears, just the other end of the bolt that holds the whole thing together.
So I called him and said "what the hell. Am I just a tard? Is this thing at your place? Is it here and I just can't see it?"
And he said "You're a tard." And explained to me the whole story, which sounded familliar as soon as I heard it, but refused to voluntarily come to mind.
What to do?
Take the needed part off of the other bike. Duh.
We had to get the Hammer of Kneecapping after it, but it was nice outside, and I wanted very badly to ride with my Luigi. I haven't ridden a bike in years (and I mean more than 10) and I thought this sounded fabulous.
A bit of banging later, and the pedal arm was off of one and onto the other. Oh yeah, I love being a chick with glittery nail polish using tools! I just love it...
And a very short while later, we were off.
We rode around in the neighborhood behind the complex, found the park in the area, and I discovered that when I put the seat back on the bike I didn't tighten it enough. So it was uncomfortable, and now -- now, there is a part of my sitting-upon that is sore. I didn't realize that it could be sore. I've got bountiful padding -- bones most certainly should not be trying to poke through in that region. Bones should not even be thought about in that region.
However, the padding is obviously not distributed in a helpful manner for this difficulty.
This will not deter me. I still have tools. The seat has been readjusted, and tightened 'till it just about squeaked. I will ride again.
Just maybe not today.
Or tomorrow.
Definetly Monday, as it is a holiday, and I am not working. (Yay, for paid holidays!)
And someday, I will move the brakes, and the shifters, and the gears, to the other frame and tires -- and, of course, the other pedal arm. As I have three, and not four. And then, I will have a crossbreed bike. And as long as I remember to tighten the seat mount, and the pedal bolt, we will get along fine. Until I try to hop a curb and it tries to kill me.
But when that happens, I will tell you, and we will all laugh.
Until then...

Things I should have said at the time:

No.

Yes.

No.

Egg.

No.

Why?

Happiness.

No.

I'm sorry.

Your opinion means nothing to me.

I love you.

Eat dirt.

No.

Thursday.

Yes.

(nothing)

You're a jerk.

Hello.

No.

I refuse to play your stupid little games.

Bite me.

Wait.

Liar.

I like you.

No.

(anything)

Why?

No, you didn't.

I don't know.

No.

Help me.

No.

Yes.

No.

very much like a train wreck, thank you.

(warning! this is a long post. I got carried away.)

I couldn't look away. I couldn't stop reading. Even when I thought: surely, my eyes will begin to bleed if I look at one more entry; I simply could not look away.
And so, I must share the pain.
But I warn you, it will make you hate people who have children and insist on doing strange things in the process of naming said children.

You have been warned.

All I could think was: Oh, sweet shit. Over and over, that was the only thing escaping through the horrified immobility in my brain. Oh, sweet shit. (Thank you, Luigi, for the phrase.)

Sometime after I managed to wrench myself away from the carnage, I began to think about the problem these people were having. They wanted to name their children something interesting, or different, or (heaven defend us ) unique. The thing that creates the maddening, screaming irony is that these are probably the people who buy things advertised because everyone "needs" (wants/deserves/has) one. They are the cookie cutter masses, defined by the garbage media, up to their ears in consumer crap and hollow inside their designer shells. I believe they are subconsiously trying to save their children from the hell they (the parents) find they have created for themselves. I also believe that by tying such albatrosses around the necks of their children, they are consigning them to the exact hell they think they are trying to save them from.
Honestly, how many girls have you met in the last few years carrying around the moniker "McKenzie" in whatever incarnation her parents dreamed up for her? Or "Tyler"? I can think of at least 5 specific cases. And I don't know that many kids.
It is terrifying, my people. I flinch when I meet some poor child with a mangled name.

This thought has just occured to me: Names used to mean things; people were given names to define them, to give them attributes -- names used to be things of power, in one way or another. What happens to that attribute, that power, when the name is deliberately malformed? How could it possibly retain any of its former influence, when the substance is so tampered with? And I am not talking about simple linguistic evolution. I am talking about deliberate and forced mutation; and in ever increasing cases, parents are outright making shit up. I'm not wholly aginst this, mind you. I have met some truly interesting people with names that never existed before them. (I love the name Ijah. She is just as fabulous as you think she is, by the way.)
I am against: the syncophantic and emerging prevalence of the letters K, Y, and doubled Ns; phonetic spellings; product names; mismatching ethinic names and babies (in truly offensive manners, only. Noone who is Irish should be named "Omar".) Pretentious spellings of simple names; adding letters or syllables or (gods forbid) punctuation; giving boy's names to girls, and vice versa...
Oh, hell. Just go look at it for yourself. But rig some kind of electric shock, or set your computer to spontaneously combust, to save yourselves from the horror.

You have been warned.

Oh, great and powerful Phlome...

Please do not remove me from the webring for the mere fact that I am mortal and thereby falliable; that and I simply have more things than time right now...

So, you folks had stuff to say about the last two posts. Right on. Unfortunately, just as I am sure you are getting into a groove of commenting on this blog, I am flinging my wrench of monkeyness into the works, bringing the conversation to a screaming halt.
In other words, this post probably won't be as interesting.

this week has come and gone, and it has had its moments.
I am frustrated and sad about something -- why is it that really really good people will end up losing their job before the jerk that nobody really likes and would be relieved to see hit the door? I am struggling with this right now. The cowboy coworker is still working, and Pretzel is not. What the hell. Pretzel deserves every word of praise I sing in his name, and I mean that. He is one of those few fine folks who works hard, is fun to be around, and always holds up his end of the stick.
The cowboy, however, is not.
There are so many things that I have witnessed, and heard, that I just don't get why he is still working there. I have been promised a team meeting next week, by the man himself (my boss) and so maybe I'll bite the bullet, take one for the team, and out him. I know that I am going to dishonor myself in the doing. And I feel bad, some times, because I know he needs this job. (But if he needs this job, shouldn't he act like it? If I hear him say "I don't care" one more time when it's something that applies to his job, I may scream...) I don't know. I probably won't say anything. Unless he says something first. And if he does, then I know I'll have the rest of the team on my side.
But I'm still not happy about it.

question:

(and this is not a joke, this is an honest question.)

What whappens when a cemetery is full?

Honestly, what do the people who own the place do when all the plots are sold, and full?

Anyone who can give me a good answer gets... um, I don't know, I'll think of a prize.

free enterprise

there was one day I was talking with my old boss (back when I was Utility and had the time/excuse to stand around and chat with him) and he brought up a point that I still think about.
Stay with me, I'm not sure how well I can express this thought set.

1) Assume that prostitution is legal.
2) Wouldn't this then open the way for a new set of small, woman-owned businesses -- since the woman would no longer need a pimp or any kind of go-between, other than advertising; and is now, in herself, a business?
3) Would this mean that a woman could then apply for a small-business loan, to set up said business?
4) Why shouldn't a woman be able to provide sexual services in exchange for money -- a woman's body is her own; shouldn't she be able to use it as she sees fit?


etc, etc, etc...

you get the point.

Think about this for a while.

Why is prostitution illegal?

Why should it not be legal?

Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. I'm sure I'll bring this up again.

save/continue?

despite the apparent lack of interest from the public, I return, and I post. I know you people are out there, and you at least look in. So there -- you've been caught peeking, you might as well say hello.
Not that I am famous for commenting on other weblogs, mind you. I am reminded of a piece of wisdom that says : the things we dislike the most about other people are the things we see in ourselves.
Or something very similar.
This bit of information lives in the top of my mind, more often than I care to admit. And I find it to be true: the things that piss me off about other people the most are also things that I am ashamed to find in myself.
Mostly.
There are things that are exceptions to this rule, of course -- I don't spend free time stuffing firecrackers into the orifi of canines, and I don't make a habit of knocking over old ladies for their purses, that sort of thing.
But I'm not perfect.
Far from it.
But with this in mind, I do try to cut other people slack.
Sometimes it doesn't work.
Some people are just damn stupid.
Some are simply mean.
I try to leave these people to their own sad little existences as often as possible. I have enough crap to deal with in my own life. I don't need their bad mood or inability to perform simple tasks cluttering up my day. I do enough of that on my own.
So.
I suppose that the point of this particular waste of your time is: Give other people the benefit of the doubt. Give them a smile, see if they smile back. Be nice.
And leave me some comments.

poetry and rage

Life is just a whim of several billion cells to be you for a while.
-- anonymous quote from someone else's blog.

but I like it.




"Loneliness is worse"
was once said by a friend.
I agreed, but now I find
it is inapplicable.

Being alone is not
the same as loneliness.

Solitude is solidity,
and my life stands on its own.

again, I like it.
this person is 17, I think, and I am already jealous of her life. But I am jealous of a great many people, so it loses intensity and meaning after a while.


But I have to tell you this story:
I used to be jealous of Brittany Spears, in a horrible way.
Now I just hate her.
when I heard that song she wrote about "she's so pretty, she's a star, but she cries cries cries all the time..." blah blah blah "then why do these tears come at night?"
when I heard that, my jealousy transformed into white hot seething rage of molten steel. I almost wrecked my car when I realized what those lyrics were.
because all I can think is :bitch, if it sucks so fucking bad to be the hottest thing since i don't know who and make more money than trump right now and have half of the male population drool over you and 95% of the teenageish female population idolize you then FUCKING QUIT.

I have to go now before I melt the computer with my mind.

I've been gone, but now I'm back -- and this post makes up for the absence.

ok. I know it's been a while since I posted anything. But sometimes life is just like that.

Brian talked about the weather, recently. I can't believe he beat me to it, but that's what happens when you take time off...
He's right, you know. It is fucking August, and the temperature as I write this is 81 degrees. At 5:30 in the afternoon, in Oklahoma. It should be fucking 101 or so, with 95% humidity if we are lucky, resulting in a heat index of "furnace of hell" or some equally applicable tagline. But instead, it is just pleasantly warm. I think I may even take my easel outside and work on a few things.

--->tangent:
I think about taking the easel outside a lot. I like the idea of painting outside at night, under a streetlight. I'm not sure why I haven't yet. But someday I will.
/tangent


Sera talked about things that make (made) her cry.
I am going to admit, the first time I ever cried at a movie, I was watching... (deep breath, are you ready?) the first Pokemon movie.

I'll let you all laugh and clean your monitors for a moment.

Ready?

Now that you are done, allow me to explain myself.
I had been watching the cartoon in the mornings, mostly because it was on at the time I was getting up, and it was the beginning of the Poke-insanity, before it got totally out of control. So I had the whole background, from the first episode on. I had watched the evolution of the relationship between the characters of Ash and Pikachu. And in the end of the movie, when Ash gets caught in the crossfire and turned into stone, and Pikachu tries so very desperately -- and I mean with all of it's little honest self -- to shock him back into life, refusing to believe that it won't work -- oh, man, I just came undone.
I had never cried at a movie before - ever. But it had to happen sometime, I guess.

The one that got me most recently was Spiderman 2. (everyone has seen this, right? If not, you might want to skip to the next section.) It was that scene where he had gotten the train stopped. When he leaned forward, and the people reached out throught the broken windows and the hands gently held him, I started to tear up. When they crowd-surfed him back through the train, and laid him carefully on the floor, my eyes were brim-full. When they all stood there, silent, and watched him as he came to, and they spoke to him,saying don't worry, you belong to us, and the little kids gave him back his mask saying don't worry, we won't tell; I cried. When Doc Oc showed up and they stood in his way, saying you have to go through us to get him, I cried more.
I'm tearing up now, writing this.

The sense of community is vital to me. And to see Spiderman, who was almost without community, being claimed, cared for, and defended by these people; these people who are essentially the nameless faceless crowd, the ones he risks everything for, all the time;
to see them all acting together in the sake of rescuing the hero the paper vilifies, daily; to see them seeing him and accepting him as the young man, frail and human, instead of the masked superhero, who is ageless and without other identity;
oh, my friends, I wept. Shamelessly, and without inhibition. Luigi, being the wonderful and nearly perfect boyfriend that he is, had napkins ready for me, and just held my hand and petted my head when I leaned on him. He knows I leak, sometimes. And he lets me wipe my eyes (and sometimes my nose) on him, if I need to.

******************************************

ok. I think that perhaps that is enough of that.
on to something else.

Sera also talked about baby elephants. Baby elephants are some of the coolest things ever.

Did you know:

• elephants live in matriarchal communities: the older females teach all the young ones what they need to know about life; they also drive out the males when they reach a certain age, for the protection of the rest of the herd.
• elephants cry.
• if they run across the bones of another elephant, they will drag them to a mud hole, and push them in -- they bury them, folks. Think about that one for a while.
• elephants can make sounds so deep we can't hear them, but that can travel for miles. They can communicate this way. We don't know what they talk about, but we know they talk.
• there are elephants that paint -- they choose the colors, and they hold the brush. And the art they make is better than some stuff I've seen sell.

ok. What next?
OH OH OH ! I can't believe I forgot to tell you!

Pretzel and Goat are getting MARRIED!!

Have I ever told you about how wonderful they are, separately or together? Have I ever told you the story about how they got together? No? get a drink of water, this might take a minute...

They both insisted (separately) that they would never get married -- Pretzel has been married/divorced, she was horrible to him. Goat has seen some hard times and love has not been kind to her either. So when they started hanging out together, we all thought that was great. Nothing serious, they said, we just like each other, think the other is cool. We just nodded, and smiled behind our hands.
Then they decided that they really liked each other, which resulted in those friend conversations with the rest of us about "I really like him/her; does he/she like me; I just don't want to do anything to screw this up;" etc, you all know what I'm talking about. (You've all been on both ends of this conversation, at least once. )
Then, oh my, they decided to date. Gasp. And again, we all just grinned and looked at each other. We all knew that they were falling for each other, completely, and that it was not only ok, it was great.
And then, they decided to move in together. They kept saying, it's nothing really serious, we can just live together, but we all knew how crazy they each were for the other.
When Luigi and I were driving back from Dallas, Goat called us, wanting to know when we would be in town. She said she had something to tell us -- the cat was fine, the apartment was fine , the computer was fine, she just had someting to tell us. We gave her our estimate, and when Luigi hung up, I said, "what's up?" And he said, "they're getting married. " (Have I mentioned how cool my guy is? If I can only get him to guess some lottery numbers like this...)
I said, "what?? " And he said, "that's what she wants to tell us." And I said, "how do you know?" And he said,"Betcha $10 I'm right."
He wanted to call her back and call her on it, but I convinced him to let her tell us in person.
And sure enough, that was it.
They sat on the floor of their apartment with us, glowing, grinning, totally in love, and for that minute, the whole world was set right.
If I was ever going to pick a moment that would prove the chaos theory, and fix everything that was wrong in the world; it would be the moment they looked at each other and they both knew, this is the other half of my heart, my soul, my life. this is the part of me that God made and then sent from me, to grow into another person. this is the person that will make everything, no matter how bad, terrifying or evil, something I can survive. this is the person that I love, above and beyond everything else in the world.
I can only smile, with my whole self, and wish desperately that the rest of us find something near to what they have.

Guilty

Danger Cat is locked in the bathroom, because she decided to pee in the corner of the room we were in. Again. We don't know if she is protesting, or if she's just establishing her dominance and control of her domain, or if she's having a problem, or what her damn problem is.

So I feel like a bad cat momma, because she is crying and scratching and generally being pathetic. But we just can't have this behavior.

So she's stuck in the bathroom, which is where her food dish and water cup (yes, I said cup) live, as well as her litter box, and she does have toys in there. But it means that she is confined against her will, without access to our proximity at her whim.

But I still feel like a bad cat momma. And I guess that technically I am, because she was bad.
Why do people have to feel guilt so strongly?
Does it really serve some function in the evolutionary process, or is this just supposed to be part of what "separates man from beast" or some such?

Because I, for one, have had quite enough of it in my life to date to last the rest of what I plan to live. And then some.

Tra la, tra la

Maybe today won't suck as much. It is possible that the world is not out to get me, but just because they are out to get you doesn't mean they are not after me, too. It seems as if everyone is experiencing technical difficulties lately; here's hoping we get our collective shit together, separately.

Deep breaths, everyone, and think good thoughts.

re: Blogger: kiss my ass

ok, so after I send a note to Blogger support about the problem, I think, "well, I'll just go to the home page and try one more time."
Hey presto! it sends me to the Dashboard page.
So what the hell? Why all the run-around?
Maybe it's my computer.
Maybe it's them.
Either way, it's damn annoying.



In other news:
I just got links put up. If I missed you, comment and remind me, and I'll add you.
And be sure to go see Luigi!

I may someday put up a list of links that are not blogs. But don't expect this anytime soon.
It should be a clue that I gave up and went back to a default premade template. I get frustrated, and pissed off, and just have to do something that works.

I have this idea for an art show (provided, of course, that I 1) make enough relevant pieces to have said show and 2) talk Steve at Living Arts into letting me have a show ) that I would call "The Story of My Life" in which each piece would be an illustration of the recurring themes in my life. I could title them things like "The Story Of My Life: Love" and "The Story Of My Life: Learning" etc...
I think it would be cool. I've got several ideas, already, and a few sketch type things in progress.
So maybe in like 5 years, if I work hard, I could have the show.
And that, too, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of my life.

Blogger: kiss my ass

for some reason, the only way I can post today is through the Blog this! button. Blogger has been giving me shit lately, not letting me in to the site, etc. I don't know if I have done something to piss Blogger off, or if this is a problem on their end, or if this is just more of the shit that is piling on top of me, endlessly. I don't understand why it will let me post like this, which requires me to sign in, and not let me sign in on the regular page.


On a much better note, Luigi has started his own blog!
He is knew to this, but he's feeling interested. Please visit him as well!

Back, post hiatus.

ok. So we're home from Dallas, and have been for almost a week now. I've been having issues with logging in, and life does not always allow for computer time. The comments are now not working, despite my best efforts otherwise, and I can't get the counter back up right now. So the blog is still a bit gimpified, and someday, maybe, it will be what I want it to be. And maybe, someday, I will also be what I want to be. Just as soon as I figure out what that is.

Luigi is giving some serious thought to starting his own blog. So I think we will be working on that...
more, later.

IN DALLAS

Here I am, in Dallas.
We made it, and we have had a good time.

Of course, we didn't get here until almost dawn on Saturday. But Ninsi still let us in. So we went to bed, and got up early (for us) the next day (or really saturday afternoon. But it really isn't tomorrow until after sleep, so...) and we went out. We went to 1st and ten for (breakfast) food, and I had the barbecue sandwich, which was good. Then we drove around in the amazing Dallas traffic, and I was oh-so-very glad that I was not the person driving. We went to "Condom Sense" because, how could I not go? It was interesting, to be short. Then we went to "Condoms to go" because it was near, and again, how could I not?

there is more, but really, I'm still here. So I'll fill you in later.

again, note.

ok,  so it's now looking like we will be able to make it to Dallas; however, we won't arrive until late at night/early in the morning.  This is pretty much ok for our normal time table, but I am really pretty sure that the natives in Dallas won't really appreciate it.
Therefore, Ninsi needs to call me (even though she will end up talking to Luigi) so we can discuss how to work this if it is to work.

And Neko, thanks for the concern.  It's better now. 

And now, for something to laugh at.

Yesterday, Luigi had a really good shower, the kind that really relaxes you and makes you nice and sleepy.  He said, "Man, I'm gonna sleep like a baby."
and I said, "Or like a rock.   Or like a baby rock."
and he said,  " Like a dead baby rock."
I laughed so hard.

Of course, now that it is in text, it looks evil and creepified;  talking about  dead baby rocks on the page makes me feel like I've done something almost unforgivable.

But I swear, it was insanely funny at the time.

So I'm off to bed now.
To sleep like... something.  I don't want to think about it right now.

 
More later.

pbbbbbt.

*NOTE*

I don't think that the trip to Dallas is going to materialize, now. 
Because, life being what it is, we now have to send out more money than we have.
I'm sure you all know what that is like.

Thanks very much for the invitation and the enthusiasm.

Have a nice ... something.

I guess.

 
P.S.
If I don't post for a while, the blogstapo can kiss my ass.  If I don't feel like it, you can't make me and you probably won't want to hear about it anyway.

Leif, in my drinking this weekend, I'll drink a margarita to you.

did you get that email, btw?

Anyway.
Yeah.
I hope that everyone else has a better time than me.
See ya.

And here is a picture of Danger Cat in the box of crackers that has its own funny story. 

And these are Sara's feet. I tried twice to get good pics of her feet, but I kept cutting something out of the photo. argh. 

these are Lady W's feet. she and her friend Sara came over tonight and we talked and played in my art supplies and they drew on each other's feet. 

stream of conciousness

I stole this off of someone else's blog.  but it is very good, so share nice.

by Li-Young Lee
Persimmons
In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet onewill be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down the newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew on the skin, suck it,and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet
all of it, to the heart.

Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down,
I teach her Chinese. Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I've forgotten.
Naked: I've forgotten.
Ni, wo: you me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.

Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn't ripe or sweet, I didn't eat
but watched the other faces.

My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,warm as my face.
Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set them both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang. The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father would stay up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons, swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents' cellar, I rummage, lookingfor something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.
He's so happy that I've come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.
Under some blankets, I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.
He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?
This is persimmons, Father.
Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.
-- Li-Young Lee

 

 

I really like this.  I copy/pasted it, not sure i got the spacing quite right, may the artist forgive my barbaric transgressions.

 
Someone once told me that there is a (chinese?) poem that says something about: there is tea for two "and all my neighbors are barbarians"
I only remember the barbarians part, obviously.   but I like that too.

Every day I have things that I think I should write about, but by the time I get home, to the computer, and finish distracting myself from anything that might be constructive or worthwhile by enviously reading what everyone else has written, it's all gone.   So I guess I'm self-sabotaging, shooting myself in the knee for no other reason than- than what?  I don't know.  Fear?  Of what?  Critisism, maybe.  Crazy ideas of being broke and insane because I gave in and gave my all to the musing siren of words on the page.  Or maybe that's just my o'erweening pride, there.   Being a leo, I can be amazingly smug, even when I'm (what is the word I want? degrading? denigrating?  where is my dictionary?)  myself. 
Gods above and below, what a strange creature I can be.   What a strange creature I am.  Like no other, and yet so familiar you know me without knowing me.
Or do you?
Do I?
What was my point?

Oh yes.
I forget; that was my point. 
Well, sportsfans, today I made a note; so I remember.

Things to bitch about from work:  (note: workspeak is about to commence.  please feel free to ask for definitions/clarifications in the comments.)
1) Ice machines.
we have three out on the floor.  Two in the north break area, right by the lines, and one in the south,  in the midst of finish.  
Today, we had a line for the singular ice machine in the south break area. 
The person in front of me told me that the other two were out.
When she had filled her jug, she headed back to the lines.
I looked at the catch tray beneath the dispensing chute, and gripped my mug very firmly as I viewed the heap of melting ice that threatened to overflow the tray.
What the fuck.
How can I put this into a linear thought pattern?
Quit pouring out your drinking containers, people.  Just put more fucking ice in your fucking cup because you are drinking fucking water, you assholes.  it isn't as though the ice in the machine is colder than the ice in your cup, you idiot fuckwads.  this is why the other two ice machines are out, you empty headed over-paid screw monkeys. 
Good lord. 
It makes me want to throw things, or blow stuff up, or both.
These are the things that will finally shove me over the edge and result in my rebirth as a super villain.

2)  "ROBSTOY"
there is a burgundy Miata (very new looking, too) in the parking lot.
The tags says : ROBSTOY
this makes me think: ROBISANASSHOLE
The plate frame says: God Loves You
This makes me think: "God loves you, but I'm his favorite"   is what Rob is saying with his new-looking burgundy Miata.

When I fall off the edge and go into super villain mode, I will start with ROBSTOY and the explosions will last for days.

Oh, yes, so many things will go up in flames.

But I will resist the call of the evil super genius in my soul.
For my kung fu is strong.

Or something.

3)  the Plad Platypus
(I know that it is normally spelled "plaid".  Wait for it.)
I'm not tremendously fashion conscious, but Plaid is passe,  no?  (stupid american keyboard.  No accent ague.)
Why, then, O God, are so many of the manegement men  wearing it?
We monkeys are convinced it is a plague, first carried by the Plad Platypus.  (this is actually an insult to platypi.  they are wonderful creatures.  the Plad Platypus is not a wonderful creature.)
It has spread to my boss, and to several other radio-wearing males of medium importance.
We have watched the onset of the illness, and it is an illness, for it makes us all ill. 
We find no answer to the disease other than the oh-so-overdue removal of the original carrier.
Unfortunately, the Plad Platypus remains in his position; how, we know not.
His stupidity and intolerable personality are apparently unnoticed by the management above him.  Again, we know not how.
and now you are saying "yes, yes, but why Plad instead of Plaid?  this is all we care about right now."
"Keep your shirt on, and let me read."
My Favorite Little Freak named him, and decided that the referencing phrase should be without the "i" to identify him uniquely.  (does that sentence read well?     --    ok.)  And at the company picnic, he brought the t-shirt he had made that said "Just say no to plad" so that everyone who was in on the joke/silent protest could have a good laugh together.  There was a picture of him with his shirt in the newsletter the next week.   I saved a copy, just for that picture.  It was good.

ok.

next.

 
Stories that I miss because I am going the wrong way:
1) Yesterday on the way home, I noticed that there was a person standing in the middle of the highway (169) on the other side of the dividing wall.  Just standing there, looking in the direction of oncoming traffic.  And there was oncoming traffic.  Not lots of traffic, but it was coming towards him.  And he just stood there.  I didn't see a car broken down nearby, and he wasn't looking on the ground like he lost something.   I thought about exiting and going back to see if I could help him, if he needed a ride or if he knew where/who he was.
But I didn't. 
So I guess now I will never know what that story is. 

Ah, well.

 
2) Today there was fire on the way home.  Again on the same highway, on the same side;  I don't think that I have ever seen feral fire like that.  I have only seen it safely caged, in a corral of wood; or domesticated, in the confines of the fireplace.  ( I like the ideas in that word, fire place.)   I have also seen it huge and roaring, consuming buildings, but that is also a kind of urban animal.
This was small, and feeding on the grass on the side of the highway;
it was translucent, in shades of heat I've never seen;
it was free.
It was completely wild, newborn, and without knowledge of containment.

And I exited to call the fire department to come and put it out.

Does this make me a bad person?  I did nothing about the man in the middle of the road, that noone else might have noticed until they tried very hard not to hit him.  But I took the time to call about a small fire that I knew other people would have reported.   I did nothing to try to protect the man in the road, and I took action to destroy that beautiful fire.  (yeah, that last phrase makes me sound chock full o', doesn't it?)  I feel very conflicted by this set of choices.  I'm not sure what they say about me.  I'm not sure I like the implications.

 

 
I suppose I should have my shower and go to sleep, especially now that Luigi can cuddle again.  I just don't sleep right anymore unless we are nestled together in the "comfortable postion". 

I hope you have enjoyed my stream of conciousness post; it was unintentional, but it was fun. 
Perhaps I will do it again.

we will see.

Thank you for your support.

 

alphabet stuff.

Stolen from Neko, who stole it from Non-Girlfriend.

A ct your age?: I don't know.  How am I supposed to know?  I guess so, since I just act like me.
B orn on what day of the week?: um.  No clue.
C hore you hate?: Not terribly fond of dishes.  Cat box, believe it or not, is kind of ok.  But that's because there's only one, and she's small.
D ad's name?: hah.  this is a story all by its self.
E ssential makeup item?: black mascara, really the only thing I wear IF I wear it.
F avorite actor(s)?:  kevin spacey, johnny depp, Edward Norton, um, Ewan McGregor (I think that's him) Cary Elwes, Mel Brooks, Mandy Patinkin, and more later.
G old or silver?: depends.  what's with it?
H ometown?: Tulsa
I nstruments you play?: I don't play anything anymore.  I used to play the flute to a minimum degree of proficiency; took the obligitory piano lessons for a while; I like the idea of the clarinet and I own one.  but that' s about it. 
K ids?: not the momma!
L iving arrangements?: great apartment with just me, Luigi, Danger Cat and all my stuff. 
M um's name?: Sheila. 
N eed?: money.   and less stuff.  I guess I could sell some of my stuff and get more money.  I'd rather just have money.
O vernight hospital stays?: nope.
P hobias?:  falling!  and, um, something that is not revealing itself right now.  You'd think I'd remember things like this.
Q uote(s) you like?:  "It ain't ignorance that causes all the trouble in the world.  It's the things folks know that ain't so."  -- Mark Twain (courtesy of Uncle)  and  "Time flows like water; Memories are like snow" -- me.  (shameless self promotion.) 
R eligious affiliation?:  inbetween devotions as of now.  also known as a crisis of faith.
S iblings: Four that I am actually related to.  If you count all the friends of the family that have been around long enough to be family, then it grows to like thirty.  Or more.
T ime you wake up?: about 1:30 P.M.  (hence, the sleepwalking title.)
U nique talent?: unique?  nothing is truly uniqe in this world.  and I'm not feeling very talented right now.  Ask again later.
V egetable you refuse to eat? BLACK EYED PEAS.  I will eat almost (I said almost) anything but fucking black eyed peas.
W orst habit?: forgetting.
X -rays you've had?: only dental.  do those count? 
Y ummy food you make?: I make a pretty tasty lemon cake, even if it is someone else's recipie.  But it is damn good. 
Z oo animal you like?:  I like meerkats. 

 
WTF?  I just noticed that there's nothing for J.
So.

J ust wondering?  maybe.

 
there.