i get a fever that's so HARD to

spent all hallow's eve in surgery- eight hours, anyhow. first was the 3 week old puppy with the inguinal hernia and severe aspiration pneumonia who went into respiratory arrest mid-procedure; then was the 5-hr TPLO nightmare on ruby the german shepherd. i discovered halfway through the surgery that i am coming down with my first cold in 18 months- nothing like relentless snot whilst wearing a surgical mask.
there is something very satisfying about leaving work at the end of my shift and thinking "i fucking earned every penny today." pity that i am exhausted and unable to fully enjoy the costumed ribaldry around me.
i feel much better about everything now (see prior post, or don't). i obviously need to take a bit of a breather from my little hedonism-bender of late. abstinence is not for me, apparently, but there is definitely a middle ground somewhere. curses to my addictive personality! it is fascinating to observe what one's mind can conjure...
it is cold as fuck here. blazing tea, swing music, my hair lank and staticky... why, i could almost be back in anchorage.

reflecting light, absorbing darkness

this is way too fucking personal to post on a computer, but i'm a fucking nit, so shall.
the debauchery of the last 2 months hit me with a wallop last night. i did mushrooms for the first time. it was a very interesting experience, a disconcerting fluctuation from ecstacy to bereftness, jitters to melt. i was sweating and tearing and salivating and having to urinate every 20 minutes. i never lost clarity of what i was and what the drug was doing to my mind- a very pleasurable facet of this particular high, much like acid. but then: we took a polaroid of ourselves and i looked fucking terrified in it. it was one of the most frightening things i've ever seen. to see fear in anyone's eyes, much less my own, is horrible enough. and my mood crashed. i became completely withdrawn. i was sitting on my knees on my floofy rug, staring at the seattle view, of the cars on i-5 zipping past like manic red ants, and i started to cry. i suddenly saw myself as a very lonely, silly girl... and as someone who is trying to reclaim an irresponsible youth that she has no place in. i was a sweaty fucking woman on yet another drug, with a second pending divorce, a chronic (however latent) disease, neuroses up the wazoo, and an oblivious 20-year-old BOY sprawled on my couch humming some stupid indie-rock song. what the fuck had happened to me? how can i feel so immature and so fucking irreversibly OLD all at once?
*
clarity, however artificially attained, is a bitch.
*
i ended up going for a walk, alone, at one a.m., sober. it was cold and windy. i walked quickly, enjoying the feel of my body moving, the air hitting my skin, the unbelievably lovely views from my neighborhood. the streets were lined with huge chestnut and maple trees, the sidewalk thick with leaves, windows of stately homes dark, clusters of pumpkins on front porches. i thought "this is who i am, this is when i am most pure: alone, ambulatory, appreciative." it is always therapeutic, meditative even, to hear the sound of my own breathing. i returned to my lair fairly reluctantly, knowing that he was upstairs (in the same bed, clothed). all i wanted was to be alone. i lay on the rug and played with the cat. the apartment building next door was having a very raucous halloween party. shrill laughter interrupted the sound of the wind.
in the morning, grey and cold, we left for me to go to work and drop him off en route, only to find that the place i'd ended up parking last night due to the party-clogging lack of options had gotten my car towed. there is a very specific feeling of desperation when looking at the empty spot where one's car is supposed to be. 2 bus rides, prolonged ass-freezing, a very fucking bad mood and $260 later, i rescued Pink from the barbed-wire cage in the sphincter of south seattle. i was only 45 minutes late to work.
i feel like i am fucking rudderless. i always feel fairly discombobulated and without purpose, but everything gelled in my mind a bit too fucking blatantly last night. i suppose i was simply, finally aware of what i already know.

both minted and minty

bless tower records... purchased 3 more cds today... including, at 25% off, the men at work album that i listened to OBSESSIVELY my first few months back in AK circa 1998... a cold, horribly depressing winter, driving to arctic valley in my subaru, staring morosely over the cityscape, 'what the FUCK' resonating cruelly in my head. i lost the cassette in one of my many moves. it will be interesting to hear again.
the week in technicolor recap:
friday: got lost in the bowels of puyallup, so did not see my grandfather. fetched friend from work, where they were operating on an otter from the zoo. it had torsed and necrotic intestines and ended up being euthanized on the table, but not before stinking up the place with a fetid fishiness. i took pictures that have not been developed yet. we drove back to seattle and drank port and played dice.
saturday: fucking beautiful. breakfast at randy's, a former denny's by boeing field, the interior disarming shades of orange and magenta, the waitress with her black beehive saying that she'll be back to take our order after her (mimes smoking) "attitude adjustment." went to the waterfront to find souvenir penny presses, then to play with his '60's polaroid beside a fountain as tourists glid by stupidly in their rented segways. drove to bellingham. climbed a hill in utter blackness to reach the 'watchtower' above WWU. saw the fog roll in from the bay. slogged back down the hill with no visibility and limbs numb from cold. ate excellent french fries at the horseshoe cafe. drove back in the same surreal mist, listening to 'blonde on blonde'; arrived at my lair to watch felix the cat cartoons.
sunday: up early to work the 10am shift in tacoma (my hours have been changed again). we parted in the white light of dawn. work... enjoyable, competent, busy. this week went by quickly.
tuesday: in the room of the place he's staying, reading aloud from each other's journals, at one point him saying "i could make love to you right now and mean it," the subsequent 48 hrs saturated with the knowledge that this is one of the fucking nicest things i've ever been told. it was hard to leave. practical, very practical, but i did bang my hands against the steering wheel once i'd turned the corner.
i was 'specialist tech' at work, which involved anesthetic monitoring during one dog's MRI and surgical assistance during another dog's hemilaminectomy. the doctor is a chatty sort. "do you like music during surgery?" i asked. "sure, my cd's are right there" he replied, and i opened the book to find... the backstreet boys, george strait... thankfully my surgical mask disguised my grimace. he did have blondie's greatest hits, so we blared that whilst cauterizing dachshund flesh. cautery is very satisfying. it smells like barbecue and makes a sizzling noise.
the remainder of the week... details, just clutter. i am very much loving my silly little life currently. it has finally gotten interesting in a not wholly negative way.
why did the chicken cross the playground?
to get to the other slide!
bless your clever, stretchy soul, laffy taffy.

i like u. do u like me? yes_ no_ maybe_

i love autumn. last night the air around my neighborhood smelled of garlic (from the greek restaurant) and wet leaves. as i neared downtown the aroma changed to steak and chlorinated hotel pools. it was incredibly windy all the while. today is cloudless and my sleeves are pushed up. spent the morning with workers outside my window, trying to decoupage, watching helix vomit. he is fucking wasting away. for the last couple of weeks i cannot help but look at him through the eyes of a 'professional'; that is, if he were brought into the hospital as someone else's, how much disgust would i have towards the selfishness of his owner in keeping him alive so long? but then he purrs, or what have you, and my clinical resolve is squashed.
the tower records a few blocks from my lair is going out of business, so i bought 2 cds en route to my current locale (downtown, listening to dr. hook, drinking ginger peach tea...): nick drake and eloy, both surprisingly difficult to find in this selectionally discouraging berg.
when traffic clears i shall head to puyallup to see my grandfather for the first time since his stroke... grave trepidation about this, though he is said to be improving... and then to fetch vice-boy for a night of something platonic. oddly, the more my life is clogged with distractions, the lonelier i have felt...
cover your eyes! pathetic adolescent shite! what i want: a verbose, scurrilous, socially bewildered man. tall. my age. odd work schedule. local. marvelous musical taste, fruity-artsy, a litany of bad habits, liberal, cat-oriented, appreciates his mama but doesn't fucking worship her. simply is rather than describing his every trait. accountable. self-aware and self-deprecating. able to drive well whilst receiving fellatio. willing to buy me tampons when i need them. is not a vain, snively prick.
there are surely oodles more. however, i have mortified myself enough, so shall stop. tra-la. whatever.

drugs were invented for people like me

staring at a blank screen. work was fun. the radio was on a station that played everything from prince to toto. one of the assistants sang along enthusiastically to "walk of life." i felt competent and mellow. now i am avoiding doing laundry. ah, the rigors of reality.
my problem, my lament, my ISSUE, if one will: i can never fucking settle on anything. i am so perpetually searching for the bigger thrill, the newer experience, no matter how detrimental, that i impatiently breeze past wholly adequate substitutions. i want my breath painfully taken away.
life is very interesting right now. how often can i truly say that?

or: fuck logic. just say yes.

after driving home last night, through rain and saturday-night revelers, sober, i began to feel really sad, and it took great willpower not to turn the car around. we had another great day, but now there is a weird undercurrent of melancholy because i told him how i was fairly incapable of being a Girlfriend right now. we were sitting beside a fire at the time of that conversation, friday night, drinking bellinis. "are you sure?" he asked. "no" i blurted immediately. "let me know when you change your mind" he said. goddamn him for always saying the fucking right thing.
i don't want to reveal my litany of neuroses to anyone. i already have with him and he seems to appreciate me anyhow. i wish i knew how things are going to be: with the bigger picture, with my health, with my divorce, with my state of mind.
i want to be in a stimulating relationship. sexually is *almost* an irrelevant priority. i want artistic stimulation, i want to be impressed by how they think, i want to see the world in novel hues. and this is how he makes me feel. i am a better human when i'm around him... for the most part. so far. fuck. here i go again, deprecating, sabotaging, overfuckinganalyzing, driving myself mad.
missing someone when they're not around: i am fucked.

too fucking honest

i am a fucking hedonist by nature, augmented with an unwieldy amount of conscience. i have higher expectations for myself than what i often demonstrate. perhaps i am just tired from the last 48 hrs of mayhem and need some alone time, as i tend to get very twitchy and irritated when i don't.
chronological recount:
tuesday: swapped shifts so i could get off work at six. he had the same hours. i drove to tacoma in brilliant dawn, feeling quite jaunty, only to check my phone and realize that my mother had left me a message, informing me that my grandfather has had a serious stroke. he is improving, as of yesterday. got to work. was stuck in surgery for hours, trying not to snicker at the doctor's choice of crappy soft-rock on his ipod (tegan and sara, for example). left work, me hyperactive, him mellow, and drove to seattle in pink twilight. bought a fifth of bacardi. drank a healthy amount at my lair, then walked downtown with the rest in a plastic bottle. slurry-drunk by the time we got to the showbox. leaned against the edge of the stage and gushed over architecture in helsinki. somewhere along the way he said "because i'm drunk, i can say this: i really dig you." "i really dig you too" i replied untidily; we proceeded to maul one another. after the show i went to the loo, but the queue was too long, so i went outside to wait, but neglected to tell him i was doing so; they wouldn't let me back inside because i was, by this point, very repulsively inebriated, and i vaguely remember politely apologizing for my state to the disgusted bouncer. he emerged from the club and we staggered uphill, giggling, crashing into shrubbery, the sort of display i would roll my eyes at were i not the participant. no, we did not have sex. i am glad of that.
the next day: it gelled in my mind, as sun gushed through the windows, as i sneaked out of bed to let him sleep: he is a friend. he is a friend who i care very much for, and as such i will not fuck it up with weird romantic bullshit. there are too many caveats to this situation to list. suffice it to say: it is a bad situation, one that i am both admiring and horrified of myself that i even got into. we went out to breakfast at a bowling alley. everyone else there was ancient. it was a good vibe. the windows were tinted glass. the food was delicious. we went to the zoo. cloudless, red leaves, both of us in very good moods, watching spiders spin webs, the wide-eyed secret creatures of the nocturnal exhibits, staring into the kind face of an orangutan. greek food in fremont. sitting on the end of a dock in west seattle, wakes from invisible boats making the pier undulate, passing a joint, feeling like i was on a slow roller coaster into the heart of downtown. and then the abstract sadness that is still persisting began to set in. i became very introverted. i loved being around him but desperately wanted to be alone. i wanted to go back to my stupid apartment by my stupid self and read a stupid magazine and be depressed. why the fuck would i, at such an iconic moment, want something so pathetic? because it's familiar? because it's comfortable? because i'm more scared than i want to admit? we ended up renting 'broken flowers.' it is a good movie, but very ponderous and slow and sad. why it's touted as a comedy on the fucking sleeve befuddles me.
i was relieved to be back at work today, though incredibly self-conscious about the fucking hickey on my neck. none of my coworkers have mentioned anything about us, but it is fairly fucking obvious that something has been transpiring. but just when i get panicky about everything, when i start to suck into my own toxic head, he has a talent of saying or doing just what i need. and this is the truth that makes me stop and think "you know what?... this is pretty fucking cool, and i deserve to be happy, i deserve to have fun... and i shouldn't worry." when i dropped him off en route to the clinic, we smiled awkwardly at each other, then he said "come here" and i leaned in, tense about what uncomfortable thing might happen, and he kissed me on the cheek, and immediately everything was easy and right again.
ultimately, what? we are friends. i don't want more. i either want a really fucking good friend, like i have found in him, or i want some lothario i don't give a fuck about emotionally whom i can merely ravage. i am nowhere near ready for both in the same person. perhaps i never will be, or if i am, it will not happen. life has already demonstrated this to be a fucking rare, if not impossible, thing.
unrelated witticisms from the 253:
"tacoma: 200,000 alcoholics can't be wrong."
"glassblowing: it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."

'til my seas are dried up

five days in a row of work at the aec (see where i work! www.theaec.com)... busy, death-filled days. leptospirosis is once again rearing its hoary, zoonotic head. it is hard to deal with the same patients for multiple days and watch them slowly fade away. i had roscoe the dog in my arms as he was euthanized today. took helix into work with me on saturday to have his renal values rechecked. they were shit, as i expected. he is 6.4 pounds. he used to be about 13. he still purrs and licks his stinky canned food, but it won't be much longer. he sleeps on my cd books a lot. tomorrow i go to fucking olympia to talk to someone at the fucking court about my divorce. he swears he signed the rejoinder i served in february (agreeing to the terms of my filing) but they don't have a copy at the court, so i re-served his parents, and i got off work today to recieve the message that he isn't signing again, so i will probably have to file a default, and i am extremely fucking disgusted by him, the bullshit concept of marriage, and how much more difficult it is to get a divorce than to wed. it really should be the other way around. i want it over. soon, soon.
...i said this the first time i got divorced (unto itself, already a white-trash statement) but truly, if i ever get a bug up my arse to indulge in MATRIMONY again, someone best fucking kill me.
on an unrelated note: 'bubble' is a dreadful movie: self-important, tedious, annoying.
on another unrelated note: about a week after seeing 'blue velvet' (as aforementioned) i happened to be at the nitelite bar on 2nd ave (adjacent to the moore): a total dive, with xmas lights and hardened, older alcoholics slumped over their bottom-shelf $2.25 drinks- the sort of place that, were the bathrooms not so surprisingly clean, one would expect to leave with a case of scabies. and they played 'in dreams', roy orbison, and it was perfect and perfectly eerie.
pleasing things of the last week:
-my teapot still functional after i forgot to turn off the burner (i am on a boullion kick)
-ike and tina, over and over and over
-the ethereal dead jellyfish in the surf at owens beach
-being serenaded with a wonderfully cheesy '70's song
-plans to see architecture in helsinki on tuesday
-learning exactly what a 'dirty sanchez' really is (thanks for telling me, fellow female tech)
-hitting the vein on a seagull (though i was euthanizing it at the time)
the problem with 53 hrs of work in the last 7 days, plus 12 hrs of illogical commute: i haven't had much time for a life. obviously.
me: "how's it going tonight?"
hypersmiling man serving me tea: "i'm getting a migraine. but i'm treating it with coffee, and when i get off work i'll be treating it with beer."

dewy stamen, bruised petals

according to the cia 'personality profile' (www.cia.gov) i am a 'thoughtful observer.'
according to my actions of the last few weeks, i am also one of poor work ethic, silly stoner habits, and propensity of snogging boys drunker than myself.
tomorrow i go admire the ruins of the original western state hospital, a mental asylum in beautiful steilacoom washington. apparently the juggaloes have taken it over, but we shall be there in the innocent sunlight. is the juggalo thing local to western washington, traffic, meth, and horse-fucking capital of the united states? i rather hope so.
soberly i sip my iced blackberry sage tea. my inner librarian always wins the fight of personality.

tail feathers ashake

it has been a week of lightening the fuck up, revisiting vices (responsibly, even!), feeling incredibly unmotivated at work, my agitation renewed this evening by contact with my kin... whom i love dearly, but i am too busy feeling optimistic to be reminded of everything i could possibly be worrying about instead.
this is my first night to myself in a while. it is peaceful and pointless at once.
from the past 7 days:
everything dying or being euthanized at work yesterday, two in my arms.
architecture in helsinki.
calling in sick, cough cough, and spending a sunny thursday hanging out with my work/vice buddy on 3 hours of sleep. that was a fucking good day: toy stores, greenhouses, hot tea, indian food, walking in the sporadic rain.
driving to blaine today, admiring the beast-scented bucolia of nearby lynden, deciding not to micturate on the shirt someone had thrown on top of the pile in the port-a-potty. sunny, hot, listening to french talk radio. i cannot enter canada until i replace my stolen passport.
deer alongside the road.
his friend's dog's "fuck bunny": a stuffed animal that the unneutered dog molested until all that was left was the head and a bit of stuffing. "it was crunchy and yellow."
banana chips dipped in tahini, a variation of the earlier theme.
the 23-minute yes song currently playing overhead.
the construction at my building. they are replacing the deck railing. at 7:30am daily for the last week and at least another. hammering, grunting, knocking down chunks of concrete, having boisterous man-chats. right in front of my window. the building is enveloped, christo-like, in plastic. i have no view, no privacy, and no circulating air. it is rather womblike.
my new work schedule, effective 1 october! sun-wed, 1-10pm! i have 3 fucking days off in a ROW (haven't had a consecutive day off in months, much less all 3) and fridays and saturdays... yay... perhaps i shall enroll in a trapeze class on thursdays.
lightening the fuck up is indeed the key to happiness. i have never been adept at this. but it is getting much, much easier lately, and i am having much more fun.

blissss in sssibilance

(note to self: do not watch "blue velvet" directly before sleep ever again.)
ever have one of those moments wherein everything seems orchestrated for your benefit? i had that narcissistic experience en route to work. half the sky was blue blazing sunshine, half was dark ominous clouds- i love when the climate cannot decide. and on the radio, they played 'cover of the rolling stone', then 'ride on', THEN 'lay lady lay', and after i got petrol they played 'i put a spell on you', and i arrived at my toil feeling quite jaunty indeed. the tape i made for my friend at work was well-received... i do enjoy making tapes, archaic a medium as it may be. by the by, COOL SITE, postpunkjunk... as if someone made compilations from my own collection... i shall have to acquire the means to actually utilize it instead of being reliant on public terminals. yesterday i went into the Famous New Downtown Library for the first time. it is a very marvelous place, cement and endless ceilings, orange and yellow panels, intercoms somnambulous in tone, the ambiance the way i imagine someplace in tokyo to be.
it has been a day of excited happiness for no concrete reason... giddy. i must bottle this and splash it on my pulses.

poked and prodded

so i just got a piercing, and i am riding the resultant giddy wave. i needed to do SOMETHING. 2 piercings, one captive-bead ring, halfway up my right ear. it looks pretty nifty, if i do say so. it was a very impulsive move. i was walking down broadway and saw an open sign alit.
what did i do in the dusky hours prior? drove around whilst blaring "it's a rainy day, sunshine girl" (i need to rotate the music in my car), read the new issue of people magazine (i mean, a dense and provocative work of literature...), and was witness to something very surreal: traffic around 'fraternity row' in the u-district was horrible, and i was immediately grouchy because i was stuck on a hill with a stick shift, but then! the din of many merry voices rang forth, and suddenly there were about one hundred people carrying bass drums, tubas, and other cumbersome instruments running across the road, congregating on the side street, and jumping into a very commendable version of 'louie louie', complete with synchronized bows and dips. it made me smile. actually, it put me in a really good mood.
i have been struggling with the admitted stupidity of living here. i keep thinking "seattle, prove yourself! justify your exhorbinant (misspelled) rent, your horrible traffic, the soul-sucking commute, your lack of indoor smoking, the nine months of no local soul mates with propensity for fuckable music, varied cuisine, grassy lounging, and pop-culture obsessiveness..." and then i see things like tonight and i exhale langorously and think "okay. okay, seattle, you wily maiden... that was pretty good."

dammit!

i keep vowing that i will never contact him, numbers deleted from my telephone, knowing that it is all a toxic shitstorm to nowhere... complicated by the annoying knowledge that he's the only one who seemed to properly understand, or at least empathize with (same thing?) the nasty, dark corners of my personality. so i had to go fucking read his fucking blog. articulate asshole. thanks for the posterior shout-out! grr, i say.
anyhow! it is suddenly rather nippy in seattle proper, to my glee. i walked around feeling saucy and sunlit for a good part of the day before realizing that my sweater was buttoned unevenly. i am slowly slogging through 'heat', bill buford (not the drummer), which is deeply entertaining and makes things like uncured lardo sound almost appetizing. his mentor in italy told him to "live like a butcher. butchers do not sleep. they eat nothing but meat, then go home and make love." carne, carnal, flesh, flesh. there is something quite sexy about that. my friend said "it's too bad you're a vegetarian. there are a lot of good restaurants in tacoma", then began describing a hole-in-the-wall mexican joint, grocer in the front, butcher in the middle, a tiny taqueria in the back "with FRESH meat!" i then admitted to him my recent shrimp cravings, unfulfilled... but for how long?
yes, moderation... i am an adult, after all. i should be able to balance my internal and INSANE hedonism with a respectable public veneer. it is becoming unflatteringly apparent in the last few weeks/months how much i smothered a lot of fun, wackadoo, irresponsible spontanaeity whilst wed. i keep reminding myself that i am only 27 years old... old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway.
i must venture back into the sun now.

dangerous levels of hedonism

got ridiculously stoned last night. it was enjoyable. i am falling off the fucking wagon. i feel like a rubber band about to snap. all i want to do is get severely intoxicated and fuck wantonly. i am having difficulty concentrating at work. the self-imposed moral chastity of the last few years is gravely tenuous. i keep thinking "why the fuck not?" ...but i am enmeshed deeply enough in this new, pure-of-mind&body 'habit' that i feel quite guilty and stupid for even considering the alternatives.
perhaps it's just remembering who i used to be... who i still am and always was, but primly denied. perhaps i am simply the sort who is meant to be high and devil-may-care, flighty flighty flighty.
(and i am also the detrimentally introverted nerd who wastes precious time typing a fucking solliloquy about it instead.)

i've got it bad!

spent the last 6 hours of work in surgery... handed it over to another tech when my shift ended. bilateral sacral-iliac fracture repair, conducted by the cheery surgeon who actually TALKS, though the surgery was a fucking nightmare and nothing was connecting properly and he would grow rather quiet, but at least he likes classic rock, and 'godzilla' came on, and keesha (the keeshond) did very well under anesthesia, on my watch at least.
i feel like leaping around now. standing in one spot has never been my forte.
coming to this cafe when i obviously have nothing sentient to offer- i do so because it is my 'third place' and i am too wired to go home.
'think pink' was on the radio on the way here. they played 'set the controls for the heart of the sun' and i recalled laying in my bed in nice, headphones, large windows showcasing streetlight-lit leaves. that was a marvelous place. if ever one is shabbily moneyed in the cote d'azur, do stay at les orangers hostel. it was my home for six weeks.
one good thing about france: i would never hear 'hot for teacher' on the hi-fi, as i am currently tortured with here.

virility? peurility?

i am a pile of fucking nerves. zingy, in an unpleasant way, as if i've had too much caffeine. i want to talk to somebody. no one to talk to. spent the morning decoupaging, the afternoon walking in sunlight. bought fun underpants. got a pile of free records: traffic, canned heat, 12 years after. did the crossword whilst listening to exceptional music. it has been a good day. so why do i feel as if i'm not yet privy to a horrible event that has already happened?
i allow my world to become far too small, at great detriment. tunnel vision. it has always been a problem.
the longan fruit thing has been monetarily curbed, for the next few days at least. in its place: banana chips dipped in peanut butter. fuck yeah, man.

not sexual

the last few days have gracefully illustrated the phenomenon i mentioned earlier: glorious moments that must end, and once ended, the disorienting emptiness and the myopia of "is that my life? did that really happen?" perhaps it is because i am existing on 3 hours of sleep. i've spent time with one of my coworkers, someone that i really fucking clicked with, someone who seems to just get it right away. he felt like a friend i'd known for years. we talked until 6 am... or whenever it gets light around here. later today, at the pointless, 'motivating your staff 101'-esque employee meeting, watery bloodshot smiles were exchanged, and that was all. and i left tacoma with fantastic marigold sunlight, listening to the fucking velvet underground whilst mired in dreadful traffic, and i felt very fucking sad.
there is a definite lyricism to pointlessness. walking through the graveyard on queen anne hill under a perfectly full moon. staring up at the radio towers. the bus driver wearing teddy-bear antennae and greeting us with disarming cheer. the vista above salmon beach in tacoma, staring out at the narrows bridge, the beach several hundred perilous feet straight down, the trees sighing. it is nice to be reminded that this is how life can still be, how it is and was, how i want very badly to be back in those moments and revel in the novelty of it all. being back at the stiflingly hot cafe, arms sticking to the grimy counter, indulging my girlish solliloquy, seems a bit more pathetic now.
fuck yes... 'into the mystic' just came on. all right, i take it back; there is beauty and poignance in every facet of every moment. this is a damn fucking good song.
i haven't been this tired in a while.

this actually sounds rather tasty

*j'aime les etats-unis!*

Newest Fair Food: Deep-Fried Coca-Cola
POSTED: 9:35 am PDT September 5, 2006
DALLAS -- There are fried Twinkies and even fried candy bars.
Now, vendor Abel Gonzales Jr. has come up with a new artery-clogging concoction for the State Fair of Texas. It's fried Coke.
Gonzales deep-fries Coca-Cola-flavored batter. He then drizzles Coke fountain syrup on it. The fried Coke is topped with whipped cream, cinnamon sugar and a cherry. Gonzales said the fried Coke came about just from thinking aloud.
Gonzales' diet-buster wins the creativity honor at the second-annual Big Tex Choice Awards Contest.
Judges for the contest chose Shirley London's Fried Praline Perfection as the tastiest fried delicacy.
The two won out among 26 entries such as fried macaroni and cheese and a deep-fried cosmopolitan.
London said she came up with the fried pralines idea after buying pralines at the fair last year. She plans to sell the pralines alongside fried marshmallows.
Gonzales achieved notoriety in 2005 with the fried peanut butter, banana, and jelly sandwich -- selling an estimated 25,000 of the treats, according to the fair's Web site. The site said London got media attention in 2004 with her fried marshmallows on-a-stick.
This is the same state fair that brought about the corn dog. The Web site said Neil and Carl Fletcher conjured up a sweetened corn-battered wiener on-a-stick and sold it for 15 cents during the 1942 State Fair of Texas.
The fair begins Sept. 29.
Distributed by Internet Broadcasting Systems, Inc. The Associated Press contributed to this report. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

huddle closer for warmth

i get my mental high just as my physical self succumbs to exhaustion... thus, bloodshot and weathered, i am out on the town. work was busy but not hideously so, and coexistence was blessedly smooth. 'careful with that axe, eugene' was on the radio during the drive home- such a fucked-up song, undoubtedly the stimulus for '10:15 saturday night.'
i had a harold & maude hankering last night, which happens fairly frequently, so watched the movie for about the 30th time. it is still my favorite. saw another hal ashby film, 'one final thing', that was completely different but almost as wonderful, and i recommend it heartily.
one of my coworkers has an uncanny resemblence to bud cort as harold... mixed with andrew mccarthy. while i consider it a positive thing, i am reluctant to tell him.
my mind is racing today. it is crashing into things en route. unfocused. this is usually the babbly trill before the thudding doledrums.

I Take No Pride in Mocking the Bereaved…
Posted by DAVID SCHMADER at 02:52 PM
However, this “Wanted” poster, found on a number of street posts in the Central District, demands comment.
Okay. I understand that people can care deeply about ferrets, which for a certain kind of person reportedly make delightful pets.
However, I sincerely doubt that the average person, coming upon a loose ferret on the street, will be willing to lure it indoors and feed it yogurt. Far more likely, the person will do everything in his or her power to beat the disgusting hair-snake to death, perhaps with a shovel.
Still, if anyone’s seen Cookie, please give Pam a call.
In the meantime, here’s a most disturbing photo of “The Easter Ferret.”
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