get the party moving on the dance floor!

i have been working so fucking much that the novelty of freedom has reignited my tawdry crush with this fair berg. i am currently in a place that is playing "three days", my favorite jane's addiction song. the room smells of sushi. the patrons are discussing esoteric yuppie shite like cell phone plans and computer programming. and i, the perennial observer, am fucking happy.

i still regret giving sylvia, my vintage manniquin, to j. i have been collecting various body parts since. my newest, a $10 left arm. "can i give you a HAND with that?" two seperate people brayed, verbatim, as i walked past after purchasing it. her? it's a rather asexual arm. i judge the finger length and wrist width... and "wrist width" is now officially the hardest phrase someone learning english as a secondary language could say. i have thought about this! before it was the word "worthlessness", or perhaps "slither." fuck, there are so many words in the english tongue that i cannot vocalize... like "lisp." how cruel, to make a descriptive word that people who have it cannot fucking say.
but i digress.
i had my second shift at bbh today. it went well. the first guy was massive- a foot taller than i and the width of the table- and he wanted work on his back. so i went in with my elbow. "that's a little too much" he gasped. his was an odd anatomy to figure out. it was dense yet doughy... i couldn't feel the little knots and landmarks that i usually expect. it was one of those halfway-through, "fuck, i'm giving him a shitty massage" massages. but at the end he thanked me and said he felt much better and more relaxed. actually, "wow, that was really relaxing" is what he told me. and he thanked me again when i saw him in the hall. the second guy was much 'easier'- i could feel everything. he was thin enough that i could do parallel work on both sides of his back- which i'd never done before! he thanked me twice also. but then i saw him on the bus afterwards- the stop is right outside the door of the facility- and he ignored me. and i realized that my revelation last week -holy shit! i'm the professional!- makes it mandatory that i be the professional. i can't talk to these people afterwards and ask them how they are and what brings them to bbh and what they're feeling. and i, for the same reason, am unapproachable. they warned us about this repeatedly in school- Boundaries, they coined it- but it's fucking hard in the real world. it's fucking hard if you're a human being.
i must remember to bring my own music next week. i used the cd that was in the player at bbh- "spirit wind." it wasn't fucking awful, but there were sitars involved. i felt like i should have voiced a disclaimer... i'm not THAT kind of massage therapist! i was listening to captain fucking beefheart on the way there, for fuck's sake.
i took my seattle-crushy ass to ballard.






it's still ass-cold- i'm wearing gloves outside. it's fucking JUNE. MID-june. but i got a 14" charcoal grill today. i found it last night on craigslist. i picked it up today and threw the money through the mail slot with a note around it that said "thank you! it's perfect! (smiley face)" it's never been used. ten bucks. it's currently sitting on my porch, about to get fucking rained on.
i even turned the heat on this morning. it's 58 degrees outside.
*
last night i was looking at expedia fares to new orleans and even, god help me, las vegas. i hate las vegas with every fibre of my being, so i shan't go there... at least, not alone... that's masochism slathered upon self-hatred... but i need SUN. i need to sweat. i need to wake up and think "fuuucckk, it's gonna be hot today." i have been clammy and climatically INCONVENIENCED for long enough. if i wanted to freeze my ass off under the cloudy doledrums for 9 months straight, i would still be living in alaska... where it's probably warmer than here right now.
i have seen far too many examples of a 'grey study' lately, which are depressing enough to not take photographs of, so here is a blue study from a week or two ago:

and at the bottom of my street:

walking on water/she was summer

finally, photobility. time, distraction, and general occupations have postponed this long enough.
alaska, along the turnagain arm. 75 degrees. it didn't suck.

vehicles in alaska: they are TRUCKS, and they're filthy. lots of bumper stickers. disrepair. i felt at home.

the pie menu at peggy's:

and an amazing shirt at darwin's:

that seems like so fucking long ago. i came back and worked 7 of the next 8 days. life goes on. i have a world here. it's a nice world! you should come visit.
the weather has been ass-cold and rainy, though. STILL. it's supposed to be 79 on friday. i will, of course, be inside at work.

i took sunday off to break my pork fast of the last 8 years.

s's landlord/roommate has property in indianola, a ferry ride away from seattle. the place is a bit of a hippie commune. it was fucking awesome, actually. the pig tasted fucking FANTASTIC.
indianola bucolia!

a vehicle near the roast-site:

testing the internal temperature... it was about 160lbs to start.

there were several dogs, chasing one who appeared to be in heat. there were several kids. the kids were quite cool.

after one kid grew tired of carrying around the skull (meat attached), they took turns posing with the snout.

it was an incredibly lovely experience. sigh. i simply cannot say enough good things about it.
*
i had my first shift as an LMP at bbh. it went well. my ethics are unsullied. the second guy fell asleep within 5 minutes. i had that revelation: oh my god, i'm the professional! the shift started awkwardly- i had never been in that portion of the building, i didn't know where anything was, i locked myself out of the room 3 different times, my uterus was stabbing itself with a fallopian tube- but afterwards i got on the bus and grinned. and at the end of the bus ride were THESE:

orgasmic- ORGASMIC!- beignets with chicory anglaise. i am still thinking about them. fucking hell. they kick cafe du monde's ass.
later that night i went and bought chicory coffee to assuage my craving for new orleans. this is the exact time of year when i've visited in the past.
*
went to my parents' house yesterday. my mom got shitfaced as usual. after she passed out at the table -well, fell asleep extremely abruptly- my father confessed how difficult it is for him, especially with how often he's away. he'll call from the road and she's nearly incoherent. "she knows i'm here to protect her" he said. he said this repeatedly. i also watched him get up and refill his pint glass from the wall-mounted tap at least 8 times. i, the most sober human in the house, was the one who leaned over to pet the cat and tipped the entire fucking dining table, and its contents, all over the white carpet. surprisingly, my father thought it was hilarious.
their garden is gorgeous. "a little slice of heaven you've got here" i said.

it was a good time. i love them. i still felt emotionally drained when i left, as i always do. i had 70 miles in the rainy dark to replay our conversations. "escapism indicates unhappiness" my father said about my mother. "i don't know what to do."
"it doesn't sound like unhappiness as much as it sounds like a habit" i said. i should know this.
my mother woke up after the table hit the floor. she was oddly coherent, although still crashing into things and slurring her words. i see with her how fucking disgusting i am when i'm drunk.
a photograph of my great-uncle, oma, and great aunt:

the best parts of anyone are their eyes.