c.o.d.

Well since Rehnquist is gone now too, I've decided to just cut out the middle man entirely and give the government my uterus and ovaries. I will clearly have no control over them any longer and a government that takes their sweet ass time responding to one of the worst natural disasters in recent history will get to make those decisions for me. I wonder if I should overnight the package? Do you think I can deduct the shipping when I do my taxes cause I'm pretty sure that they won't allow cash on delivery.

fall of rome

Hedonism is one of those things that sounds better in theory. In actuality, the time and energy required to recover from hedonistic tendencies takes away from the pleasure a little bit. Or maybe I'm just getting older and hangovers take a bigger toll than they used to.

straight-edge

Does anybody remember the Whoopi Goldberg movie Jumpin' Jack Flash? I heart that movie. I haven't seen it in years and I still quote it almost verbatim. Today this one kept running through my head:

"You see this face Earl? This is the face of a woman on the EDGE."
"I know, my wife has that same face."

I am definitely a woman on the edge and I so have that face. When the work day came to a close, I could barely keep myself from running out screaming and ripping out big chunks of my hair. I've discovered a whole new level of crazy these last few weeks. It won't be long before I start joining the suitcase man on the street in the morning. But one good thing to come out of all of this, the crazy brought forth the vision of my next tattoo, one I've been wanting for a while but not knowing what it would be. It's going to be amazing.

omen

Sometimes the world forces a bad day on you, even if you're trying your damnedest to make it not so. I even wore my optimistic scrub top, the one I plan to burn in effigy later. It has words like hope, love, charity, happiness, and peace emblazoned all over...but sadly today it was meant to be ironic.
So I get dropped off this morning and I'm walking to my dealer's place (aka Starbucks) and I see this guy crossing the street towards me. I'm thinking that it's still pretty dark outside and there's nobody on the street and this guy is looking pretty shady, wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his face and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. But I'm trying not to jump to the wrong conclusions, even as I scan the roads for somebody else or a car nearby. I try to maintain my cool, walking the same pace as before as he's coming up towards me. I move over to the side of the sidewalk and I notice that's he's moving slowly towards the middle, which I find a little odd. Then I get within three feet of him, within grabbing distance, and his body does this thing in between a grand-mal seizure and a lunge towards me. So I stop dead in my tracks, eyes wide, ready to fucking scream and wondering what good that knife I keep for cutting my lunchtime apples is safely stowed in my bag. Then he says, "Sorry, I didn't see you." And at this point my wide-eyed fear turns to wide-eyed anger and I stare at him and walk away without saying anything because I know that mofo did that on purpose.
Then not even thirty minutes later, I go to the bathroom. Thanks to the anxiety produced anorexia and regular gym visits, none of my clothes fit anymore. There I was, pulling the tie on my scrub bottoms when it snaps right in two. Now, it would have been okay if I were half my size and could wrap the half-string around my waist...but alas that is so very much NOT the case. So I had to rig my pants so they would stay up and it was quite uncomfortable. It was like wearing clown pants with elastic on only one side, very not optimal for a long-long-long day at work.
And today, the full irony of finally meeting a straight guy and then him moving to San Francisco hit me. Ahhh, the irony in my life...always the irony, my constant companion.

m.i.a.

*My thoughts are racing and I'm using this as a pressure valve. So chances are it won't make any sense and is just a bunch of mental vomit*

Almost everybody I know is out of town or going out of town this weekend. My sister is going out of town to visit grandparents and enjoy a practically free mini-vacation in Vegas. My friend Jen and several other people are at Burning Man near Reno...so basically Nevada is the place to be and everybody I want to be with is there, so a big middle finger to Nevada. I'm really curious about this Burning Man thing. The whole point is to escape the hustle of our "real" lives. I'm fairly certain cell phones don't work, I'm sure there isn't much call for television viewing, I seriously doubt that there's wi-fi or that The New York Times delivers...so do the attendees know what's going on out here? Do they know about the devastation from the hurricane? Are people finding out what's happening?
When I was in basic training, we weren't allowed to read newspapers, watch television, or listen to the radio. The outside world ceased to exist and the world that did exist was something designed to constantly keep us off balance. We didn't know anything unless they (the drill sergeants, the Army, the government) decided that we needed to know something, unless you were lucky enough to have people writing you letters regularly. One day during one of our classes, a drill sergeant came in and told us Iraq attacked us again (this was in 1994) and we were going to war. Then he showed us a body bag and said that at least some of us would end up in it. I remember not being afraid, no questions to ask, just resigned to my fate because at that point there was nothing I could do to change anything. When they told us they were lying, I was astounded. I actually thought that if I were willing to relinquish control of myself over to them, they wouldn't deceive me. And yeah, to this day, I am still THAT naive. Now that lie is somebody else's truth and I'm sitting here wondering if it's better to know nothing than to know too much. Knowing nothing makes life easier to accept.

conjoined

I heard it could happen. But honestly I thought it was just some unsubstantiated rumor designed to make cool kids feel even cooler. Then it happened. My iPod and I have emotionally synced. Even though there are nine hundred songs, most of them dance and other fluffy fare...lately the shuffle has been choosing just the right emotive wailing to provide the soundtrack for my self-loathing. I have almost achieved iPod jedi status.

funny guy

On the news yesterday morning, a newsreporter said to another reporter:"I can hear people walking behind while you're being blown."
HAHAHAHAHAHA! I've had a good laugh about that for two days straight.

roller disco

What could possibly pull a person out of an emotional slump? Why ROLLER DISCO OF COURSE! And when I do a thing, I do it right. Check out the socks and the old school quad-skates...no inlines for this girl. If I wasn't afraid of skinning my legs from ankle to hip (and if I had the appropriate legs and ass), I totally would have sported the super-shiny short shorts with contrasting ribboning.

I've decided that roller-disco is my new metaphor for life:
You get back on that rink after being off of it for a bit. At first you're shaky and can barely keep your balance. You're worried about falling and even more worried about somebody witnessing the massive meeting between hardwood floor and ass. You hang on to the walls and the seats that encircle the rink and feel way too insecure to just let go and roll. But eventually, your confidence increases and before you know it you're rushing out to join the fast skate and your friends and family are cheering you on (and probably being sincere about half the time). Somewhere in this metaphor there's a part for sweat dripping down the crack of your ass and trying to do the chicken-dance on skates...but I haven't gotten that worked out yet.

hustle and flow

I could say that Fate is a cruel mistress but that doesn't quite cover it. Fate is a six foot, raven-haired dominatrix. One who wears six inch spiked heels and then steps on your testicles...and she is terribly ironic.I feel a little strange today. One day so consumed with wasted hope, pain so palpable that I could feel it picking at me like a buzzard and the next day, empty.Empty is so still, if I didn't know any better I could confuse it with calm. Except the empty will eventually become stagnant and have the putrid smell of dry ponds.Most people are a lot more comfortable with the empty, whether within themselves or in others. I'm not, underneath it all, I want volatility and drama, I'm an addict jonesing for my next fix.And with Fate being who she is, I know there's more to be had soon...Fate is my pimp and my dealer and I'm in deep.

old man river

Yesterday at the gym a man old enough to be my grandfather flirted with me. I guess he was impressed by the amount of weight I could squat...or at least that was his approach point.

"Wow, that's a lot of weight."
"Yes it is, I've been working up to it for a while."
"Wow, I can't believe it."
"Well, I'm a big girl."
"No, you're a STRONG girl."
-Smile-
"So what's that picture tattoo on your leg?"
"It's a fan, a Korean fan...I'm half Korean."
"Oh yeah? Anyohasayo?"
-leer-
It's good to know that for the rest of my freakin' life, I'll have to listen to the same tired ass lines. There's always some comfort to be had with familiarity I suppose.

keep hope alive

Generally, I consider myself a person who stays on top of things...but lately, I've regressed into somebody else entirely. What kind of complete lack of any discernible intelligence or rationale allows a person to want something that they will NEVER have? And it's not as if I don't know that I won't and can't have this thing, because I do know that. I know it more than I know how I take my coffee or which way I like to part my hair. Yet, I cling desperately and stubbornly to the hope that if I want this bad enough, I might actually get it. Who made that bullshit up anyway, if you want something bad enough, you'll get it? Did they mean that specifically or in a more general sense? Because if they meant it specifically, well I've got news for them...it doesn't work...so frankly, whoever that person is can shove their sage advice up their ass. And in a general sense, it's still crap advice because then you're not really wanting anything really, you're just hoping for positive results in any aspect of your life. I wish my hope would die, because if you ask me, hope is just some bullshit optimistic way of avoiding reality. I wish somebody would beat my hope with a sledgehammer until it shatters into tiny shards of defeat. Then they can pour gasoline on all that wasted hope and light it on fire until it is consumed in a pale blue flame and the ashes blow away, never to be seen again. I've taken a few steps in this direction, but to no avail. But then again, I kinda hope that it doesn't happen.Edit: Hopefully this will be the last of the woe is me crap. We should be back to the regularly scheduled program of sarcasm, vitriol, and general crankiness soon. Thanks for all of the comments.

dead air

Sorry about the lack of updates. I've been a little under the weather and I'm working out some things. Hopefully I'll perk up by the end of the week, although that's unlikely because everybody I know is heading out of town and I really wish I could be going with them. Somewhere between taking care of my responsibilities and taking care of myself, there is a happy medium...and maybe I'll figure out how to get there.

20,000 Leagues

The unknown is already frightening enough without having an imagination as vivid as mine. I imagine these elaborate scenarios of how events are going to transpire...usually ending in gunfire or suicide pacts. Then I convince myself that my imagination is really a premonition and wait around for these things to happen. Maybe I should use my powers for good and make my stories more fun, replete with happy endings. Though less likely than the usual scenarios, I'd feel a whole lot better waiting for them to happen.

ways to know your week sucked

o You come home and find out that your dog pooped on the carpet...in three different rooms
o Your supervisor wonders whether they should extend your training period because you're having a bit of a hard time (and also because the training program is absolute also poop but it's probably wiser not to mention that part). Lucky for you it is the hardest thing to do, so you only look moderately stupid...even luckier that of all the new people that started about the same time, you got to be first
o The only guy to have called you is the one you rideshare with and his kids are older than you are
o Some guy calls you a "stupid fucking bitch" because you're driving the speed limit
o You get sick, get your womynlies, and get kicked off a horse (metaphorically) in a relatively short span of time
o After a week, the total shit-sucking pain of rejection and a massively bruised ego continue to sting like you've had a run-in with a hornet's nest
o Six Feet Under ends
o You're pissed that you're throwing yourself a pity-party so you decide to go out for drinks instead...

all aboard

The old man with the suitcase was out this morning, but today he was scary. He went on and on about death and dying and sacrificing himself and how he wasn't scared. I tried to walk slowly, make sure I was at least four paces behind him so that if he turned on me in a fit of insane rage, I could have that little bit of a headstart. Then there was another crazy woman who stood on the corner and looked to be miming a check-out person putting groceries in plastic bags. Lately I've been feeling like I'm on a one-way train to crazytown...but after seeing all these people who have made the trip repeatedly...I know that I haven't even gotten off of the platform.

tragically hip

I mentioned that my workplace is near the trendiest, hippest part of town. During my breaks, I go for walks rather than wasting one more minute in that evil dungeon where feeling like a drooling moron is part of the job desciption that they didn't advertise. I walk up and down Broadway, Pike, and Pine and every day I fall in love with Seattle a little more and more. There are a bunch of cool stores, restaraunts, and of course you can't go two blocks without running into a coffee joint or a homeless person peeing out in the open. I also get to see all the urban hipster chicks walking around in their baby-tees, low-rise pants, and black rimmed glasses so that by the time my walks are over, I feel completely inadequate. Well, since I won't go the meth route, I've decided that I too will become horribly emaciated through anorexia. I'm telling you, when I have the body of Fiona Apple (whose album is being released finally) it'll all be worth it, especially when the hunger pains that double me over and the random fainting in alley ways cease. Because there is nothing more important than completely fitting in when you are trying to set yourself apart.

work it girl

I don't know why people go out and have massive Pamela Anderson sized saline filled watermelon rinds inserted in their chests. I'm naturally well-endowed and I HATE IT! My greatest wish is to have the waifish breastless figure of a heroin addict...but with better hair and teeth. Back pain, shoulder pain, people assuming your IQ is inversely proportional to your cup size...who needs it? And today I made the mistake of working out in the room with the mirrors. Despite wearing two sports bras to exercise in, I caught my reflection in the mirror...and I still look like I'm juggling two puppies. Man, a b-cup would be heaven in a wonderbra.

on the down low

Somehow intoxication creates a level of candor that you don't often find in "real" life when people are ever vigilant about keeping up appearances. This is why I like to get drunk with guys, I learn something new each and every time. Especially when it comes to the games they play with the ladies. This weekend somebody said something about wanting discretion. They said that they were all about discretion, not wanting anybody to know their business. But aren't you really only discreet about the things that you're ashamed of? You don't boast about your drug problems, your porno addiction, your fifteen foot by seven foot altar dedicated to Alan Cummings. So is discretion basically cowardice disguised as privacy? Or am I missing something here?

scheduling conflicts

Well, I had planned on curing cancer, rescuing shivering little puppies from wells, and creating a soy & seaweed based malt-o-meal that would feed all the starving people in the world. But since God is busy laughing at me and crushing my self-esteem, I'm too self-conscious to do it now. So I guess I'll go smoke some crack and have sex with random homeless men instead.

wishful thinking

Have you ever wanted something badly? Not anything you necessarily needed, just something you thought would give you some momentary happiness, a respite from the big ball of blah that is your usual life. And the thought of having this thing, this relatively unimportant thing, just consumes you. All the while, you're thinking that you'll be left with nothing more than the carcass of your craving, knowing that what you want will never happen because you fell into the quicksand of cynicism and self-doubt so many years ago.But then, surprisingly, you get what you wanted. You may even get more than you wanted. And while that momentary happiness fills the empty inside just a little, you spend so much time overthinking and dissecting the gift that you rip the positive energy away like wrapping paper. And inside you find a one-way ticket back to where you started.Sometimes, I really wish I could be the kind of person that just lets things be, strictly a surface level life. In the words of that amazing chanteuse and philosopher Avril Lavigne, "Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?"