Friday, December 28, 2007

Fulfillments

satisfaction is a tough bird to run down. fulfillment isn't easily caught, and if it is caught, it always slides away before too long. there's a constant hunt, a humanity-wide perpetual motion machine of seeking that holy grail.

at least, i'm a perpetual motion machine in my search for fulfillment. for all kinds of fulfillment, all at the same time. like the multiple orgasm, cluster-fuck of fulfillment. i want fulfillment in every available hole, tickling every nerve ending, engaging every aspect of my body and brain and soul. clearly, this is never going to fully happen.

my mom told me about a workshop she went to that discussed "two basic types of people". all these "two types of people" things are bullshit. but this one serves as an interesting tool. there are "satisfizers," and "maximizers." satisfizers look at what they have, evaluate the situation they're presented with, and choose to be all right with it. some things could be better, some could be worse, but all in all, they decide that they're going to be happy with what they've got. they either choose to be satisfied, or its simply a hardwired behavior. maximizers look at that same situation, and slowly drive themselves insane. they can't accept what's in front of them, or are unwilling to accept it. there's this little detail that could be tweaked this way, and that irritating fold that could be undone and flattened. the imperfections well huge in their vision, and they set out to get as much out of the situation as they can. they need to maximize returns.

guess which one i am...

just guess...

sometimes, i would like to be a satisfizer. i would like to be at peace with myself, with my surroundings, my life as it currently is. i want to sit down, and not feel like there's something that urgently needs doing. i want to live without the harsh voice in my head that's constantly telling me i could have done that better, or that i don't do enough, etc, etc, etc. and this gets caught up with my own... obsessive nature. or my low self esteem and its backpack full of need for acceptance. i want to be a satisfizer. i want to be happy. but most of the time, the thought of sitting back and feeling complete and full frightens me. it feels like laziness, and it feels like a surrender to forces that are, in fairness, out of my control. i don't know a life where i'm not hungry. where there isn't some project that i'm pouring myself into. i don't know days when i'm not yearning for something, or lusting after it, or pursuing it like a shark, or in my own patented, round-a-bout way. and most importantly, i don't believe i'd be truly alive if i wasn't hot on the heels of my next promise of (temporary) deliverance.

i was so fucking thrilled with my job at starbucks. and yes, that was a past tense "was" in the previous sentence. i still like the job. i like having a job. i like getting a bit of a pay check. i'm not thrilled at having to go back to austin to finish emptying out my apartment, but its something to get through and i can spend the rest of my life trying to sort out what those two years in austin meant, in the grand scheme of things. the people at the shop are nice. i'm making fewer mistakes. the manager is pleased with my work at the bar. i'm quite pleased with my work at the register. its fine. its really just fine.

but its not enough. i knew it wouldn't be enough. it wasn't supposed to be enough. i can never have "enough." i want more. i want harder. i want better. i want faster. i want stronger. i want things to be deeper. i want things to be more meaningful. i want things to be more beautiful. i want things to be more sensitive. i want things to have more layers. i want things to be smarter, hipper, with a bangin' beat, and more genuine lyrics. i want more and more and more and more and more!

i'm like Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; the one who wants the world, who wants the WHOLE world, who wants to lock it all up in her pocket, its her bar of chocolate.

at any rate, please don't laugh. i couldn't tell my dad because he would laugh, and i would get angry, and harsh words would be exchanged, and then i'd have to apologize, and we'd go back to the status quo. because he doesn't know any other way to be. and its that or nothing. so don't laugh, but yes, i am dissatisfied with my job at starbucks. i graduated sixty-fifth in a high-school class of six-hundred and fifty. i graduated from a premier liberal arts college in the expected four years. i performed more than admirably at a standardized testing company. i got into the u.t. architecture graduate program, and successfully completed the first semester with no grade less than a b-. and i am dissatisfied with a barista position at starbucks.

DUH!!!

it was just so wonderful the first few weeks. i was out of the house, and there was all this new information to learn, and all these new skills to acquire. there were new people to meet, and things to do, and it was just such a wonderful change from sitting on my ass all day looking for a job that just wouldn't, fucking, appear.

well, i always knew that this wasn't my life's ambition. this isn't my goal. its a way station. its making me money while i figure out what it is that i'm really here to do. its keeping my from atrophying in so many ways. but it is not fulfilling. i am not full. i am not at ease. i am not, SATISFIED.

i am not UNhappy, but i am not HAPPY either. i am in between.

and considering where i've been emotionally the past few months, in between isn't that bad. at all. but after just a couple weeks of happiness, i'm ready to stick a spike in my arm if it gets me back to that feeling. its addictive, this positive sort of existence! and i'll get it back. i'm tired right now, and it was a rough day. i worked bar, and i'm not so hot at that yet, but i'll only get better by practicing. but still. two or three hours of doing something i'm not very good at really wears at me. who likes doing things they're bad at?

this is just what's going on right now. it will be different soon. perhaps better, even!

a real christmas post soon enough. i'm not ready to rehash right now. but i got my korean drum, and it is beautiful and loud, and i love it like... i just love it. i love banging it. i love remembering the rhythms. and i'm very excited to practice outside around the neighborhood. other than that, food was wonderful, the family was pleasant, and all gifts, all around, seemed appreciated and thoughtful.

sadly, it didn't really feel like a day off. being around family, behaving and being pleasant and all that jazz... its TIRING!

and this is tiring too. i know i slacked off this month. its been busy. but hopefully, i'll get back to toeing the line here. its just so much EASIER when i'm pissed... i swear... tolkien said in "the hobbit" that the happy parts of adventures, the weeks spent in the house of elrond, etc., were glossed over, because they are static. there are no monsters or adventures or hikes during the happy times. its the difficult times that give us grist for the mill. those are the times that spur us to action.

well, things aren't all that difficult, but that doesn't mean that things aren't sticking in my craw. so get ready to be... crawed. i guess.

eww...

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Austin: Redux

i went up to austin yesterday to drag home a van full of stuff from my apartment (brother will be taking it over and going to u.t. until the lease expires during the summer).

it was unpleasant.

i really hadn't thought at all about the psychological impact of going up there, but it was... something that should have been considered.

austin in general was all right. driving the streets, bumming around, etc, fine. whatever. going back to the apartment (not MY apartment, but THE apartment, notice the distancing language i use...) was so bizarre. all my clothes and books and crap, just waiting for me. the bedroom assaulting me with memories of entire days spent rolling in bed, doing nothing. reading, surfing the net, and being really, really lonely.

the whole place just felt like an unfinished set for a life that was supposed to happen, but didn't. there were supposed to be friends, and gatherings, and parties. there was supposed to be a workstation, and drafting and planning. there was supposed to be school meetings, social functions, a reason to have a queen-sized futon beyond the extra leg-room it gave me. there were supposed to be pleasant afternoons spent reading in my balcony gardens, and maybe little meals at the iron cafe table.

none of that happened.

school was unpleasant, so i quit (a very good decision, thank you very much) and then i couldn't find a job. for months. and months. i went to a lot of twelve step meetings, and bought dozens of books, and talked to a lot of strangers online, and holed up in my apartment like it was some sort of last refuge. i buried myself in my third floor one bedroom, and tried to hide from the world that waited at the bottom of the stairs.

and now, i'm hauling all my accumulated stuff back here. i work at starbucks, which i truly enjoy, my cat still seems to love me, and i'm enjoying being surrounded by my family. i'm glad to be out of the apartment. i'm glad to be out of austin.

but life takes some funny turns.

i've avoided picking up the pieces of my sojourn in austin for several months now. because i'm not ready or able to start addressing those two years of my life. i don't know where they fit. i don't know what they mean. i'm not sure what was accomplished.

but the decision to return home has finally been made. i'm moving on to a new stage of my life. the starbucks stage, apparently. but its no less valid than the architecture graduate school stage. i'm moving in a direction. i have no clue where it will take me, but i'm moving. and i'm closing the door on what came before, with all its goblins, and teeming hordes, and sleepless nights and wasted days. i'm moving forward to a place where i can sleep through the night, and feel productive during the day.

adieu austin. i would shed a tear, but i do not cry; and any tears i could muster, would not be for you.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Veering Predictably Towards Shitsville

sometimes i wonder if all things really do gravitate to a certain state of being. entropy and all that. no, i actually don't think i wonder that. i lied. but i think i'm speaking from the part of me that's smart. or at least, smart enough to know that cosmetic enhancement of one's life doesn't really do much to change the way you interact with the world in the long term.

having a job is starting to feel like a cosmetic enhancement. or maybe i'm just coming from a day off, having done nothing more than eat, sleep, jerk off, and otherwise waste time. oh, and get into a spat with my sister, but that didn't really last. still, not a happy day, and i'm sure that i'm anxious about going to austin tomorrow to start hauling all my stuff back down here to san antonio, since it seems i'll be staying for a while. austin is scary. i'd like to just forget i ever lived there.

i got into my first snafu at work on wednesday. i offended an old lady, and rectified it as best i could, but its odd to be in such a powerless position. and retail, is just FULL of such powerless positions. most of the time, i don't mind remaking a drink, or changing someone's order, or whatever. its my job. that's fine. and i want to do a good job. i have a ridiculous urge to please. but this exchange was different. i'm not sure why. i'm just not used to having people not respond well to me. which is basically me being blind to my own luck or whatever, and also me having ridiculous expectations as to how i should be received by the world at large.

but perhaps the most oddly comforting thing about the situation with this old woman, was that she was mean. she didn't have to be mean, but there's no reason for her not to be, and she was mean to me. and i really wanted to defend myself. i wanted to yell back at her. i wanted to tell her that she was being cruel and unfair. and i didn't, because i'm not ready to get fired yet. (oh that yet just says it all, doesn't it...) and i know this is all just part of a learning process for me. but i felt the need to take care of myself. and i wanted to defend myself. i felt like i was worth defending. and that, is actually a really wonderful thing for me.

and clearly, this episode is sticking in my craw. and i'm not fully sure why. because it was uncomfortable, surely. but also... i don't know what happened. it was like a hit and run accident. i was functioning on autopilot and don't remember exactly what i said, and if it made sense. i can't objectively say whether i was rude to this woman, though i'm sure i didn't mean to be. i didn't think she was a pushover because she was old. i wasn't trying to get away with anything. i wasn't trying to be mean. but i was trying to be lazy. i was trying to make my job easier by getting the rest of the line taken care of before grinding her beans, and saying that this is all about grinding beans makes it sound just as STUPID as it all really is...

and it might just be that i don't want to admit that i was in the wrong. which i was. i should have gotten her beans started (dear GOD, we're talking about BEANS!!!) and then helped the next person in line. i was trying to shirk.

and i don't think of myself as a shirker. i'm a hard worker. i love to work. but i was trying to shirk, and i got caught. and maybe that's why this is eating me up. because i don't want to be a shirker. i don't want to be lazy. but i am.

or rather, in this instance, i was. it doesn't mean i'm a full shirker, nor does it reflect on my personality or something. i don't know. i don't know i don't know i don't know.

but it doesn't feel good. it all feels dirty and messy and ragged around the edges, and i'm unwilling to let it go for some reason. probably the same masochism that tends to run my inner life.

also, B. was on floor as manager for the first part of wednesday. and i shouldn't talk about her, because that only gives her more power over me. but she is such a painful person to work with. i don't think she's ever smiled at me. she doesn't like me. she thinks i'm a shirker, and a lazy, and a time-waster and a day-dreamer. and i'll manage. it'll be fine. and i can't expect everyone to love me everywhere i go. and i KNOW that i tend to inspire extreme reactions in people. it's just so opposite day that she dislikes me so, when i feel like i act just the same to her that i do to everyone else, and they're all fine with me. but at any rate, i know i'm not the only one who dislikes B. and that's vaguely comforting, though it doesn't help me figure out how to deal with her.

i'm feeling sort of muddled here...

i just sort of feel like i desperately want some people on my side, even though i don't think my side is the right side.

i'm feeling confused, and i'm feeling tired, and i'm feeling like i ate crap all day and am going to wake up fat tomorrow as a result.

i should go to sleep. even if it doesn't help, at least i won't be awake and worrying about all of this... i'll be asleep and dreaming about it. much better. muuuch better.

old woman, i'm sorry if i was rude to you. i didn't mean to hurt your feelings, or treat you badly. but i wish you'd expressed things in a different way. because now i'm angry at you, and i'm not supposed to be, and i know its not right. i don't like you, old woman. i think you're mean, and cruel. and you think i'm mean and cruel. and this is all just a horrible mistake that i know i could have avoided... we could be friends right now. i wish we were friends right now, instead of me doing something stupid and making you be mean to me. or something. i don't know, but this was all avoidable, and i'm sorry i let it happen.

i'm hoping that work feels like a comfortable place again when i go back on sunday...

fuck and shit. i'm not happy right now. and its all right to not be happy, but its also unpleasant.

like its been so long since the last time i was unhappy...

life just ain't never good enough for me, is it?

Friday, December 7, 2007

See!?

days, DAYS since my last update. this job business... too time consuming.

but oh, it does result in fun blog fodder... so long as i manage to have absolutely no tact or scruples.

who's your guy!? c'mon... who's, your, GUY!!!

i would like to report that i may have reached a defining extreme in my obsessive attitude towards life. i had to open the shop this last tuesday, which meant reporting for work at five in the morning. suckage, right? so, flawless, i'm up at three thirty after five hours of sleep, have the dogs fed and out (cuz i'm watching dad's dogs and house while he's at his mom's funeral. bizarro-world has definitely arrived...) and am sitting in my car in the parking lot at a quarter to five, rocking out to M.I.A. and waiting for the manager to get there to let me in.

cuz that's just how i roll.

and on the subject of managers...

R is really an okay girl. i think i can manage. its cool.

Anne is nineteen. NINETEEN!!! WTF!!! its amazing how the way you perceive a person can ENTIRELY change in an INSTANT! just because you get your hands on the right information.

Anne is nineteen.

i don't even feel comfortable being alone in a room with her anymore; it totally makes me feel like a dirty, skeezy old man. and sure, she's perceptive, and discerning, and very real, but she's also a CHILD. i'm sorry, but nineteen... and mostly, its just that i'm finally starting to really feel my age. i feel like enough of an adult for hanging out and playing head games with a nineteen year old to seem creepy and wrong.

shit, yo... damn.

another manager is nice, and has the same name as sister. along with the older woman who has the same name as my mother, the shop can feel downright homey at times...

and then, there's B.

B was recently promoted to a managerial position. she's also in school, and hence in the midst of finals. she is extremely compulsive. she is also obsessive. she is curt. she takes things really, really, ridiculously seriously. she is not fun. in fact, she is the black hole of fun; all fun within a certain radius of B is drawn to her and absorbed, never again to be released. the sight of her makes small children cry. all ice-cream within her sphere immediately turns to rum-raisin flavored fat-free frozen yogurt.

and she does not, like, me.

i am an unwanted burden to her. i'm a n00b. i fuck things up. i ask lots of "stupid" questions. i send out a signal that seems to let her know that what i need, right now, is a ten minute lecture on how i need to standardize everything i do so that if i were to go to a starbucks in guam and work, i would get everything exactly right, "because they're all the same. we're all the same."

charming.

granted, we don't have to like each other. and i understand the whole corporate "thing." and while it's not my favorite aspect of life on this earth, i understand that its useful and has its place. look, chick just really grates on me, all right? she imparts essential information, she works hard to make sure that i'm learning what i need to know, but every interaction is a jarring neon squiggle in my brain. i even discussed with E & M how i wanted to start hiding things she would need, just to drive her insane. she's clearly already at the brink. i would just start "strategically misplacing" some essential items, and then watch the worry lines around her eyes develop. fun!

but then, after a monday of the josh and B show, i realized something both sad, and gratifying.

all the normal shit i do will drive her insane anyway. all the random new-guy mistakes i would make regardless, all the register oopsies and beverage code violations, will chip away at her just as much as any little plan i could come up with. the B model we have does not come equipped with the ability to deal with that "shit" which we've been told, just "happens". and in this instance, i am like a diarrhetic cow. not a flattering image, but hey. i am a walking "mistake" with gravy on it. and its sad that B will never really like me (i guess) but its also funny that she's immune to all the things i do that make people like me, and in fact angered by them.

but really, i just have to remember that in the end, i'm bigger than B. not physically, morons, but just, BIGGER. i'm not going to let her bad attitude ruin my days. i'ma smile, and nod, and do it right, and otherwise ignore. because my time at work is too precious to spend sulking. i'm gonna enjoy the hell outta my days, and B ain't gonna do nothin' to change that.

in other news, i am exhausted. oh! and remind me to tell you about the funeral! or, relay to you what certain sources have told me about the funeral. there hasn't been a full "debriefing" yet, but i do hope there is one!

i had other things to talk about, but i've forgotten what they are.

which i'll assume is a message from "god."

goodnight!

Thursday, November 29, 2007

FUCK!

what do i do, what do i do, what do i do, what do i do?

i'm starting to feel happy and content.

and its all because of this stupid job. which doesn't mean i'm advocating that you all go out and work at starbucks or something... that would just be stupid. or would it? what if everyone just went out and worked in a coffee-house? and i'm thinking like, all the people in the pentagon, all the people in d.c., all the evil blood-sucking wall-streeters. what if we all just went to work for an only semi-evil corporate entity that actually tries to do some good in the countries it does business with?

world peace. within five years.

not actively doing harm and letting, say, norway, sweden, and the u.k. steer things for a while could ultimately be the best foreign policy this nation has seen in years. go ahead and add italy to the team, just for the style points. they could even call us up, and we could have a collective voicemail set up.

"nope! nope, don't know nothin' about that. however, i can get you a cup of fair trade coffee from an african nation i'm restructuring that will make you CRY its so good. oh yeah, we have them using renewable agriculture and every'ting. and ten cents from every cup you buy will go to finding a cure for AIDS. pound'a beans? ten dollars, and a buck to research. but if its about something else, no one's home. hope all's good!"

and yes. in this ridiculous fantasy, we all have scandinavian accents.

because i said so.

but seriously... i have tomorrow off, and i have no clue what i'm gonna do! what do i do with a day off!?

no, i'm worried. i'm worried i'll stop writing in my blog at all if i start feeling happy and content. and this is the only writing i even do right now! which is SO sad... but what if i start feeling happy enough to not use this medium to complain? worse, what if i keep writing about how pleased and satisfied i am? why the hell would any of you read that? i wouldn't want you to... but really, how boring!

i mean, i can blog about the people i work with...

Anne is my usual day manager, and she's the shit. i love her. she reminds me of someone, i can't put my finger on it. but she laughs at the things i say that are supposed to be laughed at, and i like her. she makes me feel good. if i were straight, there would totally be sparks. there might be sparks anyway. i might have a girl-crush on Anne. how creepy is that!

other than that, the only major thing i'm noticing is that i do not like R. R is another person-in-charge. she treats me well enough...

sorry, but i'm totally going to start stalking Anne. i'm going to go to jail for stalking someone who doesn't even have the equipment i'm down with.

and do not, do NOT, question my commitment to or love of dick! don't you EVER question my love of cock!

wow. i'm in the middle of a really creepy few seconds here where i'm actually questioning my sexuality... i'm seriously considering if i might be bisexual right now... do i bend in both ways? god knows i'd like to... sort of. but see, nope, vagina still terrifies me. i know, i KNOW, that there is something fundamentally wrong with me touching vagina. its like the eleventh commandment.

JOSHUA STONE, THOU SHALT NOT TOUCH A VAGINA.

i would seriously have to regress and desexualize to the point of exploring a vagina like a toddler in order to not simply fall down dead at contact.

and i'm sure there are no issues tied up in any of this.

anyway, R is just... i get a "vibe" from her... a, "bad vibe," if you will. she's like a flight attendant's smile. all glint, no emotion. she acts like her teeth hurt. and she feels as tightly wound as a watch spring. and i am pretty sure, that she doesn't like me much.

which is really fine with me, since clearly, i am not too hot on her. and not everyone has to like me. R and i just have to tolerate each other, and i'm sure we are both perfectly capable of that.

but if i were to sieze the store and rule it myself, i would totally fire her ass. first thing. on the spot.

is it wrong to say i miss the taste of cock?

seriously, i love the dick. i worship it. i'm a slave, to the dick.

am i crossing a line?

is my defensiveness showing?

am i overcompensating?

GOD I DON'T WANT TO LIKE PUSSY!!!

my misogyny is certainly showing... which is such a nice change from my general misanthropy...

i think i'm just really happy to be out of the house, doing something productive. i'm so so so so happy to be interacting with people during the day, customers and coworkers. i'm so fucking thrilled to be learning things, and doing things, and talking and laughing and yes, yes, dancing behind the register... i worked a register tonight! how crazy is that!? a REGISTER!!! with money in it! i'm sorry, but its all just so... stupid, obviously, but god, i'm fucking LOVING IT!

and i think Anne is just a part of that. i just want to be her friend. i have no desire to see her naked. there! a-HA! total lack of sexual desire. but she's just so cool, and great, and she likes me (hesitantly. she's still in the "feeling him out to make sure he's not an axe-murderer" phase of getting to know me.) and she is totally pretty, in a totally not conventional way, and its just all good. its all, fuckin' good.

i feel wonderful...

i am completely incapable of finding any sort of middle ground, ever.

mark my words, this will come back to bite me in the ass. and you'll know, too. i'll tell you ALLLLL about it.

but right now, i'm really fucking happy.

and its okay to be happy.

some might even say its good.

sigh...

Monday, November 26, 2007

Bungly-Krash-ka-Jinglejinglejingle-SWU-THUNK!

life is like the ultimate game of chasing jack-rabbits.

that would be a southern expression. or a texan expression. either way, let me explain...

jack-rabbits (which are NOT cute and cuddly... all right, III think they're cute... but they'll basically kick the shit out of you if you even manage to get close enough...) are a common enough species out here. they are wily and athletic. when startled, or just whenever they feel like it, they will bound away at great speed. but the key, the KEY to their escape lies in their habit of changing direction often and erratically, without noticeably slowing down.

when someone is prone to taking sudden tangents and circuitous paths when talking, rather than a straight line from point A to point B, you say they're chasing jack-rabbits. if you can keep up, you also chase jack-rabbits, and may have a mental connection with this person not easily described or defined.

LIFE, is the ultimate jack-rabbit chase. and i'm not sure if ANY of us can really keep up with it.

hence, i have several disparate items to post about today.

FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS

my paternal grandmother actually died today.

dad and his mom have been estranged (mostly because of him) for the past several years; maybe a decade or more. during that time, she has lost two of her children (the middle son to a heart attack, her eldest son to alcoholism) and moved around the northeast region of the country, drifting from one relative to another, one living situation to another. she finally settled with a grandson (now a doctor in rochester, new york) and has been near him for the past bit of time.

today, while visiting the doctor, she was sent to get an x-ray. this required a walk across the parking lot, in the cold and frozen north. (where winter is more than a philosophical idea) she walked across, got x-rayed, and on her walk back, slipped, fell, and hit her head. hard.

ludmilla stone was a tough old bird. she lived to age 87, mostly by simply keeping a stubborn stranglehold on life and refusing to let go. true to form, after hitting her head, she got up from the asphalt, and finished walking back to the doctor's office. by that time, she was apparently incoherent, and clearly in bad shape, but by god, she made it to where she was going. they took her to the emergency room, did all the things that one does in that situation. but by the time grandson got there, she was comatose, and she slipped away at six thirty eastern standard time today.

she was my last surviving grandparent.

dad called at nine tonight to tell me. my first response was "you're kidding." grandma lud was a fact of life. she can't die! she's like the wind, man, she just blows on no matter what you do. "of course you're not kidding. god, what a horrible joke that would be!" stone's often take refuge in humor, even/especially in inappropriate situations. i asked if he's all right. he says he is; he severed all ties to her (he thinks) a long time ago. so we chatted about it briefly, and hung up.

me: i don't know what to feel. i know i'm sad, but right now, its mostly strange. it really is like she was a fact of life rather than a person who could and would eventually die. and my relationship with her was estranged as well, simply because dad didn't really encourage his kids to develop relationships with her. it got a little better as i got older, and began to take responsibility for parts of my life (begrudgingly, i assure you). i spoke to her on my birthday this last september.

i don't know what to say about her. she had a hard life, married to a horrible man. she buried two children, and was estranged from the other two up until the last. she was callous, and difficult, and so frail frail frail by the end... the last time i saw her was at sister's graduation from college. she was pulling in on herself like old people do, gently curling into a permanent fetal position, even as they walk around. her skin was translucent, and her hair was smooth white.

and she fucking loved me, up until the last. however she could, in her own imperfect way, she loved me, and wanted the best for me, always. no matter how much i neglected her (and at times i did) and how much i loathed talking to her on the phone (which i did for a long, long time) she remembered my birthday, sent cards at holidays, and she goddamned loved me.

and i think in my own flawed way, i loved her too. love calls to love. how can you not love someone when they love you so much, just because you're you? just because you exist?

she loved me, and wanted only the best for me, and encouraged me in my writing. and today, she died. i really, really, really hope she's at peace. i think she got precious little of it this lifetime.

Second Order of Business

not nearly as important. just a discussion of my day at work.

mostly, it was amazingly fun. i got to work the espresso bar, and man, when you get on the bar, fuck all the shit they teach you in the booklets. during down-time, my first coach worked with me on decoding cups and learning standard measures for each size of each drink. syrup, shots, milk, cream, garnish... ohhh so much. by the end, i was doing pretty well, i have to say. still asking a lot of questions, but ticking over pretty well on my own.

oh, and FUCK all that shit about cold beverages being another unit for another day. you hit the bar, you're doing it ALL. i can make all manner of frappuccino beverages (sometimes with help) and most iced teas and coffees. bitch, i'm the SHIT!

you don't really stop moving too often, and when you do have a lull, you restock cups, make sure all your ingredients are there and fresh, clean pitchers, and if you're new, ask lots and LOTS of questions, or make practice beverages. you just go! and it just left me feeling so damned industrious! whee-hah! rock the fuck out!

i wore an apron for the first time today. holler at that.

and i tried to be genuine, and courteous, and helpful, and all that shit that the book talks about. so i think i connected with the customers. most of the time.

it was awesome.

Third Order of Business

yoga today for the first time in like, a week. i still did pretty good. but the cold has not been kind to me feet. after my shower, i put on tiger balm and then covered them in socks. hopefully, that will help.

but yes. for a week break, i still managed a pretty good session. but oddly enough, my mind wouldn't stop turning over during relaxation. funny thing that.

it won't stop turning over now...

i [heart] xanax.

A Million Dollars

i'm sorry that i got my panties in a twist over stupid issues involving money.

i feel like i got caught up in what i hate about this season in the first place; the hectic, insane drive to prove your love to all the people you hold dear by spending the right amount of money on the right gift, and presenting it the right way.

love and money don't seem to mix well, in my mind... love should be freely given, and returned in kind. and gifts are nice, but its what they mean that matters rather than what they cost or what they are.

what i'd really like this holiday season, is to be free of this. to be free of these doubts and hurts and "reasons" for anger and self-pity. i'd like to feel clean and purposeful, and happy. i'd like to be busy, and to feel like i'm headed in a good direction. i would like the journey to start feeling good, with a bracing wind cooling the sweat on my brow and my pack feeling easy on my back.

i'd like to feel happy and content. if only for a little while.

and i'd like for my family to feel happy and content too. i don't want them to feel the need for gifts that right wrongs, or presents that make up for things past. i want them all to feel wonderful, and grand, and happy, and content; pleased with where they are and who they are right now.

i just get worked up sometimes. and it gets hard to figure out what is what anymore.

but since i promised:

today, my cat knocked a plastic container of hoya cuttings off the windowsill. then the dog ran through the spilled water and tracked paw-prints all over the house. meanwhile, the spreading puddle damaged several papers and books important to mom.

my cat also decided he likes lying around inside our springy foldable mesh hamper. the dog is kept at a decent distance, and when cat bats at the dog, the whole hamper lurches forward. all in all, its pretty fun to watch them during these one-sided cage matches.

he's also decided he likes sleeping near my feet.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Fuck it All

i'm just not gonna talk about anything ever again.

i'm starting to hate the sound of my own voice. or typing.

i whine, i bitch, i complain.

i roll over the same issues, time and time again.

i'm tired of it.

from now on, i'm going to post about... the things my cat does each day.

its cute, its cheery, and its absolutely at the level of the average blog reader.

and i won't have to think about anything. ever again.

i'm done.

sorry to have dragged you along with me.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Cost of Love: $150 USD

i actually *hissssssss* went out shopping today...

it was totally unplanned. i called dad, we went for coffee, and then, he left, and i went to the bookstore. and then the half-price bookstore. and then a different coffee store, after a quick jaunt through a very catholic jewelry store.

my father, continues to be a hypocrite (sort of) and a shrink rather than a father or friend. whatever. thanksgiving was actually an extremely pleasant day. it was lovely. it was great. and i really am in a much better mood what with having a job and all that jazz. i have a purpose, even if its shallow and temporary. we'll take it. let's go.

anywhoo... i don't want to dwell, but i don't tend to ask my dad for much. well, not much in the way of material goods. last christmas, i was so shell-shocked after my semester in grad school that all i wanted was for my life to be a happy place again. you can't box that and put it under a tree. anyway, my m.o. is to let things slide most of the time, and every once in a while, ask for something slightly large-ish. which my siblings do all the time (ask for something large-ish, that is) and dad usually obliges. brother gets video-game systems and electronics. sister gets... whatever it is that sister asks for. neither is shy about it.

so it irks me when i finally decide to ask dad to get me a korean drum for christmas (which he had offered to do before, mind you. i just took a little time choosing to take him up on it.) and then get the old "hem and haw" when i tell him the price ($300-$350). its not that he won't do it. its not even that its really not that much money to spend on me, compared to the other kids. its that i can't ask him for anything without getting the old "well, gracious, i'm not sure my old pocketbook can handle it..." which is bullshit, because he's more comfortable now than he has been in YEARS, and he and wife are looking to make another slew of home improvements. clearly, the money isn't the issue. apparently, making me feel like a greedy s.o.b. for asking is. whatever. he's an ass. i don't care.

but the point of this post, is warm fuzzy feelings. i don't have them often. no really, it's true! but i stepped into the bookstore today after the generally pleasant coffee date with dad, and they had the "calvin and hobbes" complete treasury again. and its $150 USD, again. but looking at it, and seeing even just the front cover of calvin laughing with hobbes, beautifully hand water-colored by watterson...

there should be more things in the world that make me feel like i felt after seeing that. there should be more things that are as good and decent, as comforting and inspiring and admirable, as calvin and hobbes.

the grouchy old coots at my favorite aa meetings would often say: "i didn't get sober just to be miserable!"

i think i need to remember that i didn't either.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Musings

i hate the holidays. i'm just going to put that out there right now. right in front. no skulking around the door of the bah-humbug closet.

i fucking, HATE, the holidays.

but i'll talk about that later.

today, i'm rolling some things around in my head. things dealing with my dad, and the issues our relationship encompasses. unless you're headless, you've figured out that there are several. but this one has reared up before, and its... an interesting one, to say the least.

i have an overdeveloped self-defense mechanism. its a close cousin to my control-freak compulsion. and its rooted in the soil of my low self-esteem and paranoia. and god knows, that soil is rich and fertile.

recently, my cylinders have been firing over this new job. granted, free-floating anxiety, excitement at finally being employed anywhere, all this other random situational stuff, is hitting me. i'm like a target practice dummy. but there's also The Issue; my way of instantaneously going to a five alarm "this is not a drill!" defensive posture when i perceive something as a threat to my right to freedom of expression, freedom of existence, freedom to i don't know, whatever, freedom in general. this happens every time i get a job. i try and boil it down to Me versus The Machine. i'm either an individual, or a machine. etc. blah blah blah, every dystopian fantasy ever created.

i'm trying really, REALLY hard not to fall prey to this. it's simply a trade-off. complying with the demands of the job opens doors to pay, benefits, and most importantly to my rabidly obsessive self, worlds and worlds of coffee knowledge. i don't need to press envelopes. i don't need to be passive aggressive (fun though it is...). i just need to show up, do a good job, and i get a number of valuable and even enjoyable things in return. its a job. its coffee. wheee!

however, where i am right now, is the fact that every time this happens with a job (which means every time i get a job...) my dad has to needle me, and joke around a little bit, and in general, say "they're necessary skills, you need to learn them, i just want the best for you, blah blah blah."

seems innocent enough. and i could just be displacing my anger with my situation onto dad. its easy enough to do, and its a good... no... well-trodden path for me. granted, a lot of the issues that i'm left dealing with are due in part to my dad, but at this point, i'm an adult, and its up to me to deal with them, or just let them deal with me for the rest of my life. and much as i don't especially like dealing with my issues, letting my seething emotions override my logic and focus is anathema to me. its a total lesser of two evils. i just don't want to be a rogue human meteor, crashing through life, bouncing into people, unaware of or unwilling to look at what's driving me to carom around.

knowing the issues are there, for me, means its my responsibility to work on them.

blah blah blah, i'm a thoughtful and considerate person...

bullshit. i hate the thought of not being in control of myself, all the damn time.

but back to the meat of this post: while i wonder if i'm just displacing, i also wonder if dad isn't doing the same. i've tried at various times to let him into my life, to open myself up to him. every time has resulted in him hurting me. a lot. to the point where i can still honestly say that No-one has hurt me as much as he has. so now, i keep him where i like him. i'm good at defining my relationships at this point, and i'm sure it irks him to know that he has a specially designated cubby in my brain and life. it might irk him even more if he understands that he was instrumental in making this setup my best option; that he could have had a larger and deeper role in my life except that he kept lacerating me after i'd let my guard down.

self-justification. blah blah blah.

so in one sense, maybe he likes seeing me come up against something as unyielding as i've been to him (in his mind). because i do get a sense that there is something about this recurring situation that he enjoys. he likes watching me struggle, maybe. or he is amused by the concentric circles of insanity i travel in my quest for the right course of action.

but my hunch, is that he identifies with the "law and order" aspect of my jobs. of the world, really. isn't that how archetypes work? nurturing earth mother, authoritarian sky father? and by identifying with those tried and true power structures, he gets to rein me in and exert control over me in a way he never has before. i mean, sure, he's frightened me into mute acceptance of whatever he wants time and time again. he's held power over me, and still does. but he's never managed to be the authoritarian father. perhaps he feels like he doesn't measure up to his father. (who by all accounts, was a son of a bitch. he broke his children. he shattered them. and i am honestly glad he died when i was less than two years old, and that i have no memory of him, and my siblings never even got the chance to meet him at all.) dad longs for that sort of control, even as he actually loathes to feel it on his skin himself, and actually exhibits the same issue as me, though in different forms, perhaps.

ohhh... stockholm. ladies and gentlemen, we have stockholm syndrome. this, is what having shrinks for parents does to you... sort of...

so i'm wondering, basically, if dad is identifying himself with the universal paternal figure here. he's certainly exhibiting his cruel streak (which i've also inherited) which is irritating enough. (both that he's exhibiting his, and i inherited it. but whatever.)

and on the other hand (we have other fingers...) he brings up a good point. i wouldn't be so desperate to protect myself and my identity if there wasn't some flaw or weakness to them that made them particularly vulnerable. at least, in my mind. and when he did bring that nugget up, it felt right. it hit me like a cold ice-pick digging into the base of my spine. it hurt like truth. so there's certainly something there. and perhaps all this theorizing is just an attempt to mount a counter offensive and take the all-seeing eye off me. because i don't want to see what's there.

but then again, there's no reason we can't both be right.

jumping yet again to my own defense, it's taken me a long time to develop into who i am. and its taken a lot of hard work. hard-won spoils, blah blah blah. fine, i'm clutching tight to my relatively new sense of self.

but at the same time, i do feel weak right now, in the sense that my definition of myself is undergoing a major overhaul. i dropped out of school. i'm aimless and purposeless. i had some fun with chemical dependency for a while (alcoholism runs in BOTH sides of my family, so wee-ha to that...) and am now having some "fun" with maintaining sobriety (a year and a half this past november 8). i moved to austin, only to move back home with my mother. i'm training to work at starbucks. and i own a cat, which has ended up being a very positive experience, actually.

but i'm not sure how far back i can accurately trace this shaky sense of self. maybe it does go back to childhood. i'm sure my current situation isn't helping. the end of college really pulled the rug out from under me too. its all such a hazy mess of memory and sulky hurt. the past so often refuses to be neatly categorized and filed away...

i don't know who i am. and yes, i'm angry at dad for being the messenger, but i'm trying really hard not to shoot him for his troubles. this time.

and learning these lessons is clearly important for me, otherwise they wouldn't be so hard to learn.

but i'm not sure i'm ready to believe my father only wants the best for me right now. i feel like he really does have a vested interest in my current problem. he enjoys it too much. and god forbid people were required to be nice all the time, but a little more tenderness on his part in regards to this might not be a bad thing.

i want him on my side. that's what i want. i want to hear him say "i'm sorry these things are so hard for you. they're important, but i wish it wasn't so difficult for you, because i don't like to see you struggle like this." sigh. i was going to say that we don't like to see the ones we love in pain, even if we think the end result of it all will be positive, but i'm not sure that's even the case. different issue. different post.

at any rate, thanksgiving tomorrow is shaping up to be an interesting affair, if i decide to whip this one out.

gotta love family fun time.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Ask Me About My Psychotic Break!

no, not really.

by which i mean i have not actually had a psychotic break. yet. (i'd hate to rule something out, y'know?) if i do have a psychotic break, i can assure you, i will let my blog, and by extension, its readers (assuming i have any...) know ALLLL about it. in detail. and if you ask about it, i'll tell you about it, if i feel like it, or not.

sigh...

so i started starbucks job today. it was all talking from the manager (who goddamnit, has one normal eye and one not as normal eye, which is already something i'm having to work hard at not noticing. like, every time i look at his face (which was like, for hours today, as he gave his opening spiel) i had to look him in the eyes, firmly and fully, and act like i totally was NOT noticing the aberrant eye and wondering how it ended up that way.) and paper work, and here is this, there is that, this is what you do, blah blah blah.

i forgot to take a xanax before i went in. i will not be making that mistake again.

but at any rate, i'm already sort of spazzing out. the shirt i was wearing (a black button-down with tiny white pinstripes) was NOT up to dress-code specifications. it is surely a black shirt, and it surely has a collar, and looks very nice on me, but it does not meet the requirements. i can see why; they want shirts either plain white, or plain black. but still... isn't the point that i look nice?

its not really my place to wonder why. its not my place to ask questions. its not my place to flip out about the dress-code. but i have these... "issues..." like, every time i start feeling like my freedom is being restricted, its like a hot brand on my skin. i freak. i start feeling like i'm in a cell and the door is swinging shut. and its not a logical response, and its not a realistic response, and i'm writing about it because i want to get this anxiety out of my system, at least enough to where i don't want to quit after my first day.

i have a gun perpetually aimed at my foot, and i have a really itchy trigger finger.

everyone seems nice there. the other guy starting today is Phil; he seems to be your standard skinny twink. i'm pretty sure he plays for my team, but i have no interest in throwing any balls his way. he seems... nice. i guess. i met a few other people who seem nice as well. they all make me feel old, but they're nice.

its just a job.

i need to keep reminding myself that its just a job, and that it really doesn't merit my expending all this energy over it. it doesn't define who i am. the clothing i wear doesn't define who i am either. and on that note, it might actually be helpful that the manager's name is also josh, so i get a nickname. it may help me disassociate my starbucks' identity from my actual identity. and you know what? none of its a really big deal. it just isn't that big a deal.

but i think i'll add another strand of beads to my "individuality necklace*."

*the individuality necklace is the necklace i decided to make immediately upon hearing i had been hired. since i inevitably feel the need to act out against any sort of perceived restraint, i decided to do so using a specific item that i could actually wear to work rather than incurring a variety of dressing downs for actual infractions. so far it has one strand of beads. after today, i'm wondering how many strands can actually fit on the clasp i'm currently using...

oh and look. i italicized text on my blog for the first time ever! i am truly trying new things today.

so much of this random bullshit is my rampant desire to not look like a nimrod. i don't want to have to clean toilets and mop floors and empty trashcans in front of people. because the ugly truth is that i feel like such activities are below me. not that i don't do them at home or anything. i just feel like they're private activities. i just... i'm just scared. and it'll be all right. it'll be okay. but i am scared. and we'll just have to see how things go.

and now, i'm going to work on my individuality necklace (doesn't it sound like a camp art project?) and get ready for yoga.

obviously, i'll keep you informed.

Oh, My, God...

i can't remember the last time i laughed this hard.

once more, thank you to www.marriedtothesea.com

click on it. click on it, for the love of god!



for the record, ma'am, i'm not good with paper either.

actually, i am good with paper. i do origami. its like the olympics of paper. and i win. i win the gold, in the olympics of paper.

and i start my job today. i'm ready to puke up my guts.

i love prescription anti-anxieties...

wishmeluckgottagobye!

Saturday, November 17, 2007

A Little Insight

or; Why Do I Do the Things I Do?

i've been shopping for my work wardrobe. more on that later.

during my shopping, i visited a new strip center just outside the city proper. now, texas does strip centers a little differently. we do acres of asphalt parking, a few spindly trees, and linear miles of storefront surrounding it all. since land is cheap (and unlike california, not prone to wild-fires when dry, mudslides when wet, or earthquakes any old time) and the rich creep (further and further into the hill-country) we grow horrible mega-developments practically overnight. this is why, if you want to live in a city with any sort of infrastructure and general urban plan, AND you want to live in texas, your option is Austin. which austinites will tell you while wearing VERY smug smiles, whether you want to hear it or not.

i'm sort of an honorary austinite, i think. i mean, i have a major hard-on for urban planning, functioning metropolises (metropoli?) make me moist as a snack cake, and i lived there for... a year and a half? anyway, blah blah blah.

so the point of this all is, the name of this new shopping center is: wait for it:

The Rim.

i'm not sure why they decided to name it the rim. i'm not sure what actual physical rim its on. the rim of the city? geological rim/balcones escarpment? not a clue. i'm not sure why there is actually a J.C. Penney's in the rim. truly, i thought they'd died out.

all i know, is what i'm sure you know by now.

my family doesn't call it The Rim.

well, we do, but we add an extra word to the end. because for gods' sakes, they practically MADE us! how can you possibly look at that name and let it be? its like putting a cake in front of a dog, leaving the room, and getting mad when you come back and rover has frosting all over his face.

so later that day, i'm showing mom everything i bought while shopping at The Rim Job. and i call it The Rim Job. and mom, being mom, asks the question; "why do all you kids call it The Rim Job? what's a rim job anyway?"

our mom is really damn cool. you can talk to our mom about almost anything without it getting "awkward." but there, in the living room, both of the other kids out of the house, and a simple question with a simple answer out in the air, i freeze up. would the answer gross her out? no. would it freak her out? no. can i bring myself to simply say "analingus?" no.

"uhhh... its something sexual." that's what i can say.

which gets a loud "duh!" from mom.

fair enough. episode over.

except that there is something fundamentally wrong with me, and how i operate.

fast forward to tonight. mother, brother, sister, and i are at the cheesecake factory having celebratory dinner in honor of sister's acceptance to one medical school. (so far... she'll get into others. i have no doubts.) its crowded, and we're sitting in the middle of the room, eating, talking, having a pleasant evening out as a family, for once. everyone is happy, no one is sniping at anyone or taking potshots. we are having, a good, time.

i swear to god, it came out of nowhere. i wasn't even thinking about it. i wasn't dwelling on it. the episode had been basically forgotten. but unbidden, it rose up in my mind, and i was unable to quell it. the path before me was suddenly clear, and i was powerless but to walk it.

"a rim job is, basically, analingus."

i don't think other tables heard. the siblings sat in silence for a moment, and then conversation resumed. mom asked, rhetorically, if it was absolutely necessary for me to wait to answer the question until we're out in a crowded restaurant, rather than in the privacy of our home. dinner resumed. at this point, my outbursts really aren't that big a deal for most of the people who are close to me.

but to answer a question that obviously doesn't need answering; yes. for some unknown reason, because i'm just prey to these strange compulsions, maybe because i simply have to do the most inappropriate thing possible, yes. i will tell you what a rim job is, but only if you take me someplace nice.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Things I Want to Blog About:

male feminists: possible, impossible, helpful, or not.

in a similar vein, the larger question of identity politics, and whether or not they have run their course in today's society.

sister has gotten into medical school! heart-shaped balloons and confetti!

the koreans in l.a.'s korea-town are not in fact evil. they just had a dodgy internet connection.

trying on clothing makes me feel fat.

my face is covered in zits.

why do i not trust people who are open and honest and emotionally available/accessible? is it partly because they end up sounding like they take themselves really seriously? or is it just that i don't happen to speak that language? or is it in this instance, that the person in question has a slippery grasp of the english language when typing? because yes, i am that petty and shallow.

why do my neighbors think that it is appropriate to have a "lawn-jockey" like statue of an american indian outside their house in honor of thanksgiving?

what level of hell do i go to for enjoying thanksgiving, even though i know all i'm celebrating is the genocide of an entire complex world of indigenous cultures and peoples by uppity white folk lacking senses of humor and articles of clothing that DO NOT feature a large buckle on them somewhere?

why does shopping for clothing drive me so incredibly fucking nuts? and not in the good way. in the "take an anxiety pill and have a lie-down" way.

at the end of wednesday yoga session, we were all instructed to think a good, kind, and loving thought, and i usually send that thought, image, feeling, etc, out into the room for everyone else to partake of. well, this time, i sent it to me, and it just about knocked my socks off. it really surprised me. i'm not used to being treated nicely by myself. and that's really sad.

and the thought was: lying on soft grass, being showered in fresh petals, like the japanese idea of a beauty so fresh and full and perfect and ripe, its represented by that spectacular moment when the cherry trees all over the islands have burst forth into blossom, flown open into creamy explosions of whites and pinks, and the flowers are so big, and perfect, and at the utter height of their short lives, that one or two have even begun to fall from the branches, floating softly to the ground; not a speck of rot or wilt on them, just a strong ruffle by the wind to spin a few away. i thought of being rained on by that kind of utter softness and beauty, that unsullied and pure moment. i thought that everyone should feel that way, that everyone has that beauty and purity and joy in them.

and then, like a suicidal christmas elf, i turned my joy-gun back on myself, and while i was COMPLETELY defenseless, nailed myself between the eyes and thought, "you feel like that. you make other people feel like that. you are a distillation of that purity and glory and jubilation. you are all that is good because it knows no other way to be. you are being showered by a million petals, and you are a million petals."

something happened to my heart when i thought that thought. i'm not fully sure what. but i felt warm, and i felt loved, and i smiled that stupid goofy smile that you half want to stop, and half don't, and aren't really able to stop anyway. it just creeps up on you.

it knocked my socks off, saying that to myself. it left me weak in the knees.

and now i'm going to bed.

goodnight!

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I Feel...

i feel kind of strange.

i feel kind of like i have a job at starbucks.

hold the applause please, hold the applause.

i really don't know whether to be really excited (yes), or break down crying (also yes).

this is the culmination of months of searching for a job. its the end result of miles of frustration and angst. its a temporary reprieve from feeling like a housebound invalid.

or one of those crazy-obese people who like, die from congestive heart failure at age thirty-eight, and then they have to knock down a wall of the bedroom and forklift them out, because they're so goddamned HUGE!!!

anyway, i have a job, and it mostly feels like i've sold my soul for $6.75 an hour (before tips).

this is where things get very, very tricky. this is where i have to learn not to let my job be my identity. rather, this is where i learn that a job is a single aspect of my life, perhaps not even the most important one. i have to disassociate myself from my job. which considering my psychological makeup, shouldn't be that hard.

i disassociate like THAT is my job.

but at any rate, welcome to starbucks, what can i get started for you?

Monday, November 12, 2007

Ultra-Productive Day: DONE!!!

sunday was ultra-productive day.

i did half the sunday times crossword puzzle (curse you, will shortz, you're the man i love to hate!) and drank coffee.

then i mixed soil, dug holes, and planted four new plants in the bed in our front yard.

i am gardening TITAN!!!

then i went to the gym. then i stretched out my back, which i hurt on wednesday, and which is still slightly painful.

then i sponge painted a pair of chuck taylors i picked up (my first pair of converse EVER!!!) in preparation to customizing them into the awesomest pair of shoes in the whole entire world, EVAR!!!

and tomorrow, i have an interview at starbucks for a barista position. i maybe can make the monies soon!!! WHEEE!!!

it's always exciting to make headway on your jobsearch, but it makes me kind of sad that i get so excited at the prospect of pouring coffee and frothing milk for several hours a day for minimum wage.

its and job and stuff, but really...

and today, i finished my shoes (they are so, the best things ever. i'll post pics soon...) and that crossword puzzle (i win this round, will shortz!) and in general did a whole lot of nothing other than that.

i am so, damned, tired... i think i'm ready to die now.

two skyflowers (one regular white, one variegated purple), one turk's turban, and one rock rose. our landscaping is gonna be teh awesome. because i am zen ninja master landscaper. and i can dig holes.

please to being the sleepy time now?

Saturday, November 10, 2007

What Information, and Where?

this sickness, it persists. i feel yucky. and i threw my back out yesterday as well. so that was a really fun day.

at times, i idly wonder if i'm in the early stages of acute renal failure.

i'm not, but still...

mostly i'm tired, my hips and lower back hurt, my brain is fuzzy, and i don't want to deal with people. which makes my morning spent at the Car Show all the more ironic... E was surprised that i even go to the stupid thing. i am too. mostly, its a family event, and its kinda cool, and for one morning a year, whatever. i can look at a lot of cars. i oggle the scions, we check out the toyotas (big surprise: i don't fit in a yaris), i lust after the short lived volkswagens, and we all make fun of the buicks (sad note, they no longer make the "le sabre". mercury, however, does still make the "monte carlo", and its as ugly as ever.)

sister gravitates towards anything that looks like "high finance soccer-mom", brother goes for anything flashy and fancy. stepmom likes luxe and staid, and dad is pretty much the same, though a tad more daring. my favorite of the show might have been the new vw Rabbit, which yes, shares a name with a vibrator (the ferrari of vibrators, no less), has a little silver rabbit icon rather than its name spelled out, and which comfortably seats four, despite it's small size. i could not stop cackling and grinning wildly while sitting in the driver seat.

which brings me to a revelation: my ideal car was apparently the Gremlin, and the closer a car gets to looking like that Grem-puppy, the happier it makes me. go figure.

post car show, the day was mostly spent sleeping on a heating pad.

i hope to sleep again in the not too distant future.

it's what it is, baby. also, i'm developing a twitch in my right eye. this does not please me. i swear to god, it really feels like i'm falling apart recently.

i did get my shizz together and apply to five starbucks locations within a five mile radius. so if all else fails (which it seems to do on a daily basis) perhaps i'll get to be a barista. it would be a job. i would make some money. and i could try to get my life in order. benefits. therapy. etc.

i was really excited when i started out on my mission to deliver completed starbucks applications. but then, i ended up feeling sort of pathetic. its hard to feel like a superhero when you're hoping you don't get passed over for a job making coffee. and really, let's face it. i'm not going to be satisfied until i'm recognized for the superhero that i am.

which sort of means that i'll probably not be satisfied like, ever.

being human is hard enough. but from myself, i truly do demand super-human everything. i expect the impossible, the larger than life, the grandiose, on a daily basis. and that, is not a healthy way to live.

because i'm really only human.

and can i say how irritating it is to know that i'm writing all this, and it will never get read, because this project isn't getting off the ground until 2008? i mean, i know, things take time, etc., whatever. and granted, in the end, i'm writing this for me. but still... the idea is that someone will read this shit, and they'll understand. and we'll meet, and they'll be attractive and loving, and caring and understanding, and we'll have a protracted and awkward courtship, and exchange gifts and poems, and then one day, a special day, we'll do it in the butt.

its so sad that that is sort of a climax (har har) to any relationship. nudity, genitals, secretions, moaning, and then a shower and a clean set of sheets. the mundane nature of it all is so incredible sometimes... and its not that i don't like sex or anything. and its not that i don't think sex can be amazingly complex and emotional. but any climax is such an anti-climax in the grand scheme of things. we want the love, and the trust, the understanding and the support. we want the intimacy and closeness, and the excitement and frenetic rush of chemicals. we want these incredible, complex, intricate and fully engaging (enthralling) relationships, but somehow, it ends up being a focus on "are we doing it, is it often enough, could we be doing it better, and why do you always do THAT?"

this is why all love stories end with the first free and fulfilling kiss. or the initial night of passion and utter abandon. or with the death of one or both of the protagonists, after one or both of the previous options. because after all that passion and "melding into one" new age blah blah blah, there is the laundry to do, and showers to take. it all boils down to who lets the dog out at one in the morning, or who was supposed to wash which dish.

apparently, i'm feeling a little down on love and sex.

maybe its just my jealousy showing, since its been so long since i've had any of either.

the heart is an amazing, surprising, and stubborn organ. its meant to operate best when broken into shards, and carefully reassembled. the pieces clink together when you walk, and when you twist, they cut you, and bring you to tears. they each mirror a different angle, and a unique facet. the heart is a mosaic of past, present, and future. of fresh love, love that hasn't been born yet, old love like worn t-shirts, washed to lacy thinness; there is love curdled and turned bitter with time and jealousy, dormant love, buried under snow and forgotten, but ready to revive at the first sign of spring. there is love that burns on, like a lamp on low; the object is gone, but the light remains. and all this, as long as you take the hammer firmly in your hand, and bring it down to give your heart that first !*SMASH*!

a good friend of mine used to say that hard times of your life were just when life was wearing you raw. he was, rather is, a stonecutter by trade, and i just know lots of random shit, so it was understood that "wearing you raw" meant cutting channels. it meant opening up parts of you that would later make new things possible. it meant exposing bits and pieces of yourself that will in time, make you and others catch your breath. its being "worn raw" that brings the beauty and depth to things; stone, people, and many other things as well.

le sigh. so i'm being worn raw. and its all just compost. in that its shitty. no, yes, but no. its compost in that the mental and emotional shit that i'm in will fall to ground, and later fertilize periods of lush growth and comparative happiness. every teardrop i can't shed is a diamond waiting to be mined and fashioned into a story. i'm creating the soil from which new growth and beauty can spring. because that's just the way life works.

i found a map in the house today. its not even a super duper awesome map. its a handy dandy map of the u.s.a., one side political, one side physical. i'm in love with maps. they're a kind of information i always stop for. a coffee shop near my college had its bathroom wall-papered in various maps. maps of cities, regions, countries, continents, worlds, parks, neighborhoods, etc. maps are the best we've done, in a way, to tell the story of our earth. they're amazing documents, they're like the face of an ancient old man, with every wrinkle and put there by so much laughter about this, or so much crying about that. each fold of skin is an entire emotional history made physical; tangible.

every so often, i go on google earth. yes, the really invasive one. but what i do, is i look up the most exotic places i can think of. hawaii, barbados, jamaica. and its all satellite imagery; its the closest i can get to being in space, looking down upon these places.

and i choose islands, because i like them, and because they're like these tiny droplets, scattered across the blue ocean. i can only handle one island at a time. and i zoom in, until its a patchwork of water, and green plains, and dark mountains, and black lava, and blocky greys of human settlement. and clouds arc over the land and water. and i don't think i've been any closer to tears recently than just looking at these exquisite... i don't know whats. stories. histories. paintings. testaments. but if you have the time, i highly recommend.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Whiplash

i should probably look for more comics on Married to the Sea. but i'm not going to right now.

i'm going to look through my iTunes playlist, and play every sad song that might cause me to edge closer to crying.

its just that kind of a night.

buying underwear is just such a fucking rip off... you can buy the sweetest, most awesome boxer-briefs in existence, and they never satisfy, because all you really want is to look like the casually ripped eighteen year old german model who's sporting those trunks (in a small) on the box. you want to put on those stupid cotton/lycra junk buckets, and inhabit his body, his chest, his ribs just visible under his tawny skin. you want his toned stomach; not aggressively cut, just smoothly muscled, like he's saying in your head, "no, i don't have to work too hard on my abs. they're just like that naturally." and you want to kill him just as much as you want to fuck him. you want his ass, cheekily (har har) flexed, contraposto; and you want his cock, the head just visible below the embroidered codpiece.

the gender gap is slowly being erased. men are now just as unhappy with their bodies as women. i'm not sure if anyone really wanted it to even out like this, but if you're selling something, ANYTHING, you come out a winner.

yet another reason capitalism sucks.

so much jealousy. so much self-loathing. i've been working out a lot for the past three months. and the results are pretty impressive. i'm not underwear box material, but i'm a long, long way from where i was when i started. which is good. i'm happy with myself. i still work myself too hard, and feel really odd if i skip a day, but generally speaking, my exercise regimen makes me feel healthy and well.

except for the fact that i'm sick. best guess: sinus infection. no, it hasn't gone away. i hate antibiotics, but i'll go to my doctor tuesday night, and he'll prescribe them, and i'll take them. gladly. because i hate feeling this way. i hate the malaise. i hate the lethargy. i hate my head being a fog specially imported from london. i hate my stomach gurgling and asking questions i don't have answers to. i hate the physical weakness, the inability to get through a circumscribed workout at the gym, and the inability to fully open my back during yoga.

my body has been good to me. i was born with a club foot, and thanks to fancy surgery while i was an infant, i have two legs that are almost the exact same length, and that are able to carry me around just fine, thank you very much. i have diabetes, but it didn't make itself known until i was in high-school; well old enough to take care of myself. and the technology always improves. i'm doing all right there. i needed surgery to fix a flap of loose cartilage in my right knee, but since then, the knee has been in good shape, and so long as i take care with it when it feels a little loose, all is well.

i take my body entirely too much for granted.

despite its flaws, it functions fully and well. it responds well to exercise. it rises to just about every challenge i've thrown at it.

but when i'm sick, it's like i'm suddenly a houseguest in my own physical vessel. my brain won't fire right. or at least, not quickly. my limbs are heavy and slow. i smell different. am i the only one who notices that? when you're sick, or at least when i'm sick, my urine, my stool, everything about me, my skin and hair, it all smells different. it smells wrong.

i can be as busy as i want, have as many things to do as i can possibly schedule, but when physical basics assert themselves, none of it matters.

i already mentally feel like a waste of organic matter. now i can't even make use of my body, which was my main tether to feeling like a human at all.

and i'm bitching far too much, i know. and a large part of this, is the same old frustration of my situation.

because i feel pregnant. now that i'm laid low, splattered over the house like roadkill, i'm suddenly so full of things i want to do. things i want to produce. i suddenly see what i should be doing, paths i should be pursuing, projects i should be working on. fuckin' A!

so i think, i'll try to write them all down, so i have a list. so that when i can pull myself together, and get my innards back inside the envelope of my skin, i know what i'm supposed to do.

i'm supposed to create.

by god, i'm supposed to create.

I Laughed...

i laughed, so hard...

oh god, it hurt to laugh so hard. tears came to my eyes, i laughed so hard.

and you know what, it really isn't even that funny, i don't think.

but then, when i think about it some more, it totally is.

here. you decide.



i dunno. i sorta think its the best thing ever, really.

happy november.

all credit due to www.marriedtothesea.com

totally worth the hype, this comic.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Canned Angst

i would really like to apologize for the last post.

i can't actually quite remember why i decided (it was relatively recently) that queer people aren't just like straights. i do believe it, but there was a catalyzing moment, and i kept putting it off, and now i don't remember it. genius.

i'm tired. i'm tired, and irritable, and i think i'm actually sick. my blood sugars aren't staying where they're supposed to be (i have juvenile/insulin dependent/type I diabetes. have i mentioned that?) and that's usually the main indicator. because truthfully, i could have ebola and be losing body parts, and still just be walking around wondering why i'm in such a foul mood.

this doesn't mean i'm necessarily in a happy place, mind you. but it does mean that i know i'm not reacting to things rationally. and it would explain why i feel so hungry, so exhausted, so weak, so fuzzy and unintelligent (which is really the worst part). it would explain why i want to tear somethings head off. and am just looking for an excuse to go off.

and before you be getting ALLLLL clever on me, yes, i am capable of going to happy places. i have been to happy places, and i do know what they look like. so back off!

but at any rate, i totally phoned in that whole last post. it was poorly organized, and built around an idea i don't even remember. i didn't even bother to look up data on the "facts" i failed to cite. i'm pretty sure they're still true, but i need to at least like, link to wikipedia or something. and i need to write entries when they occur, rather than doing whatever it is that i do, which is basically procrastinating, but infinitely more interesting and deep because i'm doing it.

i should have just checked in and told you all that i haven't died, that i'm not thinking well, and that i don't really know what to say. my standard entry. but i tried to do something i really wasn't up to, and i'm sorry.

but hey. even ridley scott made "gladiator," so i guess i'm allowed mistakes.

Musings on That Whole "Gay" Thing

no, not that gay thing; the other one. to the left... little more... next to the, yeah, that gay thing.

go ahead and bring that thing over here. i wanna muse over it a little bit.

musings on that whole gay thing...

you know, i keep wanting to make a point about the gayness, and the gay-e-ti. about my own, inherent FAH-bulousness. (cue glitter!)

yes, in case you missed the earlier mention, and are, in fact, headless, i am gay. i suppose. still don't like that word... i like the dudes. there. i like that better. i am a dude, who enjoys the "company," of other dudes. in this definition, "company" can actually include a wide variety of activities, up to and including re-enacting major light-saber battles from all six Star Wars films with the help of a dimmer switch and a couple of glow-in-the-dark condoms. muse on that one a minute, all would-be suitors. when you belong to me, i might ask for some luke on darth action, and i really do expect you to comply.

anyway, all kidding aside (suitors... i swear, where do i come UP with this stuff?) i'm here to talk to you today about how gay people are really not just like you, aside from all the scissoring and anal penetration.

and before you start reading all sorts of "self-loathing" into my dislike of the term gay, which is of course there a little bit (what, i'm an equal-opportunity self-loather. no part of me gets overlooked.) mostly, i like to sit back saying nothing and watch other people be confused and make idiots of themselves. but look. i'm being all honest and open with you, and making myself vulnerable by arming you with some "truth" to sling around. don't hurt yourself though. i've seen people shoot their eye out with the truth; they didn't even know it was loaded, apparently.

gay people are really not your differently-wired counterparts. i know that so much of the current argument for acceptance or tolerance, or marriage, or adoption rights, is rooted in the continuing battle to prove to the "impartial" straight arbiters (notice the sarcasm quotes there... you're straight, you can't be impartial. neither can i; i'm gay.) that gays, lesbians, bisexuals (dirty, dirty bisexuals, who want it both ways, just like someone born on a zodiacal cusp... dirty, dirty cuspies...), transexuals, transgendereds, and general all around non-normative (discussion of term "normal" to follow...) sexualities are as fit to wed, mother, father, raise, live without fear, love jesus, just fucking EXIST, really, as all you breeders.

it really does boggle the mind...

and i am not, NOT, an advocate of jesus, thankyouverymuch. i'm just sayin', there seems to be a little friction between the gays and the jesus freaks. just a smidge.

little bit.

we are not just like you. we can't be. in fact, you're not even just like you. the whole fiction of "normalcy" is such a farce... have you ever met another straight person whose family was just like yours? no. no, you really haven't. its like the douglas coupland book, "All Families are Psychotic." its like the book, because its true. everyone has their own "hella-crazy" to deal with. sexual abuse, violence, illness, divorce, love with strings attached, no love at all, death, the list goes on forever, with endless permutations and exceptions to the rules. and so do humans. six and a half billion people, all with their own unique story to tell; quiet heartaches and major upheavals, and endless quests on all sides to see if you really can record the sound of a heart breaking.

and this is not an argument that sexuality is behavioral rather than genetic.

which illustrates another point.

someone on my dating site slash perpetual pain in the ass and underscorer of my loneliness, was wondering what the point of "gay pride" is. how is one expected to be proud of some inborn trait that they had no control over in the first place? the short answer, in my opinion, is that when society teaches you to hate yourself; when society teaches you that your place is as a subject of mockery and derision; when you are relegated to the outside, only allowed to look in and never actually reach for what you want and everyone else has... well, you need to really cultivate a rich sense of self-worth, or you're not gonna make it for long. "pride" might seem like an extreme, but in the end, the two extremes might balance out. maybe.

and we can take a moment, just a moment, to reread the above, and think about how many queer kids have no support network, because they feel alone in their secret, or their own family has rejected them. we can think about how many queer kids run away from home, commit suicide, or turn to alcohol and drugs in a vain attempt to cope. numbers much higher than their straight counterparts.

to carry the weight of a secret, all by yourself, it can crush you. its too much.

on the other hand, i live in an optimistic time. acceptance and tolerance are growing. and the gay community is ever-present. and gay culture is... there. alive and dancing, because alive and kicking is really so pedestrian...

and as long as they never actually find the "gay gene," since it seems to exist, (or the gay genes, since its likely a trait that requires multiple switches to be flipped) well, that means that parents-to-be won't be able to have their children tested for "gay" early in the pregnancy, and then turned staight by hormone therapy. because for some people, eradication is the only solution, as though we were polio or spinal meningitis. and however long it takes, those alleles will be found. and i worry about the future.

i'm really so cheery...

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Is It Worth It? Lemme Work It...

I put my thang down, flip it, then reverse it...

what is worth it? and what is decidedly not? ya got a big trunk? oh i'll definitely search it, maybe even find out how hard i gotta work it. but no one with any-size trunk is approaching me, so that's not really here or there. sadly. however, i've come to a time of reckoning with my job search.

no, its not worth it. i mean, clearly, i need a job. i thought it was worth it, i thought getting a job at the University of Texas at Austin was totally worth it, and i even though living in austin, alone in my apartment save my cat, was worth it. i'd get a job, get my life in gear, have some money, schedule activities for my free time, make some friends, maybe find a partner for a little nookie, etc.

well, its been four or five months since all that began. i'm currently living at home with the family, because i can't stand the thought of living in austin alone. i've sent out fleets of letters each week applying to jobs in austin, and i'm no longer even getting the odd interview. rejections just drizzle into my mailbox, one or two a day. austin itself feels like a beautiful shoe that doesn't actually fit your foot. i love it, but it rubs in the wrong places, and wiggles around when i walk. i really, really want to be able to wear that shoe; i really want to feel okay in austin. but i don't.

so we're overhauling the jobsearch. i'm looking pretty strictly in san antonio now. and i'm trying to call people in the library system, scratching around trying to find an "in." i'm also applying to customer service centers at insurance agencies. possibly, i'll give medical transcription a try. but i'm trying to branch out now. because my efforts in one direction have hit a brick wall, and either i adapt, or i die. not like, physically dead, but you know.

but even in the first few days of this new search, i'm already getting discouraged. everyone wants you to apply online. you upload your resume, and a letter of interest, and everyone gets to be a set of documents. nice and impersonal for the HR departments, and sort of equal opportunity. you can't pre-judge anyone, because everyone is a slip of paper. whatever you can glean from their name is your image of them. beyond that, its dry skills and statistics. well, i'm still just as inexperienced as i was before. there's now a longer gap since my last job. and i've already been denied from one customer service job, becausei don't have enough experience, and blah blah blah...

what am i supposed to do? no one will meet with you face to face anymore, and obviously, my resume doesn't manage to distinguish me from anyone else. and believe me, i'm way far away from "anyone else". i just can't seem to convince anyone of that. i can't seem to convince anyone that i really did graduate from a prestigious university, that i made deans list during a condensed, high speed physics summer course, that i got into a super-competitive graduate program, and made it through a semester, even though i chose not to continue. i can't convince anyone that i've been in managerial positions, that i've effectively done my job, WAY better than those around me, that i'm intelligent, personable, even-tempered, professional, quick, funny, dedicated, and willing to really fucking WORK for the money i get paid.

and you know, all that stuff is in my resume. its all in my letters of interest. and its like no one hears it, or no one believes it. i feel like one of the puppets in those whack-a-mole games. every avenue means months of fighting; fighting my own depression and lethargy, fighting anxiety, fighting hopelessness, fighting against a system that seems unwilling to see me, and unwilling to even try. and each avenue is ending in brick walls. and i crash, pick up the pieces, reassemble them into a reasonable facsimile of myself, and start down another avenue.

to similar results.

and in my spare time, i wonder about the strange nature of our modern world, that so much of our self worth is tied to having a job, being productive, gettin' them wages, makin' that money. i try to separate my sense of self-worth (which is shakey to begin with) from my employment status. and its really fucking difficult. because every rejection notice is like being stamped with a giant "NOT GOOD ENOUGH; YOU LOSE" stamp.

i'm tired of it all. and that makes me unwilling to even try anymore. but i'll reach into my guts, and drag up that pleasant smile. i'll crease my eyes in just the right way to convey guileless enthusiasm, but without seeming desperate. i'll write letters, and fill out forms, and just keep on pressing on the door.

eventually its gotta give, right?

Thursday, October 18, 2007

"Bow down, stupid!"

yes, stop what you're doing, scoot your rolly chair away from your desk, and bow your head for a moment of silence.

my car has passed on.

though the camry never had a name, she was definitely a she, and a trusty steed. nimble and sure, quick and slightly bumpy at high speeds; in short, a vision of utilitarian goodness and fair gas mileage in navy blue.

her passing was caused by my over-zealous revving of the engine during an attempt to jump a friend's ford. my heavy foot caused a rod to break the engine casing. this was accompanied by fire, smoke, and a great deal of oil and metal debris. sadly, the replacement of the engine, even with a used part, would cost more than the car is worth at this point.

the lady done gone.

yes, i killed my car. and though i don't feel especially great about it, the deed is done, and there's no way to bring her back.

in other news, i found out i was turned down by ten potential jobs today.

but i did go to yoga.

goodnight, solemn mourners. casserole and canadien blended whiskey will be served in the parlor.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Dentists

i went to the dentist about two or three weeks ago.

i have the beginning stages of gingivitis. i need to floss, EVERY DAY, and use mouthwash and mints with xyletol in them. i need to brush my teeth in a special new way.

i'm driving myself crazy over my teeth. i'm convinced that they're falling out of my head. i'm convinced my gums are both inflamed and puffy, AND retracting from my teeth as the gum disease takes hold. the first week, i flossed every night until my gums bled. i've since lightened my touch, and the bleeding is almost gone. but that makes me feel like i'm not flossing hard enough. i don't have the special mouthwash yet, but i'm trying to suck on the mints.

my teeth always feel weird. my gums are sore, and they look so funky... i don't know what they're supposed to look like. and i'm afraid its too late and my whole mouth is just going to end up a toothless mass of infected gums. and i'm pretty sure that's not something people look for in a potential mate.

i'm convinced all the flossing is just pushing the bacteria further down into my gums, hastening the decay. i'm convinced my teeth are being eroded.

i'm obsessing over my teeth, and its really, really ugly. and i just want to know that my teeth are going to be all right. i want to know that i'm not going to need reconstructive surgery and dentures because i didn't start flossing until i was twenty-five.

i want to know that i'm going to be all right. and all i have is the taste of mint, and a faint tingle along my gums.

and that isn't enough.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Then Again, There's THAT

hello, i exploded my car today.

wait wait wait... i totally just shot my wad in the first sentence of this whole blog entry... let me try and set the stage for you... play a little mood music, get the lighting just right... flip that dimmer switch, and throw some al green on the stereo. pour yourself a glass of something amber-colored and potent. slip into something loose, and easy, something that grazes your skin and makes you feel all relaxed, right down to your toes. you feelin' it baby? yeah... you feelin' it? that's what i like to hear. well listen up baby; i've got somethin' to tell you that'll blow, your, mind.

I EXPLODED MY CAR TODAY!!!

MUUUCH better.

for those playing the home game: we have woman, Sue, who is a sixty year old bat out of hell, born and bred in Texas, smokes marlboros to this day, and is currently on painkillers due to a car accident that was totally not her fault. when i say we "have" her, what i mean is that, partly because houses get dirty and partly because Sue needs a little more cash than she tends to get, my mom pays her to clean the house a bit once a week, and visit with our dog most afternoons of the work week.

now, at this point, i'm usually at home with the dog, all the freakin', day. but Sue still comes. the dog loves her. i like her, whatever, its cool.

so this afternoon, i get a call from mom. Sue's car has stalled out on her about ten minutes away from the house. she had been coming to say hello to the dog, who i have been letting inside and outside twice an hour for the entirety of the day. at the time of the call from mom, said dog (i suppose i could tell you her name is Emma. not a fan of the name, didn't pick it. don't blame me.) is stretched across every pillow on a couch in the living room, sighing like a lovelorn flapper on a fainting couch. and sometimes licking her crotch.

i throw the jumper cables in my '97 camry, grab my cell phone, and head of to rescue Sue.

i know nothing about cars. i am not mechanically gifted. no longer inept, but still not gifted. so i make sure to read the directions on the cables VERY CAREFULLY, because ever since driving school (ten years ago now, i think?) and mr. ayala telling us hooking up batteries incorrectly could result in an explosion, i have been very, very careful when i jump cars. because lets face it... me plus batteries minus careful attention to detail could very well equal BOOM! and BOOM! is something i like to avoid, generally speaking.

we hook up the cars, i start mine, and susan tries to start hers. it won't catch. i rev my engine a little bit, but she still can't get a jump. according to click and clack (the tappett brothers, based in boston. listen to npr at ten or so on saturday morning. then send me a thank you card.) her starter is probably out, so no amount of juice will get her going. that's my best guess anyway.

so we fiddle a little bit more, and i start my car again. she tries to jump her ford, and i rev my engine, perhaps, a little too forcefully. whatever the case, we know, we just KNOW, what happens next.

BOOM!

it was actually more like a THWUNK! to be honest.

the car shudders, and i'm suddenly able to see flames below the edge of the hood. my car, is on fire. my car is on fire. MYCARISONFIRE!!! actually, after a few seconds of "whoa...", i realize my first order of business is probably to turn off my car. so i remember how to do that, flip the key, and remove it from the ignition. the fire is already dying down. there's a lot of smoke though. but eventually that stops too. i can't be certain, but it looks like things in the hood might have shifted around a bit, and there's a massive spattering of oil all over everything.

Sue gets out of her unresponsive vehicle and we sort of talk for a few minutes on the subject of my having blown up my car. we watch the smoke billow away, and note that the attempt to jump her has failed. i call mom. she's free in thirty and can pick us up. i call aaa, and they say they can have a tow-truck there within forty-five. Sue and i chew the fat for a while, talk about the idiotic nature of Texas drivers, myself now possibly being included in that number.

mom arrives. she takes a look at my hood, gets Sue's things in her car, and drives her home while i continue to wait for the tow-truck. mom gets back, and we just sort of talk about things, and stare at my car.

when the truck DOES arrive, we're greeted by a skinny, spastic man who is missing teeth, which only further convinces me that he is in fact on meth, a suspicion i first arrive at when he tells us he's been working 22 hour days fairly regularly for a bit. (he's trying for a promotion.) he is both irritated, and amused at having to block traffic in order to dislodge my car from the shoulder, and he is certainly amused at my story, featuring as it does, flames and explosions and good deeds wreaking horrible, horrible consequences. when he moves my car, there is a puddle of oil on the ground under where the hood was, liberally peppered with chunks of metal, bolts still in their housings, now blown off of whatever they were once holding together, etc.

methy tried starting the car at first. the battery is absolutely fine, thank you very much. but the grinding and wailing sounds from under the hood didn't seem "right." so the car went off to the garage, and i went off to mom's office (she didn't have time to drop me home, and only had one more appointment) to drink diet dr. pepper and read vogue for an hour. yes yes, i am SUCH a fag...

so. the moral of this story would be, if you are jumping someone's car, do NOT, under any circumstances, rev your engine.

i don't actually know if that's the moral of the story. right now, i'm content just to HAVE a story. and really, i feel better today than i have for a few days. dad warned me not to get hooked on the rush provided by cars blowing up. i agree, its not an economical way to get rid of my blues. but still, the thought of sneaking into parking garages and blowing up random cars, every day, just to take the edge off... its holds some appeal. it really does.

and did you know that barry white was a virgo? its true! look it up! and who said we can't be sexy!?