It's Snow Awful...but it's not the snow.

Last night I went to bed super early, since I have been burning my end with two candles for the past couple/few weeks. Very little of that time has been spent actually doing productive things, though. A little extra time making a blanket here, more time watching anime on the dvr there. Homework? When I absolutely must, but really no sooner.

I woke up bright and early and decided to make coffee, which I seldom do. Six or seven inches of snow fell last night, and I figured that with the drive to school almost guaranteed to blow goats, it would be sensible to be awake for the experience.

You know, I have been making coffee for years now, and you would think that I would have it down to a science. That would be a false assumption, however. For some reason I make coffee as though I hate myself.

I lost count while doling out teaspoons of coffee into the filter, and somehow managed to make a generic espresso gel, which a cup of will doubtlessly keep me awake for the next month. Of course, I had several. There are several true and awful stories floating around my circle of friends which serve as testimony to my unwillingness to dump out even the most heinous brew, and today is no exception.

The only upshot is that I was able to fob off one large mug to the guy who plowed out my car this morning. I don't hate him, but you would think so based solely on the fact that I gave him coffee.
Maybe it's karma for something he did in a past life. If that's the case, then justice has been served. In a mug.

Growing

The time, always passing

Has left its touch

Upon our hearts.

We feel it in the

Way we tighten our lips

Turn our faces

Avert our eyes

It shows in the coldnesses

Our small and counted slights

Returned, unfailingly

In equally nonchalant ferocity.


Today, let's choose to cleanse this grime

Gently from our spirits

To remember the smooth current

Of companionship

Of camaraderie

Of friendship

And together, let us row this boat home.

Snow Days

I love mornings like this.
Mornings where the line
between
Snow and sky become hazy.
When I feel as though I am driving in
the only corridor
To reality.
Mornings where anything seems possible;
all lines, angles, potentials.
Mornings which fall around me
like your breath
And the promise of day.

Tourists

You know things had to change.
It had been time and gone,
And we both knew something left
This last time of all times.
We locked eyes and

Embarrassed, continued to roam around
As though the truth hadn’t just slapped us each
And told us that we should have listened:
To the hours as they hissed by;
In the driving, in the fuelling of the car
In the short walks and shorter kisses when
No one else could see;
To the progression of our lives, separate and disorderly.
We clung to each other far past reason,

Pretending not to notice when fingers
Clasped just a little less snugly than before
Finally slipped away completely
Not noticing the cold of aloneness
Because we were really ,all along,
Just visiting lives.

Mariner

I do not recall just when
You began again
To swim within my veins
Your fingers resumed clasping mine
During half known dreams

At what time did you and I
Start knotting into we
So cunningly the threads entwined
All, I confess, unseen.

How can we be so far apart
And yet I taste your skin
Your soul must be a mariners
Sweet without and salt within

Here we are my darling one
Again returning to this sea
Lets use this net which we've made
To forever catch eternity

Cinnamon

My mother tells me that I should take some cinnamon
and put it into my morning oatmeal.

Only a quarter teaspoon is enough,
she claims

To make my cholesterol go down.

Even though I don’t have high cholesterol
Even though there’s nothing wrong with me

I stir the cinnamon into the milk
which makes the oatmeal a tolerable temperature.

I guess this is what love tastes like.

Side Show

The worst of the roadside attractions
Was the one we found accidentally;
Where orchard workers like zombies
Stared from grayed picnic tables
As though we had fresh brains
Tucked somewhere in the car.

Walking into the apple barn was strange
An experiment in the limits of our mouths
As, upon hearing our salesmen talk fruit;
Flies drifting lazily around his reedy tones
Smirks were poorly contained
And giggles pushed on the backs of our throats.

We could have killed that creepy dog,
Which rested, a breathing cliché,
Under a rusty truck in the late summer heat.
With the adrenaline throwing dust
Behind us as we left, and, after
Looking in the back seat surreptitiously,
We ate those soft tart red apples
The whole way home.

Wait

When it seems that spring

will never come again

and trees stand fallen
with leaves unable to wake

Wait.

And wait again
Until it seems your heart

will burst with solitude
And, lonely, feel twice the joy
When flowers burst
full-blossomed
from what you thought
had
gone.

Heart

I saw this one floating
a long time before I recognized it.
It resembled driftwood
long, spiny, and torturously curled
towards the center of the river
On that shoal to the left, the one with the big rock
where I had never seen one before.

That might have been part of it, too,
come to think of it.
Because I just didn't expect to see it there,
in the middle of things, and interfering with all of them
by resting along that shallow spot.

I grabbed my hook and prepared to draw it to the bank
This compelling piece of driftwood
Which, I idly thought while pulling, would look nice
Cleaned up, denuded of seaweed and the relentless razor clams

Which had attached themselves with
biology's reckless determination,
and placed in my garden, possibly where I had taken to
meditating of late, where the new Buddha sat with me.

This was my place, I thought, my vein, my water.

And I couldn't allow it to be disturbed by something like this
piece of driftwood, coral-white and large enough to catch

all the debris of a crazy-wet spring, and hold it
deep within its convoluted prongs.

And so I dragged it in and
recognized you.

Planted

I lay on the grass when I'm at a park
Generally shunning shoddy benches
Which wait, shivering in their bright green paint,
On concrete slabs, within their rain-free prisons
For someone else to love them.
I don't care what I'm laying upon
Or how long ago the dogs have passed by.

What unearthly smells
May be clinging to the back of my shirt
Upon rising are the least of my concerns.
What matters is the touch of green
Tickling the back of my neck
And the sun warming my innards
Like a good grilled cheese sandwich
In these languid late summer days.

Plans

When I am older than this still
And skin folds traitorously upon itself
The mirror doesn't hold the me that I recall
Will I mourn for what I didn't use
When I could have?

Neither the firm flesh nor the springy step
Neither lustrous hair nor sparkling eyes
But the chance to live free, to love deep
The chance to truly change - forgive?
To celebrate, dance, help, learn, teach
And before I die - to live?

Twilight

How different you and I became
After that leaden night, with those heavy words
which lay on the ground, jagged like pewtered stone
But we could not see.

How there lay the swords, spoken, but wrong,
Broken, mirroring how the truth, silvered
Was twisted, tarnished, tortured, by each of us.
But we would not see.

I realized, long after we had parted,
After shrapnel grey had bitten our feet as we walked
Away, to the opposite ends of this steely moon
That we both still bleed in Technicolor

Cold Fire

There is
In all the world
Nothing quite like you
And for that I am completely grateful;
For only a star could be
So remote, yet
Burn me.

Holy Night

angels polluted this place
hanging nacreously close to every turned head
each batted eye battered by luminous feathers
stricken senseless with immutable bliss
leaving traces on faces
glimmering opalescent as moth wing powder
as eyes go slack and wide
opening to the light of truth
as though salvation were hidden there
in the gaudy twinkling of stars on strings
in the hum of lightning coursing in tidy cables
in the oohs and aahs of parcels and packages
burning a heady path to the soul
while seraphim ground out their cigarettes
stamping feet and warming hands
at these all too infrequent fires.

Silver Wear

tarnished spoon
sitting in my cup
stirring me
to think of you and I
together in that
great big bed.
it was almost before
sleeping
when your arm curled
around me just so
and I nestled under you
as moss beneath ferns
soft and wet
and blind.

Trail

The hell with love
The hell with lust
Stumbling on
This road to dust

There is no truth
There is no trust
Walking alone
But end it must

Life leads on
Unkind, unjust
And today’s steel
Tomorrow’s rust.

But trudge along
We can, we must
The battle’s unwon
Til the final thrust.

The Way Home

Driving home
Snow so thick
There was nothing to see

No highway, no street signs

All there was: blurred by wind;
Doubled up in the reflections
Found

In flakes mirror white
Blinding

There comes a point
When driving through

Flakes mirror white,
Flying

You believe for a half-held breath

In all the tales you giggled about
With the wisdom of youth
Where there is nothing to fear,
Nothing to be

All that remains is to take a deep breath

And trust the path is there.

Estrus

In our wants we’re simple
The best of everything
In desire, simple too
Wanton, ravaging

Within these base desires
We have ravenously made
Heat within us rises
And we are feral, unafraid

Some day it’s bound to happen,
Instead of lifting, our lust falls
But can you really blame us?
For we are just animals.

Getting to the Bottom of Things

I posted this one one Myspace on Nov 21, 2008. I know! This year, even!
There may be some other old blogs and postings that I come across, which I will post if I get to it. Heaven knows that I have written enough and I like to have it all in one spot, rather than five or more random spots with too many passwords for me to remember comfortably.
Anyhoo...

Today, while cleaning, I noticed something which disturbed me and I feel the need to share. Be warned, for this is not a topic for the faint of heart. I was picking up my laundry and I noticed a camisole which seemed unfamiliar to me. It was wadded up a little bit, and I bent over to pick it up.

That was when I made The Discovery. This was no camisole. This was a PAIR OF UNDERWEAR. I cannot describe to you the abject horror which pierced my soul as I took a good long look at my Granny Panties, for Granny Panties is the only word which could possibly describe them. They were gigantic, a veritable sail's worth of material. A pair of underwear which could conceivably be cut up and turned into somewhere between five and seven thongs. Which could cover a teenager from shoulders to kneecaps. Which could....which could be the reason why I'm not getting any.

At what point did this happen? When did I become the woman who buys her underwear in a six pack? Why didn't I notice? When did I put my sexuality on the altar of comfort and slit it's throat? I mean, it obviously happened, but why didn't I notice it?

I have been thinking a lot about it, though, since The Discovery. I have come to realize a few differences in my life since my shift into the second of the two great eras of a woman's life: Before Granny Panties and After Granny Panties. I'm comfortable. I am no longer fighting the war of attrition between my butt crack and an overly inquisitive piece of fabric. Granny Panties glue to the backside in such a way that this sort of rabid curiosity is impossible. I win. Granny Panty Elastic, try though it might, cannot pull random hairs from an area which does not appreciate the element of surprise. I cannot say the same thing for my previous sexy looking panties which would pluck anywhere from one to four hairs daily.

So maybe I shouldn't cry foul just yet. I know that in the halcyon days of my youth I swore that I would never ever EVER wear Granny Panties. Ever. But when I was in kindergarten, I think I said the same thing about eating paste.

Appley Stuff

Um...like July of 2006, I'm thinking.

An Apple Haiku

Whitest flesh within
this skin waits for teeth to bite
chew me hard lover


Just a little tribute to the fact that I have recently finished the last apple that I will be eating for a long time to come.

Come to think of it, I actually have a poem about apples too...and it was a lot like this one. Hang on a sec and I'll look for it.

*imagine time passing because I am actually looking right now-ish*

Here it is:


I am consumed by you
whispered the apple
And yet I remain
With you now, forever
In your skin
Your blood
Your bones
Devoured completely
But somehow surviving
In the scent on your mouth
The juice on your tongue
And though there were others
Before me,
There are none to compare
To the depth,
The breadth of me
The supple taste
Within you I am all.


And there you have it. Nighty Night, Three Day Apple Fast. Good morning, great big plate of I don't care what as long as it's not apples.
Lovies!


P.S. I think you know I wrote that second one before this fast, right?

Morning Thought

Oct 15 2005

Listerine: Prison rape in your mouth.

Maybe a Bit More Sleep Is In Order

Oct 15 2005

I caught myself in the process of putting deodorant on my toothbrush.

I'm amused by the porn subject lines in my inbox (sexy baby and bad erection).

I'm beginning to think I should have gotten up even earlier.

I'm almost enjoying the flavor combination of orange Listerine and my beet flavored organic toothpaste (This is a total lie. Combined, they taste much like the pall of the grave...with a citrusy tang.).

I'm wondering what I should go as for Halloween this year. I'm tired of being a witch, a devil, or wearing black vinyl. Well, I still like wearing black vinyl, but I'm tired of it being my standard Halloween costume, capice?

Suggestions are welcome, because if I'm trying to brush my teeth with Secret Invisible Solid, I might not be in the best mental position to make a decision this important.

Lovies!

Note To Self

Jun 9 2005

Stop with the prunes.

I mean, really.

Don't you remember the last time?

You know, when you were chained to the toilet for about 3 hours?

When you peed, except it was brown and came from your butt?

Don't make me tell you again.

Laundry and Other Small Miracles

Nov 2005
I got up and began to fold laundry. To my amazement, there were an even number of socks in the basket and....wait for it....THEY ALL MATCHED!

I know, I can feel your fits of envy. I had no missing sock, or, worse in my opinion, none of the changeling socks, which at one point may have looked like every other sock in your laundry, but now is the wrong color, shape and/or texture, as though strangers have been coming into your house while you're working and doing their laundry. You don't know this sock, dammit. Where did it come from? Usurper sock.

Mister Manners on Halloween

Oct 30 2005
Last night, a guy came up to me and said."Great titties!" (My Halloween costume showed an abundance of boobage.)

A male friend of mine, upon overhearing this, turned to me and said,"That guy shouldn't have said that. He should have said,"Great CLEAVAGE!", because it means the same thing, but sounds a whole lot nicer."

An FYI

Nov 12 2005

It's impossible to take yourself seriously when you go to the bathroom at work and realize that you had put your underwear on backwards before leaving the house that morning.

Not seriously.

Not once.

All day.

Emotion

Nov. 16 2005

leeching out of marrow
drifting up
on gentle puffs of steam
pulling away from the bone
like a well-boiled chicken
seperating itself from me
until what is left
can flavor the odd moment
saturate a conversation or two
color an evening of pillow talk
but otherwise
refreshingly silent
falls into the scrap bin.

The Cashier

Nov 16, 2005

I noticed first her eyes, her eyes
as though heaven's fire hadn't ashed her
soul, but nonetheless scarred,
like the old man waiting in line at the
grocery store,
pursing his lips as though I was all that
stood
between him and the tenuous salvation
offered by whole wheat bread and rich
chocolate ovaltine.

Though her eyes were green as iris leaves,
so green
you could smell chlorophyll hovering around,
photosynthesis awaiting her permission
before molting insipid cells into colors
unrecognizable save to the sun,
who has seen it all before, and knows,
canny, how it will carry on,
her skin held the desert in it's fragile
network of lines,
in it's taupey glow,
cheekbones high like dunes,
copper in flourescent lighting,
making me thirsty.

I wondered what secrets she held,
what cold wind traced through the peaks and
valleys of her soul.
What could she tell me of who she was;
what could she reveal,
were she strong enough to tell;
were I strong enough to understand.

But the reciept was in my hand,
and I was walking out the door,
propelled almost without thinking,
and the moment had passed like
the breath of a bat,
the droning swoosh of the automatic doors
compelling me to move on,
my muted, "Have a nice day" ringing
churlishly in my ears as I
found the keys to my car,
and drove under the sun,
who had seen it all before.

Ascent

Nov. 16 2005

Though sad I have not lost the will
to climb up yet another hill
just to see what's going on today.

The morning light just now is bleak,
and hurt has left me feeling weak
but I know I won't always feel this way.

This may not be what I would seek,
but it's good to turn the other cheek.
The sun will warm me while becoming day.

For although my heart may still be sore,
this leads me into something more
and I will let the path show me the way.

Division of Logic

Dec 12, 2005

Metronomically-
mathmatically-
like music
you dissected me,
looking for broken strings;
chords which may hide,
faulty,
within the core of me.
Systematically-
analytically-
like surgery
you scalpeled me
seeking a mote of dust
a forgotten name
an unblessed sneeze
a reason
to sever me from all we knew
Perceptively-
intuitively-
cannily
I embrace the music I can make
Find my own flaws and forgive them
dance the dance
walk the talk
and find myself cut
not off, nor to the quick
but cut loose
and more free than I have ever been

Color of the Day

Jan 04, 2006

The color of the day is brown. Yes. I said brown. This is the day when you wear shirts and sweaters and pants in a futile attempt to impersonate the UPS dudes.

You only eat brown stuff. Chocolate has no calories today. Drink all the root beer and cola you want...no burping. Brown is a magical color today, and it will make you more attractive to the opposite sex, smarter, faster, funnier, and will slip you the winning lottery numbers when the jackpot is really high.

I am personally eating a combination of maple and BROWN sugar oatmeal, chocolate covered raisins, and Cocoa Krispies....without milk. In this instance I would be able to use milk, because it would TURN brown, but I'm really too lazy to walk to the gas station at the other end of the block to get some. So it's Krispies al dente for me.

Later tonight I'll be burning...I mean cooking dinner...which will definitely involve (canned) potatoes and some kind of meat. The beauty of this day is that things that TASTE brown can also be involved...and since whatever I cook tends to taste like corrugated cardboard, I'm golden! ( I mean, golden brown.)

Toast...all day you can eat acres of toast....with brown sugar. If you use anything else on your toast, the whole day is rendered invalid, and you will score double calories for any food you looked at.

Now I feel like I have turned this into one of those irritating chain letters...always with some dumb catch. And therefore, I feel better!

Have a brownie!

Today

Jan 26, 2006

Today I will drink tea and eat oatmeal.
Don't even try to stop me.
I will primp.
I will listen to Sirius Coffee Shop on my computer and sing along with every word.
I will question authority...even if it's my authority.
I will smile at everyone...and tell them exactly what's on my mind anyway.
I will go to the zoo and sunbathe through my car windows.
I wanna.
I will.

On Mondays When the Sky Is Blue

February 01, 2006

I went grocery shopping...I bought prunes, 4 cans of organic legumes (pinto, kidney, black, and chickpeas), 3 boxes of oatmeal...and no toilet paper.

Welcome to life on the edge at 32.

And now, an important announcement

April 4, 2006

I wanted to announce that it is officially warm enough to start saying things like "twitterpated" and "smitten". Once again, you are allowed to "meander" and "lolligag", as the weather will allow it.

You aren't allowed to say these words until spring....and not official spring, but real spring, when you don't have to worry about losing fingers when you just want to hold hands.

Conversely, you still aren't allowed to "mosey" for at least another three months. Don't make me pull out the strap.

Lovies!

The Horrifying Truth

April 06, 2006

Yesterday I bought a pack of Dubble Bubble bubble gum, something which I hadn't chewed since I was oh...about ten years old. I noticed that they still have the little comics printed, much like Bazooka Joe, around the gum.

Upon closer review, I noticed that most of the comics revolve around the life of a litle boy. And what would his name be, you ask?

Pud.

Personally, I'm thinking about immortalizing it with a tattoo or something. The joy I feel has no words.

M-Azing

April 11. 2006

Am I the only person who is utterly creeped out by M-Azing candy bar commercials? I mean, call me a prude, but the notion of two candy bars humping before I eat them is personally repellant.

M-Azingly icky.

Burned

May 2006

You can't live with an arsonist
to see him standing in the kitchen
near the stove
eyeing the electric circlet
with ominous intensity
and to know that my heart
also red and round
on a plate of white
does not hold the fires he seeks.

An Aside

Sometimes, I forget that my will is strong-
stronger than these hollow bones,
muscles rippling silently under sleek flesh.
Stronger than these gnashing teeth and fierce eyes.
My will is stronger still.
I am stronger than wheedling voices of hurt and discontent
which resonate occassionally through the chambers
of my heart which whisper,
"Go. Stay. Do this. Take that. Ignore. Wait."
Sometimes, I forget.
But today, I remember.

Truth and Other Reasons to Hide From the Mirror

from May 2006

You ask me what I am, and I say real
but you see the hesitation in my eyes
and neither of us know for certain
in this hazy florescent world,
anything any more.
But I smell your shoulder
sweat and salt and cologne
and in your eyes the same caution
blooms into desire, unrealizing the truth
as we have always wished to do
for a while.
So, between hands and tongues and
unicorns, fingers and kisses and mermaids
we become fantasies until the sun
shatters the myth of who we could have been.
We face this day with straight shoulders,
unscented.

Toys

When this blog says "recently," it actually means May of 2006. Sorry!

Recently, Ness posted a blog commenting about the toys of our childhood. I, being a slacker, didn't leave a comment until I was verbally beaten about the head and neck for not posting. I told her that I would torture her with something , and I feel that I have succeeded. As a matter of fact, I was so proud of the level of torment I threw at her, that I decided to share it with all of you.

Yes, I can tell that you are awed by my unadulterated goodness.

So here begins my post about my personal favorite childhood toys:

This is an absolute no-brainer.STAR WARS ACTION FIGURES!!!

My God, what would my brothers and I have done all year long if it weren't for those little pieces of plastic that held all of us in such a trance. We would pile fallen pine needles into stages, corridors, whatever it took to give us an excuse to have some kind of conflict that could only be solved by a battle royale between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker.

We would dress the part, too, in the winter, with my hair pinned into giant croissants placed with care just above my ears, in a white nightgown, my eldest brother wearing a long scarf tied in a knot as a sash, trying to do the weird growly noise (which, to this day, is the easiest way for any man to impress me. To do the Chewbacca growl is the epitome of assured masculinity and virility in my eyes.) and look as though he would indeed tear out an arm and beat you with it.

My other two brothers were Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, respectively...although it never did come to blows, to my obviously understandable dismay. I was Leia, dammit, and I wanted some BLOOD!

And where would the world be without WEEBLE WOBBLES? Man I loved me some Weeble Wobbles. Especially the little tree house play set with the slidey slide. God, hours of fun in the back yard on the sand pile.I could actually go on for a lot longer, because, really, I grew up in like the Golden Age of toys, if you ask me...From Hot Wheels to Mr Potato Head to Etch-A-Sketch.

We didn't have Candy Land, but my cousins did, and so we would go to their house and play games over there....Candy Land, Chinese Checkers, Monopoly (where began the lifetime of hatred I feel for that game), Superman, and, of course, War. Not the card game. I hated playing war with my family, hated it with an all consuming passion. This had nothing to do with my purely pacifist stance in conflict, but, rather, reflected my earliest encounters with gender stereotyping. I was a girl, so I had to be the nurse.

For those friends of mine who are indeed, nurses, this may not seem like such a terrible thing, but to me in my 5-9 year bloodlust, this was tantamount to being horsewhipped with barbed wire. There is no thing on earth that I think could possibly compare with the boredom of waiting for my brothers and cousins to get tired, and play wounded so they could get a little rest so that I could play, too. Wow, that sounded so sad. *sniff* But really, it was what it was, and I didn't hate it too terribly or I would have found something else to do.

Little Golden Books...need I say more? I loved them with a passion that wouldn't die. I think I knew I read too much when I hit about age 11 and my mom would yell at me to get out of my room and get my nose out of a book. If I was particularly bad (which occasionally I was, believe it or not), she would threaten to burn all of my books. At that point, she usually got me to heed her.

There is, however, a penultimate toy that we all had as children, and it's one that you really don't run into that often any more, and I think it's a shame. In this world of PS2, Xbox, and portable dvd players so little kids don't get bored while Mom is driving to the store, the toy that I notice as missing more and more often is a very simple one. It's called "imagination". I don't think that we, as adults and children, take enough time to turn off the tv, pause the computer game, go outside, and play games of "What If?."

I think there is something to be said for the ability for people to ENTERTAIN THEMSELVES. When I was young, I heard that only boring people get bored, and really I do hold this to be truth. I notice that as I age, I think back most fondly on the simpler things that I enjoyed. I remember "Pong" like it was yesterday, but better than that I remember the little arrow plants my brothers and I would pick and throw at each other while playing "Chiefs."

I think that if "imagination" was something that was sold in a box or a bag,I would love to buy all of us some.
Lovies!

Renewed

September 2006

We were driving
well, I was driving
And we were having a talk
a good talk like we did
Back before the time
that I said I wouldn't
mention again.
Mention again.
The highway was a lock;
the car a leaky tugboat
And we its' stalwart crew
well, you would be the crew
learning to go home again.
Home again.
When we get this tugboat home
we together will scrape
Determined barnacles off the skin
and repair that rusted hull.
We will christen this vessel again.
Again.

The Memory of Pain

September 2006

I finally went into that park
to take the paths that we once walked
Sit 'neath our sweet-limbed willow tree
and think of how we talked.

I brought bread for the ducks, our ducks
so they couldn't miss us both
And sat cold and silent on a swing
reliving times which I missed most.

I walked among the flowers
and slyly plucked a bud or two
To tuck into my pocket
to hold the thought of you.

Snapdragon for your indifference,
For heartlessness hydrangea's taken
Marigold was your cruelty,
Anemone for love forsaken.

As I returned home I thought
I would not come again
My heart has healed; I seek no more
The memory of pain.

Trick or Whatever

Halloween-time
You can really tell sometimes, when people are related. Sometimes they look alike, have a similar personality quirk (Tourette's, maybe?), or beat a much loved phrase into the proverbial dirt.
My mother and I have something in common, something which I am convinced surpasses mere habit, but is something carved into the core, the essence, the very fiber of our communal beings.
We hate trick-or-treaters.
Don't get me wrong. We both love Halloween. The costumes, the morbidity (all right that might be a smidge more me), the chocolate in very very big bags.
But the trick-or-treaters? Not so much. Even less than that, actually.
We're cold blooded and lazy. Don't come and knock on our door and beg for candy. It's not a commercial. Don't you see that there's a cat on my lap? I'm on the computer. Go away.
I don't think that children exist that are "precious" enough for me to give a flying never-mind about (and if you think I really mean to say never-mind, you have another thing coming), and get off my soft, comfy couch for. Buy your own candy, Mom and Dad. You cheap so-and so's.
To alleviate the problem of the trick or treaters in this village (it's literally too small to be classified as a town), Mom and I have come to a conclusion.
We're skipping town.
While small children run around getting razored apples, poisoned candy, and frostbite, Mom and I intend to be shopping, or having a bite to eat in a cozy restaurant.
Stop. I can feel your palpible envy.
Lovies!!!!

Rant Down Memory Lane

I literally jumped up and RAN to the computer to tell you all what I have been doing.
Not because I just got in the door from my exciting European vacation where I was French kissed by an Italian man while he was driving a ridiculously expensive German car.....sigh.....but because I was just annoyed all to hell and will share.

I have an open plea to the people who made the video for Johnny Cash's song, "God's Gonna Cut You Down": If you don't know how to make a good video, throw away that ridiculously expensive video equipment.

This is supposed to be a video, people, not a fucking iPod commercial.

I notice that it's apparently not necessary to have a message or a "story" in videos anymore, probably because a bunch of jackasses standing around lipsynching and trying to look relevant is so much cooler.

Wake up, you stupid fucking sheep. You're not offering respect to Johnny Cash by posing for the camera, trying to prove what fans you are. You're looking like a bunch of bandwagon jumping assholes instead.

At the end of it all, do what you want. Just realize that you (this is the collective "you" that encompasses every single person in that damn video) look like an asshole. In case you were wondering why you were smiling vertically.

[...seethe...seethe....seethe...]

All right, I'm feeling a bit less hostile and morally offended...on to other things.
___________________________

In slightly related news.....I just saw the trailer for Spider Man 3, and I have to say that I can't wait.

It's not so much that I just love the movies, although that is true. It's the comic books that the movie represents.

I'm an old school comic book geek...from Spiderman (I remember the Venom story line from the start, how about you?), to X-Men (not just Dark Phoenix, but the Logan and Kitty Pryde in Japan story line), The New Mutants ( which had the misfortune of being subscribed to by me, sealing in the series' doom), Ambush Bug (same fate), Atari Force (same fate), and, my unabashed favorite as a pubescent girl...Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld (same fate).
You may have noticed, had you been perusing my perenthesis (cheeky bugger!), anytime I seek a constant source of my drug of choice, they get shut down (after four tries, I learn!). For this reason, I am more of a fringe dweller now.

However, my oldest brother loves me and gives me a dose every now and again. For Christmas, many many years ago he gave me the "V" for Vendetta series. I was thrilled to see the movie version, because it brought back all the wonder and horror I felt when I read it wayyy back in the day.

A few years ago: The Sandman series by Neil Gaiman. This series (Which I have in comic book form, but is also available in a graphic novel, if I'm remembering right) is fantastic.

I was about to write up a little synapsis, but it could only be damaged by my feeble attempts to describe it. I do however have some useless trivia about it. The character Delerium (who used to be Delight) is based on Tori Amos. I feel that that is a selling point in and of itself.

While I was at the library last week, I came across "Pop Gun War", which was a lovely little graphic novel, well worth the time it took to read.

I woulds also like to mention the thicker, scarier comics that decorated my childhood...Eerie and Creepy.

These comic books MESSED ME UP when I was a little kid, full of gore and horror, by introducing me to the idea that you don't have to do anything wrong for bad things to happen to you.

Just walk into a disco at the wrong time. A handsome man comes up and asks you to dance, and in the midst of the dance, you notice his large, unusually carved gold medallion starting to glow. Transfixed, you cannot look away, although you feel weaker, lighter, strange.......and *thwoop*
You realize, vaguely, that you are laying on the dance floor. The veil of illusion falls from your eyes, and you see things as they really are. The throngs of other dancers are wearing dark robes; eyes glowing under the strobe light. The handsome man now seems frightening...his strong animal magnetism stripped away, you see that his compelling face now has the eyes of a goat.

You notice glowing lines on the dance floor, like a hex sign you saw when you were a little girl on your Grandparent's farm....so long ago.....and then you see the glint of a knife....and all goes dark.

The moral of the story? The rhythm is gonna get you.....for real.

Yeah, I remember those stories....and the nightmares that went with them. I know it warped my childhood mind, and I'm grateful for that to this day.

Anyhoo, I have to run.

Lovies!

Superstition Survey

This is from December 2006, but I still think like this.


*Do you pick up lucky pennies?
It depends...not like I'd go raking through dog turds to get one...but if it's shiny, a wheatie, or conveniently located...it's mine.

*Do you knock on wood?
And my head if there's no wood around.

*Has anyone ever read your tarot?
Yup...mom and I sit down and do that every month or so. Sometimes I have it done, too...but that's been a while.

*Do you keep charms?
I don't like Lucky Charms...the marshmallows taste gross, and the cereal is too sweet.

*Do crystals have power?
They work in watches, why not anywhere else?

*Do you flip a lucky (in packs of cigarettes)?
I did for a while, but then I got lazy and then I quit smoking. Now I flip a lucky cupcake when I buy a dozen.

*Do you step on cracks?
Yup

*Do you own a magic eight ball?
No but I want one.

*Have you ever thrown salt over your shoulder?
Yup, but because that's the only time you can get away with doing that.

*Have you ever had your palm read?
Sure...in retrospect, it was HYSTERICAL! I think I blogged about it, but I will do a summary of the situation. I was on the way to work one day and I had a car accident. I was passing a tractor, which turned into my car, nudging me off the raod. My car went into a field where ( I was told by the EMT) it flipped over 3 or 4 times, and I was thrown out of the passenger window 50-75 feet. I lost my glasses and my shoes and my car was totalled, but I got up and walked out of the field, lumpy and bruised, but alive...very alive.That was a Thursday, and on Friday one of my friends decided to load me up in a wheelchair and take me to the fair (he just happened to have one...I had a leg brace on my left leg, and was told to take it easy, so he was being nice), where they happend to have a palm reader."Is my life going to get better?" I asked the dusky skinned woman with an accent so thick and unusual that to this day I believe she gained the accent by watching old Boris Karloff movies."You, my child, have great things in store. It's like zee MOON and zee STARSSS are looking out for you! "So of course I'm all like "YAYNESS" in my head, and I go about my merry little way.
The next day I went to see my mother at her boyfriend's house on Lake Camelot. The neighbors, a very pleasant couple who were weekenders, had brought up their son and his girlfriend, as well as some stumps they dug out of their yard in Milwaukee to burn, instead of paying someone to take them down south, and then buying firewood up north.My mom had to work the next day, and I was spending the night, so her man and I remained by the fire with the neighbors, bullshitting and drinking and having a good time. I heard someone say "Look out" but without my glasses, it wasn't really a set of directions, but more of a cryptic language which I had to squint to understand (I did have a set of loaner frames on my head, but they were far too weak for seeing detail...just peach shaped heads that bobbed and wove and made noise.), and I just couldn't squint enough.Unfortunately, they were talking to me.
A log, at least 4" taller than I am (5'8") had fallen out of the fire and the tippy top of it landed on my right foot (the left one still being in it's brace.)It took all three of the guys to pull the stump off my foot, at which point they asked me if I was burned, because it was still on fire, after all.My foot swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe, turned the color of a concord grape, and was the source of much pointing and laughing by most of my friends and family. It also hurt like someone hit me in the heel with a twenty pound maul. I already knew that zee moon and zee starrrs were looking out for me. What I didn't know is that they were throwing trees at me.

*Are four-leaf clovers lucky?
Luckier than what? I think they're cute, but they're a really common genetic anomoly in the shamrock family.

*Do you perform any rituals for luck?
Nope

*Have you ever jinxed yourself by making an optimistic statement?
LOL! There's a saying that suits this perfectly:"If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans."I used to all the time...now I make backup plans.

*What's your opinion of western medicine?
I think that Western Medicine can give us great fake boobs and plenty of drugs, but seems designed to leave it's patients in the dark about the interconnectedness between the mind and body.

*Do you believe there is an absolute truth?
I believe that there is an absolute truth, and that it is so simple that we are given it as children, and we spend our entire lives trying to wrap our brains around it.Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Because that's the way life works.

*Do believe in a higher being (or higher beings)?
Yup

*Do you believe in God?
I believe in a Higher Source, given myriad names by multiple people (all of whom percieve Him/Her/It differently) which loves us infinately.

*If you view yourself positively will others?
Yup...but the real secret is that it doesn't matter what other people think of you. Conversely, once people notice that you don't care what they think, they will start kissing your ass. It's a weird little dichotomy.
"Fake it til you make it" fits in here nicely.

*Mulder or Scully?
I think that Skully would pulverize Mulder's in a toenail scratching fight. However, Mulder would beat the hell out of Skully in an armpit-hair weaving contest.

*Are you religious, or do you have a religious background?
Nope. I shun religion, as I believe that it makes us unwilling to question doctrine. I believe that you can't have faith unless you are willing to question every aspect of it, to search within yourself for truth, to better yourself on every level.

Also, some people think that if they show up at church once a week and "do their time", they are free to do whatever they want during the week. Flippin' lack-wits.

*Have you ever arranged a room using Feng Shui?
I seldom have rooms that are Feng-Shui compliant, and I don't have enough octagon mirrors. So yes. But unsuccessfully.

*Do you believe in Karma?
Yup

*Do you believe in evil?
I believe that bad things happen to us to teach us to be better people. Nothing shows us what we are made of like conflict. Evil exists, but as a whetstone to define our character and ultimately improve us, spiritually.

*Do you believe in transubstantiation?
I believe that all thigs are possible, why not this too?
Although, I should mention that I have recieved the sacrament, and it certainly didn't taste like skin.

*Have you ever said a prayer to St. Anthony?
I was told that I should, but I get better results when I ask my dad.

*Have you ever gone to confession?
Nope

*Can a person reach enlightenment?
Absolutely

*Has satanic imagery ever made you uneasy?
When I was young and didn't know any better.

*Do you record your dreams?
Yup

*Is there life after death?
Yup

*Do you pray?
Yup

*Do you believe in ghosts?
Yup

*Have you ever seen a ghost?
Yup

*Can you love someone at first sight?
I believe in lust at first sight, but not love. I believe in chemistry at first sight, undeniable attraction at first sight, but real love is more than how someone looks in their jeans or a pair of particularly soulful eyes.

*Do you believe in preordained meetings?
Yup...I don't believe in co-oincidence.

*Do you believe in soul mates?
Yup...but I don't believe that people have only one.

*Do you believe in ESP?
Yup

*Do you believe in Astral Projection?
Yup

*Have you ever had a prolific dream?
Do you mean "prophetic"? Because "prolific" means that you had a lot of them...and I don't know how that could make sense at all.

*Have you ever made a charm?
Nope..I ate them when I was a kid, though.

*Have you ever attempted to perform magic?
Nope...I don't have a silk scarf or a bunny rabbit.

*Have you ever taken hallucinogens?
Yup

*Have you ever performed magic successfully?
Nope

*Is there such a thing as sin?
Yup...but "sin" and "law" are usually two different things.

*Have you ever used a Ouija board?
Yup

*& believed no one was moving the planchette?
Nope

*Do you believe in past lives?
Yup

*Do you believe in reincarnation?
Yup

*Do you meditate?
Yup

*Do you believe in aliens?
Yup...it's a big universe, and it seems pretty dumb to think that we're the only ones.

*Have you ever had a paranormal experience?
Yup

Getting On

2001

When we age
like leather, like paper
like lace falling gently apart
with wrinkles worn just like tattoos
skin showing badges of the heart-

Will we fall like tired leaves
into the pool of re-creation?
Waiting, listless, to come again
without a want, without temptation.

Or, throw some rocks into that pond,
Cold and smooth, like ice from glasses?
Spend all our time in jokes and joys
and make death come and get our asses.

Surrender

2001

There is no poison like your kiss
Cold and sharp and sweet
To make me want to drink to death
And drown myself in sleep

There is no venom like your hands
For coating me in honeyed lust
To make me want to swim in you
Succumbing to your touch

There is no spell like your embrace
To make the pain a place apart
Wrapped in your arms I can
Almost taste your heart

Sweat

Delirious kiss
wild in devouring
liquid fire
haunts my naked heart
seeps into fevered bones
perfumed with sacred rhythms
love drips from every salty pore
and pools in your hand

Within Skin

2001

He asks if he can use me
Like I only want his skin
But we can do it all tonight
And still not go within

Although we're both on fire
Falling headlong into lust
Something in my heart tells me
That this is not enough

For a time we'll be together
More intimate than death
All too soon the time will come
When this will fade like breath

So when the moment's over
And smiles wear off in sleep
There aren't any dreams to hold
Or promises to keep

But I'll ask if I can use you
Like I only want your skin
And we will do it all tonight
But never quite begin.

Breakers

2002

Viscera again grown warm
Pierced with love
Salt pouring into these
Open helpless cavities
Flooded, devoured by awareness
Raw and bruised
A heart beats
Weeps openly
And all that is within
Struggles not to flee
Back to the darkness of before
Tired of crashing
Into your rocky shore.

Etchings

2002- yeah I had the black hair to go with all the funerary images

I cannot carve this name in stone
The truth within will not allow
Scrape instead on sinew, bone
Before the mind can disavow

By fires of blood it may be lit
Scorched by torches of the soul
Can't cauterize the feelings held
Before pain makes me lose control

No cold veneer of stone for you
It cannot chill the flame of list
Immortalize you within myself
A monument I alone can trust

Monster

I want to strip you to your core
to see if there is something more
to you than the workings of your parts;
to trace the magic back to where it starts.

I would then rebuild your brain
to something that won't cause me pain
and only then I'd give my heart to you-
because I'd know that your feelings were true

I would stitch up with finest thread
your cold body, not quite dead
but you would have me to keep you warm at night
and only I would hear you scream in fright

So when at last you yield your fires,
and I have spent all my desires
I'd set you on the shelf with all the rest;
where you would see that I had loved you best.

Broken

From 2002.. when I was so so goth.

cut but strangely unhurt
this cold slice to my chest
which neither bleeds nor stings
but simply exists
outside this emotion, this body
this empty husk
which you do with as you will
with careless words
and careful hands
you gently take my heart
and give it back to me
broken

Gone

I want to say 2002...

Rose petals perfume the air
Dried and pooled like clotted blood
See them floating everywhere
Raining hard on rotted wood

Hands are raised to touch your name
Carved deep in slate grey stone
Gone to a place beyond my lips
Forever now I am alone

But cold in death as you may be
We are not far apart
Because you are still alive to me
In the hollows of my heart

I didn't know that boredom was a primal emotion

Jan 2007

Tonight my friend Dave and I tried to go to the movie Primeval.

Big mistake.

"Why Jess, what happened?" you might ask in your head, not really because you are interested, but because I'm putting out a bland, obviously opening statement and you are afraid that if you don't do the polite thing and ask, I will try to bring this subject up another ten or twelve times, until you finally succumb to my will. Why not save yourself the anguish and just ask me right away?

Your assumption is, of course, quite astute. Thanks for shaving some awkward vocal finnegalling off this blog. I will tell you what I thought of this movie in one word:

Crap.

In two words:

Total crap.

In a couple of poorly structured sentences:

This movie was so poor that we asked the ushers if we could go watch other movies, movies which had started more than a half hour ago. When we were told that the other movies had started more than a half hour earlier, I said, "Well, at least they aren't Primeval."

No joke.

This is the risk that people run when they see a scary looking poster, but no trailers of the movie. Blindly looking for a scary movie, but being shafted by a close-mouthed studio, which must have known that no one in their right mind would go to a movie about an alligator on the Rwandan border, much less think that it's actually scary.

I can appreciate the fact that this movie is based on a true story, but I have to say that I haven't been scared by a damn alligator movie since I was seven or eight and they had that movie with the alligator that was flushed down the toilet and ended up tearing up New York (or whatever big town it was...I was sevenish, what do you want from me?).

Anyhoo, after seeing 20 minutes of Primeval, we couldn't stomach sitting through any other movie either, so we left and walked a few blocks to Book World.

Dave picked up "The Guiness Book of World Records 2006", while I picked up "100 Marvels of the Modern World", of which I have seen a grand total of one. I had best get my butt in gear.

I'm a happy booker

Jan 2007

As I mentioned in my last blog, I picked up a lovely book tonight: "100 Marvels of the Modern World".

And, as I also mentioned in the last posting, I have seen exactly one of said wonders in real life.

For anyone who is interested, that one Marvel of the Modern World is the Westward Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. I have seen it a few times, but I only have pictures from when Bean and I went, about a dozen years ago. I'm all right with this, but really, I had better get it in gear for the other ninety-nine.

Anyhoo, jotting down this little tidbit made me realize just how long it has been since I have done a book report, and heaven knows that I haven't stopped reading since then.

I have, however, slowed down quite a bit, because I have been filling my days with plenty of senseless tasks which make me happy (although I should really put laundry back up on that list, because otherwise I will have to set my clothes on fire to stop the spread of the Plague), such as Sudoku...because regular logic problems weren't twisting my noodle quite enough.

I can tell when I have been doing a lot of logic problems and Sudoku because my grey matter seems to writhe in my skull much in the way of a live snake being doused in kerosene...or so I would assume. Anyway, less reading goes on while I play Flowers For Algernon with numbers. I'll be condescending (more) to you all in no time.

Here is a very small selection of the books I have been reading over the last month or so; some I have started, some I have finished, and some will decorate my bookshelf for a few more months before I dig them out and devour them. This is by no means a definitive list.

American Sideshow: An Encyclopedia of History's Most Wondrous and Curiously Strange Performers by Marc Hartzman

This book is pretty interesting, with some great black and white photographs and short biographies of many famous (or infamous) sideshow performers.

The truly valuable thing that I learned from this book is that there were a HELL of a lot of bearded ladies.

I can now stop shaving my mustache with nary a sense of regret, and be Jess-Jess the Dog Faced Girl with little or no trouble. Maybe I'll find a nice family to feed me and pick up my frighteningly copious piles of dooky with an inside-out sandwich baggy.

Strange Attractions by Emma Holly

This book is porn! YAY! Its not too badly written...although completely unrealistic. That's all right though, because it's PORN!

How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland's Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe by Thomas Cahill

I haven't started reading this book yet, but I can tell you a bit of the concept behind it here: During the Dark Ages (from the fall of Rome to the rise of Charlemagne), learning, scholarship, and culture disappeared from most of Europe.

Ireland's monks were instrumental in saving the most important writings of European culture, and thereby put their own unique stamp upon Western culture and civilization.

While this is all very interesting, I would also like to point out that in the center of the book is a picture of a pagan diety pulling open her no-no place. I mention this is because I have a five-year-old's sense of propriety sometimes, and also because she is pulling so hard that her yoni looks bigger than her head.

Einstein's Daughter: The Search for Lieserl by Michele Zackheim

This book is about the search for Lieserl Einstein-Maric, the illegitimate daughter of famed physicist Albert Einstein.

The conclusion that is drawn about Lieserl, who was born in 1902 and disappeared in 1903, may seem a bit shocking, but upon closer inspection is likely the only rational explanation, considering the times in which Einstein (and his daughter) lived. This was a compelling read.

The Third 637 Best Things Anybody Ever Said by Robert Byrne


This is a quote book, plain and simple.
While I am partial to quote books, I can't help but think that I have seen others which are done better than this one. The thing that I DO like about the book is the collection of line cut drawings which lurk amongst the quotes.

This book will likely suffer that penultimate of fates, being sliced to ribbons and used to line the pages of my photocollage journal.

Yes, I am all right with that.

Selected Poems by Kenneth Patchen

I have to admit that I have never heard of this guy before, but this poem, beginning on the bottom of page 84, was worth the price of admission to me:

"O My Darling Troubles Heaven with her Loveliness"

O my darling troubles heaven
With her loveliness
She is made of such cloth
That the angels cry to see her
Little gods dwell where she moves
And their hands open golden boxes
For me to lie in

She is built of lilies and candy doves
And the youngest star wakens in her hair
She calls me with the music of silver bells
And at night we step into other worlds
Like birds flying thought the red and yellow air
Of childhood

O she touches me with the tips of wonder
And the angels cuddle like sleepy kittens
At our side

~~~~~
I do have oodles more books to share, but I will call it a night.
Night!
Lovies!

This is why I should stop getting emotionally vested in anime

Feb 2007

Today I learned that drinking Amp'd energy drink causes moderate to severe hallucinations. I learned that by watching one of their commercials, the one where a guy [hereafter named Our Hero] takes a drink and begins hallucinating that he is being attacked by a ream-of-wadded-up-paper-demon.

Rather than spitting out the psychotropic beverage, our hero opts to take the road less travelled by forcing the paper demon into a shredder, assurably gaining many experience points for the next level of adventuring which must assuredly take place at our hero's crummy desk job.

One thing I noticed during this addle pated fever dream experienced by our hero was the total lack of used tissues within the demon dustbin. I found the lack kind of disturbing, actually.

If there had been tissues in the garbage can, that demon would have won. No one wants to touch ABC gum or post nasal drip oragami which a real waste basket would have certainly contained.

Not even our hero, intrepid, resourceful and tweaked out though he may be.

Just a thought.

There I go thinking again

Feb. 2007

In the living room there is a small bust of the face of Michaelangelo's David.

Yes, that David. But just his face....no little fig leaf to make you wonder what his business looks like.

The bust is kind of cool and all, and I'm all right with it being there and everything, staring at me from on top of the entertainment center.

The problem being that today I looked at him, and maybe it was the lighting, but he had this look of intense concentration, like he was trying really hard to grow a mustache.

FYI

February 2007

Tonight I went to Walgreens, on the premise of picking up some Rolaids for Laurie, hapless victim of one too many shots of Rumplemintz.

Of course, I had given up straight shots of Rumple years ago, because after the second shot you realize that the first shot is the biological equivilent of boric acid.
Any successive shot is just for spite.

Anyhoo, Laurie was fit to keel over from her tummyache, and as the sober one, I volunteered to run to the store.

While I was there, I noticed something which I thought I would share with all of you: Snickers Creme Sport Egg.

It's called this because it's a Snickers bar in the shape of half an egg, and there are soccer balls on the package.

I would like to point out to all those who could be confused by this label that this is not, in fact, an energy bar. I checked. More than once.

Okay, just the once, but I'm pretty confident that the results would be the same no matter how many Snickers Creme Sports Eggs I consume.

Cadbury Creme Eggs are also not sport related, but I had one of those just in case.

Quizno's- Knock it off already

March 2007

I know, Quizno's, that you have prime rib on your garlic bread sandwich. I applaud your moxie for telling me via a horny Asian lady.

Can you cut her off before she gets to the giggle?

I can tell you that files, rasps, knitting needles, crochet hooks and a sledgehammer haven't removed that demon noise from my ears yet.

It's enough to hear that "....[the sandwich]... has lots of meat, and that's what women want!" The weird, shrill sound that comes from her mouth from that point is vaguely horrifying.

Please make it stop. Please.

I beg.

If this were a boy I would totally hump it.

May 2007

G4.
This channel brings me more joy than a three hour sexual encounter featuring Ben Gay, brass knuckles, Hussy Red lipstick, a digital camera and five stunt doubles (parapalegics count as half).

I usually wrap up my late night tv watching with Xplay, after InuYasha and the repeat of Futurama....for some reason I don't get around to watching Futurama the first time around)...after that, it's XPlay, baby.

For those of you who have no idea why this makes me a geek, I will spell it out for you all right now: I do not play video games.

There is something inherantly wrong with the thought of spending an hour a day, five days a week watching programming about video games, when I have played a video game (aside from basic computer solitaire, which I play a game of almost every time I fire up the computer, waiting for the dial up to hook up) quite literally fewer than five times within the last....well, since 1996, when I spent two weeks mastering Donkey Kong Country. The first one. With Nintendo 64.

On Wednesday, G4 will be putting out a new show, called Ninja Warrior. You can bet your ass that I will be watching it.

On a related note: if I ever watch American Idol again, CANDACE, I think I will be washing out my eyes with boric acid. Sick or no sick, I will be forced to flee your place, screaming and throwing dirty snowbank drifts at my eyes, to wash out the pain, the bitter pain.

In summation: G4. X Play, I don't play vidoe games, Ninja Warrior, Wednesday, no more Idol ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever again.

Lovies!

Fatal Flaw

This is from somewhere in Mid-2007
Jess

People don't realize what the problem is with these, but it's obvious to me.

I was listening to a Family Guy podcast, unfortunately to an episode which I have already seen, and listened to the original commentary for (Sibling Rivalry),and the speakers mentioned a new Family Guy version of Monopoly.

I think you all should know that I'm really partial to Family Guy, or am certifiably insane, being that I have intentionally listened to 25 minutes of commentary in addendum to the original 25 minutes of commentary. Also, I wasn't watching the episode on dvd, but mentally following along with the background noise of the commentary. Also, I was covered in raspberry preserves and masturbating with a belt sander. But then, it WAS Saturday morning.

Anyway, to get back to the issue at hand. I'll put this in capital letters, so it will be easy to read, as well as signify my frustration:

EVEN IF IT'S FAMILY GUY MONOPOLY, IT'S STILL FREAKING MONOPOLY!!!

I would rather slide down a razor blade into a vat of lime juice than play Monopoly. This game sucks to the ends of the Earth. As a matter of fact, there are no Santa Ana Winds. There are just a bunch of chicken lickers in California playing Monopoly. The vaccuum of it's sucking is what creates the illusion of wind.

I'm generally mean and insulting. But that, at least, is no illusion.

I'll Take Sweating Like a Whore in Church for $1000, Alex"

Man, I posted this like forever ago. I'll say June of 2005...

Jess

I thought I would share with you the tale of me going to my new Catholic church last night, but since I didn't do what Jesus does (save), I lost the whole article. This is my attempted re-enactment of last night's story.

I was really nervous about going to this particular church for the first time, so I got all Sunday'ed up and decided to go half an hour early. The sermon began at 9:30, so 9 am would be more than early enough to get a good seat and figure out what was going on.

However, I was completely mistaken. The sermon began at 9 am, and I ended up being a couple minutes late. Everyone was standing, and the priest was talking, and suddenly, I was in the throes of a panic attack.

The ushers were very nice, whispering to me that there were plenty of seats UP THERE (there being a 30 foot walk along loud tile floors with my heels going CLACK CLACK CLACK), or I could sit here in the RESERVED FOR THE HANDICAPPED seats. After a mouthed thank you, I considered the delicate state of my stomach, and realized that if I had to run and throw up, it would be better to be closer to the bathroom. So I slunk guiltily into the last pew on the left side, with the elderly and infirm.

My panic attack in full force, I was literally sweating as I took my spot. I was sick to my stomach, positive that I was going to black out or something, just from fear alone. I don't know why I was so terrified, but was I ever.
I didn't know what page the reading was from, and couldn't see my neighbor's page number. I was shaking so badly that I could barely stand, couldn't focus on what was going on, did the "mush-mouth" off key to the hymn I couldn't find in the book...and was generally being spastic. I was literally shaking, near paralyzed with fear. But this was where I wanted to be.

I finally was able to read the neighbor's page number, calmed down....took a deep breath....and was all right.
The sermon was lovely, about a vintner planting grapes and, come harvest time, found them to be bitter. So the vintner had no choice but to pull up all the vines and start from scratch. I think you would be aware that this was a personally powerful statement about the state of my life, pulling up old habits and sowing a new life. I was even able to follow along through the "stand up sit down pray pray pray" segment of the service.

Then came communion. [Cue scary music]

I wasn't planning to take communion, I didn't at any of the other churches I had been to, but it seemed to be so oppressively suggested in the air that I was incapable of escaping the pull.

"I don't know any of the moves!!", I thought. But then I calmed down. "It'll be all right, I'll just follow the neighbor girl up, and I can check out what she does, and copy her! BRILLIANT!"

Unfortunately, the neighbor girl didn't know my plan, and hopped into the "express lane" on the right side of the church. Damn. The woman in front of me was holding a child, and just opened her mouth for the communion wafer. DAMN. So I did my best approximation of what everyone without an open mouth was doing, and went up with the stink of fear coating me.

Did you know they talk to you up there??!!? The priest said something, and, trying hard not to pee my pants, I just mush-mouthed something, looking desperately at the host, and at my hands and back. My mind was screaming, "JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN CRACKER!" And God must have been listening, because the priest finally gave me the thing. The body of Christ tastes surprisingly bland. Somehow, I guess I was expecting bacon.

Then came the wine. I used to always wonder why so many Catholics went to the bar right after church, but upon smelling the sacramental wine, I understood that beer was really the only way to get that taste out of your mouth. I bet they have it in an unlined tin 55 gallon drum in the back room. The smell would make a wino wince in disgust.

They do it the old fashioned way in this church: the communal cup. I feel a cold sore coming on already. When the woman holding the chalice spoke to me, I was a little less disoriented, and managed an "Amen", but she was on to me. A twinkle in her eye as she handed me the rotgut gave me away, but I felt worlds better. Thank you, Booze Hag!

The taste of the "blood of Christ" wasn't what I was expecting, much more fruity and complex, closer to a Zinfandel, in all actuality. Of course, it must have been about 150 proof, but still, it wasn't even red. I reeled back to my seat, suddenly much calmer and more at ease. Thank goodness you end up kneeling right afterwards.

The rest of the sermon was uneventful, I was drugged....I mean calmed down for the rest of it.

At the end of the sermon, the priest stood by the door and said goodbye to everyone, like a reception line. But I had had enough, so I played ninja parishioner and stealthily slipped out the door, into the air, to freedom.

But I'll be back next week.

Ice Cream

All right. I had this posted on Myspace as Nov 9, 2007, but it came from Multiply before that, so it's actually somewhere around December 2006. fame

The Jenn I'm talking about here is Jenn from Cupcakes 4 Breakfast fame. I like knowing that I will get the chance to say "I knew her when..." and then keep the extortion money coming in. That thought alone makes me smile on cloudy days. Not snowy. Never on snowy days. But cloudy days, yes.

Jess

I was having a conversation with Jenn...almost a month ago.

I remember the talk as occurring in that point of my life after I quit smoking when I had some time absolutely alone, and was eating anything which in any light could be construed as "food" or "sweet".

This list of potential food stuffs included but was not limited to:

French toast, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, chocolate, the color brown, oatmeal, hickory smoked anything but red meat, scented candles, yellow crayons, cough drops, whipped cream, pumpkin pie, and no less than five half gallons, two pints, and three medium Blizzard's worth of ice cream.

To my own relief, I would like to mention that there was not, at any time, a "diet soda" in this list. The hypocrisy of it all may have killed me. Not the lard coursing sluggishly through my PMS-addled, nicotine-yearning veins, but the sheer hypocrisy of a diet soda after wondering aloud if I could fit an entire candy bar in my mouth, thereby saving me the effort of bending my elbow. Damned ergonomics.

Anyhoo, I had remarked to Jenn that I had been eating "some" mint chocolate chip ice cream, (Not that Jenn had any idea how much ice cream I was eating at the time. It's not like I said..."Hey...I have a half-gallon container of ice cream and a spoon"...I'm sure she thought that I was having a "bowl" or something cute like that. *shakes head*) and I was dismayed to see Jenn say "Mint? Eh, that's all right, but no thanks."

Jenn. No. Bad Jenn. It's not like that. I could sense her opinion of me changing in that moment. I was going to be Jess, that person who loves MINT ice cream. MINT.

I could feel Jenn thinking," I mean, really...can I even talk to Jess any more? "

"Mint?

"Unbelievable.

Here's the thing:

I like mint chocolate chip ice cream. I do.

I like mint chocolate chip ice cream as that friend that you don't see often. I like mint chocolate chip ice cream as the acquaintance that you wile away a few minutes chatting with while you're waiting in line at the grocery store, or the friend that you never actually make plans with, not because you don't like them as a person, but because you have a fear that if you actually had to spend a lot of time with them, you would have to face the fact that you have no real passion or drive to KEEP knowing this person. And that would be bad.

But in a public location, while other people are around, and in small doses.... I like mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I like chocolate ice cream, too. The thing with chocolate ice cream, though, is that I feel as though I have really outgrown chocolate ice cream.

Chocolate ice cream is the guy that you used to be SO hot over. The guy who gave you the first French kiss that actually got you going, not the bad French kiss that made you wonder, mid-kiss, where anyone had ever gotten the idea that two tongues and all the accompanying saliva could ever be construed as a good time.

Chocolate ice cream is that guy that you saw for a little while in your younger years, that one who you wanted to have with you all the time, the one who made your knees weak.

Please notice that all of that was written in the past tense. You have seen chocolate ice cream around since then, and, shall we say, the bloom is off the rose. He drinks a lot now, doesn't shave, and has man-boobs which are almost as large as your own.

The playful banter which you shared and enjoyed so much in the past has really gotten trite, and you wonder just what it was you had seen in chocolate ice cream to begin with, because there is certainly no spark now.

You can't help but look at chocolate ice cream with this combination of embarrassment and incredulity when you see him now, and hope that he won't notice you as you walk by, and make nervous smiles and quick excuses when he taps you on the shoulder or says your name.

I might hang out with you every now and again, chocolate ice cream, but it's only out of pity.

Coffee ice cream. This guy doesn't mess around. He's hot, and thinks you're hot. He knows what you want, and he's going to be the one to give it to you.

Hard.

Whatever you're looking for, this coffee ice cream is the guy who aims to please and delivers. He's kinky, but in a way which makes you think "sophisticated palate" instead of "perverse disgusting freak".

What makes the difference?

Coffee is s-m-o-o-o-o-o-t-h.

Coffee raises an eyebrow at you and you're instantly plotting how you can get a spoon in him. And when. And where.

So, in case the rest of the ice cream world is wondering where I have been since the last time I saw mint chocolate chip ice cream, I have been chained up in coffee ice creams dungeon, doing very bad things, and enjoying those bad things tremendously.

Hard.

And often.

With a spoon.

Pick-Up Day

I missed you again this week.
You have grown wilier, more efficient.
You come early in the morning now, more diligent, faithful
Eager to see me before any others.

I don't know how to approach your sudden loyalty.
Skitterish and baffled, I completely distrust
Everything about you, even the surety that if I don't
Know when you will arrive, my neighbors do.

Tidy black bags set neatly along their paved drive
Almost an affront to the word garbage
Were once a beacon to tell me when, how, why.
But even the neighbors are mute now when it comes to you.

I will take my trash to the back porch, no further
You can drive by and pretend not to notice it again, laughing.
And I will look at it, during the course of the week
Wondering if you will astound me once again.

The Leonids

Again this bright hope flares
Consuming common senses
Meteor showers devour
Night's dark and lonely vigil

Will this time be the one
When your hand lingers; stays
Gently traces your orbit
Through my solitary atmosphere

Or again will you fall
Stretched thin by internal fires
Eaten by external wiles
Never knowing how we could shine?

Risen

You would think it would be simple
to remake your life
It's ephemeral
plastic
elastic
It doesn't start until you wake up
waits for you to tell it what to do
You could drive
to work
another state
away

and start fresh

like dough in the morning
crescent rolls
biscuits
or remake the same
loaf of bread.

Driven

In the midst of all this improving
I feel sometimes as if I'm losing
All the flaws which have made me into me;
The chassis that still drives my humanity.

I know my world in times of change
Is filled with issues rearranged
So I might see the middle from the end;
Stop this road to start new once again.

However, these days are wearing thin
And there is no sense of brethren
No one to take my hand and heed the call-
I guess this journey's lonely after all.

Shall I walk this path, this path I choose
And know there's really naught to lose
Or return, into the void of discontent
With no hope of love or relevance.

Once I stop tripping on my feet
How will it be to find, to meet
The me that's been inside me all along
And to realize just where I do belong.

A Movie Review by Yours Truly

Let's look back at the horror that was the movie Covenant. June 26, 2007

I rented that movie "Covenant" the other day, and I was terrified.

Was it the subtle craftsmanship of plot, structure, and tension-building effects?

No.There is a girl in the shower at a co-ed college dorm. She feels someone's eyes upon her, and so she gets out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel which is roughly the size of Rhode Island...and then the real horror begins.

She was barefoot! In a public shower!

Can you say "plantars’ warts"? How about "athlete's foot"?

But it gets worse. Connected to the shower area are toilets! This girl is half convinced that someone is peering at her from the enclosed stall areas. Sensibly, the girl decides not to push on the stall doors, to see if a stranger lurks within, but rather KNEELS ON THE FLOOR TO LOOK.
HER HAND! SHE PUTS HER HAND ON THE FLOOR TO SUPPORT HERSELF AS SHE PUTS HER HEAD ALMOST ON THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF THE TOILET AREA, WHERE THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO POOP HAVE WALKED! HER HAIR TOUCHES THE DIRTY DIRTY FLOOR!

And, perhaps the foulest of all sins, she didn't wash her hands after all this. Personally, I think it was time to just turn around and take another shower. This time in bleach.

Aural Sex

Let's take a scamper back in time to June 9, 2007, when I finally got DSL hooked up in the house: (from my Myspace blog)


Thanks to the wonders of DSL, I have been exploring hithertofore uncharted corners of my digital world.

Luckily for you, I wanted to share THIS:

http://www.pherotones.com/index.php

These are ring tines designed to aurally seduce members of the opposite sex. I'm not even making this up.

Be sure to listen to all the ring tones...and ask yourself, what kind of man or woman would this attract?

"Wizard's Sleeve" in the men's ringtones would be sure to get you laid if you're trolling (pun intended) for chicks at a rennaissance faire. Be sure to ask "prithee please."

And, not to be left out, "A Good Strong Man" in the women's section is left for the woman who has decided to cast out her net in hopes of catching either a homosexual man or John Tesh. Wait a sec....

But, better than the ringtones themselves are the TESTIMONIALS. Since there are only three, I would like to simply copy and paste the two that made me laugh. But please do look at it yourself, because the pictures are the gravy on these dumplings:

ANGELA, SAN DIEGO "Pherotones made my life complete. You know, like in that movie with that guy who's a jerk at first but all the girls really want him and he ends up meeting that ugly girl with the glasses who really is hot when she takes her glasses off and proves to him that he's really a nice guy after all. Kind of like that."

DERRICK, NYC "I wasn't much of a ladies' man before Pherotones. Now they call me 'Mr. Lady.'"

I have no words.

Thank You

In the past, I had thought of love
In such narrow parameters:
A toehold in a cliff wall;
A campfire in Antarctica;
An ice cube in the Gobi;
A bathtub during a tornado.

Enough to get someone by
But not enough to make them happy.
Just enough for the time being.
Never an abundance of love.
Never an abundance of love.

And love was something ethereal
Nothing solid in those old dreams
As though trouble, blowing through a life
(Which it does, for all of us)
Would expose love's unreality.
Then I met you.

Love ceased to be what I believed it was
Love expanded and illuminated
like dawn
And in that encircling brightness
I found love, so much more than I had imagined:

The toehold in the cliff wall;
The campfire in Antarctica;
An ice cube in the Gobi;
A bathtub during a tornado.

Enough to get us by
Enough to keep us happy
Just enough for all time
Ever an abundance of love.
Ever an abundance of love.

And love is nothing ethereal
But strangely solid, like a dream
And trouble, blowing through our life
(Which it does, for all of us)
Exposes love's reality.

Oasis

Hope springs eternal, they say
When you're walking through arid lands
Throat coated with dust
Hope is what propels you to that haze of
Green at the edge of the horizon.
Hope is bubbling, cool and wet
Along the edges of a parched soul
Hope is the one always chanting
"Just a little longer, a little farther
"A little more and we'll get there."

Some days, it feels as though
Hope is one sadistic son of a bitch
Forcing you to throw yourself through hoops
Walk over hot coals
Crawl over jagged glass
Springing upon you with whip and prod
Hope forces you to imagine better,
Work harder, feel more.
Dangling the memory of water
Cool wet serene water in this
Hot empty wasteland, this pit of nothing
Just sand and blood and nothing.

On those days when Hope bites you
With fierce and jagged teeth
And you feel you must be a marionette,
Because you're nothing like a person...
Remember that Hope can take you
To a better place, a gentler location
And no matter how cruel
These failing steps have been
That lead you to joy
Remember that Hope is the blistering path
You asked to take you home.

Parenthetical Reasoning

After heating my tv dinner,
(One of those pocket deals with all the cheese inside
and broccoli too, because I tend to like that sort of thing.
It really lends the illusion that I'm actually doing something good for myself,
instead of making me realize how incredibly unhealthy it all is,
because honestly, how unhealthy can vegetables and cheese be, anyway,
especially when it's wrapped in a flaky crust that screams buttery goodness?

(I suppose it didn't really scream that, because, as good as those pocketythings are,
I certainly wouldn't eat one if it screamed at me
(especially if it had a creepy scream
(although I might grab that pocket thingy by the crust and slam it into the countertop
until it stopped making any sound at all, because I don't like the thought of food having voices, especially creepy ones)
but would instead throw it away or sell it.)))

I sat down to my solitary mealishness, and, in the biting of it,
I scorched my tongue on molten cheese alone.
This wouldn't happen if we were on vacation together.

Drive

Morning comes
I'm in my car
Haven't driven
All that far
But know I don't want to
Sleep reasonless again.
Pull off the road
Into a field
Furrows cut
Have not yet healed
And comparison
Has not been lost on me.
This could help me

Find humanity.

Steering wheel is staring.
Daring.
But I park
Unsure of where to go-
And getting there
Should be just the start.
So we will sit here a while

Me, in my car, in my heart

Vehicle

Well, I'm taking that trip like I always said
And it hasn't turned out at all like I expected
I have been walking a lot more than I thought I would
Along roads that could barely be called roads.
Actually, they haven't even seen the ruts of a wagon
If this were the Oregon Trail.

It's been more like walking a deer path at twilight
Or just before a storm, where the sky gets that
Odd haziness, as though you've fallen
Through a crack in reality, and shapes don't quite make
Sense in the normal way of expecting them to.

I have fallen more than I walked, but still pushed on
Sometimes on knees and elbows...
And a couple times, and I know you'll think I'm crazy
(And maybe I am, because no one's understood this yet)
But my hand has been taken, and I have been pulled along
And, as though I were wearing some pair of
Seven League Boots or something, I was whisked away
To some new adventure.

It's all right, I know it sounds loony, but
You'll know just what I'm talking about when you're the
Person it's happening to. One minute, you're singing
"I'm Your Vehicle Baby" under your breath
And the next, you're in Tuscaloosa,
Wondering where the hell Kansas went.

Now

Before the eagles begin their leisurely
Flight down the cliffs to the south
To Florida, probably, where they
Will wear shorts with long black socks
And don khaki hats with built in green visors
To wear during those hot winter months.

They will play shuffleboard on languid
Sunday afternoons, just after a brunch
At that greasy spoon they go to
Every Sunday, every winter, every year
Where Gladys still knows them all by name;
She sure was a looker back in the day.

But her tailfeathers still shake in the right places
And she has a look on her face, wild and serene
That makes those men think sometimes
With a hitch in their avian hearts
That it might not be so late in the autumn after all.

You should kiss me like it's still summer
And I'll burn your lips like a cup of coffee
Or the way the sun sears green from the trees.
Now.

Falling Action

"To Start A Fire"
Features a man
Trying to survive
In the coldest of climes
Without shelter.
Beginning with the tenderest
Most delicate branches
He begins to build a tiny
Temple of flame,
Sparks, like gods, consuming their offering
Cautiously.
But snow, settled on a branch
With it's general cold and pissyness
Stomped that fire dead out.
My English teacher told us
Seventeen years ago in our
Almost imagined lives
That no matter what the man
Did - once the fire went out

The very first time
Nothing else mattered -
The man was commencing to die.
And so it was for me with you.

Because the Dog Ate My Homework. And Stuff.

Since I haven't posted my blogs in here for a long time, I thought I would play a little game of catch-up here.

This is the part where I start seeding this blog with the posts I have left on the other pages I was posting on, including but not limited to Myspace, Yahoo 360, Multiply, Angelfire, and Mash. This isn't just because I'm too lazy to come up with new material, but also because I know that some of these postings are among my friends' favorites. However, lazy does factor strongly in the mix.

Just be aware that the next few posts will range in date from a long time ago to quite recent.

Jess