private in public

i spent the day cleaning out my grandparents' house in puyallup. since my grandfather died, my oma was moved to a nursing home against her vehement protests; apparently she didn't unpack anything for the first week she was there, so convinced that she was not going to stay. i can only imagine the horrible wilting when she realized that this was now her life, no turning back. i am terrified of growing old- actually, growing old (and hopefully belatedly developing some shard of credibility) is a tantalizing prospect. it is helplessness that scares the fuck out of me. i have tasted it. and it is, in my opinion, death while still being alive.
my parents, my uncle and i scoured the home, everything, and i got the first real glimpse of what my grandparents' lives were like. in doing so i saw firsthand, appalling evidence of how Not Right things had been for awhile. there were boxes of food that expired in 1999, three open packages of the exact same products, science experiments in the refrigerator (including a completely green slab of bacon). there was the birch marinade my mother excitedly sent them for xmas years ago (at least 11, for i still lived at home), never opened. "bitch" my mother said, tossing the bottle in the garbage. piles of packets of honey, rock-hard, leaching into the cabinets. what i had been specifically looking for, thankfully, was still there, and i took them all: the ancient spices that used to live on the plastic lazy susan on their counter in wauna. when i was as young as four, i would sit at the counter while my grandmother washed dishes (always by hand- they never, ever used their dishwasher) and smell each spice, spinning the thing for hours. it was always there, every year, the same dusty selection. the containers i have now are ancient and flavorless, old enough to not have bar codes, metal perforated slide-tops instead of the stupid thick plastic ones of today.
they hoarded toothpaste. i counted ten empty tubes in the hall bathroom, in the drawer with the piles of heavily used q-tips and about ten generic, straight-bristled toothbrushes. i found my grandfather's shaving brush, the folded paper menu of the chinese zodiac with my grandmother's handwriting indicating the years of her family members (i am a horse, passionate and inquisitive). stacks upon stacks of fine china next to opened packages of hideous thanksgiving paper napkins. a sadistic potato ricer. a set of encyclopedias from 1925 (i put my name on those), hiding inside the chinese cabinet of a magnavox record player. they had a paperback copy of 'm*a*s*h' next to 'racism: the world's problem', next to several years of 'architectural digest'. the pumice soap in the shower was covered with curly black hairs. there was a wrist-strap blood pressure monitor; we all took a break to check our vitals. (myself, apparently rather mellow: HR 50, BP 98/63, energy drink in hand.)
my mother was tense and flitting manically. my father was getting impatient to leave. at his request, i brought them a 12-pack of beer ("not crap" said my father.) afterwards my parents and i ended up at a very loud and generic brewpub in the sphincter of puyallup- a slice of the world where, everywhere you look, every store is a chain, pavement usurps flora, people drive minivans with magnetic ribbons, asses are large and baseball caps are not removed indoors. "you and your brother were acting like they were both already dead" my father pointed out. "it kind of feels that way" my mother replied.
i ranted to them about how frustrated i am with my current scattershot lot in life. "every component of my world is in a different place" i said. they gave good advice, essentially the same advice that s gave me last night: calm down, things will happen when they should. and i know this. i'm just fucking miserable in the interim.
(side note: i have derided s quite a lot, but he's a damn good friend.)
my father just returned from working in spokane, where he was inspecting public housing. he came upon the first residence that he flatly refused to go into, and ordered his first eviction. apparently there was cat shit everywhere, smeared on the walls, the litter box -"you couldn't even see litter. it was mounded with shit. it was a big fucking box of shit"- "i've been in homes where you can't see the dishes in the sink for all the mold on them" he said, "but this person was literally living in a cat box." i feel a bit better about my grimy lair now.
and now: classical music, yerba mate, a cafe that i haven't been to in a while but really fucking love, the street slick and shiny, always on some sort of precipice.

crayons in an audience, not crayons in a row

saw steven pinker discuss his newest book tonight. the man is pure pleasure to listen to. linguistics and cultural commonalities make me warm. and it is always fulfilling to hear your everyday abstract thoughts condensed and vocalized, and vocalized succinctly.
...and it reminded me how much i fucking hate euphemisms. hate them! they are condescending, chickenshitted namby-pamby. he likens their usage to an unwillingness to disrupt the 'relationships' of interactions. thus, you say (as was his example) "come up and look at my etchings" to your date at the end of the evening, not "come up to my lair so that we can fuck." if she (assuming that this is a heterosexual pair, and the man is taking on the role of... etcher) demurs, it doesn't neccessarily jeapordize the current or future relationship, but if she says "no, i will not be fucking you tonight", it lends an air of unshakable awkwardness.
and i was reminded of 2 immediate personal correlations:
1. s has an unctuous habit of sleazing his way inside when he drops me off. he tries, anyhow. one night it was "would you mind if i came inside for some water?" WATER? what the fuck are you thinking? another night it was a request to use the loo. both times i said a cheery "no, sorry!" and jumped out of his car with a smile. once i did remind him that he lived all of five minutes away. he backpedalled rather amateurly. but i suppose, in retrospect, his lame attempts do save us both a little face. he gets to drive off looking like a parched man with a need to micturate, and i get to look like an unhospitable naif. sometimes, i admit, it is amusing to play dumb just to see what the other person will do.
2. once, years ago, a client at work was asked by the doctor if she wanted to put her cat to sleep. the woman said yes and became hysterical when her animal was euthanized. that was utterly fucking horrible, and i never, ever use that term because of it.
*
oh, and i HAVE A NEW KITTEN! right when i type this, 'karn evil 9' starts playing. thus i am automatically typing faster!
i wasn't planning on a new beast. i was very content with the 2 useless cats i have. but she was a stray that was brought into work on sunday, her jaw broken, her right eye proptosed, smelling like pus, covered in fleas, purring and kneading... and when i came into the room where she'd just arrived, one of the other techs was literally holding the euthanasia solution to her vein. "is that for her?" i said, running over. "unless you save her" h said. "look, she needs you." i touched her gross head and it was done. i am a fucking sucker. she is about 8 wks old, tortie, and after having her eye removed and her jaw wired, is living in my bathroom and eating like a fucking maniac, impaling the canned food on her exposed wire. i have briefly introduced her to the other guys. she is a complete asshole, hissing and spitting and fearless. hecatomb hissed back at her, then retreated to the corner of the room and eyed her with revulsion. tiresias freaked out and peed on the rug. i am sure that once he realizes that he is four times her size and can knock her ass down, he will be better.
her name is entropy.
i now have 3 eyes between 3 cats.
i really, truly will not be adopting any more pathetic cyclopsian train wrecks any time soon, if only because i don't want to be one of Those Women.

soulless

thursday night: i was sitting in a 1/3 full bus at night, feeling oddly content to watch the goings-on of the fellow commuters. people were bantering with the bus driver, lugging packages, smiling. a scrawny, strung-out guy sat next to me. he started talking. asked me out for a drink. i smiled and said no. he asked about dinner. i declined. "you're stunning" he said. "you're like a goddess to me." i started to laugh. "do i know you from somewhere?" i asked. he suggested the rainbow gatherings. "that changed my life" he told me. he was creepy and i could smell alcohol, so i got off the bus, but not before telling him my name after he asked. i heard "brynn" behind me once i was on the sidewalk. he had gotten off too. we started talking, him about a foot away from my face, me unconsciously backing up until i was almost in the street. he was ranting- about loneliness, about his 'really good job' and his 'really nice place' and 'if we can't be lovers, we should at least be friends.' never did i feel threatened, just like i was being put on. people don't just seek me out of a crowd and tell me i'm beautiful- most people just want to bum a cigarette, or ask for change. i mentioned that to him when he said "well, you're still talking to me." "this is very bizarre" i replied. "this is one of those experiences that never has and will never happen again." something about the entire weird exchange, sadly, drew me in. i was almost hypnotized as to what socially untoward, sleazy, psuedo-hippie-bullshit thing he'd say next. and always, while all of this was transpiring, i couldn't help thinking "fuck, i must really be lonely."
after about 5 minutes of this sidewalk backing-up dance, i said i really did have to go. he asked for a hug. i gave him one. and we held onto each other for about 30 seconds. this overtly fucked up guy (how old was he? 20? 30?), i noticed, was tall, and his watery bloodshot eyes never left mine, and... apparently that was all i fucking needed. and i had nowhere to go, nowhere to be... but i'm glad i left when i did. and as i walked away, the peculiarity of what had just transpired not quite hitting me, i realized that it had really turned me on.

WHAT THE FUCK?

yesterday i got my tattoo redone, again. the falling leaves encircling the star on my right shoulder are darker now. when i left the studio it was dusk and rain was falling. summer is officially over here. i walked up the hill to s's house, where he was slothfully commandeering the porch, pipe in hand. we smoked, he grew even more apathetic, and we drove around aimlessly, not talking, until i said "this just isn't working tonight" and we parted ways in ballard. i walked for a long while, passing couples with arms entwined, relieved at being by myself.
marijuana tends to make me chatty and hyperactive- i want to go out and see new things, discuss inventions, listen to music, make out. it can also make me very irritated, because most people i smoke with just become slovenly and dull. when i was 19 i briefly saw a psychologist who asked me about my smoking habits. he specifically questioned if marijuana "made me horny." (I FUCKING HATE THAT TERM. 'HORNY' DESCRIBES AN ELK, OR A TOAD, OR A HONKING CAR.) i said yes, and he nodded smugly. "a small percentage of people with certain mood disorders have that reaction" he said. he never did explain, but i have always wondered.

it's not luminous, it's LAMEinous!

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/games/bloxorz
this is fucking crack, y'all.

yes! it's yet another self-absorbed pity party!

the cafe is playing billy joel's 'angry young man' song, which i had not heard in a while (despite owning and loving the lp)- billy joel used to be fucking great (until the blasphemy of 'we didn't start the fire'), and i am not ashamed to admit it.
i have been in a melancholy state today. last night i talked with s about the foul ending of saturday. on one hour of sleep, we spent the day together, both bleary and useless, and i got unexpectedly, quickly, nastily drunk on wine. black-outy and belligerent, as i have a tendency to do, but which i hadn;t allowed myself to become in a very long while. i vaguely remember arguing with, or rather at, him, and walking home alone from capitol hill, and finding freshly purchased groceries in my cupboards the next morning- a morning in which i was not hung over, but eerily suspicious that i had behaved hideously.
what i said, according to him, was: i was offended that he repeatedly referred to his ex-wife as 'psychotic', that he was negating his own half of the responsibility, that it was disrespectful and rude to talk about someone he once loved that way, especially without her around to defend herself, that it was arrogant and demeaning to make her get on meds. i smiled as he related this. "i am regretful of my delivery, but i agree with everything i said" i told him. "you were very aggressive and combative" he said. "i have been told that before" i replied. "i gravitate towards conflict. it makes me feel that my own actions are justified." he was looking at me with a bewildered, pitying, disgusted expression, which i don't fault him for: obviously this all speaks volumes about my sadistic, masochistic inability to be in a relationship, to be properly respectful, to act like a fucking adult instead of continually reliving the fucked-up patterns that have heretofore defined my interactions with every guy i've been at all close to.
...but, and i am fucking ashamed to admit this: i am attracted to the emotion. i like the passion, even when, possibly even especially when, it is contemptuous and cruel and unstable. this is seriously fucking sick. i don't know how to maintain a level of respect towards them, or have them maintain a level of respect towards me, and thus i have a slag-heap of fucked opportunities and scorn in my wake.
i can remind myself that i was not very attracted to him, which i wasn't, or that i wasn't ready to share any extra scrap of my life with anyone, which i'm not, or that there were all sorts of insignificant pseudo-'flaws' that i could amplify and make into deal-breakers, but it all comes down to: i am too fucked up to be with anyone but my own stupid arse.
*
why the fuck do i write this shit on a public forum? penance for my acidity?
*
so, today- melancholy, lonely, regretful, but not wanting to be around anybody, i drove to bellingham in an odd amalgam of bright sunlight and persistant haze- as if fog had never quite burned off, leaving everything coldly blanched. sweet green made it flawlessly. downtown bellingham was deserted, apart from the swarthy crowd of pierced teens smoking outside the horseshoe cafe- it was only six pm, but most of the shops were closed. the drugstore where i bought a soda filled with empty shelves. the unsmiling checker berated a child for grabbing things off a display; the mother mumbled something ineffectual. i bought incense from a head shop and an octopus sticker from an 'import' store; i took a photograph of the antique bank clock with the completely dischordant time displays; i wandered numbly through the music store; i felt like a fucking ghost. the architecture in bellingham is very frilly and victorian, the streets of the nicer areas lined with weeping willows and children on bikes; i was, as usual, an observer, even though i was singing along to elton john's 'grey seal' and trying to force self-merriment.
what am i expecting to 'find' in seattle? what have i been, for all intents and purposes, WAITING FOR? i have a cool lair that i pay out the ass for, a good job that is 35 miles away, a family that i never see, and no friends apart from the trolls i meet on fucking craigslist. tonight, as i wandered through the dark, i thought about how the longer i remain in this bizarre self-imposed isolation morass, the harder it is to be 'that person'- the one i hoped my divorce and move back would automatically manifest: with a gaggle of witty, ascerbic friends, skillful yet not overly clingy lovers, a stack of brilliant drawings, a philanthropic flair. at least my plants are doing well. and the cats are great, thanks.
...also on the walk here: i passed two guys talking on the sidewalk. the only part of their conversation i heard was "and then he goes, 'fuck you, fag!'" immediately i recalled the punchline to a forgotten joke: "fuck you, clown!" it was something i heard a very long time ago- i remember it making me laugh, but i cannot remember the setup. so for several blocks i had that phrase stuck in my head: fuck you, clown! fuck YOU, clown!
and that made me feel better.
i'm not going to proofread this.

la vie allet

the other night at work, during a rare lull, i found myself in the 'staff lounge' with two coworkers. we were all slightly glassy-eyed and drained from the day; it was about midnight and the television blared inanely in the corner. we had just recieved the news that one of the other technician's sister had just been killed in a car accident. this tech, who is salty and wonderful but whom i never get to work with (she only works wednesdays) is also about seven months pregnant. we sat there soberly, none of us really saying much, until i blurted "and did you hear about t's brother?" one of the assistant's brother had been randomly jumped whilst riding his bike in seattle- some drunk fucks had thrown a bottle at him, knocking him to the ground, and proceeded to beat the shit out of him- breaking both cheekbones, six ribs, probably more- he had surgery yesterday. has this been anywhere in any newspaper? of fucking course not.
"what is in the water here?" one of the techs i was sitting with asked. and we started listing the litany of horrid instances that has beset the clinic of late. one of the doctors was in the hospital for several days. two techs were taken to the ER for seperate, non-work-related ailments. someone's grandfather died. hell, my grandfather died (and my great-aunt died on saturday, i learned- i was never close to her at all, but it's still another name on the list- fucking mortality). there were other tragedies brought up, i'm sure. we ended up quietly filing out of the room, back to the treatment floor, where animals with intractable diarrhea and opiate stupors and weak wags awaited.
and on the way home that night (i think it was sunday) i turned up the music very loudly, and i sang along on the empty 2am interstate.
and yesterday, one of my other pregnant coworkers had her baby. his middle name is 'navin', hindu for new beginnings. there are 'yahoo!' signs all over work. that made me happy.
in more annoying news: the white stripes cancelled their ENTIRE FUCKING TOUR. i am really, really saddened by this. i found out last night (like a proper nerd, i am on their mailing list) and grimly removed their cd from my car for the drive home, replacing it with "alterna-daze: the best of the '80's." this cd contains the 12" version of 'tainted love', which is quite apropos in the blear of night.
*
today seattle smells of blackberries, lavender, and garlic, though not all at once.

twirl your own marshmallow

i went to MOHAI today (free museums on first thursdays), which was fun and somewhat calming. pictures of the old seattle. depictions of shop interiors. a display of the world's fair, with a sponsor-made film starring two impossibly grinny teens romping eagerly through the masses (the midway, now unfortunately called the 'fun forest', was then 'the gayway.' which is fucking wonderful.) i was one of the only people there. they have the original neon R from the rainier brewery, in its 15' metal glory. i caressed and photographed it. after, waiting in the dusk for the bus, i tried to recall the iconic things i have personally fondled. a chunk of the berlin wall. the rosetta stone. jim morrison's grave. the statue of liberty. the twin towers. the eiffel tower. a crowbar from the implosion of the kingdome. lux interior's sweaty bespandexed ass.
surely there is more.
the world was made for reverent touch.
my self-imposed introversion continues. i am wanting the instant succor; otherwise, fuck it. and i am finding myself unreasonably nit-picky about the benign tendencies s has- things that, in his absence, are amplified to the point of intolerablity. like: "i only eat organic" he says. "i want to go to the galleries for artwalk." don't feign pretension, ever. it makes me wince. or his habit of humming when he is unsure of what to say. not quite a hum, it's more of a "hm." "hm." over and over. i do not think he is aware of it. and it fucking drives me crazy. or his know-it-all attitude. the boy is smart as fuck, on a startlingly wide array of topics, but his smarm was obnoxious enough that a few weeks ago i said to him "do you ever feel that any experience someone else has had, you've done better?" it took him half a beat to blink in understanding, or at least blink at my appalling snottiness. "am i being condescending?" he asked. "yeah, a little bit" i said. "i've been told that before" he said. about that time, annoyed, i left the table to play galaga.
*
i am a fucking bitch, really.
*
on a related note:
http://bored.com/drawthings/save.php?id=1550340
it is extremely difficult to wield control with a mouse. plus, it was done in about 10 seconds.
there was a LARGE pile of short, wiry black hair in the sink in the women's loo at the odious chain bookstore. it was exactly as if someone had shaved off all of their pubic hair. "oh god!" i exclaimed aloud, leaving without washing my hands. i started laughing when i got outside, wondering of the girl still oblivious in the adjacent stall- what her reaction would be, if she was unnerved of what she may be encountering.
i also came across the most vile joke i have heard in a long, long while. it is too disgusting to even reprint here. congratulations, nasty world, for making me snicker every time i think of it.

that masochistic patina

i hate being reminded that i still care. there is a ridiculous helplessness that comes with having ever loved someone. of the three impromptu infiltrations over the last few days, the one i didn't really think about at all (other than clinically writing about it here) was from my, how do you say without sounding like a trashy whore, 2nd ex-husband. i wonder if that is because i am the one who left him, and i turned off my compassion long ago.
i also hate being reminded that there were people in my life who knew, and apparently still know, me pretty fucking well.
and i hate how the person who is most in my life right now, on however blase a level, is the one who i am currently not wanting to be around. i would not want to be around me right now either. i must be doing him a favor.
on friday we went to leavenworth. he had never been. it was muggy and beautiful. we walked around the twee townscape, dodging flushed and clumsy tourists, and tasted a lot of wine. that was a really fucking fun day. i completely do not give a shit when i am with him. and at some point during that day i thought about possibly falling in love, but thankfully i had four subsequent days of self-induced irritation and distraction to quell that fucking stupid idea.
i want to be in love without the getting-to-know-you bullshit. i just want to be there. i want to take somebody for granted, know their habits, have the feel of their body already memorized. this is the curse of serial monogamy- i don't think i could ever just go out and fuck somebody, no matter how much i may want to. at least not anymore. but i digress.
i finally purchased a copy of 'harold and maude' for my own personal anytime delight (mainly because i owe the video store too much money to rent anything, and i watch this way too often anyhow), and lolled around this afternoon resavoring my favorite scene: where they are at the carnival, admiring the night, the fireworks and 'i think i see the light' starts, and he lies glassy-eyed and splayed on the rumpled bed, blowing bubbles in the sunlight. i always catch myself grinning uncontrollably, knees clasped to my chest, making whimpery girl noises at the brilliance of it all. he realizes how fucking fun and full life can be, still startled by how these facets of vivaciousness were there all along. as i turned off the movie, still smiling vacantly, i thought "and here i am, still learning." it made the moment rather introverted, but not neccessarily depressing.
*
two men are stranded in a boat in the middle of the ocean. a bottle floats by (in the middle of the ocean). one of them pulls it out of the water and a genie emerges. "you get one wish" the genie says. the man, without thinking, says excitedly "i wish the whole ocean was made of beer!" it is done and the genie vanishes. the second man looks at the first with disbelief and disgust. "you idiot" he says. "now we'll have to pee in the boat."