...is playing. and i had forgotten how fucking great this song is. and it tidily ties into S COMING INTO TOWN TOMORROW! giddiness!
today was hot and sunny... damned beautiful. i walked for a long while, very happy with the world, smiling automatically at people, people smiling back. some even beat me to it. i feel like i've just had extraordinary sex. and d made my day that much better... i have been laughing aloud about my high-school mentality ever since.
'wrap your hair around my skin'... the doors kick them's version of 'gloria' out of the fucking park.
work was fun. i have been in an obscenely, irrationally good mood lately. everyone there has been getting along swimmingly. and i got a raise. it is nice to be validated.
*
this is fun: http://www.weird-food.com/weird-food-fish.html (i was seeking hakarl specifically)
*
there are so many things that simply do not exist any longer- inanities that are not missed until that occassional "oh yeah, remember..." moment. the step-on-the-mat-and-the-door-opens thing at supermarkets- gone! (the last one i knew of was the ancient safeway in downtown olympia, which is apparently being razed.) or, on a grocery-related note, those lurid 'super sip' juices that were sold in the produce section. i craved them when i was younger but was never allowed to get them. apparently the common american supermarket carries over 30,000 different items; more than that are introduced new each year (most fail). costco and other warehouse stores carry about 4,000. thank you, seattle times. as always, i plan to be a hit at any cocktail party.
the moon is full tonight. i believe it is a blue moon, even. and that is a fucking cool thing. perhaps it can help explain my frenetic daft borderline-mania. the waning shall sap me, i fear.
but tonight, with the patina of a sparkly day and a smashing optimism and everything coagulating quite nicely, i have 'growing up brady' (purchased at a thrift store; it appears to have gotten wet at some point prior and the pages are curly) to look forward to!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
last night i watched a man openly smoke crack at the bus stop, right in the middle of the sidewalk. this was seconds before an obese shirtless man stomped through the crowd, muttering 'motherfucker', carrying a stereo that was blaring rap to the point of distortion. it was audible from blocks away. everyone around me had the same reaction: horrified glances, then turning away and giggling. my bus came and i put out my half-smoked cigarette. "can i have the rest?" he asked. "sure, i guess" i said.
i engaged in an experiment yesterday of simply smiling at everyone i made eye contact with. the common practice here is to glance and quickly avert eyes- the better to not intrude upon anyone else's space. old people, men, women... the only ones who are still refreshingly demonstrative are kids. it seems that the adults with the kids are usually nicer and more open as a result, too. so i smiled... and for the most part, people smiled back. some looked surprised. only a few pretended to ignore me- usually overly stylized women.
folklife started yesterday- and i watched 3 men playing an instrument i had never before seen. it sounded like a sinister violin/accordion. afterwards one of the men described its workings. quite possibly the coolest instrument ever? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurdy_gurdy
and all this time i thought it was simply one of donovan's less-inspired songs.
a quote from 'the maltese falcon' (found in a book about 'vice advertising' of the '40's-'60's): "i distrust a man who says when. if he's got to be careful not to drink too much, it's because he's not to be trusted when he does."
i engaged in an experiment yesterday of simply smiling at everyone i made eye contact with. the common practice here is to glance and quickly avert eyes- the better to not intrude upon anyone else's space. old people, men, women... the only ones who are still refreshingly demonstrative are kids. it seems that the adults with the kids are usually nicer and more open as a result, too. so i smiled... and for the most part, people smiled back. some looked surprised. only a few pretended to ignore me- usually overly stylized women.
folklife started yesterday- and i watched 3 men playing an instrument i had never before seen. it sounded like a sinister violin/accordion. afterwards one of the men described its workings. quite possibly the coolest instrument ever? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurdy_gurdy
and all this time i thought it was simply one of donovan's less-inspired songs.
a quote from 'the maltese falcon' (found in a book about 'vice advertising' of the '40's-'60's): "i distrust a man who says when. if he's got to be careful not to drink too much, it's because he's not to be trusted when he does."
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
the written version of a guitar string about to snap
the familiar is tweaked ever so slightly. i am using my laptop for the first time in months and it still has m's snowy montreal street as the wallpaper. the sirius radio at the cafe is turned to something playing a lot of robyn hitchcock and the magnetic fields, not the boston-bto-frampton clusterfuck to which i've grown resigned. and i feel like i'm teetering on the verge of something. ambiguous antsiness. i made a detour to buy cigarettes from Newsstand Boy (the one i've had a carnal crush on for over a year); he seemed to be having a lousy, or at least indifferent evening. and i was reminded anew, again, of how ridiculously small i keep my world.
sex sex sex. i have been debating the possibilities of every fucking person i see. not actual intercourse, per se... but the fumblings leading up to it, yes. i want our frantic hands to push our naked bodies together. their sweat on my skin. that gorgeous feeling of being wrung out and used up, legs sore, eyes glassy, blood pulsing everywhere but my brain. that "oh shit, what next" feeling of panic mingling with exhultion. is it true that everyone feels perpetually eighteen, even as their responsibilities and mortality and common sense belie them?
is it even fucking POSSIBLE, knowing what i know now, and knowing that everyone else i may potentially come in contact with feels equally jaded/shat upon by the world/cynical, to ever feel those feelings of trust and exhilaration and timelessness again?
this seems to be a recurring theme. a fucking depressing theme, indeed. i am, in fact, scowling as i type this.
and the fucking magnetic fields are playing again.
this world, i tell you: poignant to a fault. and i feel, however falsely, like i am the only one here to witness it.
i put a post on craigslist for local new orleans advice. someone wrote back with a litany of wonderful ideas: places to get pie, see good music, which cemetaries are the safest. i am so fucking excited to go. i have been looking at the rentals there. what the fuck? i have not yet been there, excess heat makes me Rather Bitchy, and everything is, overall, pretty goddamn good here. this is simply another symptom of my current manic what's-next-what's-new-what-am-i-missing bullshit. i need a fucking dose of Settle Down. appreciation. life is not a fucking race. enjoy what is now. why is this so often near-impossible?
better things, already:
-the article in Newsweek about gender. recommended.
-kamut crisps and vanilla soymilk
-'our love's in jeopardy, baby' on the radio in my car. i turned it up.
-red sunset reflecting off the buildings downtown
-huge hydrangea bushes and remembering my mother saying "hydrangeas always remind me of old people"
-the driver kicking the two shrieking boys off the bus. i thanked him as i left. he smiled widely.
-"where did you get your socks?" the woman across from me asked. i pulled up my jangly beaded anklet ($2.99 in the u-district) to reveal pink boring ankle-high socks (from a 9-pack at target, which is horrid in its own right but NOT WAL-MART). she had assumed they were attached. "they aren't really that cool" i said. we both laughed. talkin' socks with strangers: the extent of my social life.
-the elderly couple, both smiling into space, her arms wrapped around his, murmuring to one another. "they are still in love" i thought as i watched them walk away.
-tunisian frankincense
-freshly watered plants
-picking scabs off my new tattoo (i cannot help it)
-pina colada creme savers
-chocolate-covered ginger altoids (FUCKING FANTASTIC! the cinnamon ones, not so much)
-being able to remember what it feels like, even if i cannot currently apply it to my reality
sex sex sex. i have been debating the possibilities of every fucking person i see. not actual intercourse, per se... but the fumblings leading up to it, yes. i want our frantic hands to push our naked bodies together. their sweat on my skin. that gorgeous feeling of being wrung out and used up, legs sore, eyes glassy, blood pulsing everywhere but my brain. that "oh shit, what next" feeling of panic mingling with exhultion. is it true that everyone feels perpetually eighteen, even as their responsibilities and mortality and common sense belie them?
is it even fucking POSSIBLE, knowing what i know now, and knowing that everyone else i may potentially come in contact with feels equally jaded/shat upon by the world/cynical, to ever feel those feelings of trust and exhilaration and timelessness again?
this seems to be a recurring theme. a fucking depressing theme, indeed. i am, in fact, scowling as i type this.
and the fucking magnetic fields are playing again.
this world, i tell you: poignant to a fault. and i feel, however falsely, like i am the only one here to witness it.
i put a post on craigslist for local new orleans advice. someone wrote back with a litany of wonderful ideas: places to get pie, see good music, which cemetaries are the safest. i am so fucking excited to go. i have been looking at the rentals there. what the fuck? i have not yet been there, excess heat makes me Rather Bitchy, and everything is, overall, pretty goddamn good here. this is simply another symptom of my current manic what's-next-what's-new-what-am-i-missing bullshit. i need a fucking dose of Settle Down. appreciation. life is not a fucking race. enjoy what is now. why is this so often near-impossible?
better things, already:
-the article in Newsweek about gender. recommended.
-kamut crisps and vanilla soymilk
-'our love's in jeopardy, baby' on the radio in my car. i turned it up.
-red sunset reflecting off the buildings downtown
-huge hydrangea bushes and remembering my mother saying "hydrangeas always remind me of old people"
-the driver kicking the two shrieking boys off the bus. i thanked him as i left. he smiled widely.
-"where did you get your socks?" the woman across from me asked. i pulled up my jangly beaded anklet ($2.99 in the u-district) to reveal pink boring ankle-high socks (from a 9-pack at target, which is horrid in its own right but NOT WAL-MART). she had assumed they were attached. "they aren't really that cool" i said. we both laughed. talkin' socks with strangers: the extent of my social life.
-the elderly couple, both smiling into space, her arms wrapped around his, murmuring to one another. "they are still in love" i thought as i watched them walk away.
-tunisian frankincense
-freshly watered plants
-picking scabs off my new tattoo (i cannot help it)
-pina colada creme savers
-chocolate-covered ginger altoids (FUCKING FANTASTIC! the cinnamon ones, not so much)
-being able to remember what it feels like, even if i cannot currently apply it to my reality
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
it is so
the people are perhaps not as stupid as they were 3 years ago?
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10562904/
the last 3 days at work have been beatifically wrought with competence. i have been in a very good mood. everyone is cheerful and feeding off of each other. this is how it should be. happiness is every bit as symbiotic as ire. i forget this too often.
i have been sleeping like crap. on sunday i woke from a nightmare at 3 am, completely panicked. c had cornered me in a library and was trying to rape me. at one point he said something like "this is what you deserve" and grabbed me around the neck, hanging me over the balcony, choking me. i think i fell to the floor below, or was in the act of falling when i came to with a gasp. i was disoriented and panting in my bed for several minutes, thinking he was somewhere in the apartment with plans to kill me, before i realized it was only a dream. this only proves the instinct i've felt from the first time i met him that someday i will read his name in the news as the perpetrator of some vile crime.
last night my dreams were back to their typical calibre of banality: in a car with one of my coworkers, overcast weather: just a scene, no plot, no emotional context, like a page from a barry yasgrau (?) novel.
every patient with an anus shit all over themselves during work today, most multiple times. again: the mood of the place made all the difference between it being miserable and merely disgusting. we were laughing about it, cleaning up for each other, making crude jokes. these are the days when i love my job.
my exhaustion is causing me to repeat myself.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10562904/
the last 3 days at work have been beatifically wrought with competence. i have been in a very good mood. everyone is cheerful and feeding off of each other. this is how it should be. happiness is every bit as symbiotic as ire. i forget this too often.
i have been sleeping like crap. on sunday i woke from a nightmare at 3 am, completely panicked. c had cornered me in a library and was trying to rape me. at one point he said something like "this is what you deserve" and grabbed me around the neck, hanging me over the balcony, choking me. i think i fell to the floor below, or was in the act of falling when i came to with a gasp. i was disoriented and panting in my bed for several minutes, thinking he was somewhere in the apartment with plans to kill me, before i realized it was only a dream. this only proves the instinct i've felt from the first time i met him that someday i will read his name in the news as the perpetrator of some vile crime.
last night my dreams were back to their typical calibre of banality: in a car with one of my coworkers, overcast weather: just a scene, no plot, no emotional context, like a page from a barry yasgrau (?) novel.
every patient with an anus shit all over themselves during work today, most multiple times. again: the mood of the place made all the difference between it being miserable and merely disgusting. we were laughing about it, cleaning up for each other, making crude jokes. these are the days when i love my job.
my exhaustion is causing me to repeat myself.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
shockadelica!
i went to the u-district street fair today. it was very enjoyable, as a matter of fact. the foreboding clouds dumped an abrupt shitload of rain; vendors were scrambling to cover their wares. there were far too many overly pendantic college folk; i lingered at the seattle atheist booth until i could stand eavesdropping no more. at what point in life does justifying your personal beliefs seem not only unneccessary but tedious? show what you are, don't just sit around blathering about it. and thus i have handily proven myself a hypocrite.
there are many groups in seattle (i am subscribed to a list; all i have taken from it are drawing classes) like the Wiccan Mothers and the Astral Projectors and the Aboriginal Nihilists... part of me is extremely curious to crash one of these and quietly observe, but a bigger part of me cringes in disgust.
the atheist booth was selling an amusing pin: "jesus revealed himself to me! call the police!"
afterwards i went to the cheese festival at pike place. there are few things more masochistic than a lactose-intolerant soul like myself wandering waiflike, chewing gum to distract myself, among booths of dairy. i thought "ha ha, everyone here's going to be constipated" to make myself feel better, but it didn't help. the street had a rather sour aroma.
j called earlier and asked what my plans for the evening were. "i need to do laundry" i said. it probably sounded like a godawful cop-out but he did not know the Truth. which is: for the last 10 months that i have lived in my current lair, i have developed a habit of doing one load's worth of laundry at a time on the single washer-dryer unit in the basement. the rest of the clothes have been accumulating in my spidery storage locker. i have essentially been wearing one load's worth of wardrobe for 10 months. and that is all (amply) anyone needs, really. but coming to terms with the slothfulness of this habit horrified me somewhat. i went to the laundromat with everything; it filled the trunk of my car. dumped a load at the donation bin. filled 7 double washers with the rest. (2 of those washers held scrubs, 3 held bedding.) i had the place to myself. i was singing and twirling around, only interrupted once. apparently the hipper cats don't sashay around laundromats on a saturday evening.
i once bought a new set of sheets because i was too lazy to wash the one set i had.
i have also done this with socks.
this is pretty shameful.
the more options we have, the unhappier and less fulfilled we are. that is the content of the latest book i am reading on the sly at the odious chain bookstore. and it is fucking true. this is a culture of grotesque excess. i am squirmily aware of this as i survey my own wasteful wistful habitude.
there are many groups in seattle (i am subscribed to a list; all i have taken from it are drawing classes) like the Wiccan Mothers and the Astral Projectors and the Aboriginal Nihilists... part of me is extremely curious to crash one of these and quietly observe, but a bigger part of me cringes in disgust.
the atheist booth was selling an amusing pin: "jesus revealed himself to me! call the police!"
afterwards i went to the cheese festival at pike place. there are few things more masochistic than a lactose-intolerant soul like myself wandering waiflike, chewing gum to distract myself, among booths of dairy. i thought "ha ha, everyone here's going to be constipated" to make myself feel better, but it didn't help. the street had a rather sour aroma.
j called earlier and asked what my plans for the evening were. "i need to do laundry" i said. it probably sounded like a godawful cop-out but he did not know the Truth. which is: for the last 10 months that i have lived in my current lair, i have developed a habit of doing one load's worth of laundry at a time on the single washer-dryer unit in the basement. the rest of the clothes have been accumulating in my spidery storage locker. i have essentially been wearing one load's worth of wardrobe for 10 months. and that is all (amply) anyone needs, really. but coming to terms with the slothfulness of this habit horrified me somewhat. i went to the laundromat with everything; it filled the trunk of my car. dumped a load at the donation bin. filled 7 double washers with the rest. (2 of those washers held scrubs, 3 held bedding.) i had the place to myself. i was singing and twirling around, only interrupted once. apparently the hipper cats don't sashay around laundromats on a saturday evening.
i once bought a new set of sheets because i was too lazy to wash the one set i had.
i have also done this with socks.
this is pretty shameful.
the more options we have, the unhappier and less fulfilled we are. that is the content of the latest book i am reading on the sly at the odious chain bookstore. and it is fucking true. this is a culture of grotesque excess. i am squirmily aware of this as i survey my own wasteful wistful habitude.
Friday, May 18, 2007
someone is singing along to "stop your sobbing". stop it! stop it!
10 hours after prior post:
i have a new fucking tattoo. after months, nay, years, of wanting to do something to alter the insipid star on my right shoulder that i had done in amsterdam when i was 18, it is Enhanced. the experience was a delightful one. one of the artists had their i-pod blaring, so the soundtrack to the hour-plus included motorhead, metallica, and tenacious d. it all fit perfectly. jimmy, the guy who tattooed me, was excellent. we talked about new orleans. "everything they say in the guide books about not going to the cemetaries alone? believe it" he said. apparently the large cemetary adjacent to the french quarter, where marie laveau is buried, is encircled by projects, and people watch from the rooftops for lone tourists, whenupon they call their cohorts on the ground to go in and rob them. "that's pretty slick" i said. the woman next to me had 2 done while i was getting mine: a heart on her ankle (which she complained about- "the outline's too dark!"- i met the eyes of the tattoo artist and we smirked at each other) and something near her nether-regions; she was sprawled on her back on a bench for that one, her pubic hair visibly unfurling over her waistband, the windows large and open above for a prime view from boren avenue.
this is the first new tattoo i have gotten in nearly 5 years. the last one? just before i saw yes at the paramount theatre in 2002. that was a good show. afterwards i walked up the hill and listened to 'tubular bells' and wondered what the fuck i was doing in seattle, but in a "this is weird and lonely but somehow fucking cool, because i just saw fucking yes within walking distance from my lair and i have a new tattoo" kind of way.
after the tattoo i felt jaunty as fuck. the weather had changed tremendously; shortsleeved sweatiness had given way to pronounced wind and spitting rain. c fucking flaked, as i expected he would; nevertheless, it is still disheartening when someone lives up to your very lowered expectations. did he realize that this was his last chance for any sort of friendship? who fucking cares? it felt so good to walk away. i got around the corner and deleted his phone number, his ridiculous text messages, and every other trace of him. i am so tired of bullshit. it is better to be alone than tolerating crap.
thus i found myself mired in the coupled-up quagmire of a friday night, walking under blossomy wet trees on residential streets, feeling proud of myself for drawing the fucking line, for retaining a shred of pride... and feeling so fucking cynical and disillusioned that i could just break something. i talked with s. "i don't want to be cynical for the rest of my life" i said. i tried to sound light and fiddle-dee-dee as i said it, but i was standing in a wet parking lot of an auto shop at the time, wondering where the fuck i fit now, how even when my life was exponentially more fucked up i at least had a plan, a plan with another person, a dream to grow old together even if we hated each other.
neil young's "sugar mountain" is playing, and it is brilliant.
i have a new fucking tattoo. after months, nay, years, of wanting to do something to alter the insipid star on my right shoulder that i had done in amsterdam when i was 18, it is Enhanced. the experience was a delightful one. one of the artists had their i-pod blaring, so the soundtrack to the hour-plus included motorhead, metallica, and tenacious d. it all fit perfectly. jimmy, the guy who tattooed me, was excellent. we talked about new orleans. "everything they say in the guide books about not going to the cemetaries alone? believe it" he said. apparently the large cemetary adjacent to the french quarter, where marie laveau is buried, is encircled by projects, and people watch from the rooftops for lone tourists, whenupon they call their cohorts on the ground to go in and rob them. "that's pretty slick" i said. the woman next to me had 2 done while i was getting mine: a heart on her ankle (which she complained about- "the outline's too dark!"- i met the eyes of the tattoo artist and we smirked at each other) and something near her nether-regions; she was sprawled on her back on a bench for that one, her pubic hair visibly unfurling over her waistband, the windows large and open above for a prime view from boren avenue.
this is the first new tattoo i have gotten in nearly 5 years. the last one? just before i saw yes at the paramount theatre in 2002. that was a good show. afterwards i walked up the hill and listened to 'tubular bells' and wondered what the fuck i was doing in seattle, but in a "this is weird and lonely but somehow fucking cool, because i just saw fucking yes within walking distance from my lair and i have a new tattoo" kind of way.
after the tattoo i felt jaunty as fuck. the weather had changed tremendously; shortsleeved sweatiness had given way to pronounced wind and spitting rain. c fucking flaked, as i expected he would; nevertheless, it is still disheartening when someone lives up to your very lowered expectations. did he realize that this was his last chance for any sort of friendship? who fucking cares? it felt so good to walk away. i got around the corner and deleted his phone number, his ridiculous text messages, and every other trace of him. i am so tired of bullshit. it is better to be alone than tolerating crap.
thus i found myself mired in the coupled-up quagmire of a friday night, walking under blossomy wet trees on residential streets, feeling proud of myself for drawing the fucking line, for retaining a shred of pride... and feeling so fucking cynical and disillusioned that i could just break something. i talked with s. "i don't want to be cynical for the rest of my life" i said. i tried to sound light and fiddle-dee-dee as i said it, but i was standing in a wet parking lot of an auto shop at the time, wondering where the fuck i fit now, how even when my life was exponentially more fucked up i at least had a plan, a plan with another person, a dream to grow old together even if we hated each other.
neil young's "sugar mountain" is playing, and it is brilliant.
been there!
i remember nearly passing out at chilkoot charlie's after half of one of those space cookies. i was laying on the sawdust-covered floor, wearing a dress and heels. "you better get her out of here" the bartender told my friends. they had to practically carry me out, sawdust clinging to my ass. i, of course, was laughing.
http://slog.thestranger.com/2007/05/pot_brownies_the_silent_killer
http://slog.thestranger.com/2007/05/pot_brownies_the_silent_killer
Thursday, May 17, 2007
happy birthday, bill bruford
this is fun. i was participant 3,000-something. it takes about 40 minutes. all in the name of science, people.
http://www.christofflab.ca/sexstudy/
i fucking love craigslist. not only did i find my apartment there, but yesterday i procured a FREE CACTUS. it is over 4' tall/wide and at least 20 years old. the man sounded debilitatingly baked when i called; sitar music played in the background. the house was an old mansion on top of queen anne, tibetan prayer flags hanging out front and a "what happens on the porch stays on the porch" sign beside the front door. i expected a sallow-skinned priveleged hippie. instead he was short, in his sixties, and bald- bankerly, even. "it's outgrown us" he said. "my wife had it before we met." i could not hide my delight. it now sprawls in my living room like a prehistoric beast.
(coincidentally, i went on another plant-buying binge yesterday before acquiring said cactus. i had to replace the ferns infested with spider mites. i now have a rubber plant and a ponytail palm, among others. houseplants are my crack.)
jerry falwell is dead. has been dead. whatever. i am not weeping.
this means that two more 'celebrities' will also die soon, as all deaths happen in threes. i debated this with one of my coworkers after kurt vonnegut and don ho... who will it be now? jimmy carter? zsa zsa gabor? randy newman? i do not wish death on any of these fine folks, let it be known.
an article in todays paper trumpeted the popularity of "scatterers": people/businesses whose purpose is to dispose of cremains in areas the family and friends may not be able to get to. "my mother always loved ireland" one man was quoted, "but i can't afford to go over there." apparently over 30% of americans are now cremated; only 5% were in the '60's. i could not imagine any other way. "water is still the most popular resting place for cremains" the article stated. myself? a little pinch everywhere. perhaps salt shakers could be handed out at my funeral- "here, carry this with you and if you happen to be someplace brynn might like, sprinkle a little out."
i would be flattered beyond adjectives if i was ever given a similar opportunity.
found a cd of a man's hitchhiking voyage across america. he asked everyone he rode with what their life philosophy is. one person's answer: "keep things moving. keep the wheel turning." another: "remain indifferent." both applicable yet completely dischordant... unite the two and you have "embrace both as part of the whole."
http://www.christofflab.ca/sexstudy/
i fucking love craigslist. not only did i find my apartment there, but yesterday i procured a FREE CACTUS. it is over 4' tall/wide and at least 20 years old. the man sounded debilitatingly baked when i called; sitar music played in the background. the house was an old mansion on top of queen anne, tibetan prayer flags hanging out front and a "what happens on the porch stays on the porch" sign beside the front door. i expected a sallow-skinned priveleged hippie. instead he was short, in his sixties, and bald- bankerly, even. "it's outgrown us" he said. "my wife had it before we met." i could not hide my delight. it now sprawls in my living room like a prehistoric beast.
(coincidentally, i went on another plant-buying binge yesterday before acquiring said cactus. i had to replace the ferns infested with spider mites. i now have a rubber plant and a ponytail palm, among others. houseplants are my crack.)
jerry falwell is dead. has been dead. whatever. i am not weeping.
this means that two more 'celebrities' will also die soon, as all deaths happen in threes. i debated this with one of my coworkers after kurt vonnegut and don ho... who will it be now? jimmy carter? zsa zsa gabor? randy newman? i do not wish death on any of these fine folks, let it be known.
an article in todays paper trumpeted the popularity of "scatterers": people/businesses whose purpose is to dispose of cremains in areas the family and friends may not be able to get to. "my mother always loved ireland" one man was quoted, "but i can't afford to go over there." apparently over 30% of americans are now cremated; only 5% were in the '60's. i could not imagine any other way. "water is still the most popular resting place for cremains" the article stated. myself? a little pinch everywhere. perhaps salt shakers could be handed out at my funeral- "here, carry this with you and if you happen to be someplace brynn might like, sprinkle a little out."
i would be flattered beyond adjectives if i was ever given a similar opportunity.
found a cd of a man's hitchhiking voyage across america. he asked everyone he rode with what their life philosophy is. one person's answer: "keep things moving. keep the wheel turning." another: "remain indifferent." both applicable yet completely dischordant... unite the two and you have "embrace both as part of the whole."
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
'red-eyed and blue' is a really good song title
work has been fucking insane. the days pass quickly, anyhow. i spent 7 hrs in surgery yesterday: portosystemic shunt on an incredibly obnoxious dachshund (oscar) and a bilateral thyroid mass removal on a beagle (joie). case of the week: anna the border collie with the horrific peritonitis after being dragged under the house and mauled by her canine housemates, presenting at the clinic on saturday with her intestines hanging out and coated with gravel, huge portions of bowel surgically resected, leaking diarrhea all day sunday, today alert enough to let me pet her head whilst staring at me listlessly, bill over $12,000 as of 10pm today.
there are far too many dachshunds named oscar. we see at least 2 a month.
there were 2 parvo-+ pit bulls, littermates, there over the weekend. one was 'peanut butter.' the other was 'jelly.'
tonight we had someone's pet duck. it's name was actually "aflac."
*
odd, vivid dream interrupted by my alarm this morning: it was sometime in the 1800's. i was with my aunt/grandmother (continually morphing twixt the two), but we were about the same age, late 20's, hair up and wearing hoop skirts. we were riding a train; she had purchased the tickets, and the entire voyage was understood to be a very newfangled and fancy endeavor. she had procured a berth. we presented our tickets to the operator, a smiling woman who resembled aunt jemima, and were instructed to go to the other train to get to our seats. to do so we had to climb onto a catwalk on the moving train and cross over to another car. the train was speeding through landscape that could be classified as 'heartland'- fields of roiling wheat, occassional trees in the distance, blue sky dotted with clouds. and the two of us walking on the roof of the speeding train, wind blowing our hoop skirts and hair, laughing. "i can't believe how easy this is" i shouted over the noise. we were almost dancing. the air was warm. i woke up and immediately wanted to fall back asleep to see what happened next. it is rare that i have pleasant dreams.
analyze that one.
there are far too many dachshunds named oscar. we see at least 2 a month.
there were 2 parvo-+ pit bulls, littermates, there over the weekend. one was 'peanut butter.' the other was 'jelly.'
tonight we had someone's pet duck. it's name was actually "aflac."
*
odd, vivid dream interrupted by my alarm this morning: it was sometime in the 1800's. i was with my aunt/grandmother (continually morphing twixt the two), but we were about the same age, late 20's, hair up and wearing hoop skirts. we were riding a train; she had purchased the tickets, and the entire voyage was understood to be a very newfangled and fancy endeavor. she had procured a berth. we presented our tickets to the operator, a smiling woman who resembled aunt jemima, and were instructed to go to the other train to get to our seats. to do so we had to climb onto a catwalk on the moving train and cross over to another car. the train was speeding through landscape that could be classified as 'heartland'- fields of roiling wheat, occassional trees in the distance, blue sky dotted with clouds. and the two of us walking on the roof of the speeding train, wind blowing our hoop skirts and hair, laughing. "i can't believe how easy this is" i shouted over the noise. we were almost dancing. the air was warm. i woke up and immediately wanted to fall back asleep to see what happened next. it is rare that i have pleasant dreams.
analyze that one.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
very, very shamefully frivolous
the enormous pig is part of the centennial "parade of the pigs" shindig at pike place market. my neighbors are painting it to resemble the EMP. in doing so they have co-opted the area where i smoke my morning cigarette.
i very nearly stepped in an enormous puddle of chunky orange vomit whilst exiting the bus. the bottom stair makes a great bowl. i wonder how long it had been there. "oh god!" i exclaimed as the doors shut behind me. i adore the foulness of public transport. this must be why i never get colds- i have homeopathically exposed myself to every germ available.
got a wild hair today to acquire a trampoline. a large one, the kind spoiled schoolkids act obnoxious on in their carefully mown backyards. it would go in my apartment. i have fucking loft ceilings, for chrissake! i drove from lynnwood to tukwila and back, searching. the smallest available is 12' round, too large for my lair. my daylong precoccupation with My Fantastic Future Life With Trampoline (i would become a sensual gymnast! i would turn on my xmas lights and some good music and jump jump jump my worries away! i would indirectly titillate the assisted-living residents across the street! i would sleep on it during the hot summer nights! i would have Jouncy Trampoline Sex upon it! oh, it went on and on, these notions.) withered miserably, about the time the sun vanished behind clouds and it started to get rather cold and my ass began to hurt from the driving.
i am still looking for a smaller model... 10'x10', say.
the problem with 4 consecutive days off: far too much time to fritter around with banalities. on my deathbed: i should have worked more.
i very nearly stepped in an enormous puddle of chunky orange vomit whilst exiting the bus. the bottom stair makes a great bowl. i wonder how long it had been there. "oh god!" i exclaimed as the doors shut behind me. i adore the foulness of public transport. this must be why i never get colds- i have homeopathically exposed myself to every germ available.
got a wild hair today to acquire a trampoline. a large one, the kind spoiled schoolkids act obnoxious on in their carefully mown backyards. it would go in my apartment. i have fucking loft ceilings, for chrissake! i drove from lynnwood to tukwila and back, searching. the smallest available is 12' round, too large for my lair. my daylong precoccupation with My Fantastic Future Life With Trampoline (i would become a sensual gymnast! i would turn on my xmas lights and some good music and jump jump jump my worries away! i would indirectly titillate the assisted-living residents across the street! i would sleep on it during the hot summer nights! i would have Jouncy Trampoline Sex upon it! oh, it went on and on, these notions.) withered miserably, about the time the sun vanished behind clouds and it started to get rather cold and my ass began to hurt from the driving.
i am still looking for a smaller model... 10'x10', say.
the problem with 4 consecutive days off: far too much time to fritter around with banalities. on my deathbed: i should have worked more.
Friday, May 11, 2007
high and tight
i am fucking freaked out.
some things are too personal to even get into.
i have ordered a glass of wine. this is officially my first entry written whilst drinking alcohol. i am 1/2" into the glass. it is tasty. the girl at the counter struggled mightily with the cork. i wanted to snatch the bottle away and do it myself.
i keep my oeuvre so debilitatingly finite. what i want right now: to meet someone vivacious and happy and articulate and alive, to feel our skin touch, to feel home. i was looking out the grimy bus window as it inched through the u-district today, and in a patch of sunny grass right next to the sidewalk a couple was laying in an entangled embrace, his leg over hers, both of their faces obscured. i stared openly because obviously, they were too occupied to be offended. and i thought "i have done that. i have been that girl." and i was fucking smug as shit even as it was happening. at least i appreciated the rarity of such moments.
this has been a good day overall. crackers dipped in sorbet. the issaquah library. $1.99 clearance cordoroys. a free energy drink handed out by corporate shills. new magazines. lawns laden with flowers. timing everything perfectly without intending to. hwy 99 in sunset languor, white light/white heat very loud. uwajimaya. the dentist office: "Fiddler on the Tooth." (BEST. DENTAL OFFICE. NAME. EVER.) the carefully coiffed boy with the "don't fuck my butt" t-shirt, and the smirk it still induces as i type it seven hours later.
yesterday i passed a bus shelter at 92nd and sandpoint, painted by schoolchildren. on the north side is an absolutely maniacal portrait of george washington. i laughed audibly when i saw it. i often wish i had some camera-apparatus that could capture such glories. there are so many pockets of weirdness here, everywhere, things one must stumble upon by pure chance. like the 10+ pairs of shoes tossed over a wire on a random residential street in tacoma (discovered whilst making a let-me-finish-my-cigarette detour en route to the 7-11 on a taquito run for my white-trash coworkers). or coming home earlier this evening to a FUCKING ENORMOUS FIBERGLASS PIG sitting in front of my kitchen window. with a blue sheet draped over its back. what the fuck? why is there a huge fiberglass pig in front of my apartment? (the thing comes up to my tits. it's large.) is there going to be a pig-themed soiree in the building? is it all in my head? will its eyes glow outside my bedroom window in the dead of night?
(i fucking hate bruce springsteen. 'pink cadillac', quite possibly the worst song ever created, is playing. guys seem to like springsteen. they can "relate". yes, to my chagrin, i will sing along to 'i'm on fire.' but everything else, no. and this song in particular, all one-note of it, is the shit of karaoke purgatory.)
or the "inFARMation" hotline sign alongside i-5 in skagit county.
i am running out of wit. or i ran out a while ago and am only just becoming aware of it.
some things are too personal to even get into.
i have ordered a glass of wine. this is officially my first entry written whilst drinking alcohol. i am 1/2" into the glass. it is tasty. the girl at the counter struggled mightily with the cork. i wanted to snatch the bottle away and do it myself.
i keep my oeuvre so debilitatingly finite. what i want right now: to meet someone vivacious and happy and articulate and alive, to feel our skin touch, to feel home. i was looking out the grimy bus window as it inched through the u-district today, and in a patch of sunny grass right next to the sidewalk a couple was laying in an entangled embrace, his leg over hers, both of their faces obscured. i stared openly because obviously, they were too occupied to be offended. and i thought "i have done that. i have been that girl." and i was fucking smug as shit even as it was happening. at least i appreciated the rarity of such moments.
this has been a good day overall. crackers dipped in sorbet. the issaquah library. $1.99 clearance cordoroys. a free energy drink handed out by corporate shills. new magazines. lawns laden with flowers. timing everything perfectly without intending to. hwy 99 in sunset languor, white light/white heat very loud. uwajimaya. the dentist office: "Fiddler on the Tooth." (BEST. DENTAL OFFICE. NAME. EVER.) the carefully coiffed boy with the "don't fuck my butt" t-shirt, and the smirk it still induces as i type it seven hours later.
yesterday i passed a bus shelter at 92nd and sandpoint, painted by schoolchildren. on the north side is an absolutely maniacal portrait of george washington. i laughed audibly when i saw it. i often wish i had some camera-apparatus that could capture such glories. there are so many pockets of weirdness here, everywhere, things one must stumble upon by pure chance. like the 10+ pairs of shoes tossed over a wire on a random residential street in tacoma (discovered whilst making a let-me-finish-my-cigarette detour en route to the 7-11 on a taquito run for my white-trash coworkers). or coming home earlier this evening to a FUCKING ENORMOUS FIBERGLASS PIG sitting in front of my kitchen window. with a blue sheet draped over its back. what the fuck? why is there a huge fiberglass pig in front of my apartment? (the thing comes up to my tits. it's large.) is there going to be a pig-themed soiree in the building? is it all in my head? will its eyes glow outside my bedroom window in the dead of night?
(i fucking hate bruce springsteen. 'pink cadillac', quite possibly the worst song ever created, is playing. guys seem to like springsteen. they can "relate". yes, to my chagrin, i will sing along to 'i'm on fire.' but everything else, no. and this song in particular, all one-note of it, is the shit of karaoke purgatory.)
or the "inFARMation" hotline sign alongside i-5 in skagit county.
i am running out of wit. or i ran out a while ago and am only just becoming aware of it.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
liquor in the front, poker in the rear*
i interviewed at the UW primate lab yesterday. the three women who interviewed me were extremely nice but i will not be taking the job. it pays over 5 dollars less an hour than what i currently make, for a 5 day workweek that starts at 7.30am and involves 95% cleaning shit. (there is no direct contact with the primates, primarily macaques; food and toys are offered through bars. macaques (which i am probably not even spelling properly) carry a strain of herpes virus that is fatal to humans, not to mention the olio of other zoonoses, including HIV and TB. the facility, spread over 3 eerily secretive facilities, houses about 700 primates altogether. i did not see any of that stuff. i was in a windowless conference room for the interview.) it was neccessary to have a perspective offered on my current job, which i really do love, and i am much more cognizant of what a sweet fucking deal i really have there.
afterwards i drove to vancouver. i have had trepidation about this for quite a while; it is a long haul towards disappointment if my passportless status shuns me entry. but yesterday was brilliantly sunny and i had a full tank of petrol and i went anyway. entry into canada was easy. the border guy asked me what my purpose was. "i want to get my mother some canadian candy for mother's day" i said. he took a quick appraisal of my filthy pink car, my stoner hair, and my lack of a passport, and waved me through.
and i was reminded anew of how fucking clean and orderly BC is. verdant green fields and enormous greenhouses line the highway. even the stench of animal urine north of surrey has an air of charm. the traffic entering vancouver did not faze me. cars are all very modern and clean. it was rush hour, of course, and the drivers surrounding me were in suits and dresses, sternly staring ahead. on the radio: a man walks into a doctor's office and says he has a problem 'down there', and pleads for the doctor not to laugh. the doctor instructs him to pull down his pants, whereupon the smallest penis he's ever seen is revealed- "smaller than a AAA battery!" the disc jockey elaborated. the doctor bursts into helpless laughter for the first time in his 30 years of practice. after 10 minutes he is finally able to compose himself enough to ask the mortified patient what brings him to the clinic. "it's swollen" says the man. this was on the radio. and it was then that i began to feel some rather uncomfortable culture shock: a shlumpy girl in a grubby car, snickering at the stupid joke whilst inadvertently raising my eyebrows at such unaccustomed 'bawdiness', shriekingly american, embarrassingly american.
i parked in a garage off burrell and began to walk. the only other times i have been to this city were with t, and every time we would have a horrific row and leave. i actually referred to it as "our fightin' city". once we secured a hotel room that I PAID FOR, only to leave an hour later, no refund. the drive from bremerton to yelm is not nearly so fucking long as the drive from vancouver to yelm, i assure you.
so walking around invoked memories: he would always buy a cuban cigar and light it on the sidewalk, which was obnoxious as hell. we drank fake absinthe at that place ("that's gross" he said, after one taste, and had no more.) once, during one of our tiffs, i went off by myself and stumbled upon the 'gay' neighborhood, and when he found out he asked me what the fuck i was looking for there.
and yesterday, pointlessly torturing myself with these ugly thoughts, i started to get really down.
shops were closing. i went into the iron-on t shirt place (* an option, with a coital sillouhete), fingered a decal of an amp dial that went to 11, and decided against it. went into several grocery stores, decided that my mother probably wouldn't dig ketchup-flavored pringles or a hulking bag of smarties, and bought nothing. i did procure exorbinantly expensive cigarettes (mainly for the gleefully morbid canadian warnings; my box has a picture of two doe-eyed children on the lid, "don't poison us" in block letters next to them) and a pack of gum. the 7-11 has bins of self-serve gummy candy. i thought of s. i smiled. i didn't buy any.
i left vancouver and started south. (total time in city: ~2 hrs, maybe less.) and upon hitting surrey for one last effort at canadiany mother stuff, i got INCREDIBLY FUCKING LOST. there was a north ramp to hwy 99 but no south, nowhere. i drove around for, oh, hours? the sign just before i exited the hwy listed the US border as 8 km away, which made it all so much more fucking frustrating. i got directions from 2 different gas stations. by the 2nd one i was nearly shrill. i ended up being about 20 minutes out of my way. i have no fucking idea how it happened. the odd thing about BC: there is a hub of shops and activity, and then... darkness. elk xing signs. construction. no other cars, except those with their brights flashing as they speed around me, the idiot girl with the filthy pink car and washington plates.
reentry to the US: i have never had a pleasant experience with US border patrol. they are always, unfailingly, beaurocratic blustering asshats. i was perhaps more flippant than i should have been, residually annoyed from my hours of bereftness in the bleak surreyscape. "i don't have a passport" i said. "when i crossed earlier today the man said i shouldn't have a problem with reentry." "they have nothing to do with us" snapped the border man. "that's canada. canada and the united states are two seperate countries. were you aware of that?"
i hope my look conveyed disgust in his unprofessionalism. "yes, i am aware of that" i said. i smiled.
he harrumphed and pretended to look at something on his computer screen. looked at my plates. asked if i'd bought anything in canada "like tylenol". (no, not this trip, thanks. codeine makes me nauseous.) "i bought some cigarettes and gum" i said, knowing that i was so FUCKING OBVIOUSLY AMERICAN that this was just an excercise for him at this point. he let me through. and i drove home, trying not to fall asleep, feeling that smothering abstract aloneness that comes from not really having a place in the world at one particular moment. the freeway was black and empty (after midnight by now) and i thought "no one in the world knows where the fuck i am." often that is a freeing notion. but last night it just made me rather sad.
*
lessons learned:
be happy with what you have.
travel with someone, and don't fight.
go to victoria next.
afterwards i drove to vancouver. i have had trepidation about this for quite a while; it is a long haul towards disappointment if my passportless status shuns me entry. but yesterday was brilliantly sunny and i had a full tank of petrol and i went anyway. entry into canada was easy. the border guy asked me what my purpose was. "i want to get my mother some canadian candy for mother's day" i said. he took a quick appraisal of my filthy pink car, my stoner hair, and my lack of a passport, and waved me through.
and i was reminded anew of how fucking clean and orderly BC is. verdant green fields and enormous greenhouses line the highway. even the stench of animal urine north of surrey has an air of charm. the traffic entering vancouver did not faze me. cars are all very modern and clean. it was rush hour, of course, and the drivers surrounding me were in suits and dresses, sternly staring ahead. on the radio: a man walks into a doctor's office and says he has a problem 'down there', and pleads for the doctor not to laugh. the doctor instructs him to pull down his pants, whereupon the smallest penis he's ever seen is revealed- "smaller than a AAA battery!" the disc jockey elaborated. the doctor bursts into helpless laughter for the first time in his 30 years of practice. after 10 minutes he is finally able to compose himself enough to ask the mortified patient what brings him to the clinic. "it's swollen" says the man. this was on the radio. and it was then that i began to feel some rather uncomfortable culture shock: a shlumpy girl in a grubby car, snickering at the stupid joke whilst inadvertently raising my eyebrows at such unaccustomed 'bawdiness', shriekingly american, embarrassingly american.
i parked in a garage off burrell and began to walk. the only other times i have been to this city were with t, and every time we would have a horrific row and leave. i actually referred to it as "our fightin' city". once we secured a hotel room that I PAID FOR, only to leave an hour later, no refund. the drive from bremerton to yelm is not nearly so fucking long as the drive from vancouver to yelm, i assure you.
so walking around invoked memories: he would always buy a cuban cigar and light it on the sidewalk, which was obnoxious as hell. we drank fake absinthe at that place ("that's gross" he said, after one taste, and had no more.) once, during one of our tiffs, i went off by myself and stumbled upon the 'gay' neighborhood, and when he found out he asked me what the fuck i was looking for there.
and yesterday, pointlessly torturing myself with these ugly thoughts, i started to get really down.
shops were closing. i went into the iron-on t shirt place (* an option, with a coital sillouhete), fingered a decal of an amp dial that went to 11, and decided against it. went into several grocery stores, decided that my mother probably wouldn't dig ketchup-flavored pringles or a hulking bag of smarties, and bought nothing. i did procure exorbinantly expensive cigarettes (mainly for the gleefully morbid canadian warnings; my box has a picture of two doe-eyed children on the lid, "don't poison us" in block letters next to them) and a pack of gum. the 7-11 has bins of self-serve gummy candy. i thought of s. i smiled. i didn't buy any.
i left vancouver and started south. (total time in city: ~2 hrs, maybe less.) and upon hitting surrey for one last effort at canadiany mother stuff, i got INCREDIBLY FUCKING LOST. there was a north ramp to hwy 99 but no south, nowhere. i drove around for, oh, hours? the sign just before i exited the hwy listed the US border as 8 km away, which made it all so much more fucking frustrating. i got directions from 2 different gas stations. by the 2nd one i was nearly shrill. i ended up being about 20 minutes out of my way. i have no fucking idea how it happened. the odd thing about BC: there is a hub of shops and activity, and then... darkness. elk xing signs. construction. no other cars, except those with their brights flashing as they speed around me, the idiot girl with the filthy pink car and washington plates.
reentry to the US: i have never had a pleasant experience with US border patrol. they are always, unfailingly, beaurocratic blustering asshats. i was perhaps more flippant than i should have been, residually annoyed from my hours of bereftness in the bleak surreyscape. "i don't have a passport" i said. "when i crossed earlier today the man said i shouldn't have a problem with reentry." "they have nothing to do with us" snapped the border man. "that's canada. canada and the united states are two seperate countries. were you aware of that?"
i hope my look conveyed disgust in his unprofessionalism. "yes, i am aware of that" i said. i smiled.
he harrumphed and pretended to look at something on his computer screen. looked at my plates. asked if i'd bought anything in canada "like tylenol". (no, not this trip, thanks. codeine makes me nauseous.) "i bought some cigarettes and gum" i said, knowing that i was so FUCKING OBVIOUSLY AMERICAN that this was just an excercise for him at this point. he let me through. and i drove home, trying not to fall asleep, feeling that smothering abstract aloneness that comes from not really having a place in the world at one particular moment. the freeway was black and empty (after midnight by now) and i thought "no one in the world knows where the fuck i am." often that is a freeing notion. but last night it just made me rather sad.
*
lessons learned:
be happy with what you have.
travel with someone, and don't fight.
go to victoria next.
Friday, May 04, 2007
make yourself easy
today was spent in observance. it wasn't so bad. talking with s helped immesurably. i am lucky to be connected to one person, at least; some people don't even have that. she will be here in 3 weeks. i am giddy as fuck about this.
what was observed on a friday of annoyingly mecurial clime in seattle:
-the brand-new qfc down the hill from my lair. it is partially subterranean under yet even more snitzy overpriced condos. i was deeply disheartened to discover that they have NO BULK FOOD SECTION WHATSOEVER. that had been my hope since their stupid signs went up months ago. they have an on-site cake decorator and a lurid floral department. big fucking deal. i wanted to be able to buy dried mangoes and wasabi peas from a bin and lie about the price at the self-checkout like i do at fred meyer. stupid qfc.
("everyone's heard about the bird" is playing on the hi-fi right this minute. i still fucking hate this song. it will permanently supplant "til the morning comes" as the mental soundtrack of my day.)
-aromatic white roses
-an extremely creepy photograph i bought at the market swap-meet booth: circa 1920's (judging from the clothing), unfocused image of a butcher standing beside a fully splayed cow carcass that is hanging from hooks. the picture was nestled inocuously among placid shots of families posing in front of porches and smiling at the beach. it was a dollar.
-the tweaking boy who sat beside me on the bus. he babbled the entire way, between exaggerated yawns and flopping around on the seat. "i looked for a job today! i bought some salty green candy! did this piece of hair turn blonde yet? i would have married my boyfriend! did you play any video games today?" his hands and pants were streaked with either hair dye or blood.
-the angry bear someone had drawn with a sharpie on the back of the seat
-the unseen woman with the horrific diarrhea in the stall beside mine at the odious chain bookstore. her sandals exposed carefully painted bright red nails.
(now it's "moody river." i am morose in winter '99, driving aimlessly in my subaru, hacked-off hair beneath a ski cap that makes my forehead itch. i have not yet met the person who made the tape with this on it. the fact that someone did helped me through an extremely fucked era. thanks.)
-too many 'emo' boys to count. pasty, scrawny-yet-doughy, black hair shellacked into a comma, assless in unflattering jeans that ride low to expose back acne, and always a fucking HOODIE. one guy was sitting on a secluded tree-covered stairwell in the u-district, eating sun chips. i wanted to commend him on his marvelous choice of location. but i didn't.
i have an interview next week with the primate research dept. who fucking knows. i blew off the staff meeting at work today. i didn;t feel like driving 70 miles through rush-hour for my monthly dose of pap. so i sat in my little elliott bay enclave and read a book instead. (i am continuing my augusten burrough's kick with 'possible side effects.' the harvard t-shirt story is especially good.)
someone could have the worst personality in the world, but if they have good (relatively) taste in music, i idealize them. i really believe that this is how i allow schmucks to occupy any space in my head at all.
i am not idealizing anyone at the moment, overtly. i am presently refusing to be a bottom-feeder. signed, the perpetual spinster.
what was observed on a friday of annoyingly mecurial clime in seattle:
-the brand-new qfc down the hill from my lair. it is partially subterranean under yet even more snitzy overpriced condos. i was deeply disheartened to discover that they have NO BULK FOOD SECTION WHATSOEVER. that had been my hope since their stupid signs went up months ago. they have an on-site cake decorator and a lurid floral department. big fucking deal. i wanted to be able to buy dried mangoes and wasabi peas from a bin and lie about the price at the self-checkout like i do at fred meyer. stupid qfc.
("everyone's heard about the bird" is playing on the hi-fi right this minute. i still fucking hate this song. it will permanently supplant "til the morning comes" as the mental soundtrack of my day.)
-aromatic white roses
-an extremely creepy photograph i bought at the market swap-meet booth: circa 1920's (judging from the clothing), unfocused image of a butcher standing beside a fully splayed cow carcass that is hanging from hooks. the picture was nestled inocuously among placid shots of families posing in front of porches and smiling at the beach. it was a dollar.
-the tweaking boy who sat beside me on the bus. he babbled the entire way, between exaggerated yawns and flopping around on the seat. "i looked for a job today! i bought some salty green candy! did this piece of hair turn blonde yet? i would have married my boyfriend! did you play any video games today?" his hands and pants were streaked with either hair dye or blood.
-the angry bear someone had drawn with a sharpie on the back of the seat
-the unseen woman with the horrific diarrhea in the stall beside mine at the odious chain bookstore. her sandals exposed carefully painted bright red nails.
(now it's "moody river." i am morose in winter '99, driving aimlessly in my subaru, hacked-off hair beneath a ski cap that makes my forehead itch. i have not yet met the person who made the tape with this on it. the fact that someone did helped me through an extremely fucked era. thanks.)
-too many 'emo' boys to count. pasty, scrawny-yet-doughy, black hair shellacked into a comma, assless in unflattering jeans that ride low to expose back acne, and always a fucking HOODIE. one guy was sitting on a secluded tree-covered stairwell in the u-district, eating sun chips. i wanted to commend him on his marvelous choice of location. but i didn't.
i have an interview next week with the primate research dept. who fucking knows. i blew off the staff meeting at work today. i didn;t feel like driving 70 miles through rush-hour for my monthly dose of pap. so i sat in my little elliott bay enclave and read a book instead. (i am continuing my augusten burrough's kick with 'possible side effects.' the harvard t-shirt story is especially good.)
someone could have the worst personality in the world, but if they have good (relatively) taste in music, i idealize them. i really believe that this is how i allow schmucks to occupy any space in my head at all.
i am not idealizing anyone at the moment, overtly. i am presently refusing to be a bottom-feeder. signed, the perpetual spinster.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
tahini+carrots=shalom
i felt lower this week than i have in a long while. the optimism and invincibility are always finite, but it still surprises me when those sensations dissipate. i was so, i don't know, LONELY, and scared of being alone, that i avoided going home the other night, driving around aimlessly in the dark rain, my scrubs dirty from work, remembering what it was like to have somebody waiting for me. and i hated it at the time. and when i think about it, i hate it even more now, because that era does not deserve one shred of positive nostalgia. possibly this mindset was due to my period, which is kicking my ass at the moment; i took a much-needed (and uncomfortably disorienting) nap this afternoon, in a haze of cat hair and ibuprofen, and had weird near-dreams of an unpleasant nature. no fully developed story lines, just scenes, just enough to make me wonder if they were, in fact, dreams, or fragments of reality. being pushed on a swing while my ex stands at the ground and describes his new girlfriend=dream. me leaning with my back against a revolving round table, trying to do high kicks in ridiculous espadrilles, my neighbor on the deck with his back to me, the table spinning and causing me to teeter=dream. sun shining too brightly against a chalky sky, me squinting, clearly unhappy=not sure.
i felt like complete crap yesterday. j had lent me 'freeway' months ago so i finally watched it. felt crawly and unclean afterwards. drove to bremerton in intensely variable weather: black sky and fat raindrops, then blinding sun against wet pavement, trees curled in on themselves in the rain. "i am a storm chaser!" i said out loud to no one, trying to feign Zestiness, knowing that i was actually a shit-feeling nerd listening to the fucking oldies station. bremerton is, and always will be, a cesspool of despair ("why are women's asses so large in bremerton?" my father asked after having to go there for work a few weeks ago), but the downtown area is rather quaint, in a plaintive, deserted sort of way. i did not get out of the car. the valleys along hwy 16 are gorgeous, especially with the maxfield parrish clouds that emerged at sunset. lots of minivans, lots of 'save our troops' affixions; this is naval country, after all. and i remembered a few years ago, driving out there with t, getting into a horrible fight along the way and him saying he hated me and wished i was dead, and me sobbing like an idiot and demanding to be let out of the vehicle, and ending up in the tall yellow grass on an offramp while he insisted i get back in the FUCKING CAR, and concerned strangers pulling up and asking if we were okay, and eventually i relented because i had nowhere else to go, certainly not along highway 16, and we returned to yelm in grotesque silence. thinking about that, and thinking about how fucking STUPID i must be to actually, in some small part, almost occassionally MISS that, made me feel even worse.
*
even the fucked-up becomes familiar, and thereby comfortable.
i would enjoy the opportunity to have the un-fucked-up become familiar instead.
*
i just recieved an email requesting an interview for a job i applied for at UW, in the primate lab. i know two people who worked there; both exhibited "ugh" responses when i asked them how it was. an interview cannot hurt. i am positively repulsed by my fucking ennui of late.
playboy magazines were 50 cents each at the used bookstore, so i bought 2 (they are heavy, and it's gross enough to buy used playboys, though these appear relatively unrumpled). the articles really are good, so the cliche must be true. shaved pussy looks fucking terrible. the little strip-shave reminds me of john water's moustache. if i ever have me a woman, it will not be a little plasticene tart with undermilked udders and an 8-year-old's twat.
on a more austeure note (negated by the fact that i cannot spell 'austeure') the downtown library continues to thrill me with its echoey moderny airy somnambulence. even the chartreuse-lit escalators (hereafter referred to as the "sickness stairs") make me happy amid the greyness.
i felt like complete crap yesterday. j had lent me 'freeway' months ago so i finally watched it. felt crawly and unclean afterwards. drove to bremerton in intensely variable weather: black sky and fat raindrops, then blinding sun against wet pavement, trees curled in on themselves in the rain. "i am a storm chaser!" i said out loud to no one, trying to feign Zestiness, knowing that i was actually a shit-feeling nerd listening to the fucking oldies station. bremerton is, and always will be, a cesspool of despair ("why are women's asses so large in bremerton?" my father asked after having to go there for work a few weeks ago), but the downtown area is rather quaint, in a plaintive, deserted sort of way. i did not get out of the car. the valleys along hwy 16 are gorgeous, especially with the maxfield parrish clouds that emerged at sunset. lots of minivans, lots of 'save our troops' affixions; this is naval country, after all. and i remembered a few years ago, driving out there with t, getting into a horrible fight along the way and him saying he hated me and wished i was dead, and me sobbing like an idiot and demanding to be let out of the vehicle, and ending up in the tall yellow grass on an offramp while he insisted i get back in the FUCKING CAR, and concerned strangers pulling up and asking if we were okay, and eventually i relented because i had nowhere else to go, certainly not along highway 16, and we returned to yelm in grotesque silence. thinking about that, and thinking about how fucking STUPID i must be to actually, in some small part, almost occassionally MISS that, made me feel even worse.
*
even the fucked-up becomes familiar, and thereby comfortable.
i would enjoy the opportunity to have the un-fucked-up become familiar instead.
*
i just recieved an email requesting an interview for a job i applied for at UW, in the primate lab. i know two people who worked there; both exhibited "ugh" responses when i asked them how it was. an interview cannot hurt. i am positively repulsed by my fucking ennui of late.
playboy magazines were 50 cents each at the used bookstore, so i bought 2 (they are heavy, and it's gross enough to buy used playboys, though these appear relatively unrumpled). the articles really are good, so the cliche must be true. shaved pussy looks fucking terrible. the little strip-shave reminds me of john water's moustache. if i ever have me a woman, it will not be a little plasticene tart with undermilked udders and an 8-year-old's twat.
on a more austeure note (negated by the fact that i cannot spell 'austeure') the downtown library continues to thrill me with its echoey moderny airy somnambulence. even the chartreuse-lit escalators (hereafter referred to as the "sickness stairs") make me happy amid the greyness.
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