Tuesday, May 30, 2006

I'm Alright, I'm Alright

Hi there. I am not maimed or anything, just, sadly, allowing my life to lead me away from the co mputer more than I might normally endure. A brief update?

I went and saw X3 on Friday. I'll say this: Oh. My. God. But I liked it. Tonight I am going to see another movie with my delightful little cousins, Preistess' girls.

My cousin by my great aunt on my mom's side, Not an Angel, graduated from high school this last week too, so I was there for that.

Saturday, Sunday and yesterday were without a doubt the most horrible days at work I could ever have had, as far as customers and co-workers go. I will say there were a few saving graces, but I'll save them for another post.

You might be interested to know I bought a 1937 copy of Gone With the Wind last week too. I've finished it just this morning. As always, the book is far better than the movie. It explains so much more, really. I loved it, too. I've grown fond of scouring used book stores on my days off and looking for new [to me] and interesting books to read.

Has anyone read Ulysses? [By James Joyce] I've had a mind to start it but I am terribly afraid it isnt going to be worth the headache it will be to read it. Someone tell me to stop being a pussy and buckle down, eh?

I'll post again when I get a chance, hopefully with something more interesting than now.

love you all

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Oh my God, They Killed Denny!

Wow. So I've been gone a few days. And I still haven't gotten to writing that peice for Eric, although I swear I will. Every time I sit at my home computer I see the words written on a stick it at the bottom of my screen. Sad thing is, I hardly use the home computer. I'm working on that, though.

I do have some interesting things in brief. First, Does anyone watch Grey's Anatomy? [Americans?] Because THEY KILLED DENNY!!!!!!! I'll never live it down. I could have managed if he had died getting his heart transplant, but they had to let him live, propose to Izzy, let her say yes and then kill him [on Prom Night, no less]

Poor feller, bad heart and fell in love with a model who was smart enough to become a surgeon. Should have known he didn't stand a chance. Especially once she was willing to cut the cord on his thingy to make sure he almost died and qualified for a transplant. And I loved him. *sigh* Story of my life, eh?

And is anone else sick of Meredith and the doctor thing Move on, chica, he's married. What makes you think he won't cheat on you?

Oh. In other TV news....the girl I like on Top Model and the team I liked on Amazing Race won this time around. I didn't like anyone really, on Survivor, so that was a crapshoot. Although I did favor the Yoga Guy to the Jersey Girl. Yup.

Anyway. Perpet also posted a fantastic peice on a CDC article telling all women to treat their health as if they were Pre-Pregnant. She also has a link to the article. I could rant, but really, she does a better job than I ever could. Pre-pregnant my ass....Oh, I will post an excerpt, though...

Your organization recently released a study that told women to act as though they are “pre-pregnant”. I’m curious as to the full extent of your definition. Yes, we should take our folic acid and drink less and stop smoking, but shouldn’t we also be trying to find a date for Saturday night, in hopes that the male could be our pre-sperm donor? Should we start house shopping so that we may find that perfect room for that pre-nursery? Should we begin learning to knit so we can prepare the pre-booties?

Perpet, you're a genuis and you inspire me. Oh, and sorry about S and the wedding, well, not the wedding, but te trip. Everyone likes a trip. Maybe we'll all go down on Pride weekend? Lots of fun...

X3 is coming out this weekend too. I fully intend to go. I am very much looking forward to it. And I broke the bank and bought the 4 CD special edition when I was out at Wal-mart ["taking over the world, one low price at a time!"] last night shopping for chocolate. Incidentlly, Spinny, is it even possible for all of us to manage a similar cycle although we've never even seen eachother? Because it seems like we do...


Alright. I'm off.

Lots of love.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

This weekend Beloved is going away with her mom and sister. I will be very lonely. This is my pthetic cry for lots of email and comfort ;)

No, really, I think it will be alright.

Oh, I opened for the first time Wednesday when the President of the Entire Corporation was there, along with some other big shots. It went okay. They didnt get there until 8am which was good. Iwas laughing by then. But when I first came in [5am...do you know early I had to get up??? 3:45!] I turned the tea maker on for the iced and sweet teas [I know, fellas, I can hear you gagging now....] and I didnt realize that the spigots were off...so there was tea all over the floor. I put in the spiot adn forgot the stopper, so tea all over the floor twice. Not fun. Other than that? Things were swimmingly great.

Alright. Short but sweet. Have to run. Love you all. I do.


I thought this was riotously funny

Got this in my inbox, and while I don't normally post these...some of you ladies might understand why it amused me so much. I dunno, maybe even some of you fellas. Oh - and the descriptives for the female bits? Not my language of choosing, but there you go.


Oh - and Eric, getting on the story, I promise. If anyone else wants to give me 5 words, I'll write them a peice too. And maybe I'll post it all over at Reader Meet Author, wake things up.


WAX is Not your Friend"

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax. My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: The bathroom.

It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire. With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship.

I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and >> spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *hoo-hoo*? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"

What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!! I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub. ..in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement- epoxied myself to the porcelain!!

God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!! I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or who- ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.

YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to sc raping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie >> goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, I but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!! So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color......

Monday, May 15, 2006

I think sick like ginger ale

Wow. First, thanks to all of you for your support. I really appreciate it.

Things since I spoke with all last have been a bit nuts, really. I worked Friday night until 1:30 am and then went back at 8 am and then worked Mothers Day from 6:30 to 3:30. So I've been running a little thin lately. I need sleep, to be honest. I did that this morning, and I am feeling much better.

On the topic of work, though,there have been some interesting developments. First is that I sold 20 or so pies Friday night. Not slices, whole ones. This is a lot. Our store only sold 30 all day, including mine, so that tells you how often someone sells that many pies. This said, the Presdent of the Entire Corporation is coming for a visit on Wednesday. Pet My Hair had put together an all star list of servers to work that day, to impress him especially. Guess who's on the list. That's right. Not only that, but I am opening, which mans I will be the very first of the star servers he meets. I've never opened the store before. I am, understandably I think, nervous. Actually I am petrified of failing. *And* I have to be at work at 5:30 am. To look normal I'm going to have to get up at 3! Yep, nervous.

In other news, I owe Big and Stupid an apology. BS is a lot younger than I thought she was. This is her first job. I thought she was my age. She's 17. Yeah. I'm a jerk. Not to mention everyone else is far meaner to her than they probably ought to be, as a result of her often screwing things up. Yep. And I know I was one of them. The other day I tried to smile and be nice and give her helpful pointers and cheer her up because she looked totally lost. As a result she has started to come up to me and tell me things about herself and in general treat me like the friend I'm not really being. She came up to me after my break yesterday and told me she had gotten worried about me since she hadn't seen me for half an hour. *sighs* I hope this doesnt become an attachment I can't handle. I know you all think I am in general loving and friendly, but honestly, she still makes me crazy and for her to be attached...its like that sloth and mammoth in Ice Age. I just want to feed her to the Rhinocerouses [sp?]

I've not talked to my mother since the dinner date. I really didn't expect her to call and thank me. I didn't. Preistess did call, though and she and I are going out for lunch at the same itialian restaurant my mom and I went to. She suggested it, and I think that she is trying to replace a bad memory with a good one, or something like that. She would approve of the balance between the two, anyway. I've not seen her in a few weeks so it will be nice to catch up and spend some time with her. As a note, and I am sure you are wondering, yes, I did tell Preistess about my mom and what my grandmother said and she didn't laugh [neither did I for that matter] but did say she felt bad for my mom, but wouldn't say anything. I appreciated that.

I've been thinking about tatoos again lately, which is probably unhealthy, since I've got until January before I'll allow myslef to get another one, just because I feel like more than one a year borders on A Problem. But that is the way I have been feeling, like I need to strike out and do something significant and beautiful. Its probably me slipping into one of those silly meloncholy moods I go into where I get in the mood to create and be beautiful and appreciate. Its the moods when I paint, when I get tattoos, when I write my best stuff. Unfortunately I am completely tapped out for writing ideas, I have no idea where the drought has come from [although, Mystic, if you're reading, your dream the other night gave me tons of ideas....not that I can follow through, still...it was food for thought for TSR] But I can see it coming, sometimes I can, I've been prone to bubblebaths and candlelight and slower and darker music lately. It comes and goes in cycles. Yes, I can hear you thinking, like depression - but its not that, I know the difference. My depressions trigger my panic attacks, there's a huge difference...right. Shutting up. Point is, inspiration is coming, I can tell, one of my creative bouts. So maybe I'll get to writing something nice. Maybe.

Anyway, back to the tattoos, I've been thinking of them and I honestly can't understand why I love them some much, short the fact I feel like my body is another pallette to paint images of myself and my ideas....

On a new topic....I thought I might post this pic, and I know its making me sound like a total geek, but X# is coming out, and at first I was a little nervous about the selection of Dr. Hank McCoy [Beast] for the films...but, maybe you know who they chose?

Kelsey Grammer. I think he's a perfect pic, and I think he'll make a great addition to an already lovely cast. He's a good actor, who doesn't get enough credit for his ability to stretch himself. He's much more than just Kramer, and I am looking forward to him branching out into this genre. I've been rewatching the old films lately, and I've got a hankering to head over to the local comic book store and get to purchasing and re-reading the comics. I loved them when I was younger [read - jr high and high school] and I am looking forward to reaquainting myself with the series.

Right, off to geek out. You tell me something fun. Maybe suggestions for a short story, or something? I need inspiration and all of you tend to be my muses. Lucky me. I got a good set of 'em, eh?

Oh - and lastly: ST get better, Spinny gets hugs and smiles, Flash welcome back from your trip, Phil - buck up, I hope you're holding up alright, Cody - itsgood to see you around. I like you. Come back. Julius if you're reading, hello, and welcome to the fold.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Some Girls Mothers are Bigger Than Other Girls Mothers

I’ve been thinking about what would be the best way for me to describe the nature of my relationship with my mother. I’m not entirely sure where to start. Do you start at "I was born" ? Or do I describe my mother’s relationship with my grandmother in an attempt to discern why she has chosen to raise me in the way she has? I’m entirely unsure.

I think, upon reflection, the very best way of describing my mothers relationship with me, and maybe mine with my grandmother even, who has also played mother to me as I have matured, is to describe this past week with them. Before I start, though, I should point out one thing. I love my mother. I do. I know that this is going to be tinged with cynicism at my mother’s ideas. I have a lot of contempt for the way she lives her life. I have a lot of contempt for the way she raised me, and the way she treats me still. But I love her and would hate for something to happen to her. It took me a lot of time [and a fair bit of therapy] to discover that I love my mother, but I do not like her. I’m firm in the belief that this does not make me a bad person but it does explain a lot of my guilt issues regarding my mother. I do, however, think it is perfectly acceptable to feel the way I do. You probably ought to jump ship here if you’re of the belief that because your mother bore you she deserves for you to like her unconditionally. We’ll agree to disagree.

As I posted previously, I took my mother out for Mothers Day on Tuesday because I have to work this Sunday, which is the actual holiday. Per usual I let her pick the place we were going to eat. I was unsurprised that she chose a particular Italian restaurant in our town, she chooses it every time I take her out to dinner or for a holiday. I arrived about five minutes early and wandered into the lobby with her gift and sat down. She was 20 minutes late. [Incidentally, in this 20 minutes I spoke extensively about wine with our delightful waiter - he as far too knowledgeable for being as young as he was, but - there you have it.] I confess myself mildly annoyed with her for showing up late. We had pushed forward the time for our dinner when she called me earlier in the day and asked if I minded so that her dinner with me did not prevent her from missing American Idol. [No - really- that’s what she said] So, mom = late. Me = annoyed.

She finally arrives and we get settled in. I order wine, she has a daiquiri and she settles in for our meal. She broaches what I like to call "easy" topics first. These are the topics that generally do not annoy me, or that annoy me less than some of her other favorite subjects. She asks me what classes I am taking in school; "Sociology? Are you sure you can understand it?"
What I plan on doing with my degree; "A teacher? You’re about to rack up $10k in debt and you want to teach? Do you like to be poor?"

And, of course, my writing; "Is your novel done? Why won’t you give me your blog address? What kind of people read your blog? Are they all...you know, like you?"

I dive into my glass of wine and cheerfully inform her that I also took Sociology in high school and understood it just fine, that college professors [especially in my field] made decent money as well as having a rewarding career and that my novel was still not finished but I would be happy to discuss with her what I write about on my blog and what my delightfully diverse group of commenters think [respectively].

With the preliminaries out of the way my mother launches into her second favorite subject - our family. The first thing she does is ask after my Aunt A [lets call her Priestess], whom I am spending a lot of time with lately. Now, on surface this may seem very kind and decent of my mother, to inquire about her youngest sister. Its not. No one in my family ever asks casually about a relative out of the kindness of their heart. Its to get information to report to each other and to gossip about. My mother, the oldest of her sisters, does this especially often because it is her duty to report family gossip to my grandmother. Back top the point, though, my mother asks after Priestess very casually. I tell her she is fine. She asks, more bluntly, about some personal changes Priestess has made in her life lately, especially with regards to her personal beliefs. Before I can reply she looks at me suspiciously and asks why I have been spending so much time with her lately. I skip the first question because its really not my place to talk to her about it.

"Priestess and I have a lot of similar views. We talk about them. She and I also share a lot of the same personal problems, and its nice to have someone in a similar situation to talk to about it."
My mother blithely observes, "Priestess isn’t a lesbian."

I nearly choke on my bread and I set it down and reply, after a coughing fit, that its not a problem for me either.

"Of course its not," she says snidely before cheerfully changing the subject to [and mark this, Ka, and the other people I’ve been discussing this - it seems like the topis of the month] whether or not Priestess still has an eating disorder. I would like to note this is a problem that Priestess and I have both discusses, as we both struggle from time to time over this issue. I begin to make a comment about how it takes support and love to get through something like that, and that we support each other, or something of the like; but I never get to finish it. My mother then launches into a lengthy account of how Priestess, my aunt Dancer, and my Grandmother all had eating disorders, and how terrible they were, and what exactly the she knew about them, and how she could tell how hard it was on them. She finally pronounces,

"Its no wonder you got one too. Everyone gets them in our family. Its genetic."

I try not to be angry about they way she talks about it, casually, as though its not a big deal that three generations of our family have suffered with body image issues. I delicately point out to her that someone [anyone] should have talked to said aunts or my grandmother, or me for that matter, about it.. If they noticed the habit they should have helped them with it. I then firmly tell her Priestess is doing well, and that if she cares so much about it, and her condition, that she should talk to her about it herself. My mom replies with our family motto:

"Everyone already knows. Why talk about it? That’s uncomfortable."

Of course.

As my mother eats her salad she prattles on about my aunts, their bad habits now, and as teenagers, and how in general we are a maladjusted, completely screwed up bunch of women. I try to change the subject and steer her in a new direction. I tell her about Beloved making the Deans List and being invited to join National Honor Society. She doesn’t reply so I tell her about the trip we took to the synagogue with her class on Jewish Americans. I tell her about the service, about the service, the Purim holiday and my chats with her professor and the rabbi, who was a fantastic lady. I also tell her about the discussion I had with the professor about how her class was having a hard time coping with the idea that "you can not believe in god, but still be a good Jew" In essence, the idea that religion is a lifestyle guide as well as a spiritual guide for them.

Have you spotted my mistake? If you’ve ever discussed my mother with me you likely have.

"What! So you don’t believe in God anymore, is that it?" she demands haughtily.

"I didn’t say that. I said I thought it was an interesting concept."

"I’m sure hell will be interesting too."

"I just made a point that its an interesting idea. It’s a fascinating religion."

"Well, I’ve been studying a lot of religions"

Has she? It turns out she can’t understand Buddhism. [It doesn’t make sense!] Catholics creep her out [Did you know they believe funny things, not like a normal Christian religion] but not so much as the Jehovah Witnesses who *apparently* believe Jesus and Lucifer were bothers. She also doesn’t personally agree with the idea of Scientology, but "Tom Cruise and John Travolta are great actors"

It’s a wonder I am even halfway normal, isn’t it?

All of these religions are wrong, of course, but fascinating to my mother. I think for her its like watching ants in a magnifying glass - it’s a better study of action when you know the fire is moments away. I manage to wriggle out of telling her too much about Priestess’s spiritual beliefs and I dodge the discussion of mine almost completely, outside of me admitting there is a god [notice I don’t capitalize the "g" though] This is a good thing, despite the fact that I shouldn’t have to hide my beliefs, because I have a hard time explaining the exact nature of my beliefs to someone open minded. I hope you’ve gathered by now that my mother isn’t one of those people.
I sigh with relief as the waiter returns with our food [bless him, he refills my wine glass with a pitying look, I know he’s caught some of the conversation.] and my mother changes the topic to her favorite topic of all. Her.

"Well, I haven’t been doing well at all. I wish you wanted to talk about problems with me. I could use some advice, really."

"Mmm?" I ask through my mouthful of pasta.

"Well, first of all, 3.0 and I are having problems. [3.0 is, you guessed it, her third husband] I just can’t understand why he acts like this."

"Like what?"

"Well, he’s not come home for three nights."

"Did you call the police? Is her hurt?"

"Well, no, we had a fight over your brother," she sighs.

She is referring to Punk, my 22 year old brother who still lives with her. I’ve discussed him a few times, but I can review the highlights. He is a drug addict and alcoholic. She pays his bills, gives him gas money, pays the insurance on his car, gives him an allowance, cooks for him, does his laundry, etc. In general, he has a huge case of failure to launch and she allows it, and I honestly think encourages it. He has a terrible temper and my mother will do anything to keep him from getting angry. There’s been more than once she’s tried to get Beloved and I to let them "hide" at my house for a few nights so he could "calm down" at theirs.

"I see. And so he left?"

"He said he wasn’t coming home until I did something about him. So I kicked your brother out."

"You did?" I ask skeptically. She’s said she’s going to for the last 4 years now.

"Well, I told him he had to be out of the house by the end of the week."

"Uh, huh. Did you tell 3.0 this?"

"Yes, but he’s still mad."


"Well, I told him I thought he was irresponsible too."

I nod, waiting for the bomb to drop.

"Well, I paid off the Visa, and he charges it up again. He sold his car and bought a motorcycle. And he wants to quit his job because he doesn’t like it. And he wants to sell the house. He says we can’t afford it."

"Wow." I say. What else do you say?

"So, what do you think I should do?" she asks.

"Mom, I don’t know." I shake my head. I really want to tell her that mother’s don’t ask marital and financial advice from their 24 year old unmarried daughters.

"Well! You have advice for your Aunt Priestess, but none for me?"

"Mom, its not advice...and, well...I mean, can’t you go see a counselor?"

"Well, I suppose we could. Maybe talk to our pastor."

"That’s a good idea mom."

"Yeah, I’ve been thinking of it for a while now...."

I stare into my dinner and try desperately to think of a topic she and I can talk about that won’t want to make me drink another glass of wine [I have to drive, after all]. I end up lost in trivial prattle about American Idol and other TV shows until I order dessert.

"Get something mom." I encourage. She never eats desserts.

"No, I don’t think so. Those are so fattening. I’m down to a size 6 you know."

I fight the urge to tell her there’s no way she’s a size six [I’m a size 10 or 12 most days, if you care].

"So? There’s fruity stuff on there, its not all chocolate and mousse. I’m getting some."
"You are?" she looks at me critically.

"I am." I say defiantly. I give our order to our waiter. He smiles at me reassuringly, as though he is telling me I won’t get fat and ugly with a single dessert, and promptly brings it out for me. When he hands me the bill as well she looks at me.

"Do you have the money to pay for this?" She asks.

"Of course," I reply. At this point it is surely the wine and nothing else that is keeping me from murdering her. She’s implying I don’t make enough money to take care of myself. Or that’s what it sounds like to me.

I walk my mother out to her car. [As a side note, the waiter made my night, and told me quietly as we were leaving that he thought I was "lovely" dessert or no dessert. I could have kissed him.] She hugs me and tells me to call her and gets in the car and drives away. I heave a sigh of relief as I climb into my truck and head home.

My Grandmother calls the next day. I think to myself I can gloat, because I assume she is calling to remind me of mother’s day. [She calls and reminds me of every holiday and to go visit my mother, as if I can’t remember] But she has apparently spoken to my mother already and is calling for another reason.

"You don’t need to go telling Priestess that your mother’s marriage has started to fall apart. Your mother is devastated you know."

I take a moment to quietly fume.

"Why would I tell Priestess?" I demand.

"Well, I know you two spend time together, and I know you’re close...I just don’t want anyone laughing at your mother, you know. She’s had a hard time."

"And you think I would tell her, and laugh about it?" I try not to shout.

"Well, sweetheart, you know..." she trails off.

"Is this the only reason you called?" I ask.

"No!" she replies quickly. "I wanted to tell you thank you for taking your mother out. She had a nice time."

"That’s good," I reply.

"You should take her out more often."

"Grandma, I don’t have the money or the energy to take her out on a weekly basis and buy her dinner."

"Your mother told me you were making a lot of money at that restaurant."

"I do, but I have to pay bills, and save for school and pay off my truck loan. Things like that."

"Well, doesn’t Beloved help?"

At this point I am nearly ready to scream.

"Of course she does! She supported me while I was unemployed. She takes good care of me. But, and mom should learn this, since her and 3.0 are having financial trouble, you can’t live beyond your means. I’d like to have a nest egg in case something comes up."

"Alright, sweetie, alright. You know, you should spend more time with your mother though, she won’t be around forever..."

"Okay, Grandma," I give in wearily. There’s no point arguing.

"Gran?" I ask


"Did she really kick Punk out?"

"Well, I know she told him he needs to start thinking of a place to go in the next few months. He has to find a place and get himself under control first, you know. He’s got a bit of a problem, with the drinking and alcohol, you know."

"Its an addiction and he needs help and she needs to stop enabling him."

"Well, honey, he knows he has a problem. There’s no point in saying something."

See? There we go again...

"But he’s not going to be out by the end of the week?"

"No! Its cruel to think that about your brother."

I thought not. Bet me money, friends, he’ll be living with her st Christmas, still.

"Well, Gran, I better go..."

"So you aren’t going to talk to Priestess?"

"No, Grandma."

"Alright, well, take care sweetie."

She hangs up the phone. I try not to throw mine. This is like every interaction I have had with my mom and Grandmother since I’ve started to see Beloved. Since then, I say, because I was completely unaware that this wasn’t normal family behavior until I met her and her family. Its since then that I have noticed the way they think. And its only since then that I noticed how mean they can be. When I was younger I would have thought nothing of my mother telling me I would have been so pretty, if it weren’t for my glasses. [and she said this several times] I only felt ashamed I was so ugly. I know better now. And being around them wears me down. A lot.

At this point I regret to say I am too tired for further analysis. You do it, . Tell me I’m wrong in the way I feel. Hwo would you feel were you me?

Monday, May 08, 2006

Thats the Story of My Life

This is a rant on memories and pain.

[I should note, in passing, and this is actually a postscript, that this is written like a letter, to the mythic You, to the one who animates and inspires my writing. I may not speak to you, specifically, or you as a group, or you as a blogger or my reader, or my friend. I only write to You, the anonymous confessor of my evening. I should name my computer You, for the sake of it, I might be writing to it for all I know. So I write. To You. ]

I’m lost in the space between my stars.

I’ve got that feeling again. That low, sinking feeling in between my heart and my stomach. Like the setting sun it burns. It sinks, and as it goes lower and lower, as I fall, I shimmer, I tremble, and somewhere inside the lights go out. Instead of that light, inside me, there are a million shimmering stars. Thousands upon thousands of pinpricks,, each shimmering stars. Thousands upon thousands of pinpricks, each bleeding and shining minutely. Each one painful. Each one very real. But the spaces between them, like the stars- those are the places where despair, hope and longing wait for me. Each moment connected by the infinite wait for the next.

Each memory, each ghost of moments lost - they pull at me behind my eyes. And I think to myself, how much longer? How much time, how much space is there between your mouth and mine? Between words? Between a kiss? A confession of love? An utterance of disgust and despise? Have you ever thought about it? The eternity between the interaction of you and I?
Imagine for a moment - close your eyes and think of it - think of something you want to say to me. Think hard, of something you might never voice. Think if you love me. If you secretly loathe me but find me inescapable, if you think I am utterly crazy. Think of telling me you want to have sex with me, or that I’ve hurt you in a terrible inexpressible way. Whisper it aloud. Just now. Away from my ears. I’ll never hear you. Now think of the time between those words, and were I there, my reaction. A word, a kiss, a sigh, a tear.

Now you’ve seen my response, my imagined response. Take the time in between. Each moment between "I love you" or "I can’t think of you without thinking of despair" - whatever you’ve said - and my response. Each of those moments stretch for the eternity that now lasts between what you’ve said and my real response [which of course will never come, because I haven’t heard you] That is like the starry spaces. Each of our moments connected by an eternity that will never be broached. And between them, think if you can, how you would feel, waiting for my response. Would you be fearful? Would you worry? Would you think of the last person you loved? A woman who had inspired in you a similar rage or passion? Would you think of the look on my face, my reaction? Would you imagine tears or passion and then live in that moment or idea for a time, however brief?

To me, that is the sinking feeling, the waiting of the setting sun. Between each experience, between each time I write, between each time I talk to you or write for you or tell you how I feel, that is what it is like for me. And the sinking, the lowering, is almost too much to bear sometimes.

Sometimes I think of you, of something you have said, and in a moment, in a glance, it reminds me of a thousand other things. Do you feel that too, my love? Do you feel it? When you hear a word what is the image that comes to mind. Are there several? Can you keep up with them all? How do you sort which one you think of and which one you ignore. For me, sometimes, it is the terrible, the horrors that come to mind. Simple things - innocuous little things - become grotesque and frightening in the kaleidoscope of my life experience. And it not that life is always frightening or terrible. Not at all. Its that the frightening and terrible make their way to the forefront more easily.

Shall I give you examples? Of course I shall. You’re reading, not writing, and if you’re still here - if my ramblings have not run you off by now - you are likely here for one of two reasons, the train wreck of my existence is too much to look away from, or I make so much sense that you must know something of what I am talking about. That or you love me, but I shan’t ask for that - affection comes at a high price too often doesn’t it?

I could talk about my favorite subject - sex - but that’s something you are all too familiar with when it comes to me. You know horrors, you know pain, you know pleasure at my hands when it comes to that subject. And I confess, I know horror, I know pain and I know infinite pleasure on that subject as well. When I think of it, do I think of bondage and how much I enjoy it? Do I think of the times I was bound against my will, held tight? Still, when it comes to that subject in particular, you know as well as I that I can dwell extensively on the pleasurable aspects of it. Have I had lovers who have written me letters to make me tremble? Certainly. Have I been moved by love, by something as simple as sex, to the point it brought me to tears? Those moments are countless. There are caresses I relive in my dreams. There are words I cannot forget and refuse to let go. Still, even then, when I am alone, staring at a blank screen getting ready to write or holding my pillow as I go to sleep - staring into the dark - there are moments that tear through me unbidden. There are memories I would scour from my brain if I had sense at all, and they replay themselves over, and over, and over.

Something more simple, maybe?
Ice Cream. Easy enough isn’t it? My grandmother used to make ice cream floats from sodas and
chocolate ice cream when I was a little girl. I liked the foam. A simple, happy thought. But then you think grandmother, and I progress to grandfather, who drove me and my brother to a dairy queen once and when we were leaving we were in a car accident. I remember the look of my cone in the floor of the car, melting on the rubber floor mats, the sounds of my brother crying, the cracked windshield, the blood, my grandfather cursing, being lifted up by hands of someone I didn’t know....and I get lost in the thoughts of car accidents I have been in. But then I shake myself, I say no - ice cream, ice cream can be happy. I think of ice cream sundaes and of summertime and church camp. I think of driving to the local ice cream parlor and meeting my classmate R when I was a little girl for her birthday. I remember having ice cream and sandwiches and giving her a gift. But I remember then that her friends laughed because I didn’t have much money. They didn’t want me there because I wasn’t wearing the right clothes. She told her mom to take me home after she and her friends checked the label in my shirt and didn’t like the brand. I shake my head again and remember that after I lost my virginity my boyfriend took me out for ice cream. He laughed, asked for extra cherries on my sundae.

And it seems it is like this on any subject. You could send me a word, a feeling, and were I to sit, and think, to let my mind wander from thought to thought, from experience to experience, I would have moments like this.

This is what life is, isnt it? When I say to you ‘love’ or ‘pain’ or ‘fear’ there is a word or a thought or feeling that goes through you and it is the sum of your life experiences manifesting themselves in a single action. But if I let you go, I wonder, would you do the same as I do? Would you feel that inexplicable pull down, as your memories stretched infinitely? Would you take time to wonder, to rearrange those moments into realities that will never happen because you spoke, thought or moved wrong at a particular time or place? I think you would. I hope you do. I’d like to think I am not alone in those feelings.

I wonder how much of my experience, of my life and my decisions are shaped by these thoughts. I wonder, now that I think of it, how often it happens, that I let my day, my mood, my time go because I get lost in the eternity of memory and lost chances. Of maybes and should haves.

Ka asked me a question, in the meme, and it was along the lines of would I trade my sorrows for calm, if it meant giving up all my joys. I knew my answer immediately. That was the strange thing. Even without the thought of giving up all my joy. I would not trade my sorrows, even were it just for calm, and I was still able to experience joy. I couldn’t. This is the thing that frightens me just a little about myself. I chalk it up to the artist in me. The sensualist in me. You [or any normal person] might chalk it up to neurosis, to psychological damage, to vanity or something equally more likely.

When I feel these moments, the moments that pull me down, or that overwhelm, or frighten, those are moments that I feel very much alive. That is not to say that I do not love my moments of ecstasy. That isn’t to say there aren’t moments that I want nothing more than to linger in the gaze or words of a friend or love. I do, I love those moments, with every bit of me. Still, tell me those moments are surreal. If you do care for me, even a little, if you have ever entertained meeting me, [or, if this is difficult for you, think of someone you do know or have met from our little world] think for a second of what it would be like tp meet me at last. To spend a day lingering in our friendship, in our affection for each other, talking as if we were going to go on seeing each other each day, or loving each other or be friends forever. Think of how the sunlight would feel, the coffee would taste, the air would smell. It would be surreal, wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t seem like it was actually happening. And recalling that moment, from the time ever after that, wouldn’t the memory soften around the edges, become something of a dream itself?

But when I think of that pain, when I relive it- When I blink away the tears, when I feel the searing in my chest, the anger that inevitably comes or fades with time, those are the moments I treasure. Here’s why - I am alive. I know I am. I know that I have been through it, I have gone on. And I am here living, reliving that terrible pain or heartbreak. It was real then, and the fact that I still feel it, the fact that I know pain at its recollection - those reassure me I am real and I am still what I ought to be. Because I am still warm enough to suffer. I am still hard enough to be angry and want to fight those memories away. I am still frightened by the thought of it happening again. And I am more certain with each thought, with each memory, of the things and people I love now. I am certain of what I would fight for. I am convinced of my love more soundly. I am more protective.

That feeling, that moment, that remembering...it passes through me like a song I’ve heard that moves me. It gets in my skin, it circles my heart, it passes through me and I am still there when its over. I would not trade my love, my life, anything....to get rid of them. I hate those memories, don’t get me wrong. I don’t like to relive them. I don’t. But when they do, when they fight their way unbidden to my mind I am saddened, yes, but after I have cried, when I have dried my eyes and lifted my head, I am emboldened for a moment - and proud of myself for being more than that moment for the rest of my own eternity.

Does that make sense? I’ve rambled into oblivion tonight. Forgive me. As for you - I will not leave my feelings unsaid. I cannot go without it tonight - I do not want the moment to fade before I’ve said how I honestly feel right now....

I love you. I hate you. There are moments I cannot stand to be near you and then moments when I feel like all I can do is cling to the comfort you give me. I am frightened of you. I am unsure when I am with you. I am unsure of myself. I am unsure of you. I am unsure of everything. I never know exactly what to say. I never know if I am doing the right thing when I am with you. Sometimes I want to sleep with you, I want to see what you look like when you are feeling passionate. There are moments that you repulse me and I cannot believe I have any affection for you at all. You always know more than I do. You always make me wonder. You always inspire me. I will say this, I am grateful for you. For each moment you give me. You make me think. You make me wish. You make me long. You make me feel. It is you that rouses me from my lethargy. And you are the one who drives me to share with you, even when I am afraid of the reaction you will give. Even when I know you may not love me the way you once did. But I love you, and I appreciate you, and I forgive you.

As you forgive me.

Goodnight, loves, I am worn out. Confession is done. Amen.

[As a second post script - wow. Three posts, one day...sex, misery, angst....you’d almost think things were back to normal....]

So I guess I'll just stand here with my back against a wall

I have to take a moment to break the cycle of cheerfullness that is normally me anymore. [because I have been better, lately, havent I? giving compliments puts me in a good mood] but I have to talk about something I saw on Ka's blog, or rather, something that got stuck in my head when I was over at Ka's.


If you've been round for any decent length of time you know I used to have an eating disorder. When I was 18-19 I weighed about 85/90 lbs. I'm 5'9" you do the math. I'm not talking about this now because I want you all to cheer me on and tell me its good I'm all better, I don't want you to say I'm better off now. I know all that.

What I do want you to do is take a decent look at this list of medial side effects of starving yourself:

Low blood pressure
An abnormally slow heart rate
Reduced bone density, often resulting in osteoporosis
Muscle loss and weakness
Dehydration, sometimes leading to kidney failure
Dry and brittle hair and skin
Retarded growth

think, for just a moment, what I must have looked like. Or picture yourself, or a loved one, looking jsut that thin. Its terrible. Its frightening.

And it makes me sick to death of all the people who feel like they have to diet, or comment on other people's weights. It frightens me to think that we're so obsessed with obesity we test infants. It bothers me that women and men feel like they need to make rules for themselves about how much and when and why htey should or shouldn't eat.

I support a healthy diet, don't get me wrong. Food pyramid, all that, its good.

But when I get out of the shower and I still look a long time at myself and worry about my weight I disappoint myself. I can hardly weigh myself without thinking of how much I want to lose. I still wish I cold wear smaller clothes. And I wonder if it wasn't a bad idea, sometimes, to skip a meal or two....It never goes away, this obsession with being something perfect or unreal or to become this idea of ourselves that we have in our heads. I tear up thinking of all the women and men who will do what I did and not eat. They'll feel hunger pains and their bodies will break down. And they'll tell themselves they deserve it because they are "fat" I know they will. I did it.

We have a problem. A serious, serious problem.

I look at myself and I know I am not going to be what I want. My hair isnt long and black. I am not made of muscle. I'll never weigh 110 again. I am not going to ever fit into a size 2. I am not a goddess. I am not perfect. I can't be and its unreasnable for me to hold myself to such a standard. I don't deserve that kind of torture, no matter how big or different I may become.

I hope you know that. I hope when you dream, when you close your eyes, its the real you that you see, and not the twisted ideal I see when I sleep, that so many people see when they close their eyes.

Love yourself. Love yourself. You should. You're worth it. Every ounce of you.

I do.


She's burning in your soul

Alright, to the comments first, and then, maybe, something new? What do you think? [I'm afraid at this point it won't matter, will it. Read on, though]

Leah, thanks for the tissues. I needed them. I went and got some antibiotics and am feeling much better after having nearly passed out and work on Friday and spending Saturday off work and recovering [much to my annoyance]. As for the work stories, I'll be sure to tell you some now, although, my dear, I am hardly transformative about my life, this is honestly it. Sometimes it doesnt really sound real, does it? I tell stories about my family sometmes, and people dont think I am telling the truth...Of course, all real life needs is a little perspective, eh?

Ka, wow. I'm blushing. I may steal your description on #1 for my profile! How's that for vain? Wouldn't it be fun if we could write eachother's profiles? I suppose it could go both ways...you could get something lke you wrote for me, or something like "Bit of a whiner, self important, has terrible taste in films" or the like. How heartbreaking would that be? Sounds like the making of a meme to me, write your friend's profiles...haha. Who gets the closest to the truth without flattery or heartbreak? Haha. Maybe not...sometimes I like you [and everyone else] for how kind you are, and how blindly you love. If I wanted criticism I suppose I'd talk to my mother...

Still, darling, you really are too kind. Thank you, though. I'm curious, what picture did you see of me for the first time? And why do I live on [apparently] the only state on the planet where I am not considered a knockout? You lot are inflating my ego....AS for the stories - email me. I'll be thrilled to chat to you. You're so fascinating to me [in a personal way, not a microscope and slides kind of way. its a good thing, I promise]

Incidentally, has someone let slip my mad love for dancing on speakers? I never thought I'd gone that far in talking about things I love to do, and I assure you, its my favorite spot at the local club. When I'm there my name is practically written on it! *hugs* A kindred spirit. Now, really, who told you I loved to dance? Oh! and its a date if you're ever my way, I promise.

Oh, last thing - No, I'd never trade away my sorrows. They are the measure for my joys, the measure for my calms and the moments when I most understand what I am made of. All of my sorrows are the sum of the strength [or lack of it] that I have. I wouldn't trade them, any of them, despite the horrors of some of those moments, for anything. I couldn't be the person who has a beautiful, raw, unadulterated, poetic, spiritual, carnal soul [as you put it] if I didn't.

Shorty - my MSN is wonky at home and I've been using AIM when I am online, which, regrettably is not very often...How are you holding up? I know you've been through the ringer lately. Maybe you're another I need to email. I've been thinking of you a lot lately. I'm a terrible friend sometimes. I promise, you've been on my mind.

Flash - I have no doubt you're built to be a rock star, but still, I suppose, hmmm. I dunno a better way to phrase that question, so I'll let it go. Next time I'll think of a better one, won't I?

Aravis - I am never tired of your sweetness.

Spinny - Certainly, stories...and what were you sending me? I've not gotten anything yet....

Alright....*sigh* a story, maybe?

I suppose I could tell you about Big and Stupid, how she earned her name. Or I could tell you about some of my customers, bless them. Or what it is like, in general, to work there? Are we wanting funny quirks of co-workers [like our kitchen manager who has an odd game involving song lyrics?] Does this appeal to you at all?

How about a description, and you can then tell me things you are interested in.

My store is just up the corner from the biggest tourist attraction in our area. [If you know where I live you'll nearly be able to pinpoint my exact location now, kids] Its a family restaurant that specilizes in breakfast being served 24 hours. because there aren't enough of those in the world. Its layout, if you can imagine, is a huge rectangle.

In the front left corner as you look at it there is a tiny square shaped entry with doors on both walls. Inside you come to a foyer where the restaurant extends slightly forward to form what we call the Lenai. Then there is a counter and a wait high oak wood wall separating the rest of the store. The rest of the tables are on the other side of this wall. The store is done in dark greens and homey fruit borders, like apples and baskets of grapes. The drapes are gaudy and the carpet reminds me vaguely of a casino.

The inside looks a lot like this [mind you, this is not the one I work in, its one of the other franchise ones.....]

But you get the general idea. Only we keep the shades open so its always really bright in there. It smells perpetually of muffins and omlettes. [As do I, anymore] The back of the restaurant is tiled and boring as any other restaurant might be, although, because of the bakery, our galley smells a lot like chocolate and pies and cookies and muffins. Especially muffins.

There are always people there. Always. Even at 5 am or midnight we have people there. There's a local dive bar across the parking lot, so we get all sorts. Sundays are interesting because we are close to a couple *huge* churches. [my town has more churches than you can shake a stick at, and there's some that are big enough they have gymnasiums and pools and workout centers, and the like] so there's always a ton of church people in on Sunday.

We serve food on huge oval shaped trays. They get really hot and so I carry a manky brown potholder [the stores, not mine] to keep from frying my hands completely. They don't work all the time. I wear black pants and a mens white stsrched dress shirt to work with a company apron [gag] and a little pin denoting the fact that I have had a hospitality award [already!] and one that looks like pancakes to symbolize the tradition of my stores history. I also have a little nametag that has "Alecya" printed on it neatly. I get an engraved one after 6 months *shivers with anticipation*

Everyone who works at my store are supposed to be considered my family, my General Manager, Flower, told me when I started working. And they are too! They are unususally affectionate, as I pointed out before. And they get in eachother's business to. They know who's making thier bills, who has boyfriends, husband trouble, or incurable diseases. [We have someone who has MS in our store] They whisper about work ethic and friends and nonsense like that. I had one girl, Fruity [store nic - not mine] walk up to me about a month after I'd been there and say to me [Im quoting the converstation]

"are you married?"
"do you have a boyfriend?"
"Do you like anybody?"
No, not like, employees, just, anybody"
"no, I dont have time"
"That's boring"
"I suppose"

So there you have it, I'm boring. Of course, I picked up a little bit of a religious overtone, and a little homophobia from some of the servers. I keep quiet about my personal life. Besides if they dont think I have one, they cant pry, can they? I've even had people ask me how much money I am averaging. [I dont usually tell unless I am in a terrible mood and I want to make someone cry, but suffice to say, I am doing more than fine] Very very nosey.

Alright. So that's a bit of my store. There's a crane game in one corner where people try to catch stuffed animals, a sticker machine in the square shaped lobby between the doors, and two paper machines outside - one for local paper and one for USA today.

Maybe, next time, I will tell you things I learn about people on smoke breaks? [I take them, although I don't smoke - is five free minutes to decompress for me....] You hear the oddest things. People are so willing to talk when they're smoking.....

Tell me what you think, what you want....


Friday, May 05, 2006

you're an explosion

What a week. I've also been sick. my allergies have caused my nose to run, my eyes to water, my voice to flee and my asthma to reappear for the first time in nearly 6 years. I'm on *lots* of medecine, so I am more than a little loopy. I am glad I am taking the morning off. I work tonight.

You know, I know I've never told you all much about my work. Much about the people I work with. I'm curious if you want to know much about the people I work with. Its like a little soap opera, only I try not to get too involved. I just watch. And sometimes, laugh. And then again, sometimes, fume. I had a big even last night at work, so I better strap you in on some of the players eh?

My bosses [there are two] are Flower, as she is named for a flower and it couldn't be more appropriate, and Pet My Hair, as, again, she likes to have done. I won't lie, the first time I saw her being petted by the other girls it freaked me out...its just not normal. All the young women in my store are physically affectionate to the point of strangeness, and I confess, being what I am, and them not knowing, it freaks me out.

There are also three service leaders - Tall, Loud and Beloved's Cousin.

I'll get into the other staff as I have time, but these are the hightlights:

My Brother's Name, who is a cook, and could be Flash for all I know. He plays in a decent local/reigonal rock band, is funny, and thanks to me now likes Ani DiFranco. We chat about music on my breaks. Nice guy. Who happens to have the same name as my brother.

Diamond Stud, who was my first trainer, and very sweet. She is so called for the ornament she wears in her nose, and refuses to take out. She's very sarcastic, and funny, and I liked her right away. Again [and see how this happens?] she likes the same music I do, so we get along well.

Laid Back Blonde, my other trainer, is just that. She's also very direct. And when she's angry - watch out. We both have a vendetta for

Big and Stupid, our new hostess who has frayed my every last nerve since her first day. A liar, a lazy person and in general obnoxious presence in my otherwise relatively happy restaurant existence. I'm going to kill her one day, so you lot need to start deciding who will hide me when I being my life on the run.

Anyway. If you want I've a thousand stories about work alreayd, and if it doesnt bore you to death I'll tell you all about it. There's also some other very tricky characters I'll be sure to share with you. My big concern last night was with Pet My Hair and Beloved'sCousin.

Turns out Beloved's Cousin outed me to Pet My Hair. She wanted to talk about it outside while she was smoking. She says to me "I'm very open minded" I told her I was fine with that but it wasn't something I wanted to talk about. She said she didn't care and she wanted me to be happy because she really likes me, and she wouldnt tell anyone else. She went on the rest of the night hugging and kissing and being sweet like she normally is, and not acting at all any different.

I am relieved, I suppose, but I feel half angry at Beloved's cousin for outing me. Thats not cool.

Alright, on to more entertaining things, like you, and my meme that is doing well. *hurrah!*

1. The way you talk. [meaning, the turn of phrase when you write, I suppose]
2. I Bet You Look Good on The Dancefloor, Arctic Monkeys
3. Listen to records
4. Bloody crying shame
5. I remember the comments you used to leave on other people’s blogs. They made me laugh. I thought you were really endearing.
6. “The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions” Alfred Lord Tennyson
7. Do you think you’d be any different [personality] if you became a rockstar tomorrow?

1. You always make me smile.
2. I can’t think of a specific song, but I’m relatively sure it would be by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. That’s kind of the feel I get from you.
3. Drink a beer
4. Alas, a lack on inside jokes. Can you put my banner up for me? Or send me intructions?
5. You randomly showed up on my blog and left a comment that made my day.
6. “Charm is the quality in others that makes us more satisfied with ourselves” Henri Amiel
7. How tall are you?

1. You’re incredibly genuine
2. “I can’t make you love me” Bonnie Raitt
3. Sit and chat over a beverage of your choice
4. *sighs* I should have left this question out, I think.
5. I remember thinking that *everyone* likes you. I’ve never seen a blogger who knows you that isnt completely taken with your sweetness. I mean that.
6. “There is no remedy for love but to love more” Henry David Thoreau
7. How do you manage not to be completely overwhelmed with all you do?

Alright then, now I think there's a good bit of you that owe me one now. Email it to me, if you're shy, because I want to know what you think. Because I am vain like that.

kisses to all of you

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

The pleasure, the privilege is mine

Alright, first, the meme continued [oh, this is fun]

1. Your sunglasses
2. Anything by The Smiths, especially "Some Girls are Bigger than Others"
3. Take a long walk. Have tea.
4. What sound does a tiger make?
5. This one is a tie- I used to have to go through other people's blogs to find yours before I bookmarked it. When you asked me to do your earworm list.
6. "Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves" Blaise Pascal
7. This one is hard...I think I know all those off the wall ones...hmm. Okay - food you like least in the world. [not fair, is it?]

Spinny - thank you! You're right, I do understand. Its always nice to have an unspoken connection with someone, I think. And you are, or to me you are, very very gentle. As far as your question, as soon as I get the money I suppose! I've got a long list of places to go and visit, and an even longer list of bills *sigh* One day....I'm taking time off and going to visit everyone! And you all are loves, especially you. I'd be lying if I said I wasnt very attached to my readers. You give me balance and perspective. And more than one of you have become very good friends to me, so of course I call you all loves.

Aravis - I wondered about the stickers! I love your quote. If I could do anything? Haha, travel...go visit Spinny...and everyone else! For a job [I think this is what you mean] teach and write, so, I suppose, in about 10 years, I 'll be doing it with any luck. Thats something to look forward to isnt it?

Any other takers?

I am working a night shift tonight. Lord, I hope it goes well. I dont work a lot of nights.

Also went shopping for my mom's mother's day gift...I hope she likes it. I am making her a gift basket...a pedicure set, some masks and bubble bath, chocolates, coffees, candles a teddy bear and two really good chick flicks [Steel Magnolias and Fried Green Tomatoes] so shecan enjoy an evening to herself....A good idea? I'm running out to be frank. I got her jewelry and a purse and lots of wearable stuff last year, I did a massage and dinner the year before...*shrugs* I'm not as creative as I seem, when it comes to gifts.

I hope you all are well. I'm having so much fun with this meme. I really am.


Monday, May 01, 2006

If you have five minutes to spare

Alright, Meme first round sign ups. See the post below for the thing these numbers answer...

1. You’re hair. I’ve loved it from the moment I saw your first pic. Do you remember your old avatar that had your head tilted back with your hair down? I loved it.
2. Anything by Green Day. It just does.
3. Meet up in San Francisco, have a picnic.
4. I have no idea. [I honestly think I’ll have trouble with this for most everyone]
5. I remember that your blog was pink, and it freaked me out a little.
6. God has no power over the past except to cover it with oblivion."- Pliny, the Elder
7. How do you remain so genuinely gentle?

1. You’ve got amazing stamina, for everything
2. Phantom of the Opera
3. Sing an aria from an opera, Puccini maybe. I like Tosca…
4. See Spinny’s answer…I am devoid of inside jokes.
5. Your writing moved me to tears the first time I read your blog. You made me feel fiercely protective. You inspired me to get my own.
6. “At times one remains faithful to a cause only because its opponents do not cease to be insipid.” Freidrich Neitzsche
7. How much sleep do you really average a night?

1. You make cute cards
2. “Molly’s Chambers” Kings of Leon
3. Take photographs
4. I listen to the CD all the time
5. I was fascinated by your pictures on your blog.
6. “The universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it. Marcus Areulius
7. Do you live in the middle of nowhere?

1. Your blog has more topics than any other one I’ve seen
2. I honestly have no idea…
3. Take a walk
4. again *sigh* no inside jokes….
5. Your avatar. I thought it was adorable.
6. “Genius is born, not paid” Oscar Wilde
7. What’s your IQ? [you don’t have to answer that]

Any other takers? I'll give it a go. If you want.

I'm also interested to see what you guys think of me, with regards to these questions....