had my employee evaluation yesterday; it was very good, actually. my strength: i always stay busy. my weakness: i get flustered. "you're coming into your own here" my manager noted. "you seem a lot more outgoing and willing to speak up." "my life is going much better now" i replied, and it is true: i was a miserable wisp when i started working there 2+ years ago, it being a 2nd job i took solely to get away from my horrid marriage for at least another night per week. i cannot even relate to that level of shit now. hopefully i will never again have to.
it is good to be acknowledged for my worth. it is a human neccessity, actually.
afterwards j and i got together... "the shows are all new tonight" he said happily, so we engaged in our comfortable custom of weed and thursday night NBC. i fucking love 'the office.' the other shows are pretty stupid. advertisements whilst stoned are absolutely fascinating. and the colbert report should never be watched sober. guamanians! he is my sole portal into television and cinema. during commercials we listened to the alec baldwin tirade on his computer. it is fucking horrible. i feel especially disgusting for perpetuating the fame of it with my sick voyeurism. the modern world is lacking a soul. "big deal" he said. "my dad beat on me all the time." "yeah, i got a fat lip and 'i don't have a daughter'" i agreed. we were both laughing. it is one of two possible responses, ultimately.
i use too many qualifiers. it is a typically female proclivity: 'in my opinion', 'i suppose'... they subtly convey insecurity in one's opinion, even if there is no personal doubt. i do this all the fucking time. there is a book that i cannot recall the name of about a lesbian who goes undercover as a man to see how she's treated in the world, and realizes whilst 'posing' how many latent girly mannerisms she possesses, even as a full-fledged self-professed bulldyke. she smacks her lips together after applying chapstick, for example. after reading that i noticed myself doing the same thing. and guys don't? or the way women talk with their fingers but men talk with their hands. no one taught this. it just happens. i would make a crappy transsexual.
i was always unnerved by how my ex would sit with his legs crossed like a girl. i would even point it out to him. "what?" he'd protest, immediately defensive; this is the same man who says "fags" and "niggers" without any hint of irony. in retrospect, i am cruelly smug about berating him about something so sacred as his masculinity.
i am far too much of a bitch. i even have the audacity to smirk whilst typing that.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
the conversation still had a flawless flow
i am going to new orleans! in JUNE! "prepare to sweat" said my boss, evilly.
it is crucial to have something completely nonsensible and frivolous to look forward to at all times. this shall be my new m.o. i suppose it always has been, but went under slightly more sinister monikers like "instant gratification/brilliance in justifying anything."
work, one coworker in particular, has been the source of much consternation. i finally spoke to my manager yesterday. she was very nice about it, acting like i wasn't telling her anything she didn;t already know, but i feel like an asshole now. confrontation is not a strength of mine; i abashedly tend towards passive-aggressive mindfuckery. thus my first day off, today, has been saturated with pangs of stress. i relented and bought a puzzle, which is my equivalent of a junkie smoking crack; it is very ugly and very cheap, the coliseum in athens with far too much nondescript blue sky and confusing flora; i worked on it until my apartment grew dim, muttering to myself all the while. being hip and cool will wait for another day, i suppose.
a guy with far too much Hair Product and a psuedo-ironic western shirt is babbling very loudly into his phone. i fucking hate cell phones. a car nearly smacked me whilst i was crossing the street on the way here tonight; the driver, a baseball-cap-wearing phone user, glowered at me. i smiled and mouthed 'asshole'.
the other stuff that has been preoccupying me A LOT is not worth jinxing with prattle just yet.
it is crucial to have something completely nonsensible and frivolous to look forward to at all times. this shall be my new m.o. i suppose it always has been, but went under slightly more sinister monikers like "instant gratification/brilliance in justifying anything."
work, one coworker in particular, has been the source of much consternation. i finally spoke to my manager yesterday. she was very nice about it, acting like i wasn't telling her anything she didn;t already know, but i feel like an asshole now. confrontation is not a strength of mine; i abashedly tend towards passive-aggressive mindfuckery. thus my first day off, today, has been saturated with pangs of stress. i relented and bought a puzzle, which is my equivalent of a junkie smoking crack; it is very ugly and very cheap, the coliseum in athens with far too much nondescript blue sky and confusing flora; i worked on it until my apartment grew dim, muttering to myself all the while. being hip and cool will wait for another day, i suppose.
a guy with far too much Hair Product and a psuedo-ironic western shirt is babbling very loudly into his phone. i fucking hate cell phones. a car nearly smacked me whilst i was crossing the street on the way here tonight; the driver, a baseball-cap-wearing phone user, glowered at me. i smiled and mouthed 'asshole'.
the other stuff that has been preoccupying me A LOT is not worth jinxing with prattle just yet.
Friday, April 20, 2007
i need something to pick at
do i go to new orleans? i have an itinerary saved. www.cleanno.org has a horrifying video taken immediately post-katrina; the icon for it is in the upper right-hand corner of the screen, and it's mind-blowing.
i still feel frantic and rudderless. went out with j last night; we met up with the people who kicked my ass in poker on new year's day. it was very fucking fun. our relationship has been, other than a few inebriated snogs several months ago, strictly platonic, but i have been having impure thoughts of late. it must be the weather. darn it all.
this evening:
-the bus driver turned on the wrong street. the other passengers immediately started braying. "what the hell is he doing? he thinks it's the 49!" the bus was on the wire and couldn't just turn around; the driver meekly called the main office to figure out what to do. everyone was being incredibly rude about the whole thing. "goddamn it all" huffed a man behind me, opening the windows with dramatic bangs.
-another bus driver pulled up to a stop and said to a guy waiting with his bike: "i remember you. you're not getting on this bus." "are you kidding me?" the guy spluttered as the doors shut in his face. it is hard to look indignant whilst wearing a helmet and spandex. like an ass, i smirked.
-i passed a man laying on his back and doing leg lifts in the park. it looked odd from afar; as i got closer i realized that he had only one leg. he was laughing at nothing as i walked by, the stump deeply tanned and waving around.
-a bitch at the bartell's called me 'sir.' she didn't see my face, just my dyke-garb. "oh, i'm so sorry!" she exclaimed loudly when i got to the counter. and she didn't fucking shut up. "i thought you were a man! you looked like a man from back there, where i couldn't see you!" she was obviously embarrassed and trying to cover it up by babbling obnoxiously. i was more disgusted than mortified. at least she thought i was a girl from the neck up. and yes, i am dressed exceptionally asexually today. apart from my heels (thick and clumpy) i could be hewing trees.
-i passed another man, long flowing santa beard and resplendent cape, sprawled on the sidewalk, screaming drunkenly at the equally inebriated woman standing over him. i walked around them, onto the scrubby grass, expressionless.
*
i don't know what the fuck i am doing. i feel absolutely fucking aimless. thank god for gravity.
thank god for walking, for blossoms on trees, for ten years after on the radio, for lavash bread and red grapes and money to burn, if i could figure out what to burn it on. other than new orleans, by myself, guilt and privelege comingling in dissonance.
i still feel frantic and rudderless. went out with j last night; we met up with the people who kicked my ass in poker on new year's day. it was very fucking fun. our relationship has been, other than a few inebriated snogs several months ago, strictly platonic, but i have been having impure thoughts of late. it must be the weather. darn it all.
this evening:
-the bus driver turned on the wrong street. the other passengers immediately started braying. "what the hell is he doing? he thinks it's the 49!" the bus was on the wire and couldn't just turn around; the driver meekly called the main office to figure out what to do. everyone was being incredibly rude about the whole thing. "goddamn it all" huffed a man behind me, opening the windows with dramatic bangs.
-another bus driver pulled up to a stop and said to a guy waiting with his bike: "i remember you. you're not getting on this bus." "are you kidding me?" the guy spluttered as the doors shut in his face. it is hard to look indignant whilst wearing a helmet and spandex. like an ass, i smirked.
-i passed a man laying on his back and doing leg lifts in the park. it looked odd from afar; as i got closer i realized that he had only one leg. he was laughing at nothing as i walked by, the stump deeply tanned and waving around.
-a bitch at the bartell's called me 'sir.' she didn't see my face, just my dyke-garb. "oh, i'm so sorry!" she exclaimed loudly when i got to the counter. and she didn't fucking shut up. "i thought you were a man! you looked like a man from back there, where i couldn't see you!" she was obviously embarrassed and trying to cover it up by babbling obnoxiously. i was more disgusted than mortified. at least she thought i was a girl from the neck up. and yes, i am dressed exceptionally asexually today. apart from my heels (thick and clumpy) i could be hewing trees.
-i passed another man, long flowing santa beard and resplendent cape, sprawled on the sidewalk, screaming drunkenly at the equally inebriated woman standing over him. i walked around them, onto the scrubby grass, expressionless.
*
i don't know what the fuck i am doing. i feel absolutely fucking aimless. thank god for gravity.
thank god for walking, for blossoms on trees, for ten years after on the radio, for lavash bread and red grapes and money to burn, if i could figure out what to burn it on. other than new orleans, by myself, guilt and privelege comingling in dissonance.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
free fall
diffuse wanderlust. a need to get away. augmented with an eerie sense of contentment. too much coffee, polyuric, hands askance. i don't want to be cynical for the rest of my life. everything is already blurring together a bit too predictably.
when you stop caring, as i sort of have, things tend to fall into place. maybe things already have. that does not change the fact that i want to jump out of my skin at the moment.
'talked' with my 1st ex last night. he is always in the midst of running away from something. i used to be captivated by that, the inability to live in the present, since i felt the same way. now it strikes me as somewhat depressing. but it reactivates the old cravings in my own mind, the need to never be bored, never be complacent, never miss a fucking thing. glassy-eyed towards some ambiguous problems-solved future, romanticizing the past, oblivious to the darn-fine of the right-now. much has been missed. my entire life has been spent in an alternate parallel.
so what do i want? i want to not have doubt and consternation fuck things up. i want to be open to possibilities. i want to be languidly taken on a sunny afternoon.
that's most of it, after all.
how embarrassing.
when you stop caring, as i sort of have, things tend to fall into place. maybe things already have. that does not change the fact that i want to jump out of my skin at the moment.
'talked' with my 1st ex last night. he is always in the midst of running away from something. i used to be captivated by that, the inability to live in the present, since i felt the same way. now it strikes me as somewhat depressing. but it reactivates the old cravings in my own mind, the need to never be bored, never be complacent, never miss a fucking thing. glassy-eyed towards some ambiguous problems-solved future, romanticizing the past, oblivious to the darn-fine of the right-now. much has been missed. my entire life has been spent in an alternate parallel.
so what do i want? i want to not have doubt and consternation fuck things up. i want to be open to possibilities. i want to be languidly taken on a sunny afternoon.
that's most of it, after all.
how embarrassing.
Friday, April 13, 2007
"think of your head as an unsafe neighborhood- don't go there alone"
i have cried whilst reading a book exactly twice. the first one was fairly recently but i cannot recall the situation; the second was 'dry', tonight, in a freezing corner of the university bookstore. i am certain it is psychologically detrimental to read books in one (or in this case, two) sittings, especially ones loaded with depressing crap that hits way too close to home; i left the bookstore feeling drugged and scarily fucking alone.
alone, in the cold wet night, with my goddamn mind. pissed off that i cannot drink like a 'normal' person, guilty because i have never been as wholeheartedly self-destructive as a 'real, true' alcoholic, disgusted that i cannot meet anyone here without some sort of substance being involved, especially disgusted that it is usually me that suggests it because i am too much of a chickenshit to think other people would consider me fun whilst sober. the book is amazing. but throughout it i couldn't help but think hideous, vile thoughts: 'oh sure, he's got all these friends around to talk to.' and i fucking hate myself for that.
transferring of addiction is mentioned often in AA. i believe my new addiction is isolation. self-imposed, pathetic isolation. it is safe. i went on another all-too-frequent plant-buying binge yesterday. my lair is now even more cool as shit. i look around my surroundings objectively and think "a person i would love to know lives here." it didn't occur to me until some hours later that i never considered somebody other than me ever being there. it is almost as if i am caught in an all-consuming, possessive affair with myself. this is fucking weird and crazy and jaw-droppingly narcissistic when i think about it in such terms.
there is always that feeling of hyperactive blankness that precedes self-destruction. i am not quite there yet. but i could be oblivious because i am consciously choosing to not have anyone around to riccochet my impulses off of.
by myself i am always competent, hilarious, and sensical. there is a seduction about that. but the world is flat and colorless without someone else to share it with: be it a clerk at the grocery store, or a warm hand on my leg, or the ability to relate a story we both experienced. without that the days drool together in fucking ennui and trees fall soundlessly in forests and all that shit.
i want my world shaken up in a frantic way. doesn't everyone?
such a paradox, wishing such things whilst sitting on my ass WRITING about them.
alone, in the cold wet night, with my goddamn mind. pissed off that i cannot drink like a 'normal' person, guilty because i have never been as wholeheartedly self-destructive as a 'real, true' alcoholic, disgusted that i cannot meet anyone here without some sort of substance being involved, especially disgusted that it is usually me that suggests it because i am too much of a chickenshit to think other people would consider me fun whilst sober. the book is amazing. but throughout it i couldn't help but think hideous, vile thoughts: 'oh sure, he's got all these friends around to talk to.' and i fucking hate myself for that.
transferring of addiction is mentioned often in AA. i believe my new addiction is isolation. self-imposed, pathetic isolation. it is safe. i went on another all-too-frequent plant-buying binge yesterday. my lair is now even more cool as shit. i look around my surroundings objectively and think "a person i would love to know lives here." it didn't occur to me until some hours later that i never considered somebody other than me ever being there. it is almost as if i am caught in an all-consuming, possessive affair with myself. this is fucking weird and crazy and jaw-droppingly narcissistic when i think about it in such terms.
there is always that feeling of hyperactive blankness that precedes self-destruction. i am not quite there yet. but i could be oblivious because i am consciously choosing to not have anyone around to riccochet my impulses off of.
by myself i am always competent, hilarious, and sensical. there is a seduction about that. but the world is flat and colorless without someone else to share it with: be it a clerk at the grocery store, or a warm hand on my leg, or the ability to relate a story we both experienced. without that the days drool together in fucking ennui and trees fall soundlessly in forests and all that shit.
i want my world shaken up in a frantic way. doesn't everyone?
such a paradox, wishing such things whilst sitting on my ass WRITING about them.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
R.I.P. kurt vonnegut
i just found out. fuck. this is the man whose writing got me through the vile throes of adolescence. let us all take a moment and draw a picture of our assholes in memory.
and now you parlez-vous francais
i drove to concrete, washington today. it is very pretty country, snow-capped mountains and green bucolic pastures and the skagit river (and the stillamguamish river, which is not only beautiful but very fun to say) and trees laden with hairy moss. along the road: many dilapidated barns. a car lot with a mini on the roof, trunk open, female mannequin legs hanging out. "discarding of burning objects prohibited" signs. single-wide trailers surrounded by cars on blocks, forlorn swingsets, listing patio umbrellas. (umbrelli?) mysterious dirt roads to nowhere, probably meth labs. horses and bison and crows fighting over carcasses. (carci?) and then, the hamlet of concrete.
so i read and very much enjoyed 'this boy's life', in which he spent his adolescence in concrete, and described it with much disdain. i can officially see why. the town is punctuated with a gargantuan cement (or, actually, it is more likely concrete) silo with "welcome to concrete" painted on it in faded red. the thing is at least ten stories high, perhaps more. behind it lurks a single road of saggy, dreary buildings, gravel parking lots filled with scowling mexicans watching my stupid pink car circle. an obligatory brewpub, a true value hardware store, a police station. and a FUCKING CREEPY CASTLE-LIKE BUILDING, also made of cement, complete with turrets, the bottom levels boarded up, hulking over the end of the road in a most jarring and ill-placed fashion. it reminds me of the bashed-out barracks in whittier. actually, concrete reminds me of whittier as a whole. the silo behemoth = the pink high-rise. the surroundings are equally lovely. and the denizens are equally distrusting. not that i would know. i did not get out of my car. there was nowhere to get to, really. if i wasn;t driving a PINK CAR i would have loved to explore the boarded-up castley thing, but i felt too damn conspicuous as it was.
afterwards i had a hankering for candy. i stopped at a grocery store somewhere along i-5 and all the easter crap was dramatically discounted. so i stocked up, shit that i would normally not purchase: orange snot-eggs (i mean, cadbury's- and i fucking love them, and i also love peeps, which embody all that is heinous with the world, but i abstained from them this time) and chocolate peanut butter eggs, but because i did not have a fucking 'member card' i ended up paying NEARLY TEN DOLLARS for 3 fucking eggs and the bag of peanut butter things. i realized this once in my car. this is my come-uppance for disregarding the religious implications of a most holy day in lieu of a fucking sugar high. i fumed for about 5 miles, remembering the woman's smug face as she checked me out, knowing that SHE knew that there is no fucking way i or anyone would buy fucking overpriced holiday-specific SHIT several days after the fact... so i pulled off the highway, fully intending to go back and Give Her a Piece Of My Mind, and ended up on a one-way road leading me squarely into the anus of everett, with no way of turning around, and then it became pretty fucking funny. i am a fucking boob. lighten the hell up, anyway. so i now have semi-precious happy candy in my freezer, where it will be best, and it made for an entirely aimless story.
it is better to pay too much than to pander to The Man, anyhow.
upon returning to seattle: walked around. a lot. it is therapeutic. i have had my ego spit, stomped on, and booted about at work this week. i do not have the personality to deal with alpha women. if someone is excessively pushy/loud/argumentative, i tend to cringe and back down. i don;t see the point of 'changing their mind' or 'offering my opinion'; it is much easier, and much more ultimately self-sabotaging, to internalize my irritation and sulk annoyingly. i think i used to be a lot more combative and bulldozey. at some point i decided there was no point. at this age people's personalities are set; suggestions are pointless, and if my feelings are hurt, that is solely my problem. and it fucking sucks. it fucking pisses me off. it falls into the same "why bother?" catagory that a lot of things at work are encompassing.
thank god for the 4 day weekend.
i hate working with women.
my neurotic childish self-pity is absolutely fucking obnoxious.
happier stuff:
-it isn't the wheat, thank fucking god. because i love me some wheat. sweet delicious wheat! the cheese, alas, is still at bay, but after 3 fucking years i am sadly accustomed to that.
-dried hibiscus flowers. haven't tried them yet. the appealing lad at the grocer (a different establishment than prior) said they were "pretty good, actually."
-"don't ask me why" on the hi-fi, especially the voice-crack at the end
-sleeves pushed up
-the smells of mown grass, dogwood blossoms, and ethiopian food, though not all at once
-freeway park
-not getting raped whilst walking through freeway park
-black coffee
-more cookbooks! i am currently into the 'ethnic' tomes of the '60s and '70s- time-life's 'great chefs of the world' series is especially wonderful. how else would i know about the king who would eat chocolate-dipped pearls whilst watching criminals be tortured?
this litany of fancy nearly augments the horrible remake of 'crimson and clover' i was just subjected to. and i never NEVER need to hear fucking BOSTON again.
so i read and very much enjoyed 'this boy's life', in which he spent his adolescence in concrete, and described it with much disdain. i can officially see why. the town is punctuated with a gargantuan cement (or, actually, it is more likely concrete) silo with "welcome to concrete" painted on it in faded red. the thing is at least ten stories high, perhaps more. behind it lurks a single road of saggy, dreary buildings, gravel parking lots filled with scowling mexicans watching my stupid pink car circle. an obligatory brewpub, a true value hardware store, a police station. and a FUCKING CREEPY CASTLE-LIKE BUILDING, also made of cement, complete with turrets, the bottom levels boarded up, hulking over the end of the road in a most jarring and ill-placed fashion. it reminds me of the bashed-out barracks in whittier. actually, concrete reminds me of whittier as a whole. the silo behemoth = the pink high-rise. the surroundings are equally lovely. and the denizens are equally distrusting. not that i would know. i did not get out of my car. there was nowhere to get to, really. if i wasn;t driving a PINK CAR i would have loved to explore the boarded-up castley thing, but i felt too damn conspicuous as it was.
afterwards i had a hankering for candy. i stopped at a grocery store somewhere along i-5 and all the easter crap was dramatically discounted. so i stocked up, shit that i would normally not purchase: orange snot-eggs (i mean, cadbury's- and i fucking love them, and i also love peeps, which embody all that is heinous with the world, but i abstained from them this time) and chocolate peanut butter eggs, but because i did not have a fucking 'member card' i ended up paying NEARLY TEN DOLLARS for 3 fucking eggs and the bag of peanut butter things. i realized this once in my car. this is my come-uppance for disregarding the religious implications of a most holy day in lieu of a fucking sugar high. i fumed for about 5 miles, remembering the woman's smug face as she checked me out, knowing that SHE knew that there is no fucking way i or anyone would buy fucking overpriced holiday-specific SHIT several days after the fact... so i pulled off the highway, fully intending to go back and Give Her a Piece Of My Mind, and ended up on a one-way road leading me squarely into the anus of everett, with no way of turning around, and then it became pretty fucking funny. i am a fucking boob. lighten the hell up, anyway. so i now have semi-precious happy candy in my freezer, where it will be best, and it made for an entirely aimless story.
it is better to pay too much than to pander to The Man, anyhow.
upon returning to seattle: walked around. a lot. it is therapeutic. i have had my ego spit, stomped on, and booted about at work this week. i do not have the personality to deal with alpha women. if someone is excessively pushy/loud/argumentative, i tend to cringe and back down. i don;t see the point of 'changing their mind' or 'offering my opinion'; it is much easier, and much more ultimately self-sabotaging, to internalize my irritation and sulk annoyingly. i think i used to be a lot more combative and bulldozey. at some point i decided there was no point. at this age people's personalities are set; suggestions are pointless, and if my feelings are hurt, that is solely my problem. and it fucking sucks. it fucking pisses me off. it falls into the same "why bother?" catagory that a lot of things at work are encompassing.
thank god for the 4 day weekend.
i hate working with women.
my neurotic childish self-pity is absolutely fucking obnoxious.
happier stuff:
-it isn't the wheat, thank fucking god. because i love me some wheat. sweet delicious wheat! the cheese, alas, is still at bay, but after 3 fucking years i am sadly accustomed to that.
-dried hibiscus flowers. haven't tried them yet. the appealing lad at the grocer (a different establishment than prior) said they were "pretty good, actually."
-"don't ask me why" on the hi-fi, especially the voice-crack at the end
-sleeves pushed up
-the smells of mown grass, dogwood blossoms, and ethiopian food, though not all at once
-freeway park
-not getting raped whilst walking through freeway park
-black coffee
-more cookbooks! i am currently into the 'ethnic' tomes of the '60s and '70s- time-life's 'great chefs of the world' series is especially wonderful. how else would i know about the king who would eat chocolate-dipped pearls whilst watching criminals be tortured?
this litany of fancy nearly augments the horrible remake of 'crimson and clover' i was just subjected to. and i never NEVER need to hear fucking BOSTON again.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
i should like to be a sunflower most of all
'harold and maude' was the midnight movie this week. i about shat when i saw it listed. 5 fucking years i have waited for this. so j and i went last night. i felt much better by the time we met up, thank god. it is such a good movie. i know the entire dialogue by heart; i have seen it, no joke, probably 50 times. i watch it every few months when i am exceptionally 'eh' about life, usually sprawled on my floor in slutty underpants and an ugly t-shirt, cats crawling on me, loving the way he looks at the camera after the 2nd date, loving the glassy-eyed range of 'oh my god that's what it's all about' emotions crossing his face as he lies in bed, loving the way the car shifts no less than 6 times when making the final ascent. imdb claims that the car crash at the end was real.
harold and maude harold and maude harold and maude! on the big screen! la la la la la!
everybody has something. this is mine. one of mine.
*
fucking nerd.
harold and maude harold and maude harold and maude! on the big screen! la la la la la!
everybody has something. this is mine. one of mine.
*
fucking nerd.
Friday, April 06, 2007
i am disgusting, part 27, or: this should be deleted
i am so tired of feeling like physical shit. why i haven't just fucking offed myself, i know not; insipid optimism, perhaps.
i want to be a normal fun-lovin' gal who drinks moderately and eats cheese and flesh, who doesn't plan her days around loo proximity; who isn't afraid to let someone get too close because that would involve mortifying digestive conversations, not to mention sporadic ms-iness; who doesn't walk around on this gorgeous, hot, saltily muggy friday night feeling like she's going to pass out and shit all over herself; who knows that in an hour she's meeting up with a friend who she once again will be guarded around, not wanting to delve into the whole 'i feel like crap' rigamarole, finding it easier to be aloof and ditzy and wake up in my sunny lair alone with my wheat-free snax and a fresh roll of toilet paper at the ready.
i even pushed my ex-husband away because of this.
maybe i am normal and everyone else in the world has the good sense to keep such things to themselves.
it was absolutely fucking gorgeous today, 80 degrees and cloudless, the sidewalks littered with blossoms. and i spent the majority of it in my unairconditioned car driving to and from and around fucking motherfucking tacoma on my motherfucking day off to attend a motherfucking bullshit staff meeting that lasted all of 40 minutes. 70 miles round-trip, at least an hour each way, killing time in the tacoman wasteland, overdosed and tachycardic from multiple caffeinated beverages, so i could be one of only a handful of employees stupid enough to have not called in 'sick'. i don't know why i fucking bother. sometimes i really hate that place.
i am lonely but i don;t want anyone around. does that make sense? no.
i saw my parents and grandmother yesterday. "do you have a boyfriend?" my grandmother asked eagerly. "ohhh, no" i replied emphatically. "NO?" she said, not hiding her astonishment. i am horrified that she would actually consider that to be a viable notion. "i have absolutely no desire for one" i said, "for once. it is really nice to be unto myself." "but isn't there anyone at work?" she continued, until i finally, with a smile, had to tell her to stop. i am freshly fucking divorced! i am answering to no one! i am an exceptional masturbator! i kept these obvious arguments to myself. she finally shut up, bless her heart. i can envision my family now, gossiping as they are wont: poor brynn, alone in seattle and working too much, the crazy-cat-lady-in-training, though i have merely two- (and why, if they are so hellbent on my not being some bloodshot bepissed spinster, do they all insist on sending me fucking kitty notecards and kitty socks and kitty shitty cutesy crap for xmas?) (i am a fucking ingrate. i am actually wearing cat socks right now. they are chasing fish.) overall the visits were very good, far better than i expected. my folks and i went to a mexican restaurant. 4 beers later my mother was far more jubilant and told a story about a classmate she reconnected with at some reunion. somehow the topic of patchouli came up and he ("being Of That Era" my mother added) said that the smell of it "drove his nuts wild." she said that loudly, cackling, in the middle of the restaurant. "WHAT?" my father exclaimed, aghast. i was too busy laughing.
another benefit of 'normalcy': i could have the recreational drink, as stated above, without following it up with face-planting boorishness, and my mother and i could laugh our asses off together.
is getting buzzed with your mother normal? see, nobody talks about anything anymore.
i want to be a normal fun-lovin' gal who drinks moderately and eats cheese and flesh, who doesn't plan her days around loo proximity; who isn't afraid to let someone get too close because that would involve mortifying digestive conversations, not to mention sporadic ms-iness; who doesn't walk around on this gorgeous, hot, saltily muggy friday night feeling like she's going to pass out and shit all over herself; who knows that in an hour she's meeting up with a friend who she once again will be guarded around, not wanting to delve into the whole 'i feel like crap' rigamarole, finding it easier to be aloof and ditzy and wake up in my sunny lair alone with my wheat-free snax and a fresh roll of toilet paper at the ready.
i even pushed my ex-husband away because of this.
maybe i am normal and everyone else in the world has the good sense to keep such things to themselves.
it was absolutely fucking gorgeous today, 80 degrees and cloudless, the sidewalks littered with blossoms. and i spent the majority of it in my unairconditioned car driving to and from and around fucking motherfucking tacoma on my motherfucking day off to attend a motherfucking bullshit staff meeting that lasted all of 40 minutes. 70 miles round-trip, at least an hour each way, killing time in the tacoman wasteland, overdosed and tachycardic from multiple caffeinated beverages, so i could be one of only a handful of employees stupid enough to have not called in 'sick'. i don't know why i fucking bother. sometimes i really hate that place.
i am lonely but i don;t want anyone around. does that make sense? no.
i saw my parents and grandmother yesterday. "do you have a boyfriend?" my grandmother asked eagerly. "ohhh, no" i replied emphatically. "NO?" she said, not hiding her astonishment. i am horrified that she would actually consider that to be a viable notion. "i have absolutely no desire for one" i said, "for once. it is really nice to be unto myself." "but isn't there anyone at work?" she continued, until i finally, with a smile, had to tell her to stop. i am freshly fucking divorced! i am answering to no one! i am an exceptional masturbator! i kept these obvious arguments to myself. she finally shut up, bless her heart. i can envision my family now, gossiping as they are wont: poor brynn, alone in seattle and working too much, the crazy-cat-lady-in-training, though i have merely two- (and why, if they are so hellbent on my not being some bloodshot bepissed spinster, do they all insist on sending me fucking kitty notecards and kitty socks and kitty shitty cutesy crap for xmas?) (i am a fucking ingrate. i am actually wearing cat socks right now. they are chasing fish.) overall the visits were very good, far better than i expected. my folks and i went to a mexican restaurant. 4 beers later my mother was far more jubilant and told a story about a classmate she reconnected with at some reunion. somehow the topic of patchouli came up and he ("being Of That Era" my mother added) said that the smell of it "drove his nuts wild." she said that loudly, cackling, in the middle of the restaurant. "WHAT?" my father exclaimed, aghast. i was too busy laughing.
another benefit of 'normalcy': i could have the recreational drink, as stated above, without following it up with face-planting boorishness, and my mother and i could laugh our asses off together.
is getting buzzed with your mother normal? see, nobody talks about anything anymore.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
a very boring and pointless post
i have been exceptionally high-strung lately- no, really, even more than usual; if i were a cartoon guitar, the strings would be snapping and the sedate nearby tuba would be chortling indulgently. it comes and goes. currently my mood is good, mellow even; but at work, surrounded by the bitchy asides and power trips, i have been letting it get to me too much. i do enjoy my coworkers overall. but it is very fucking nice to have the next 4 days off.
it is very fucking nice to have nowhere to be.
another slice o' minutae: what is in my refrigerator? (a recurring series)
-apples, bought out of an obligation to purchase fresh rather than dried fruit, temporarily forgetting that fresh fruit is BORING. they have sat in there for at least a few weeks.
-two cans of pineapple. see above.
-pineapple salsa. this, on the other hand, is craved and eaten frequently, and in large amounts. newman's own is the best.
-tofu. extra-firm. the boxed kind.
-marinated green beans. the worst sort of impulse buy: drunk at the 24-hr drugstore (not supermarket, drugstore) at 3 am, they were on sale and looked enticing. i had forgotten i'd procured them until the next day. "what the fuck?" i said aloud. they are still sealed.
-honey mustard.
-soy sauce.
-apple sauce. probably rotten.
-soy creamer.
-stale white bread that needs to be thrown away.
-1/3 bottle of bacardi rum. has been in fridge door untouched since september.
-still-unopened bottle of dom perignon, keeping all the other crappy food company.
thus i unwittingly embody a whole new subgroup: the slothful wasteful white-trash pseudo-vegan. if i could, i would kick my own ass.
it is very fucking nice to have nowhere to be.
another slice o' minutae: what is in my refrigerator? (a recurring series)
-apples, bought out of an obligation to purchase fresh rather than dried fruit, temporarily forgetting that fresh fruit is BORING. they have sat in there for at least a few weeks.
-two cans of pineapple. see above.
-pineapple salsa. this, on the other hand, is craved and eaten frequently, and in large amounts. newman's own is the best.
-tofu. extra-firm. the boxed kind.
-marinated green beans. the worst sort of impulse buy: drunk at the 24-hr drugstore (not supermarket, drugstore) at 3 am, they were on sale and looked enticing. i had forgotten i'd procured them until the next day. "what the fuck?" i said aloud. they are still sealed.
-honey mustard.
-soy sauce.
-apple sauce. probably rotten.
-soy creamer.
-stale white bread that needs to be thrown away.
-1/3 bottle of bacardi rum. has been in fridge door untouched since september.
-still-unopened bottle of dom perignon, keeping all the other crappy food company.
thus i unwittingly embody a whole new subgroup: the slothful wasteful white-trash pseudo-vegan. if i could, i would kick my own ass.
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