spent all hallow's eve in surgery- eight hours, anyhow. first was the 3 week old puppy with the inguinal hernia and severe aspiration pneumonia who went into respiratory arrest mid-procedure; then was the 5-hr TPLO nightmare on ruby the german shepherd. i discovered halfway through the surgery that i am coming down with my first cold in 18 months- nothing like relentless snot whilst wearing a surgical mask.
there is something very satisfying about leaving work at the end of my shift and thinking "i fucking earned every penny today." pity that i am exhausted and unable to fully enjoy the costumed ribaldry around me.
i feel much better about everything now (see prior post, or don't). i obviously need to take a bit of a breather from my little hedonism-bender of late. abstinence is not for me, apparently, but there is definitely a middle ground somewhere. curses to my addictive personality! it is fascinating to observe what one's mind can conjure...
it is cold as fuck here. blazing tea, swing music, my hair lank and staticky... why, i could almost be back in anchorage.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
reflecting light, absorbing darkness
this is way too fucking personal to post on a computer, but i'm a fucking nit, so shall.
the debauchery of the last 2 months hit me with a wallop last night. i did mushrooms for the first time. it was a very interesting experience, a disconcerting fluctuation from ecstacy to bereftness, jitters to melt. i was sweating and tearing and salivating and having to urinate every 20 minutes. i never lost clarity of what i was and what the drug was doing to my mind- a very pleasurable facet of this particular high, much like acid. but then: we took a polaroid of ourselves and i looked fucking terrified in it. it was one of the most frightening things i've ever seen. to see fear in anyone's eyes, much less my own, is horrible enough. and my mood crashed. i became completely withdrawn. i was sitting on my knees on my floofy rug, staring at the seattle view, of the cars on i-5 zipping past like manic red ants, and i started to cry. i suddenly saw myself as a very lonely, silly girl... and as someone who is trying to reclaim an irresponsible youth that she has no place in. i was a sweaty fucking woman on yet another drug, with a second pending divorce, a chronic (however latent) disease, neuroses up the wazoo, and an oblivious 20-year-old BOY sprawled on my couch humming some stupid indie-rock song. what the fuck had happened to me? how can i feel so immature and so fucking irreversibly OLD all at once?
*
clarity, however artificially attained, is a bitch.
*
i ended up going for a walk, alone, at one a.m., sober. it was cold and windy. i walked quickly, enjoying the feel of my body moving, the air hitting my skin, the unbelievably lovely views from my neighborhood. the streets were lined with huge chestnut and maple trees, the sidewalk thick with leaves, windows of stately homes dark, clusters of pumpkins on front porches. i thought "this is who i am, this is when i am most pure: alone, ambulatory, appreciative." it is always therapeutic, meditative even, to hear the sound of my own breathing. i returned to my lair fairly reluctantly, knowing that he was upstairs (in the same bed, clothed). all i wanted was to be alone. i lay on the rug and played with the cat. the apartment building next door was having a very raucous halloween party. shrill laughter interrupted the sound of the wind.
in the morning, grey and cold, we left for me to go to work and drop him off en route, only to find that the place i'd ended up parking last night due to the party-clogging lack of options had gotten my car towed. there is a very specific feeling of desperation when looking at the empty spot where one's car is supposed to be. 2 bus rides, prolonged ass-freezing, a very fucking bad mood and $260 later, i rescued Pink from the barbed-wire cage in the sphincter of south seattle. i was only 45 minutes late to work.
i feel like i am fucking rudderless. i always feel fairly discombobulated and without purpose, but everything gelled in my mind a bit too fucking blatantly last night. i suppose i was simply, finally aware of what i already know.
the debauchery of the last 2 months hit me with a wallop last night. i did mushrooms for the first time. it was a very interesting experience, a disconcerting fluctuation from ecstacy to bereftness, jitters to melt. i was sweating and tearing and salivating and having to urinate every 20 minutes. i never lost clarity of what i was and what the drug was doing to my mind- a very pleasurable facet of this particular high, much like acid. but then: we took a polaroid of ourselves and i looked fucking terrified in it. it was one of the most frightening things i've ever seen. to see fear in anyone's eyes, much less my own, is horrible enough. and my mood crashed. i became completely withdrawn. i was sitting on my knees on my floofy rug, staring at the seattle view, of the cars on i-5 zipping past like manic red ants, and i started to cry. i suddenly saw myself as a very lonely, silly girl... and as someone who is trying to reclaim an irresponsible youth that she has no place in. i was a sweaty fucking woman on yet another drug, with a second pending divorce, a chronic (however latent) disease, neuroses up the wazoo, and an oblivious 20-year-old BOY sprawled on my couch humming some stupid indie-rock song. what the fuck had happened to me? how can i feel so immature and so fucking irreversibly OLD all at once?
*
clarity, however artificially attained, is a bitch.
*
i ended up going for a walk, alone, at one a.m., sober. it was cold and windy. i walked quickly, enjoying the feel of my body moving, the air hitting my skin, the unbelievably lovely views from my neighborhood. the streets were lined with huge chestnut and maple trees, the sidewalk thick with leaves, windows of stately homes dark, clusters of pumpkins on front porches. i thought "this is who i am, this is when i am most pure: alone, ambulatory, appreciative." it is always therapeutic, meditative even, to hear the sound of my own breathing. i returned to my lair fairly reluctantly, knowing that he was upstairs (in the same bed, clothed). all i wanted was to be alone. i lay on the rug and played with the cat. the apartment building next door was having a very raucous halloween party. shrill laughter interrupted the sound of the wind.
in the morning, grey and cold, we left for me to go to work and drop him off en route, only to find that the place i'd ended up parking last night due to the party-clogging lack of options had gotten my car towed. there is a very specific feeling of desperation when looking at the empty spot where one's car is supposed to be. 2 bus rides, prolonged ass-freezing, a very fucking bad mood and $260 later, i rescued Pink from the barbed-wire cage in the sphincter of south seattle. i was only 45 minutes late to work.
i feel like i am fucking rudderless. i always feel fairly discombobulated and without purpose, but everything gelled in my mind a bit too fucking blatantly last night. i suppose i was simply, finally aware of what i already know.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
both minted and minty
bless tower records... purchased 3 more cds today... including, at 25% off, the men at work album that i listened to OBSESSIVELY my first few months back in AK circa 1998... a cold, horribly depressing winter, driving to arctic valley in my subaru, staring morosely over the cityscape, 'what the FUCK' resonating cruelly in my head. i lost the cassette in one of my many moves. it will be interesting to hear again.
the week in technicolor recap:
friday: got lost in the bowels of puyallup, so did not see my grandfather. fetched friend from work, where they were operating on an otter from the zoo. it had torsed and necrotic intestines and ended up being euthanized on the table, but not before stinking up the place with a fetid fishiness. i took pictures that have not been developed yet. we drove back to seattle and drank port and played dice.
saturday: fucking beautiful. breakfast at randy's, a former denny's by boeing field, the interior disarming shades of orange and magenta, the waitress with her black beehive saying that she'll be back to take our order after her (mimes smoking) "attitude adjustment." went to the waterfront to find souvenir penny presses, then to play with his '60's polaroid beside a fountain as tourists glid by stupidly in their rented segways. drove to bellingham. climbed a hill in utter blackness to reach the 'watchtower' above WWU. saw the fog roll in from the bay. slogged back down the hill with no visibility and limbs numb from cold. ate excellent french fries at the horseshoe cafe. drove back in the same surreal mist, listening to 'blonde on blonde'; arrived at my lair to watch felix the cat cartoons.
sunday: up early to work the 10am shift in tacoma (my hours have been changed again). we parted in the white light of dawn. work... enjoyable, competent, busy. this week went by quickly.
tuesday: in the room of the place he's staying, reading aloud from each other's journals, at one point him saying "i could make love to you right now and mean it," the subsequent 48 hrs saturated with the knowledge that this is one of the fucking nicest things i've ever been told. it was hard to leave. practical, very practical, but i did bang my hands against the steering wheel once i'd turned the corner.
i was 'specialist tech' at work, which involved anesthetic monitoring during one dog's MRI and surgical assistance during another dog's hemilaminectomy. the doctor is a chatty sort. "do you like music during surgery?" i asked. "sure, my cd's are right there" he replied, and i opened the book to find... the backstreet boys, george strait... thankfully my surgical mask disguised my grimace. he did have blondie's greatest hits, so we blared that whilst cauterizing dachshund flesh. cautery is very satisfying. it smells like barbecue and makes a sizzling noise.
the remainder of the week... details, just clutter. i am very much loving my silly little life currently. it has finally gotten interesting in a not wholly negative way.
why did the chicken cross the playground?
to get to the other slide!
bless your clever, stretchy soul, laffy taffy.
the week in technicolor recap:
friday: got lost in the bowels of puyallup, so did not see my grandfather. fetched friend from work, where they were operating on an otter from the zoo. it had torsed and necrotic intestines and ended up being euthanized on the table, but not before stinking up the place with a fetid fishiness. i took pictures that have not been developed yet. we drove back to seattle and drank port and played dice.
saturday: fucking beautiful. breakfast at randy's, a former denny's by boeing field, the interior disarming shades of orange and magenta, the waitress with her black beehive saying that she'll be back to take our order after her (mimes smoking) "attitude adjustment." went to the waterfront to find souvenir penny presses, then to play with his '60's polaroid beside a fountain as tourists glid by stupidly in their rented segways. drove to bellingham. climbed a hill in utter blackness to reach the 'watchtower' above WWU. saw the fog roll in from the bay. slogged back down the hill with no visibility and limbs numb from cold. ate excellent french fries at the horseshoe cafe. drove back in the same surreal mist, listening to 'blonde on blonde'; arrived at my lair to watch felix the cat cartoons.
sunday: up early to work the 10am shift in tacoma (my hours have been changed again). we parted in the white light of dawn. work... enjoyable, competent, busy. this week went by quickly.
tuesday: in the room of the place he's staying, reading aloud from each other's journals, at one point him saying "i could make love to you right now and mean it," the subsequent 48 hrs saturated with the knowledge that this is one of the fucking nicest things i've ever been told. it was hard to leave. practical, very practical, but i did bang my hands against the steering wheel once i'd turned the corner.
i was 'specialist tech' at work, which involved anesthetic monitoring during one dog's MRI and surgical assistance during another dog's hemilaminectomy. the doctor is a chatty sort. "do you like music during surgery?" i asked. "sure, my cd's are right there" he replied, and i opened the book to find... the backstreet boys, george strait... thankfully my surgical mask disguised my grimace. he did have blondie's greatest hits, so we blared that whilst cauterizing dachshund flesh. cautery is very satisfying. it smells like barbecue and makes a sizzling noise.
the remainder of the week... details, just clutter. i am very much loving my silly little life currently. it has finally gotten interesting in a not wholly negative way.
why did the chicken cross the playground?
to get to the other slide!
bless your clever, stretchy soul, laffy taffy.
Friday, October 20, 2006
i like u. do u like me? yes_ no_ maybe_
i love autumn. last night the air around my neighborhood smelled of garlic (from the greek restaurant) and wet leaves. as i neared downtown the aroma changed to steak and chlorinated hotel pools. it was incredibly windy all the while. today is cloudless and my sleeves are pushed up. spent the morning with workers outside my window, trying to decoupage, watching helix vomit. he is fucking wasting away. for the last couple of weeks i cannot help but look at him through the eyes of a 'professional'; that is, if he were brought into the hospital as someone else's, how much disgust would i have towards the selfishness of his owner in keeping him alive so long? but then he purrs, or what have you, and my clinical resolve is squashed.
the tower records a few blocks from my lair is going out of business, so i bought 2 cds en route to my current locale (downtown, listening to dr. hook, drinking ginger peach tea...): nick drake and eloy, both surprisingly difficult to find in this selectionally discouraging berg.
when traffic clears i shall head to puyallup to see my grandfather for the first time since his stroke... grave trepidation about this, though he is said to be improving... and then to fetch vice-boy for a night of something platonic. oddly, the more my life is clogged with distractions, the lonelier i have felt...
cover your eyes! pathetic adolescent shite! what i want: a verbose, scurrilous, socially bewildered man. tall. my age. odd work schedule. local. marvelous musical taste, fruity-artsy, a litany of bad habits, liberal, cat-oriented, appreciates his mama but doesn't fucking worship her. simply is rather than describing his every trait. accountable. self-aware and self-deprecating. able to drive well whilst receiving fellatio. willing to buy me tampons when i need them. is not a vain, snively prick.
there are surely oodles more. however, i have mortified myself enough, so shall stop. tra-la. whatever.
the tower records a few blocks from my lair is going out of business, so i bought 2 cds en route to my current locale (downtown, listening to dr. hook, drinking ginger peach tea...): nick drake and eloy, both surprisingly difficult to find in this selectionally discouraging berg.
when traffic clears i shall head to puyallup to see my grandfather for the first time since his stroke... grave trepidation about this, though he is said to be improving... and then to fetch vice-boy for a night of something platonic. oddly, the more my life is clogged with distractions, the lonelier i have felt...
cover your eyes! pathetic adolescent shite! what i want: a verbose, scurrilous, socially bewildered man. tall. my age. odd work schedule. local. marvelous musical taste, fruity-artsy, a litany of bad habits, liberal, cat-oriented, appreciates his mama but doesn't fucking worship her. simply is rather than describing his every trait. accountable. self-aware and self-deprecating. able to drive well whilst receiving fellatio. willing to buy me tampons when i need them. is not a vain, snively prick.
there are surely oodles more. however, i have mortified myself enough, so shall stop. tra-la. whatever.
Monday, October 16, 2006
drugs were invented for people like me
staring at a blank screen. work was fun. the radio was on a station that played everything from prince to toto. one of the assistants sang along enthusiastically to "walk of life." i felt competent and mellow. now i am avoiding doing laundry. ah, the rigors of reality.
my problem, my lament, my ISSUE, if one will: i can never fucking settle on anything. i am so perpetually searching for the bigger thrill, the newer experience, no matter how detrimental, that i impatiently breeze past wholly adequate substitutions. i want my breath painfully taken away.
life is very interesting right now. how often can i truly say that?
my problem, my lament, my ISSUE, if one will: i can never fucking settle on anything. i am so perpetually searching for the bigger thrill, the newer experience, no matter how detrimental, that i impatiently breeze past wholly adequate substitutions. i want my breath painfully taken away.
life is very interesting right now. how often can i truly say that?
Sunday, October 15, 2006
or: fuck logic. just say yes.
after driving home last night, through rain and saturday-night revelers, sober, i began to feel really sad, and it took great willpower not to turn the car around. we had another great day, but now there is a weird undercurrent of melancholy because i told him how i was fairly incapable of being a Girlfriend right now. we were sitting beside a fire at the time of that conversation, friday night, drinking bellinis. "are you sure?" he asked. "no" i blurted immediately. "let me know when you change your mind" he said. goddamn him for always saying the fucking right thing.
i don't want to reveal my litany of neuroses to anyone. i already have with him and he seems to appreciate me anyhow. i wish i knew how things are going to be: with the bigger picture, with my health, with my divorce, with my state of mind.
i want to be in a stimulating relationship. sexually is *almost* an irrelevant priority. i want artistic stimulation, i want to be impressed by how they think, i want to see the world in novel hues. and this is how he makes me feel. i am a better human when i'm around him... for the most part. so far. fuck. here i go again, deprecating, sabotaging, overfuckinganalyzing, driving myself mad.
missing someone when they're not around: i am fucked.
i don't want to reveal my litany of neuroses to anyone. i already have with him and he seems to appreciate me anyhow. i wish i knew how things are going to be: with the bigger picture, with my health, with my divorce, with my state of mind.
i want to be in a stimulating relationship. sexually is *almost* an irrelevant priority. i want artistic stimulation, i want to be impressed by how they think, i want to see the world in novel hues. and this is how he makes me feel. i am a better human when i'm around him... for the most part. so far. fuck. here i go again, deprecating, sabotaging, overfuckinganalyzing, driving myself mad.
missing someone when they're not around: i am fucked.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
too fucking honest
i am a fucking hedonist by nature, augmented with an unwieldy amount of conscience. i have higher expectations for myself than what i often demonstrate. perhaps i am just tired from the last 48 hrs of mayhem and need some alone time, as i tend to get very twitchy and irritated when i don't.
chronological recount:
tuesday: swapped shifts so i could get off work at six. he had the same hours. i drove to tacoma in brilliant dawn, feeling quite jaunty, only to check my phone and realize that my mother had left me a message, informing me that my grandfather has had a serious stroke. he is improving, as of yesterday. got to work. was stuck in surgery for hours, trying not to snicker at the doctor's choice of crappy soft-rock on his ipod (tegan and sara, for example). left work, me hyperactive, him mellow, and drove to seattle in pink twilight. bought a fifth of bacardi. drank a healthy amount at my lair, then walked downtown with the rest in a plastic bottle. slurry-drunk by the time we got to the showbox. leaned against the edge of the stage and gushed over architecture in helsinki. somewhere along the way he said "because i'm drunk, i can say this: i really dig you." "i really dig you too" i replied untidily; we proceeded to maul one another. after the show i went to the loo, but the queue was too long, so i went outside to wait, but neglected to tell him i was doing so; they wouldn't let me back inside because i was, by this point, very repulsively inebriated, and i vaguely remember politely apologizing for my state to the disgusted bouncer. he emerged from the club and we staggered uphill, giggling, crashing into shrubbery, the sort of display i would roll my eyes at were i not the participant. no, we did not have sex. i am glad of that.
the next day: it gelled in my mind, as sun gushed through the windows, as i sneaked out of bed to let him sleep: he is a friend. he is a friend who i care very much for, and as such i will not fuck it up with weird romantic bullshit. there are too many caveats to this situation to list. suffice it to say: it is a bad situation, one that i am both admiring and horrified of myself that i even got into. we went out to breakfast at a bowling alley. everyone else there was ancient. it was a good vibe. the windows were tinted glass. the food was delicious. we went to the zoo. cloudless, red leaves, both of us in very good moods, watching spiders spin webs, the wide-eyed secret creatures of the nocturnal exhibits, staring into the kind face of an orangutan. greek food in fremont. sitting on the end of a dock in west seattle, wakes from invisible boats making the pier undulate, passing a joint, feeling like i was on a slow roller coaster into the heart of downtown. and then the abstract sadness that is still persisting began to set in. i became very introverted. i loved being around him but desperately wanted to be alone. i wanted to go back to my stupid apartment by my stupid self and read a stupid magazine and be depressed. why the fuck would i, at such an iconic moment, want something so pathetic? because it's familiar? because it's comfortable? because i'm more scared than i want to admit? we ended up renting 'broken flowers.' it is a good movie, but very ponderous and slow and sad. why it's touted as a comedy on the fucking sleeve befuddles me.
i was relieved to be back at work today, though incredibly self-conscious about the fucking hickey on my neck. none of my coworkers have mentioned anything about us, but it is fairly fucking obvious that something has been transpiring. but just when i get panicky about everything, when i start to suck into my own toxic head, he has a talent of saying or doing just what i need. and this is the truth that makes me stop and think "you know what?... this is pretty fucking cool, and i deserve to be happy, i deserve to have fun... and i shouldn't worry." when i dropped him off en route to the clinic, we smiled awkwardly at each other, then he said "come here" and i leaned in, tense about what uncomfortable thing might happen, and he kissed me on the cheek, and immediately everything was easy and right again.
ultimately, what? we are friends. i don't want more. i either want a really fucking good friend, like i have found in him, or i want some lothario i don't give a fuck about emotionally whom i can merely ravage. i am nowhere near ready for both in the same person. perhaps i never will be, or if i am, it will not happen. life has already demonstrated this to be a fucking rare, if not impossible, thing.
unrelated witticisms from the 253:
"tacoma: 200,000 alcoholics can't be wrong."
"glassblowing: it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."
chronological recount:
tuesday: swapped shifts so i could get off work at six. he had the same hours. i drove to tacoma in brilliant dawn, feeling quite jaunty, only to check my phone and realize that my mother had left me a message, informing me that my grandfather has had a serious stroke. he is improving, as of yesterday. got to work. was stuck in surgery for hours, trying not to snicker at the doctor's choice of crappy soft-rock on his ipod (tegan and sara, for example). left work, me hyperactive, him mellow, and drove to seattle in pink twilight. bought a fifth of bacardi. drank a healthy amount at my lair, then walked downtown with the rest in a plastic bottle. slurry-drunk by the time we got to the showbox. leaned against the edge of the stage and gushed over architecture in helsinki. somewhere along the way he said "because i'm drunk, i can say this: i really dig you." "i really dig you too" i replied untidily; we proceeded to maul one another. after the show i went to the loo, but the queue was too long, so i went outside to wait, but neglected to tell him i was doing so; they wouldn't let me back inside because i was, by this point, very repulsively inebriated, and i vaguely remember politely apologizing for my state to the disgusted bouncer. he emerged from the club and we staggered uphill, giggling, crashing into shrubbery, the sort of display i would roll my eyes at were i not the participant. no, we did not have sex. i am glad of that.
the next day: it gelled in my mind, as sun gushed through the windows, as i sneaked out of bed to let him sleep: he is a friend. he is a friend who i care very much for, and as such i will not fuck it up with weird romantic bullshit. there are too many caveats to this situation to list. suffice it to say: it is a bad situation, one that i am both admiring and horrified of myself that i even got into. we went out to breakfast at a bowling alley. everyone else there was ancient. it was a good vibe. the windows were tinted glass. the food was delicious. we went to the zoo. cloudless, red leaves, both of us in very good moods, watching spiders spin webs, the wide-eyed secret creatures of the nocturnal exhibits, staring into the kind face of an orangutan. greek food in fremont. sitting on the end of a dock in west seattle, wakes from invisible boats making the pier undulate, passing a joint, feeling like i was on a slow roller coaster into the heart of downtown. and then the abstract sadness that is still persisting began to set in. i became very introverted. i loved being around him but desperately wanted to be alone. i wanted to go back to my stupid apartment by my stupid self and read a stupid magazine and be depressed. why the fuck would i, at such an iconic moment, want something so pathetic? because it's familiar? because it's comfortable? because i'm more scared than i want to admit? we ended up renting 'broken flowers.' it is a good movie, but very ponderous and slow and sad. why it's touted as a comedy on the fucking sleeve befuddles me.
i was relieved to be back at work today, though incredibly self-conscious about the fucking hickey on my neck. none of my coworkers have mentioned anything about us, but it is fairly fucking obvious that something has been transpiring. but just when i get panicky about everything, when i start to suck into my own toxic head, he has a talent of saying or doing just what i need. and this is the truth that makes me stop and think "you know what?... this is pretty fucking cool, and i deserve to be happy, i deserve to have fun... and i shouldn't worry." when i dropped him off en route to the clinic, we smiled awkwardly at each other, then he said "come here" and i leaned in, tense about what uncomfortable thing might happen, and he kissed me on the cheek, and immediately everything was easy and right again.
ultimately, what? we are friends. i don't want more. i either want a really fucking good friend, like i have found in him, or i want some lothario i don't give a fuck about emotionally whom i can merely ravage. i am nowhere near ready for both in the same person. perhaps i never will be, or if i am, it will not happen. life has already demonstrated this to be a fucking rare, if not impossible, thing.
unrelated witticisms from the 253:
"tacoma: 200,000 alcoholics can't be wrong."
"glassblowing: it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
'til my seas are dried up
five days in a row of work at the aec (see where i work! www.theaec.com)... busy, death-filled days. leptospirosis is once again rearing its hoary, zoonotic head. it is hard to deal with the same patients for multiple days and watch them slowly fade away. i had roscoe the dog in my arms as he was euthanized today. took helix into work with me on saturday to have his renal values rechecked. they were shit, as i expected. he is 6.4 pounds. he used to be about 13. he still purrs and licks his stinky canned food, but it won't be much longer. he sleeps on my cd books a lot. tomorrow i go to fucking olympia to talk to someone at the fucking court about my divorce. he swears he signed the rejoinder i served in february (agreeing to the terms of my filing) but they don't have a copy at the court, so i re-served his parents, and i got off work today to recieve the message that he isn't signing again, so i will probably have to file a default, and i am extremely fucking disgusted by him, the bullshit concept of marriage, and how much more difficult it is to get a divorce than to wed. it really should be the other way around. i want it over. soon, soon.
...i said this the first time i got divorced (unto itself, already a white-trash statement) but truly, if i ever get a bug up my arse to indulge in MATRIMONY again, someone best fucking kill me.
on an unrelated note: 'bubble' is a dreadful movie: self-important, tedious, annoying.
on another unrelated note: about a week after seeing 'blue velvet' (as aforementioned) i happened to be at the nitelite bar on 2nd ave (adjacent to the moore): a total dive, with xmas lights and hardened, older alcoholics slumped over their bottom-shelf $2.25 drinks- the sort of place that, were the bathrooms not so surprisingly clean, one would expect to leave with a case of scabies. and they played 'in dreams', roy orbison, and it was perfect and perfectly eerie.
pleasing things of the last week:
-my teapot still functional after i forgot to turn off the burner (i am on a boullion kick)
-ike and tina, over and over and over
-the ethereal dead jellyfish in the surf at owens beach
-being serenaded with a wonderfully cheesy '70's song
-plans to see architecture in helsinki on tuesday
-learning exactly what a 'dirty sanchez' really is (thanks for telling me, fellow female tech)
-hitting the vein on a seagull (though i was euthanizing it at the time)
the problem with 53 hrs of work in the last 7 days, plus 12 hrs of illogical commute: i haven't had much time for a life. obviously.
me: "how's it going tonight?"
hypersmiling man serving me tea: "i'm getting a migraine. but i'm treating it with coffee, and when i get off work i'll be treating it with beer."
...i said this the first time i got divorced (unto itself, already a white-trash statement) but truly, if i ever get a bug up my arse to indulge in MATRIMONY again, someone best fucking kill me.
on an unrelated note: 'bubble' is a dreadful movie: self-important, tedious, annoying.
on another unrelated note: about a week after seeing 'blue velvet' (as aforementioned) i happened to be at the nitelite bar on 2nd ave (adjacent to the moore): a total dive, with xmas lights and hardened, older alcoholics slumped over their bottom-shelf $2.25 drinks- the sort of place that, were the bathrooms not so surprisingly clean, one would expect to leave with a case of scabies. and they played 'in dreams', roy orbison, and it was perfect and perfectly eerie.
pleasing things of the last week:
-my teapot still functional after i forgot to turn off the burner (i am on a boullion kick)
-ike and tina, over and over and over
-the ethereal dead jellyfish in the surf at owens beach
-being serenaded with a wonderfully cheesy '70's song
-plans to see architecture in helsinki on tuesday
-learning exactly what a 'dirty sanchez' really is (thanks for telling me, fellow female tech)
-hitting the vein on a seagull (though i was euthanizing it at the time)
the problem with 53 hrs of work in the last 7 days, plus 12 hrs of illogical commute: i haven't had much time for a life. obviously.
me: "how's it going tonight?"
hypersmiling man serving me tea: "i'm getting a migraine. but i'm treating it with coffee, and when i get off work i'll be treating it with beer."
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