little tornado

bane of the trailer park...
lifting houses,
to leave your mark;

lots of aimee mann recently. lots and lots and lots of aimee mann.

a target employee on long island was killed today when two-hundred people stormed the store at 5.00 a.m., tore the doors off the hinges, and trampled him.

gotta fucking love the holiday season.

i want to be somewhere else. very much.

make it go faster,
baby go faster...
make it go twice the speed,
of you and me...

i need to get out of my head for a while.

its too stuffed up and musty in there, and its all full of me.

i'm tired of me.

too full...

not in any sort of physical way.

i'm full to bursting with... things. thoughts. feelings. emotions. things.

they're sloshing over. and they're sloshing over into this blog.

which i suppose is the purpose of a blog, but honestly... i started this things with the intent of not making it some boring as hell documentation of the trivialities of my days, and ALSO, NOT dredging up whatever crap is wedged deep down in my dark murky corners.

i didn't want to be the emo-kid who just whines and whines and whines. i didn't want to be the teenager who just vomits up the pain onto a computer page and assumes that that somehow makes their suffering, whatever it might be, important. i didn't want to drain my abscess all over these virtual pages again. its all i ever do. i wanted this to be different. i wanted it to be something more and better. not a quiet, or not so quiet, plea for attention and understanding.

in some ways i've succeeded. i am not emo, or at least, i don't dress the part. i don't think. i don't know. i don't care. also, i am definitely not a teenager anymore, so we handled that bit nicely. and i don't think i'm under any delusion that my sufferings or pains are in any way unique or special. they don't set me apart. they are simply another of the endless permutations of the same basic thrashings and sulks we all wade through. i care about them because they are mine; they are like a cheap room one has spent many years in. the items themselves are pedestrian and thrifty. but their usage over the years, has allowed something of their owner and inhabitant to accrete to them. they are familiar, and comfortable, even if they are plain and unremarkable.

i don't expect people to care. but somehow, they seem to. despite my own efforts to erase myself and efface myself, people keep giving some sort of shit about me. and i don't know why, or how, because this is how i think about my situation, but others... seem susceptible. they obviously see things in me that i don't, or that i take for granted because, once again, they are chairs and tables i've sat in and eaten from for my entire life.

all this being said, the basic gist has obviously not changed. i'm still dragging hot knives over infected flesh, letting the pain and misery ooze out until the blood runs after, hot and red and clean. and you get to come along for the ride!

honestly, after pouring out the vitriol of the last post, i felt somewhat better. tired, but better. better if only because i know where i stand. i can't find my place in reality unless i write it. framing it in words makes it real for me in a way that simple experience somehow doesn't.

now i'm sitting here, a day later, not much different from the day before. but i feel calmer, and rather than raging against the so very many things in my life that cause me anguish, i'm listening to song after song that is specifically crafted to break one's heart wide, wide open. in much the same way, i still read memoirs (is it too soon to use that word?) about november fourth, and the night we elected obama and said goodbye, and SHUT THE DAMN DOOR on the horrors of these past eight years... i read these things, and watch video of the speeches, and listen to these songs, because they all still bring me to the verge of tears. they all make me want to break down and weep. and that feels, really really, really good.

maybe i'm just thrilled that i'm writing something. anything. at all. for the first time in forever.

i obviously missed my calling. i would have made a wonderful goth.

yes, even you

i hate everything right now.

hate hate hate hate hate.

i really hate my stupid fucking job. i hate it a lot. i hate its balls off. yes, the force of my hatred is such that my job's balls (were it to have any) would just fall, the fuck, off.

i hate christmas. i hate christmas so fucking hard... christmas can suck my slick monstrous cock. and i would totally smack christmas' face with my cock, hard, like, to leave cock-shaped bruises all over christmas' face. and not in an "i love you" sort of way... in the other way.

i hate my self imposed loneliness. i hate that i alienate the friends i do have, fail to make new ones, and exile myself from the land of the people who date.

i hate my neverending cycle of horniness, masturbation, and self-loathing. i'm pretty sure its not healthy, either.

i hate my inability to do anything meaningful, or even vaguely productive, with the little spare time i do have.

i hate that i'm convinced that this is a grave personal failing on my part, and that really, i'm just lazy, and not working hard enough, and making excuses, and fucking away my life.

i hate how noisy its getting in my brain. i hate how angry i am at everything. i hate how overwhelming this anger and dissatisfaction is, and how no matter where i go or what i do, it doesn't stop. it doesn't end. because you cannot escape yourself, so far as i can tell.

i hate how divorced from anything spiritual i feel. i feel dead inside. i know that there are worlds alive beyond the walls of my mind, but where those walls were once porous and permeable, they're now hard like concrete. i'm trapped between them.

i hate how meaningless everything feels. i hate how everything is a "why don't i..." followed quickly by a "why bother."

i hate people. particularly in large groups. particularly when they're all in a good mood because its christmastimeandaren'tyouinagoodmoodtoo!!!???

fuck, that, shit.

i hate running myself ragged and filling myself with such hate for no purpose in particular save the fear that if i stop running, i'll just fall into pieces on the ground. that and the little money i make.

i hate my stomach.

i hate feeling unlovable, or unsafe to love, or unable to love, or unwilling to love, or too scared to open myself up to any single life expanding experience that may come my way, including love, but encompassing everything else there is.

i hate feeling hot and vacant inside my head. i hate being blank, not knowing, not feeling a pull in any direction, let alone the "right" direction. and i hate not even having the patience or willingness or balls to start searching.

i, am really unhappy these days. and i'm not fully sure how to make it better. i want the chance to "win," but i don't know what to fight for. and i feel trapped, and manic, and blank. and i want to find the new, the better, the win, but i don't know where to look, and in the meantime, all i want to do is escape this situation, or escape my own head.

weed has been looking pretty tempting recently. that isn't healthy.

nothing seems terribly healthy anymore.

hate isn't healthy.

and i am very much full of it.

and then i had something to say

i'm lonely.

i'll explain.

recently, and for the last several months, i haven't felt like blogging. i have no news, no things or goings-on to report. my life is dull, and it remains so. i go to work, i sleep to forget how much i hate my job, i fail to see friends, or instigate involving new adventures.

i am a mass of living tissues, but i don't feel very alive.

there has also been a great deal of stress for me regarding the recently decided presidential election. a GREAT, DEAL. i cannot really tell you how important this election was to me, on a personal level, as well as to everyone in our nation. the last few months of campaigning, were KILLING ME.

some people talk about politics being their sport. some people are policy wonks, who float theories and crunch numbers. politics, i think, at least in our democracy (maybe any democracy) are the last realm in which the populace truly debates and grapples with shared mores, values, and ethics. our republic gives us a unique forum in which to debate that which we hold most dear; we have a biannual discussion about who lives, who dies, under what circumstances, who is granted opportunity, who is granted privilege, whether we want to even that playing field, whether we tilt it further, what methods we use to alter this societal terrain.

generally speaking, i'm a socialist. yes, just like mccain was accusing obama of being... only i really am. i believe, personally, that at this point in history, a government such as ours, in a country such as ours, with such discrepancies between rich and poor (which intersect with race and gender, naturally) even though so much money is there and available... look, i think people have inalienable rights. they have a right to good and affordable healthcare. they have a right to jobs that pay a living wage. they have a right to not end up destitute on the street if they hit a rough patch.

we are the richest nation in history. IN, HISTORY. and we are unable to feed our own children. we are unable to clothe our own nakedness. maybe not unable, but unwilling; we don't know how. as to why, well, folks, we are all in this fucking thing together. and i don't even mean from sea to shining sea. i mean from coast to coast to ocean to coast to mountains to plains to coast again. this is it kids. the only exit from this ride is death, singular or plural. and i don't have a magic heaven to escape to. or a hell, more likely, judging by current religious teachings...

what kind of an animal would invent such a concept as hell, just to drive themselves nuts their entire lives? sigh...

anyway, even if i did believe in something beyond, which i might, it doesn't really matter. this, this life right now, the blood in your veins RIGHT NOW. the skin on your body RIGHT NOW. THIS IS IT.

so lets see. right. these rights i think we all have. at this point, we have two major options. we can rely on the free market to provide us with these things, or we can rely on the government. the problem with the free market, is that its run by people who have a desire and a responsibility (to the company, to its shareholders, etc.) to make as much money as possible. without regulation, you get what we have now; a financial meltdown, leading to a recession. and my its been a fun ride, hasn't it...

the other option, also unattractive, is to rely on our government, nominally of the people, by the people, and for the people, to provide these things for us. government is a whole network of conduits of power. power attracts odd people, and lampreys, and generally, is a corrupting influence. we know this. do i want the government all up in my business? not particularly. is it a moot point? are there satellites that can read your address from orbit (is it likely that's all they can do? would the public get to know the full capability of the global satellite network?)? are files kept of all our online doings? who does their banking and bill-paying online? i sure as hell do. who looks at porn? ooh... guilty again... forget it baby. government knows. its just likely that they don't care.

but here's the rub... the free market is made up of for-profit companies. no help there, unless you're already rich and want to invest. the government, intrusive as it can be, is ENGINEERED to protect and serve the people. and in this rich-beyond-belief nation of ours, is there an excuse for anyone to starve? is there a reason for anyone to go naked?

now, make no mistake, i am not advocating marxist "give it all to the state, let the state dole it out" bull-shit. i believe in free enterprise. i believe in hard work and virtue being pathways to greater compensation and a recognition of the specialties one brings to the table. all people are NOT created equal. i'm sorry, but the Declaration of Independence lies. and i love that document like i love few others. we are not all created equal, but that does not mean that there is not some base level of humane life that we are all entitled to.

more to the point; who are we, you and i, anyone, to judge what others deserve? are you prosecution judge and jury? am i? should our gossiping, petty selves be allowed to delegate resources? to decide who lives, who dies?

i simply happen to believe that those inalienable rights the founders spoke of, can no longer be defined so narrowly as life, liberty, and property. or rather, those three ideas have become much more complex. what quality of life? debilitating disease is no longer so debilitating. h.i.v.? how long has magic johnson had those three magic letters? diabetes? dead in a matter of years in the seventeen hundreds. how old is b.b. king now? how old will i grow to be?

who gets to decide?

what about liberty. the government may know which hand you use to whack off, but as long as they don't tell anyone, who cares? you'll get drunk and tell someone yourself anyway. public and private... but that's another debate.

this is all preface, to why the last eight years, of bush, of bush-co., of cheney, of government FOR THE FREE MARKET, of unnecessary war, of preventable terrorist attacks, of the erosion of our civil liberties, of the vindictive use of the private for political gain (can someone say valerie plame?), of the squandering of american lives, of the squandering of the world's goodwill, the politicization of one governmental agency after another, karl rove, withholding aid to health clinics worldwide unless they hewed to abstinence-only education, bad supreme court justices, the nickel-and-diming of our elderly through bad medicare and medicaid policies, the bills written by and for pharmaceutical companies, the axing of childcare and educational programs, the corruption, the firing of public servants who held to their own morals, the gaming of elections...

THE LIST GOES FUCKING ON!

the last eight years have been a HELL! a hell for you, and a hell for me, and if you don't think they were hell, wait until you see just how long, how involved, how painful and how expensive the clean-up will be. wait until you see your children fighting against a world that has been stacked against them. go abroad (if you can afford it! HA!) and see just how much the world at large "loves americans"... hint: THEY DON'T!

and fuck anyone who gives me that "we will not be held to an international litmus test!" bullshit! ninety-nine percent of the people i know think i'm genuine, generous, smart, kind, handsome, and one of the most exciting people they've ever met. i still refuse to agree, but i'm willing to admit that they might be on to something if the only person with a dissenting view is ME! i have issues, and i know it. but are they all lying to me in some vast conspiracy to inflate my sense of self-worth? doubtful.

particularly as a gay, jewish, liberal, populist, socialist trainwreck, who for all his hatred of people, all his profound sorrow at our failings and shortcomings, believes, KNOWS, deep inside, that we are capable of greatness, and of honor, of acts of compassion and selflessness. we are fragile, and we are weak, and in that very weakness, lies the opportunity for our greatest strength. we stand up to oppression. we stand up to injustice. we stand up against tyranny. we stand together against impossible odds. we stand together, to create strength. and fuck you for making me be all soppy and weepy. this shit is a secret. if anyone asks, someone else wrote this.

the last eight years, have been a nightmare. a NIGHTMARE. playing to the lowest drives in all of us. tweaking our fear like a guitar string. making us afraid of each other, of the world beyond our borders...

after long and careful deliberation, i decided to throw my support behind obama?

fuck. there is never a good reason to vote republican. NEVER. mccain was a disaster; senile, jerky, suffering from PTSD (possibly untreated), ensconced in a life of privilege he was born into, a napoleon complex, a serial adulterer, aged, a two-time cancer survivor, responsible in part for the LAST financial melt-down (look up Keating Five). and palin! oh god... the fact that he chose her was despicable enough. but she is... terrifying.

and obama.

i originally supported hillary clinton. i did. but i knew whoever won the primary, i would be voting for. and obama won. and he vaulted into the general election. the man can speak, like no other. he speaks in a language that is unifying, that is powerful, that insists that we are bonded, that we are the People, and that the People, United, Can Never Be Defeated! he handed out sensible, reasonable policy proposal after sensible, reasonable policy proposal. he convinced me, that he actually, truly, cares about people. not some faceless nameless mob, but you and me, regular people, who are watching our money evaporate, and who are watching our planet die.

and apparently i'm not the only one who supported obama. because he won in a landslide. and i heard it first from my wonderful friend jon stewart, who turned to stephen colbert and the camera and announced, "barack obama, our forty-fourth president!"

then i flipped to cnn to make sure, and they were showing grant park in chicago. and they were showing election tallies. and i started crying. i just started crying. and i didn't wipe away the tears; i never wanted those tears to go away. i wanted them forever, to be a permanent reminder of that moment. i cried. i cried in joy, in sheer exhaustion. i cried as people in grant park cried. i cried as obama gave his speech. i cried because i had been wandering in the diaspora for so long, cut off from those who were supposed to be my people, abandoned by a government that would not concern itself with me. every time i think about it, i almost cry again. sometimes i still do.

because our government belongs to us again.

because i am not a stranger in a strange land any longer.

and since that night, porn has actually held no interest for me.

i want more. i need more. i desire more. i crave more. i demand more. i am worth more.

this silly, dusty world is so empty compared to what we can be and are.

and so, i wait. my plans are in place, and it takes forever, but they are proceeding.

because i am done with being lonely. i am tired of being odd, and strange, and separate, and apart, and different, and queer, and single, and bitter, and convinced that in the end, i will settle. settle for less. settle for anything other than the fantastic, the amazing, the genuine, the real, the true, the magical, the mystical, the divine, the absolute greatest that i or anyone else can be.

so in the meantime, i am lonely.

but i am ready to not be lonely anymore.

Mixed Feelings...

a lot of the time, it sort of makes me proud; like, if you like cars, you keep up with who's making what, what kind of engines they use, umm... how big the tires are?

i don't keep up with cars, so really, this was a bad choice for a metaphor.

but i'm trying to say, you tend to research things that interest you, and you like to have a decent grasp of what its all about.

so like i said, it sort of makes me proud, and it certainly makes me feel knowledgeable, but it also makes me feel sort of sad when i realize just how many gay porn stars i can recognize (by face, body, and... y'know... junk), name, and talk about relatively knowledgeably, in the sense that i have an idea of them as a performer, and an opinion on their performances.

like, i don't even watch a WHOOOLE LOTTA PORN. i watch... i mean... xtube doesn't count, since its all amateur...

i mean, like, so what? we all have favorites! WE ALL KNOW THINGS ABOUT STUFF!!!

i just don't see why i gotta get judged...

It's Not My Job

but i want to do it anyway.

there are a lot of things in this world, that i want to do or say. there are ways that i want to act. but i try to not do those things, or say them, and i try to not act those ways.

because its not my job.

telling people and institutions how to better do their jobs, is not my job. bossing people around to make them do things more efficiently and effectively (which also benefits me, naturally) is not my job. being the answer to all the questions you don't ask because you don't actually care about getting my advice, is not my job.

all these things, and more, are not my job.

but i want to do them SOOOOO BADLY!!!

particularly right now, when i'm sort of getting stuck in a rut with my job, and feeling trapped, and not sure what my next move should be, even though i'm feeling more and more ready and sure that i need to make a move at all. i swear, sitting on all this stuff makes me just want to jump up and throttle people who aren't, doing, things, RIGHT!

because RIGHT is some objective measure that only i can understand...

well, i'm going to call upon the holy power of the blog, and say a few things that i feel need to be said, even if no one hears them. i need to say them. here we go.

1) people of america; lifting the ban on offshore drilling will do nothing to aid the current oil crisis. it will be at least, AT LEAST, seven years before any oil makes it from those shiny new off-shore rigs to the tank of your car. oh, and the people who own or will own the mineral rights to all that offshore territory? THE SAME FRIGGING CORRUPT OIL COMPANIES WHO ARE CURRENTLY MAKING WINDFALL PROFITS OFF OF YOU! beyond these pragmatic arguments, we would also be much better served by putting money and effort into alternate fuel sources instead of into new drilling. new jobs will be created by both ventures, but new jobs linked to renewable energy sources will be long term as opposed to jobs that dry up when the oil does. in addition, throwing money at renewable energy will wean us off foreign oil, meaning we won't find ourselves mired in the middle east for dubious reasons NEARLY as often. finally, offshore drilling would spoil our coastlines and pollute our waters, and more oil only means the continued pollution of the atmosphere. so do yourselves a favor, and JUST SAY NO TO OFFSHORE DRILLING!

that felt good. that felt really good. i don't even remember what else i want to say. but that one, it felt just sooooo good... cripes...

i just get really fed up with people. i get fed up with my coworkers, i get fed up with customers, i get fed up with my family, and i just get tired. tired, of it all. and then i read polls on aol, and i get more fed up. i get fed up with stupid. i get fed up with shortsightedness. i get fed up with fear, and knee-jerk reactions. i get fed up with crazy.

i REALLY get fed up with crazy.

i get fed up with crazy masquerading as common sense. i get fed up with crazy parading itself as traditional values. i get fed up with crazy cloaking itself in religion.

and i get REALLY FUCKING FED UP with cruel and unyielding self-interest.

people being mean and petty, and trying to advance their own agendas with no thought to others... it all makes me very, very tired.

and part of why it makes me tired, is because i see myself doing it too. i really want to be nice. i want to treat everyone with respect and kindness, even if i don't actually think they deserve it. but i fail. i mess up. i just can't do it all the time. and i bitch and moan about people doing things in less-than-ideal ways, but really, it just means they're doing things in a way that i wouldn't do them, and i think i have the fucking right to organize their lives for them, because i know better.

i get tired of being just as morally questionable and ethically ambiguous as everyone i criticize.

i'm just feeling really fucking done these days, y'know?

Satire and Its Discontents

my sister, does not understand satire.

she is going into medical school. she's going to be a doctor. one day, she will be treating your child.

she is extremely intelligent.

but she does not understand satire.

my evidence:

family is watching "The Colbert Report" on t.v. this is not hypocritical on my part. i don't watch television, nor do i own one, but thursday night dinner and "the office" viewing at dad's house are something that happen... every thursday night? yes... every thursday night.

for those who aren't familiar with the program, colbert plays an over-the-top, buffoonish, self-important, right wing television show host, styled after, oh, i don't know... BILL O'REILLY, THE SAD SACK OF SHIT!? point being, its an act. he's so blatantly petty, hypocritical, and ridiculous, that its a joy to behold. he is the master of really, really, really good satire, for which he won a peabody award, a very prestigious that bill o'reilly did NOT win, but said he did, and then when confronted about it, got angry, went on a verbal rampage, and never actually apologized for making the mistake.

so we are watching mr. colbert, and sister is confused.

"so is he republican, or what?"

no, he's pretending to be a republican so he can make fun of them.

"but, so he doesn't actually believe the stuff he's saying?"

no, he probably doesn't. he just plays a character who says those things in a ridiculous way that makes their inherent ridiculousness clear and visible.

"but so... is he making fun of bill o'reilly?"

yes.

"but he says the same things as bill o'reilly?"

also yes.

"but he wrote a book. what sorts of things does he say in his book? like, is his book written from his character's point of view, or his?"

considering the title of his book is "I Am America: And So Can You!", i think its from his character's point of view.

"...huh..."

she's still clearly confused. and that's when this up till now slow and creeping realization breaks over me like a wave; my sister, does not understand satire. she does not, get it. i manage to suppress a look of utter incredulity and horror, but inside, my brain is going nuts. my sister, who is totally intelligent, totally going to be a doctor, totally smarter than most people, hands down, cannot understand satire.

i haven't the words, really. i just thought i'd share.

The Danger of Being Right

sometimes, you make ridiculous assumptions about people right after meeting them. i've found i can't avoid doing this. i can't stop it. i'm on intuitive, vibe-sensing, personality-typing overdrive, and the brakes DO NOT work. i've tried to temper this by with-holding judgement, or for those of you who argue "what you just described IS judgement!" i try not to let my conclusions completely color how i interact with that person.

because you can make someone into who you think they are if you treat them a certain way. its a self-fulfilling prophecy.

i also try to be open to being wrong. it happens. i've had to reverse positions. and i hate it, but i mean, what am i gonna do? some battles, you've just gotta wave the white flag for.

but unfortunately from a "he'll learn someday" standpoint, my first responses are often fairly accurate. and sometimes, that's rather sad. sad that i'm accurate, and sad that people can be the ways they are. of course, i have a story to illustrate this whole thing, and like most of my stories these days, it occurs at work:

we've been severely understaffed for like, months. so i'm ecstatic that we've recently hired three new baristas. they're all in training right now. two are younger and seem just fine. one, A., is a little older, and we're going to pick on him.

A. is like, late twenties or early thirties. he's shortish (or average height, probably. skewed height perception on my part...) hispanic, and has a very upbeat and positive demeanor. like, dude is cheery. way cheery. and i'm sorry, but there's a certain kind of cheeriness that immediately puts me on edge, and makes me suspicious. maybe its just my general paranoia. maybe its unfair to distrust happy people. i don't care. A. seemed suspicious. threat level jumped to orange, and information gathering went into overdrive.

the day after meeting A., he had a long training session while i was at the store. while he was working with someone, i made a joke to someone dealing with the fact that i'm jewish. only that someone was sort of far away, so i made the joke sort of loudly. A. was all interested. "you're jewish? wow!" i see him talk to my store manager for a second, they point at me, and she nods. jew-ness confirmed. later that day, A. was next to me while i was at bar, and made some further inquiries.

"have you ever been to israel?"

"no. i was supposed to go this summer, but it didn't work out."

"ahh. i went just recently with my church. it was amazing! it was really something! have you heard of CUFI? they're the organization i went with."

"oh... no, i haven't heard of CUFI. what's that?"

"oh! Christians United For Israel. its great! what they do is, there are a lot of jews in parts of europe and africa that are really poor, and so CUFI basically gives them money to move to israel, and teaches them how to live in society. its amazing to see!"

at this point, several things have been confirmed; A. is indeed cheery, because he's full of the jebus. and he's apparently part of one of those "end time" organizations that needs jews to live in israel, and israel to remain whole and unpartitioned, so that things are ripe for the rapture, the reckoning, and all that fun creepy new testament cult stuff. y'know, when all the jews will either have to convert to fundamentalist christianity, or go to hell. the conversation is definitely on dangerous ground, if only because i'm unable to say ANYTHING that reveals my own positions on all this. i'm not giving A. ANY sort of an opening. fuck, the fuck, no.

"i see... what church do you go to?"

"oh! pastor hagee, up at cornerstone? you know him?"

oh yes. yes, i know him. know of him rather. and yes, that's the same pastor hagee who, if you follow the news, was getting john mccain in trouble because they were all buddy buddy, only news organizations got ahold of the fact that hagee called the catholic church "the great whore," blamed hurricane katrina on all the gays gathering in new orleans for southern decadence, and said that the holocaust was basically sort of a good thing, because it ensured the creation of israel and the return of jews to the promised land (again, a necessary event for end time proceedings).

"yeah... i know the place."

"yeah. a lot of jews are really excited about what CUFI and cornerstone are doing! a bunch of orthodox jews aren't too thrilled, but a lot of more moderate, mainstream jews are really with us!"

"hmm..."

at this point, i'm sort of sadly resigned to the fact that A. is going to be one of those people at work who i just have to be on friendly professional terms with, and have absolutely no meaningful contact with whatsoever. i'm also biting my tongue to keep from asking him how CUFI feels about iran. y'know... cuz i don't want to get fired...

because while A. thinks this is all information that will make me like him, i actually get nauseous thinking about the unholy union of fundamentalist christians and politically pragmatic jews united to keep israel safe, but for completely different reasons, and with both simply betting the other group's theology is wrong. i think its ugly, and i think unquestioned support of israel, particularly in the face of its relationship with palestinian refugees, is a simplistic and (perhaps unintentionally) cruel foreign policy.

i tell A. that "you can't win 'em all," in order to wrap up the conversation. but i'm left feeling sad that my hunch was pretty much correct. and also feeling sad that i'm in no position to actually have a discussion with A. about all this. partly because we're in a work environment, and if he keeps pursuing this line of conversation i'm eventually going to have to politely shut him down, just because it really isn't workplace appropriate, and also because i don't want to hear about it. the other issue is, in my experience, talking with people like A., or who have beliefs like A.'s, is a fruitless venture. they have their answers, they know their truth, and anything you say will meet with rebuttal and a fresh sally on your own views, whatever they may be.

and granted, i'm just as unflinching in my own political and spiritual beliefs as A. i will never "come around," because i find fundamentalist christianity terrifying, and the support of groups like CUFI feels disingenuous to the point of making me ill. you want to help out my country so that all my people can go to hell when you and your flock rise up to heaven? umm... thanks? no! fuck you! its a pointless thing.

but i now know how i should have introduced myself when A. and i first met.

"hi! i'm j. my brother toilet papered your pastor's house!"

CAUTION

fireworks are dangerous.

when lighting fuse, be wary of getting scared when it catches cuz its a big motherfucker, running away like a bitch, spending ten blissful seconds watching it burst all blue and pretty while a spark burns out on your foot, having a sandal fly off your foot mid stride as you run towards the safety of your house, leaning down to grab it with the hand carrying the gas kitchen lighter, catching the sandal, but overbalancing and scraping your knee on the driveway as you tuck your shoulder and roll (cuz you're smart, after all...) and the launching tube skitters across the drive while your brother hunkers at the front door and says, "josh? what the hell happened?"

bonus: going out to take the launcher in so it doesn't get wet if it rains, and seeing your neighbor outside with a flashlight, looking for the perpetrators of this crime. and hoping they don't see you getting rid of evidence.

fireworks are awesome.

but very very dangerous.

please be advised.

Recurring Fantasy #11

many, many times, when i come home from wherever, and am particularly tired, two things often happen.

A: since i AM so tired, i will try to use the car key in my hand to open up the front door of the house. for those who have never given this any thought, let me go ahead and tell you; it does not work. your car key, is for your car. your HOUSE key, will unlock the door to your house. now you know!

B: every time i get the car key and move it towards the deadbolt, i stop and switch to my HOUSE key (see above for reason why). but i always immediately think, "wouldn't it be funny, if i did put my car key into the door, and turned it, and the whole house 'turned on' and started chugging and shaking. and i went inside, and the house just swerved out onto the street, and went sputtering down the road... what if i could take the house out driving?"

i'm not sure what this means, other than that i am funny, and that i think having a drivable house would be awesome! but i suspect there's something to do with escape, and taking the safety and comfort of home out on the road with me. maybe to fiji, or someplace equally inaccessible and lovely, far from the rest of the world and its hectic stupidity. i mean, if the house can drive, it can certainly float.

and yes, this happened just today! thank you for asking.

Holy Fuck!

all right, so its like, June 24th. how the hell did that happen? i am not good with this time shit. it just fucking flows right past me.

so first, an apology to you peeps. i've been a negligent blogger. which is why i don't have children. i am negligent in general. if i were to have children, you could bet that i would have them taken away from me by the state. which is sad, because it means that i don't even measure up to TEXAN parental standards. even the friggin' cult kids got to stay at the ranch! sad state of affairs. my negligence, that is. the kids going back to the ranch... i'm not fully sure how i feel about that.

so here's the quick breakdown on my absence: i actually sort of hate writing a blog. in all honesty, i don't enjoy having my stuff hanging all out there on the internet. i like privacy. i'm insular, and introverted (though i do a GREAT impression of an extrovert!), and i just don't like the idea of people who might have some form of work-like power over me being able to read this and get their boss panties in a big ole twist. but i've made a commitment, and by god i'm gonna honor it, because that's what i should do. which brings me to:

The Button

you may have noticed the new button on the right of the screen. well, that button leads you to the folks who i blog for. i mean, OBVIOUSLY i blog for you and your pleasure! but the good folks of Blog4Reel are, well, they're good folks. in fact, they're my good friends, who i have actually known for at least a decade. they aren't selling anything, they don't want your money, they're in fact an art and cinema collective who are always looking for fun new ways to insert their creativity into our (let's be honest...) rather boring daily lives. hence, Blog4Reel. hence2, me, here typing the words, in front of your face.

so, i suggest that you pop on over to Blog4Reel, especially if you live in the San Antonio area. and by all means, if you already have a blog, feel free to link it up and get in on the action! the more the merrier! i mean, am i right, or am i fucking right?

all right. before i get down to some serious blogging on this odd odd tuesday afternoon, lets make a little list of some of the major offings in my life. i mean, i like a story as much as the next person (probably more. but it has to be an interesting story. and semi-sexual.) but sometimes, you just can't beat the machine-gun rat-a-tat of a nice, bulleted list.

1) i have officially moved out of the apartment in Austin i was subletting to brother. this brings to a final and official close, my two-year sojourn in that city, which i could NOT be happier about. the sad fact is, i now hate Austin. i hate who i was there, i hate the experiences i had there, i hate the whole goddamned place. it all just gives me the heebie-jeebies. i really and officially freak out and lose my shit at least once whenever i'm there, be it even just a day. i do miss some of the people i met there, but right now, i'm slamming the door shut on that portion of my life and just running in the opposite direction. which is sad, because all this shit is gonna come up behind me and tackle the poo out of me later on. but i'm an adult now. i deal with my feelings and shit. i like, am all at one with my emotions, and dealing with my issues in mature and inspired ways. so when the effects of my current wild psychological immaturity manifest, i'll be all set to deal with them. or something.

2) my first raise at work finally kicked in. i'm pretty much super-stoked about that extra sixty-eight (68) cents an hour. i mean, thirty cents of it was a legally mandated six month raise, but the other thirty-eight cents was merit-based. i earned those thirty-eight cents an hour through grit, hard work, waking up at three in the morning, and basically being the shit. that's right. you heard it here first. i'm, the shit.

3) i've rolled to the end of hell season. spring is a difficult time for me. in fact, for my siblings and me. because due to things just being that way, my brother's birthday (he's a pisces) marks the start of my father's birthday (taurus), mother's day (for biological mom and step-mom (who has baby issues due to her never having a child of her own)), dad and step-mom's anniversary, stepmom's birthday (gemini) and father's day. holy hell. every year, its just like, "whew, i can recoup my losses and have a little time to myseeEEOOOH GOOD CHRIST!" i mean, i truly love my family, everyone in it. and i really want their days to be happy. i want them to feel that they're appreciated, and that they're loved and treasured. i want to get gifts that are personal, and show i know them well, and pay attention to them. i want to spend my time with them, because they deserve it. i want to nourish and celebrate them, because it makes me happy to make them happy. but goddamn, that shit takes a lot of energy!

4) i made plans for a motherfucking vacation. oh, yeah. i made some goddamn plans, man. my original summer vacation got stolen from me by inept planning, misplaced familial priorities, and a strange laziness inspired by extreme busyness. Jews With Guns '08 (Birthright Israel sponsored tour of Israel) was postponed (because we missed the deadlines). The Great White Vacation II (a second family cruise to islands peopled by poor black people who make a living selling coconut monkeys to comparatively rich white people) fell through due to brother needing girlfriend to come along, and girlfriend constantly being busy. so i made my own, motherfucking, plans. it works for my sister, it can work for me too. i will be going to San Francisco on August 18th to visit friend M., who you'll (maybe) remember from my trip to New Mexico. we will see the redwoods, and i will make her drive me back and forth across the golden gate bridge six times in one day, and we will go dancing, and i will explore the city to see if i might move there. M. will start her semester of law school, and i will pick up some hours at local Starbucks shops. we will go to the outside lands music festival in golden gate park, which lasts a full weekend, has twenty acts a day, and is headlined by radiohead, tom petty and the heartbreakers, and jack johnson on friday, saturday, and sunday respectively. then we will go to the beach for labor day, and i will get M. piss drunk on her birthday, and i will fly home on September 4th. i am going to have fun if it kills me, because i totally spent two whole paychecks on this venture. and i am fucking stoked.

5) i met a nice boy online, and we wrote letters back and forth for a week and a half, and then had phone sex. i'm not actually sure how i feel about this one. i'm sort of in the middle of freaking out. but i mean, hey. its more interesting than clipping my toe-nails, which by the way, i REALLY need to do.

6) i'm actively (slowly... but actively!) working on a story that i think i'm going to like a lot. i think its got a lot of good stuff in it, and we'll see how it goes.

excellent. we have a bulleted list. i actually don't even know if those were the things i felt needed to be listed, but maybe it doesn't actually matter. i told you stuff about my life. ta dah. i don't actually know what else to say at the moment, and the site is scheduled for an outage soon, so i'm gonna wrap this up, and just let it sliiiiide. i'm back, chumps. and i'll be seeing ya'. soon.

Oh My God I'm Gonna Pee My Pants!

sooo, i'm way overdue for a post. and i have one percolating. it'll be all about how we manufacture our own masculinities and femininities, use role models, just wing it, etc. but its not happening right now.

BUUUT...

natalie dee has a blog. its the funniest shit i've ever read. i thought i was seriously going to pee my bed laughing at points. you should go read it. and love it. love it like the dirty overpriced whore your brother bought you the night before your first marriage. you know, the night where you got plastered and said, "dude, i just don't think she's the one!" and then, tequila and whores!

sorry about you getting your ass handed to you in the divorce, by the way...

http://blog.nataliedee.com/journal.php?user=natalie

June

june is busting out all over.

its summer.

its fucking hot here, and i like that i work inside. i also really like air-conditioning, which is SO ungreen, so not earth friendly. but my god, i love air-conditioning sooo much...

i've slept a bit since my last post. sister has a friend here, so the rampant cleaning has stopped. and so i can spend my down time sleeping. a lot. which feels awesome. i'll like, fall asleep, with the light on, with all my clothes on, with the computer on. i'll fall so dead asleep, so fast, i took a nap today and woke up, and was afraid i'd slept until tomorrow.

for the love of god, all i want to do, is sleep.

because i'm tired, and i'm depressed.

i haven't figured out what to do about the brother situation. and it festers. i'm angry inside, and sad. and i'm never sure what to say, and when. because despite my grievances, i have to present my case completely right, or he'll ignore it all. the onus falls on me to make it all work. he's the jury, and i'm the lawyer. i present, and he judges me on my presentation. awesome. healthy.

i'm angry with my job. and my new store manager.

i'm angry that all i want to do is bitch.

i met an internet friend in real life. it was disappointing. his pictures were slightly misleading, and he's a downer. he's monotone. he says the same things he types, but its like he's rotely reading lines. there's no performativity, no theater, no emotion. he's a flatline. and he was right; his chin is weak. i feel bad for even noticing it. but i did. he said he's not that cute, that his chin's weak, etc. i told him he looks fine, and that he was being paranoid. well, he was right. he needs more chin. and more personality. he's intelligent, he's sort of funny, even. but he's boring. and he's so awkward, he makes me look at ease. it makes me sad.

it makes me sad, and it makes me feel shallow, and mean, and petty, and like an overall bad person. its all so ridiculous. i don't want to meet people online anymore. no one is who they seem. i'm probably not who i seem either. i'd stick to real life, except that i don't like men. the men i do like, end up being married with three children. they don't need me hanging around. its all a mess.

i'm a mess.

i'm tired.

i'm going to bed.

I Don't Like You

what, like, you don't like me in that way? what do you mean you don't like me?

no, M., i don't like you at all!!!

i have made a decision. and i'm pleased with my decision. it feels right. it feels, true. i have decided, that i really just don't like my co-worker M. don't like her. i do not, like her.

that feels good.

i sometimes can't tell if i like someone or not, so its always nice when i can resolve one of those ambiguous situations. and i'd rather decide that i like someone, i just have issues x, y, and z with them, but not liking them is just fine as well. hating them, a little extreme, but also fair. what? i'm a hater. i hate. don't judge.

today's issue with M. brought things nicely into focus. sure, she's done a fair amount of stuff that makes me think she's self-centered and opportunistic, but whatever. she's also said a couple things that make me think she's sort of bigoted, or at least has some questionable beliefs and/or assumptions about things of an ethnic/racial/religious nature. whatever. its texas. if i started making a list now, i'd die before finishing it.

today, we had a brief chat about relationships. and M. jokingly(?) mentioned that she's been married eighteen years, and at this point, she and her husband have just decided to "stick it out".

i responded by saying that that probably would not really ever happen to me, because i like dumping people too much. this got a few odd looks, so i clarified. i said, "hey. its not like i just break up with people for no reason. but if i'm in a relationship, and things aren't working out, and the other person isn't interested in working on fixing it, or addressing the issue, then *BAM* YOU'RE OUTTA THERE!!!" and yes, i take a certain pleasure in breaking up with people. its like pruning an unruly shrub. you take out the crap you don't like. you simplify your life. and i am all, for jettisoning dead weight (i.e. unresponsive boyfriends) in the interest of simplifying my life.

M. was still not sure about this. she seems to have chalked it up, at least today and at that moment, to some sort of rampant superiority complex she thinks i have. she said that she thinks i just have no hope for a successful romantic relationship; she thinks i don't believe it can happen, and so it never will.

so i tried to deny this, and told her about my rule.

have i mentioned my rule?

i said, "you know how amusement parks have signs that say *i mime a hand at chest level* 'you must be this tall to ride'? well, i have a similar rule that says *hand at nipple level again* 'you must be this awesome to date.' i expect someone i'm going to date (i.e., spend a lot of time and energy on, in the hope of getting the opportunity to spend even MORE time and energy on them, long term, till we're old or dead) i expect someone i get involved with to be at least as awesome as me."

M. looks at me like i'm nuts, or just pure evil. one or the other. so rather than toss the shovel aside, i do what any good moron does and keep digging.

i explain that i want someone who's an ivy-league caliber intellect, who's handsome, who's devestatingly funny, etc.

she asks where i went to school. did i go to an ivy league? no, i went to wesleyan. its better than an ivy league, because we only put sticks up our asses in order to stimulate the prostate and/or g-spot. i didn't say that last part. M. admits that wesleyan is a good school. yes. i know.

so she retreats to the safe-ish position of "your standards are too high." if i demand someone who is as great as i think i am (because i have a superiority complex) then i'm just never going to find someone. i'm being "unrealistic."

bitch, i'm that intelligent, i'm that handsome, i'm that funny, i'm that kind, i'm that sensitive to other's, i'm that willing to give my all in a relationship, OBVIOUSLY such people exist. why should i settle for less? do i not deserve someone who brings as much to the table as me? i'm sorry, but if i think i'm the shit, its only because, in some ways, i am. fuck, i'll even admit i'm wrong (MOST of the time) if i'm wrong.

i say some of the above to M., or at least, the part about me being as awesome as me, so obviously it can happen. she stands firm, and asks why i have to have someone who is those things.

on reflection, i should have responded, "because i'm a little person, with a short attention span. i get bored easily with people. i'm not interested in a relationship for the paltry reason of not wanting to be alone. if i'm signing away an undetermined amount of my independence, it better be to someone who's worth it. it better be to someone who is smart, and compassionate, and can keep my attention. i'm not willing to go through the hassle that is a relationship just so that i can wake up one day and realize that i've settled for less than i want and need, and instigate divorce proceedings."

i think what i actually did, was just let the conversation drop. but a few minutes later, the thought sprang to my head, "wow, M. is a really mediocre person." and i laughed, out loud, a lot. because its such a horrible thing to think, but its just so true... i may be demanding and cruel, and call myself a tiny person, but M. is in truth, a tiny person, if she's willing to take anything less than what she truly wants in the name of being open-minded and realistic.

but mostly, M. is just a person who i don't really like. i don't hate her. but i definitely don't like her.

and i am totally cool with that.

Yes, I Have A Libido

i have a libido, and it is getting a little bit out of hand.

since i'm either working, or trying to go to sleep and wishing i didn't have to work again so soon, or maybe even sleeping, i haven't had time to like... take care of business... in i don't even know how long.

yes, i'm talking about masturbation.

because lord knows i don't have sex. i haven't had sex in almost four years. and that, my friends, is way, way, WAAAAAY TOOOOO LOOONG.

but that's all right. its fine. i have hands. i have a fun silicon friend. i have lube. and i have porn. i can manage for now.

but really... like, i've started a few times. i'll scrounge around on x-tube, hunting down hot amateur action videos. i'll get all hot and bothered.

but i haven't "closed the deal" in quite some time.

i haven't even gone to the gym and sublimated my urges into fifty minute sessions on the elliptical machine.

and its all starting to adversely effect the rest of my life.

today, personal-trainer T. (venti americano with a half inch of steamed heavy whipping cream) came into the store. dude is six four, with that special V-shaped torso you only get with good genes and taking really, really good care of yourself. like, i've always thought T. was hot. with those mean athletic thighs that look so good in tight blue jeans... i'm getting hot right now. so today, he comes in, and i'm just like, GODDAMN! the shaved head, the strong jaw-line, those ridiculous shoulders and arms... i'm totally going menopausal. i'm having hot flashes.

so he gets his drink, and a little later i go on a spin to clean the store. and i'm cleaning the condiment bar, which backs up to a window wall between the store and the bookstore. and T. is sitting at the table right beyond the window, facing away from me. and i'm confronted with the expanse of his back, stretching his tight red and black striped t-shirt.

and i'm cleaning slower, and slower... and i try and see what he's reading. honestly, i do. like, i'm unwilling to realize what's going on.

and i'm cleaning more and more slowly, and then i'm like, "oh. OH. i see. i'm standing here staring at T., nigh on fantasizing about him, and apparently i'm willing to forget about my job in order to stare at him. apparently, i'm willing to clean more and more slowly until i'm no longer cleaning and am in fact just humping the glass between us and drooling on myself. its all clear now."

yes. and then, BEST PART!, i feel the need to tell my coworker about it. as though it were any of their business, and as though i would ever be comfortable sharing that with anyone but a close friend. i was immediately mortified.

"i can't believe i TOLD her that!..."

well, i did.

clearly, i need the big O, and fast, or i'm going to go insane. er.

insaner.

but goddamn he's so fucking hot...

Stop the Ride, I Want to Get Off Now

i swear to god, i feel like, this job, i feel like i've stepped onto the merry-go-round from hell. and now its just goin' faster and faster, and i can't get off, and its just gonna spin me around until it decides i've had enough. or until i die, or at least have my psychotic break. at which point, i will certainly be fired, but conversely, not having a job will be the least of my worries. good? bad? i don't know. i can't decide. but sadly, involuntary commitment sort of sounds nice at the moment.

my feet hurt. my knees feel very old and creaky. or like i give blow-jobs in alley-ways for a living. or both. my legs are tired. and mostly, my brain hurts. i am very, very, very, very, VERY, VERY TIRED. i'm too tired to exercise, so i'm not sleeping well or clearing headspace in my brains. and since my sleep schedule is whacked anyway, i've given up on limiting my caffeine intake and am slamming doubleshots of espresso alllll day long. which makes sleep even more elusive. but if i don't do it, i can't manage my shifts, which are until midnight one day, and at five a.m. the next. and long. they're always long. and i'm not functioning well. i can't deal with people. i want to punch them all in the face. even the ones who aren't morons (although there are a lot of morons...) and who don't ask question after stupid fucking moronic question.

i have things on my mind. that's the other issue. i have, like, major ish on my mind. the issues, have been stirred up by my family's inability to plan a summer trip. bear with me a minute; i'm heading into middle-class white privilege territory. but really... we don't take vacations. we were going to go to israel for a few weeks this summer because we could do it for free (birthright israel, check it out.) i was excited for the "Jews With Guns Tour '08", but alas, we waited too long, and missed registration. so it will be postponed until next year.

so no israel. fair enough. well, sister is booked until june first, and then is booked again at the end of june. then she starts med school. brother insists that girlfriend comes with us, regardless of what we do. girlfriend is working and attending summer classes, and has all sorts of prior family engagements. brother, for his part, is smoking pot and trying to avoid the reality of needing to find a goddamn job. mom wants to miss as few days of work as possible, since she isn't salaried, so every day is a double loss of pay; once for the money she's spending, and again for the money she isn't making.

i'm in the same boat as mom, but i get paid crap, so i don't care when we go, except that my store is so short staffed that we're all walking around with ptsd half the time (post-traumatic stress disorder, for those less learned in the mental health sciences.) and no one can have any time off, ever. seriously, we each get two days off a week, maximum, they're never in a row (so all you can do with your day off, or all you WANT to do, is sleep, and not be on your aching feet), and my favorite part is that even though we're in such dire straits, the company is exceedingly unwilling to pay us overtime. now, people at other stores can incur overtime if they do it by helping out at our store. that's like, totally kosher. but we're still trying to cut labor whenever we can. which leaves us shortstaffed when the inevitable crush comes ten minutes after we send a partner or two home.

so if we go anywhere, well, i'll have to find a lot of nice people to take all my shifts for me. or something. that, or i can't really go anywhere. and at this point, i'm starting to feel like its all too much work. all i really want to do, is go to sleep.

and here's part of why.

we've had like, five separate plans for our vacation. and each plan, has gotten axed in succession. often, because an issue comes up with brother's girlfriend. we were going to take a cruise (its the off season, so it would be cheap, even though we would have to buy a second cabin for all five of us if girlfriend comes along) but a four day three night cruise is during the week, when she has school. so nope. can't do it. three day two night cruise is too short and hurried. not a relaxing vacation. we finally settled on a long weekend cruise, and had it all lined up, but; girlfriend's sister has high school graduation that weekend. so that plan is axed.

now, my issue, besides feeling trapped in a job that is slowly killing me, and which won't let me take the time off i would need in order to be able to continue being ABLE to do the job... deep breath... my issues, are centered on brother, who on the night before his high school graduation, told me that he would feel better if i didn't come to the party that his girlfriend's family was throwing for the two of them the next day. he'd feel better, if i didn't come. it would be uncomfortable for him to have me there. because they're very christian, you see. very conservative. and i'm... well, i'm me, and you just never know what i'm gonna say, do yah!!! i'm just, y'know... a loose cannon. unpredictable.

he didn't really say those last parts. i insert them myself, because i have to do something to explain why it felt like the bottom dropped out of my stomach when he said that to me. "i'd feel better if you didn't come." my mind instantly emptied of all thought. for once in my life, i was completely speechless, and my mind was blank. and my stomach, my abdomen, felt emptied of all viscera. i was hollow, and cold.

because brother has said in the past, several patronizing things like, "i know you're going to be how you want to be..." or "i understand that you're going to do what you want." implying:

a) that though he's trying to sound like he's non-judgemental and cool with it all, he has major issues with how i behave, and

b) that i choose to to do the things i do, and that it's my fault that he's embarassed. that i choose to be gay, and neurotic, and loud, and odd, and that really, i could be like all the normal people if i wanted (and god help me, but sometimes, in all honesty, i find myself wanting to be like normal people) but i insist on acting the way i do. to prove some cosmic point, or something. or maybe just to spite him.

and its stupid to complain. because really, my entire family is an embarassment to my brother. our strangeness, our jewishness, our intellectual natures (except for my sister. she is not, an intellectual. nor will she self-identify as jewish. she's just smart.) our general, and in my opinion healthy, abnormality, our messy house, the way our lives run from one crisis to another, just like any family (again, in my opinion)... he hates it all. god, how he wants us to be normal. he really wants to have a normal life, with a normal family, in a clean normal house where you know that the spaces below the furniture get swept regularly, and nothing accumulates clutter or dust. nevermind the irony of his own abnormality, and how its a part of the net abnormality...

in addition, he's never wanted to expose his girlfriend to us, or our house, or our lives. he made it quite clear, from the beginning of their relationship, when they were in high school, that she might come over, but they would spirit themselves away to his bedroom (formerly my bedroom) with its window out onto the roof where it looks south, and opens onto a valley of single-story house roofs nestled among green trees in the summer. he and i used to sit there, where the eaves cluster around the chimney. back when i smoked, we would get high together and look at our valley, and have the closest we've ever come to a happy and mutually satisfying relationship. now its his room, his roof, his friends and girlfriend. safe from all the weirdness inside the house, down the stairs.

i'm all right with this, in a way. i think its silly, and immature, but its his relationship, and he gets to call the shots. and i've never wanted to be friends with his girlfriend. she's nice, and they seem happy together, but i'm five years older, and a very different person. so fine.

but it was still, to me, the ultimate betrayal; it was beyond cruel, when he made it clear that not only am i an embarassment, and a liability, but that he is ashamed of me. he is ashamed of me to the point where the thought of introducing me to his girlfriend's family terrifies him. i'm sure he loves me, or whatever passes for love with him. but it felt like i'd effectively been disowned.

and now, for the sake of the family of a girl who he's too ashamed of me to have me meet, our vacation plans are changed and rearranged.

it felt bad to me. it felt really bad then, and i ate it. i said, hey, "if [me not being there] is what you need to feel comfortable, then i won't go. i won't go." he was a nervous wreck, graduating high school. what was i supposed to do? well, i forgot about it, or repressed it, or whatever. but after the last axe, the memory sprang up in my head. and i got angry.

really, really, really, REALLY ANGRY.

and part of it isn't justifiable. like it or not, my brother would sell his entire family, me included, down the river at the drop of a hat for the sake of any of his friends, or his girlfriend. he just would. he's shallow, and callous, and unthinkingly cruel, and he really likes playing normal with his blond christian girlfriend and her blond christian family, where no one seems fucked up, and everyone loves each other, and relationships are easy, and the house is always clean.

and for my part, i've really stopped trying. i don't try to talk to him anymore, because i automatically assume that my questions and concerns will be ignored and kicked aside, like i've been. like i did to him, unwittingly, when i was in high school and then went off to college; an abandonment that he has never forgiven me for, and maybe never will. i assume that he'll never be around to talk about serious stuff, and honestly, neither of us really want to spend time with each other. he has friends his own age, and has written me off, and i'm sober now, and can't go back to where we once were. i don't belong on the roof anymore, and it strikes me now, even as i write this, that i hope my brother is at least sad, every now and then, and missing me on the roof with him. but i can't go, and don't want to. time with him sounds unpleasant.

my brother and i don't like each other very much. we're not very similar in a lot of ways. and we've traded a lot of hurt back and forth. and when we do try and talk about things, he's the only person allowed to have emotions. if anyone else starts broadcasting hurt or pain or anger, he throws up his hands and leaves the room. its a defense mechanism he's developed, and well, it works. i don't bring up unpleasant topics.

this is my brother. and i don't really believe in making people change for my benefit. its not a fair thing to ask someone to do. but my friends, i would hope they might try to find a mutually agreeable solution if an issue came up. and my family too, i would hope that if it was obvious that a family member's behavior was hurting me, they might behave differently on their own, if only because they love me, and don't want to be hurting me.

but that, is not my brother.

and that is my truth to accept. and honestly, it makes me want to cry. it makes me feel so small, to not matter to him at all, or to matter so little. it makes me unbearably... its not even just "sad." sad is too short a word. too shallow. it doesn't do the feeling justice. maybe heartbroken. it makes me feel so broken and empty inside, like i'm a hollow person, a pretend person crafted of cardboard and paper. it makes me feel cold, and icy. it makes me feel empty, like a corpse on a slab, with all my insides taken away and discarded.

i can't stop thinking about this.

honestly, it makes brewing coffee seem like a very very difficult task.

so if someone can please stop this ride i seem to be on, i would appreciate it. i would really like to get off.

Skin

in case you're like me, no, this post is not about foreskin and how i feel about it in general. and believe me, i have some pretty well-developed and nuanced opinions on foreskin. we can have that discussion at some point. but not today.

i'm talking about all our skin. from our toes to our scalp. i'm recently fascinated with skin. and my recent fascination with skin, stems from my long-standing fascination with makeup.

background: i am really, really, really, really obsessive. not so much compulsive. just obsessive. like, not OCD, just OD. i get so wrapped up and worried about the planning of a project, that i inevitably reach a point where i become terrified of actually starting it, because i've built it up into such a nuanced and detailed machine, that i am convinced i will inevitably fail.

for a long time, upon receiving a sandwich, i would spend several minutes taking it apart and reassembling it in a manner i found more pleasing. my family continues to make fun of me for how long it takes me to prepare food. and it bugs the hell out of me. and they can eat shit and die.

obsessions can also be soothing. when the big messy world is simply too overwhelming, i can focus in on a single little detail and very easily tune everything else out. i could stare at birds, or bugs, or the birthmark on my hand for ages. sometimes, i look at catalogs of flower bulbs, and read the glowing prose about each variety of tulip or lily, and i look at each wonderfully composed picture. its all very, very soothing. or at the least, a defense mechanism; a way of kicking the complexities and worries of the world out, and creating order and simplicity within.

naturally, makeup is a perfect outlet for my obsessive tendencies as well. i love walking up and down aisles of carefully arranged bottles and sticks and compacts, all grouped by face area, by ingredient, by product line, by product type. and then, within each of those categories, all the various hues are assembled in ranks; pinks and plums and reds and oranges and browns and buffs and teals and taupes and greens. its very, very soothing.

its also very much a study in covetousness. because in real life, i actually never wear makeup. but i still feel like its always good practice to have a bottle or two of good foundations at my disposal, "just in case." and of course, with those, i need so eye-shadow, maybe a couple of liners. some lip gunk. etc. then there's nail polish, which comes down to a rothko-like study of color. i haven't painted my nails in at least two years, but i hang on to my two dozen bottles of polish, taking them out of their box at times to look at them, and marvel at the strength of their hues. its similar to how i view the buying of a scarf as a tribute to the art of the spinner of the wool, the weaver, and the assembler. its barely clothing, straddling as it does the line between functional item, and an exercise in fiber art. nail polish is even less functional, but in its retreat from purpose, it at the same time blossoms into an experiment in pure color.

now, i never have an occasion to wear makeup in real life. so sometimes, i just choose an evening during which i will apply everything that i have on hand, just to see what it all looks like. i immediately wash it off afterwards, several times. but its still important to give in to the compulsion.

except the last time i put on a foundation, it resulted in an odd effect.

it was a relatively lightweight neutrogena foundation, matched quite well to my skin tone. but after applying it evenly, i looked in the mirror, and all the color had been sucked from my face. i suppose it smoothed me out, made my face a blank canvas, which i suppose can be the purpose of foundation. but it was remarkable how cold and dead i suddenly looked and felt.

hence, my current fascination with skin.

never mind that our skin is our largest organ, weighing in at about six pounds. never mind that its a wonderfully dualistic creation, simple in its appearance, complex in its function as a border between the inside and the out. never mind that it serves as physical protection, sensory system, temperature regulator. skin is all these things, and by fulfilling its purpose, it is utterly beautiful.

it is beautiful in what it reveals and what it conceals. it is beautiful in its layers of transparency and opaqueness. just like a squid or cuttlefish, we change our colors, blush and flush, pale and turn ashen, glow, almost flouresce. our forests of tiny hairs spring forth from our pores, raise and lower according to the weather. our pores open to bring in air and release sweat. veins are revealed and concealed with each movement. fields of wrinkles surround our joints. our knuckles are like great canyons. our genitals like florid blossoms.

makeup, i think, does the world a great disservice. it takes all of this away from us. it trades in artistry and a facsimile of "perfection" for the millions of permutations that our bare skin can display. it robs us of our emotions, every one of which registers on, IN, our skin. makeup can only conceal. it can only convey one thing. our skin, can convey desire, envy, pain, sadness, joy, everything and anything we may be feeling. and at the exact same time, it shows where the knobs of our elbows sit. it reveals and then hides away the muscles of our forearms. it breaks out in gooseflesh when a cool breeze whips around the corner, and all our little hairs rise up; taut skin, soft down.

its comforting to know that if i'm exhausted, i can look in the mirror and get evidence to support the theory. the slick, shiny purple bags under my eyes, my sunken sockets and heavy-lidded eyes all say, "yes, you must sleep." its soothing to be able to look at my hands and recognize them as my own, to recognize my knotty joints and bony knuckles, the flushed expanses of muscle between my thumbs and pointer fingers, to see the same patches of miniscule hair, and the same moles in the same places.

and its comforting to know that my cheeks flush red, and my lips remain a ridiculous hue that varies between pink and rosy purple; they are so garish, my lips, that they are part of the reason i wear a beard. alone on my face, they would be too obvious, too much "... a piece of raw tuna laid across my face." (go read "Memoirs of a Geisha," IMMEDIATELY!)

i am in love with skin. my own, and yours. its vitality. its expressiveness. its two-fold nature; what it reveals, and what it conceals inside.

i am in love with skin, and secrets it keeps.

and the secrets it doesn't.

There's Something...

there's something about standing in front of a cash register and service person, i think, that leaves human beings unable to process simple information in a timely and intelligent manner.

case in point:

i am at my cash register. an asian lady walks in, and no, she does not have an indecipherable accent. i can understand everything she says. its not that kind of a story.

she reached me, and told me she wanted to buy a fifteen dollar gift-card. i directed her to the display of cards in front of me, and told her to pick whichever she liked, and i would put fifteen dollars on it, and she'd be set. oh if only things were that easy...

she picked a card, i put on fifteen dollars of store credit, and that's when she asked for an envelope.

"i'm very sorry ma'am, but we're out of envelopes. we had three kinds just a week or two ago, but we've run out completely."

my manager pops up from below the counter. (she was looking for something, she wasn't hiding there for dramatic effect. oh if only she had been... if only life really were a cabaret...)

"you can put the card in a cup, and then say, 'hey, i got you a drink!' then, they open the cup, and they get a gift-card."

i love my manager. she's a fucking riot. sadly, her suggestion is dismissed by the customer.

i pipe up.

"what we've been doing, is taping shut the bottom of a cup sleeve with a coffee sticker, and slipping the card in there. its really very nice."

no no. this will simply not do either.

"but you don't have any envelopes?"

"no, i'm sorry, but we don't have any envelopes."

this provokes a long and serious sigh. and then, four other permutations of the same exchange.

"you don't have envelopes?"

"no, we don't have envelopes."

"well, do you have anything else i could put the card in?"

you mean like the cup, or the sleeve, or like an envelope?

"no, i'm sorry, we can put the card in a sleeve for you, or a cup, but we don't have anything else."

"when will you have envelopes?"

my manager comes to the rescue.

"not until thursday at least, ma'am."

"but you don't have any now?"

at this point, i really, really want to say: its because you're asian, miss. i'm sorry. if you weren't asian, i'd be able to help you. we have a billion envelopes, actually, but since you're asian, i just can't give you one. sorry.

really, i wanted to say anything just to make her go away. a line is growing behind her, and she keeps asking me, if i have an envelope.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I DON'T, HAVE, AN ENVELOPE! I'M SORRY! DO YOU WANT THE CARD, OR NOT!?

finally, she sinks into a silence punctuated by sighs. she looks at the card in the sleeve, she looks at me, she looks around the store, and she looks at the card.

"no, i think i'll buy the card somewhere else."

like somewhere where they have envelopes, i'll bet... i take the money off the card, and she leaves.

i still somehow do not understand the human animal. why do we do these things? what is wrong with us?

by the way, i've heard that lots of stores are currently out of envelopes for their gift cards. have a good drive, ma'am.

The Pleasure of Not Doing Business

i love time off from work. and it is rare these days, my friends. i had today off, though, and i have tomorrow off as well. i am pretty fucking stoked about that, i can tell you.

however, i'm tired, and a side effect of being all topsy-turvy due to work-related issues (and moderately productive on a day off even, thankyouverymuch) is that you don't have much time to blog. or at least, i don't have enough time or mental energy to patch the random events of my life into a coherent narrative. not that my coherent narratives are necessarily that coherent, but you know. i like them to sort of have a flow of some sort.

so i will be establishing a flow as best i can, at the moment, which means writing a list, basically. i like lists. i like lists a lot. they make it so that everything has a place it belongs, and everything is easily visible, and you can go along the list and check tasks off as you complete them, or insert rod a into slot b (hahahaha, i can quote family guy! i truly am just as intelligent as the vast majority of bloggers!), and just generally feel productive about your time.

and god knows but i love feeling productive. its like the greatest aphrodisiac in my life. i get wet when i smell three-ring binders, freshly cut paper, and professional binding machines.

i don't actually want to make a list right now, though. it would be a good way to sift through a lot of information that i've been storing up for when i actually have time to make blog entries about it. i could quickly give you an update on all things josh stone. but it seems cheap. and it seems like a really good way to sell myself short. and i don't want to flirt with either of those. so i think i'll just ramble for a bit, and see where we get.

i've been talking to someone online. its getting to that point where i can't actually tell if i like them or not. apparently, this is a problem that afflicts many INFJs. its amazing. i can talk to someone for ages, and not be sure how i feel about them. then, when i figure out i hate them, a tremendous weight is lifted off me. and when i find out i'm in love with them, its like i've been hit in the face with a frying pan. well, mostly, my current situation has led me to the following conclusions.

any way you slice it, twenty years old is young. its really young. and no matter how mature someone seems, or how grown up they sound, every time you talk, they are going to say something that makes you take a step back and look them up and down while you mutter, "my god, you really are twenty, and that is an amazing thing."

i've also realized, or allowed myself to actually pay attention to, a few facts: a) i graduated from one of the top ten or fifteen universities in the nation. THE NATION. i got in, i went, i learned a shitload, and i graduated. i am smart. b) i applied to three competitive graduate schools in my state, and i got, in, to each, one. all three. accepted. austin was always my first choice, but i had my pick of all three schools that i applied to. i am some kind of smart. i am good. i am smart. i work hard. i succeed. i do not fail. i made a choice to not continue with my graduate schooling, but i did not fail. i succeeded. by all accounts.

i don't read enough. i miss reading. and i miss reading academic texts. i miss reading critical articles about literature and race and class and sexuality. i miss theoretical writing. i miss feeling strong, and smart. the strong, i need to attack from a few new directions, but the smart, i'm feeling a little more, recently. its a good thing to feel.

also, its really hard to blog when you're listening to goldfrapp.

they kind of demand your attention.

and i'm sort of willing to give them my attention. and its a nice change, right now, to feel able to give my attention to something, without having to feel like i'm avoiding something.

Status Update:

the jock-itch has returned.

this is both literally true, and a good metaphor for how my life feels in general at the moment.

fungus is rapidly becoming something other than my favorite thing ever (big mushroom and yeast fan. i'll tell you about it later.)

fungus, is starting to really irritate me.

also, i feel like i weigh a ton.

that is all.

Well, I Asked For It...

recent events aren't actually doing much to make me something other than "the WEIRD guy," but they're certainly making me... something...

they're making me think i should be careful about wistfully longing for change.

because karma has no, sense of humor. none. at least, you won't find the shit funny until some time has passed. because karma, is one bad ass, combat boot wearing, sniper rifle carrying, unfiltered cigarette smoking, whiskey chugging, souped up mustang driving, all bets are off motherfucker.

recent events:

1) my store manager was fired.

2) two thirds of the staff decided to quit in a show of solidarity. or something. reasons are varied, but the general consensus is that things are just not the same. also, lots of them are young, and "don't want to work for a corporation that would just fire someone whose worked for them for seven years!" i must bite my tongue to not yell that indeed, all corporations are like that. oh well. i'm cynical. bite me.

3) i'm staying. and the next two months are going to be chaotic, depressing, and a major pain in the ass. but i need the job, i need the money, i need the insurance, and i probably need to learn how to weather such storms and practice saying the serenity prayer. so i'm staying. perhaps a raise or promotion is even in the works! who knows, right?

4) i feel fat like easter candy. i feel like a cadbury creme egg (i HATE those fucking things! EWWW!!!). after a three week hiatus, i'm back on a workout schedule, but i'm tired, man. i'm tired, and i feel like a jiggly pudding cup, and i'm just... not pleased with my physical situation right now. my blood sugars took this brief opportunity to climb up to unacceptable levels, and when i close my eyes, i see doctors amputating my gangrenous toes one by one. also, not exercising makes me depressed. welcome to suckfest.

5) my sister's totally unnecessary breast lift (she's twenty-three and gorgeous. and i'm not saying that because i'm her brothers. she's fucking beautiful. no one has EVER complained about how she looks naked. and she ain't the neighborhood bike or nothin', but she's had her kicks, y'know?) is coming up in a week and a half. i keep hoping she'll wake up one morning and say, "wow, this is something i don't have to do, and don't want to do! i like my body, just the way it is!" she won't. and i have to be supportive. but coming from a place where i've been diagnosed with a number of actual physical diseases that don't "go away" or "get healed," things that i just have to "deal with," this is all just too strange.

in fact, let's explore this last one a bit more. because recently, i've been rather upset with my body. i feel as though i've been doing everything right: i eat really, really healthily; i exercise regularly; i try to stay on top of my psychological shit, so as not to go apeshit; i take all my medications, on time and as prescribed; i don't drink, smoke, or toke.

my repayment: low functioning thyroid. totally treatable, common, no big deal.

BUT IT BASICALLY FEELS LIKE MY BODY IS GIVING ME THE FINGER AND TELLING ME TO GET BENT!

born with club foot. operated on. leg looks funky, but i can walk just fine, and have never had a problem with the limb since.

never a jock, never a fan of physical activity. feel fat. always. will only wear sweatpants or shorts until fifth grade. my first appearance in jeans is remarked upon by all the cool kids. super.

diagnosed with insulin dependent diabetes. ten years this july. thrilling. just, thrilling.

depression, alcoholism, drug abuse. attempted slutty behavior (failed, despite my best, most drunken efforts).

hypo-thyroid condition.

and this is totally turning into a pity party, and i don't want it to be. i don't like spending time moaning about how bad i have it, because i don't actually think i have it all that bad. i'm completely mobile, i'm smart and mentally agile, i'm articulate, i'm physically attractive despite my best efforts to hide or ignore it, i can basically do, whatever i choose to do. because i'm also a white male, not overtly effeminate, born into a middle-class family of well-educated professionals, with enough money left to me by my dead grandparents to pay for college and allow me to feel safe and comfortable. i really, have it fucking made.

i'm just shocked, is all.

i keep expecting that at some point, i'll get used to it. one day, i'll wake up, and everything i eat, every action i take, all the things i do that count double, because of my diseases, well, i'll just be all right with them. i'll have "dealt with them," and that'll be that. but i don't get used to them. you apparently can't just put these things to bed and get on with your life. and its so amazing to me that every time i have to tweak my insulin doses, or force myself to go to the gym, or work really hard to not eat that one cookie, its like a slap in the face. its fresh again, real, visceral. and lately, its been driving me crazy.

i've mentioned (have i? i don't remember...) that my current "project" is to not invalidate my feelings, but rather to let myself feel them, and accept them as just as powerful a reality as "objective" reality. and i didn't expect that a great deal of feelings are wrapped up in my health issues. which is so silly sounding when i type it. but i really thought i had dealt with it; packaged it, boxed it, taped it up, and put it on a shelf with a label so i can find it if necessary. but with this whole last month, its really been one big frustrated and pissy "FUCK IT!" i'm tired of dealing with this shit. i'm tired of everything i do having both an immediate effect, and a long term cumulative effect. i'm tired of my future forever being a question of "i wonder if i'll get to keep both my feet?" i'm tired, and i'm sad, and i'm pissed of, and the wound isn't healed, it isn't even scabbed over at the moment, its open, and bloody, and it hurts and hurts and hurts.

so perhaps you can see why my sister's unnecessary surgery is bugging me so much. BEYOND the fact that i think plastic surgery, or cosmetic surgery, or "getting work done" is just, its so horrible. its such a hatred of body and self, to feel you need to erase, or jostle, or change what you were born with, and given by the universe. and obviously, i'm not talking about corrections of major issues, be they accident induced, or genetic. because we are a society that judges people on looks, and everyone deserves at least a fighting chance. supermodels are supermodels for a reason (and that reason is anorexia and cocaine) but no one should be relegated to the category of sideshow anomoly. (though i suppose there could be good money in the field. i don't know. i've never checked.) but my sister is beautiful. she's beautiful, and so gorgeous, and i don't want her to feel the need to change for anybody. i want her to see herself the way i see her. i want her to feel as beautiful as she looks. i don't want her to let people cut on her so her "saggy titties" don't bother her anymore.

but of course, i'm a little biased.

in other news, i think the jock-itch has cleared up. and that makes me pretty happy.

sigh...

Mid-Course Correction?

i've decided i'm tired of being "the weird guy."

cuz that's totally what i am, who i am, the character i end up being in everyone's life, including mine. i'm that crazy, funny guy; i'm the guy who talks to himself, and who dances around, even when there's no music. i'm that guy that says funny things. i'm that guy who always gets played by a character actor. i'm the guy who isn't super-attractive (even though i sort of am) and who plays second fiddle to the guy who gets the girl. i'm the guy whose name is never above the title during the credits. i'm the funny-man, the second banana, the kramer.

i'm tired of it.

i'm tired of it not in that i think i'm being somehow not "genuine." i think i'm being perfectly me. i haven't even been thinking overly much about how i'm presenting myself to who, and how they are in turn perceiving me. well, my "not thinking much" is often your "thinking way too damn much." but still, i'd been doing well for me. i've to a surprising degree, just been living. but here i am, able to count the number of close friends in the area on one hand. to everyone else, i've been classified as the nutty dude who may or may not be a complete and utter pot-head. i'm the loopy one who no one wants to really pry open and take a look inside of.

i'm tired of it.

and i'm not tired of it in the sense that i want to fundamentally change who i am. nor do i like caring about how i'm being perceived. but i'm finding a dearth of people who are willing to look at me wholly and fully, not as simply a caricature of a few of my personality traits. i'm tired of being pigeon-holed. and much as i would resist it until fully ready, i'm tired of people having little desire to explore me more fully. i'm tired of weak people who are willing to take what i feed them, and have no interest in rising to the delicious and complex challenge that i am.

in short, i feel like i'm not allowed to be a protagonist in my own life. i feel like i'm perpetually there to amuse others, and even me, but that a constant parade of people are passing me by, spinning out their own stories and making progress, making love, making connections. and i'm the funny guy. the creepy guy. my story never gets told.

and i wonder, as i type this, how much of this is because i won't let my story go on. i'm on the right path, but i know i'm... still in a holding pattern? not moving on? i don't know. i'm working on it. but i'm still in first gear? i also wonder how much i'm simply creating my own reality with people. i know i project an air of unapproachability. sure, i'm goofy and funny and shit, but i'm very careful about what i see as "imposing" on other people, or looking desperate or lonely. so i don't ask to be included, and i don't do anything to invite them to. and i have a great many "protective mechanisms" in place, and even if people aren't consciously aware of them, or understand what i'm doing, i'm sure they sense them. i think i trick people into thinking i'm dangerous, and that they should stay away for their own good.

maybe i am dangerous, and they should stay away for their own good...

but for the love of fucking god, not EVERYONE should stay away!!!

geeze...

so i don't know. i don't particularly want to be "normal," but i sort of do. i don't feel like i'm THAT cracked out... but maybe i am. i just don't know. but i know i'm lonely, and i know i'm tired of being whatever it is that people take me for.

i'm tired of being taken for less than i am.

i'm tired of it.

Feeling Kinda Hostile...

sooo i'm in a foul mood.

yes, i know, this isn't really a "suprise" or "something out of the ordinary" or "blah blah blah blah sarcasm!" i know i'm petulant and whiny. i know you know. but i'm the one writing this blog. i KNOW why i'm coming back. if YOU'RE coming back, well, maybe you should be looking at that, huh?

so everyone at work basically thinks i'm a total pot-head. AND NO, I'M NOT!!! i've actually been stone cold sober and unaltered for almost two years now. but apparently, i still act and look like a total druggie. this is not actually a surprise, per-see, but it was still sort of disheartening. like, if i'm going to be perceived as a smoked out weirdo anyway, shouldn't i at least actually smoke and have the fun?

and no, no, no, that's not really an option. because i get really non-functional when i'm stoned, and i don't like the person i eventually became when i was actively smoking. i'd like to not be that person again. so i'm not going to smoke. but really... geeze. i didn't know i was that ridiculous...

best part: i was so tired and mildly ill the day after i got let in on this rumor that i was COMPLETELY cracked out. full on spazz mode. that, and the fact that i was sort of fixated on the situation, made it all just look like the world's worst denial.

and really, i don't overly care. except that i've been working so hard to stay clean... sigh...

and today, i got written up for giving away free drinks to co-workers when they aren't actually working. a no brainer, right? sort of. allow me...

as much as i was aware that free drinks are only during a shift, and the half hours before and after a shift, it was made quite clear to me by co-workers that what you did, when someone from the store came in off-shift, was hook them up. end of discussion. against the rules, yes. but what you do.

now admittedly, i'm not that great at like, subtlety, or reading into the finer points of a situation. i should have been more careful, obviously. but i wasn't. i didn't think to distinguish between times when a manager in on the sitch was around, or when a manager NOT in on the sitch was around. i didn't think to keep it quiet and low-key. so last week, i got caught by our new manager (who i'm sort of friends with. except when she needs to lay the smack down. its all very difficult, this personal versus professional stuff. and i'm horrible at it.) giving free beverages to an off-duty co-worker, and she gave me a verbal warning.

which was irritating enough, because then i get mad at her as i would at a friend. when she's totally just got her boss hat on and is doing her job. i know it isn't a reflection on how she feels about me personally, and i know that i'm not good at separating personal and professional. in fact, i'm not sure how much i've EVER developed the "professional" side of that equation. anyway, i digress.

so today, the district manager was in the store all day (FUN!!!) working with our store manager. during a break, store manager pulls me into the office (he actually politely asked me to come into the back room for a minute. there were no goons. it was not a mob-type thing.) and tells me that during discussion, the manager who caught me mentioned the episode described above to the both store and district manager. so the same incident was filed as a written warning.

now, i'm told (and i probably AM) getting off lucky, as giving away drinks is tantamount to stealing from the company, and i could have been terminated instead of getting a verbal warning. and then, i could have gotten terminated instead of getting a written warning. now, i can just be terminated the next time i'm caught doing it. which will probably be never. sort of. i don't know.

but in the meantime, i'm irritated, because of a few things:

1) i'm irritated because i was caught, and i got in trouble. simple as that. everyone knows that rules are there, and that they're to be followed. i know this, i agree with this, but i also think that rules just shouldn't apply to me, especially when i've been breaking them. its a human thing, we all feel like that, its how we're wired. whatever.

2) i'm irritated because of my own problems with not being able to distinguish when things are personal, and when things are professional. the easy solution would be to always be professional when i'm at work. but that doesn't sound like any fun to me, and i would like to be able to relax and have fun while i'm working. by the way, i think i'm getting some sort of eye twitch from the sustained stress. that's something separate though.

3) i'm irritated because the store manager knows that basically, everyone and their dog gives away drinks to a few people. but i'm the one who happened to have done it most recently, i'm the one who was brought up in conversation, so i'm the one who got the slap on the wrist. dumb luck.

4) i'm irritated because i'm getting dinged twice for the same instance. i got my verbal warning, and trust me, i heard it. i don't like being in trouble, i don't like being irritated with my boss for being a boss because i'm personally hurt by something she did as a professional.

5) i'm irritated because it feels arbitrary. we all bend the rules, we all skirt some things. and i work damn hard. i take my job seriously, i make myself be pleasant to all the customers, i work really hard on the bar, i do what i'm told, even if its not my favorite task, etc, etc, etc. this is embarassing. i'll warn you now. but i really like starbucks, and i really like my job. i don't like starbucks as a corporate entity, i don't think, but i like them for giving me a job, and giving me a place to go and work. i like them for giving me benefits, and taking care of me. and i like the people i work with, and the store i work at. i like being a part of all of that. and the people i work with know it, i think. i'm pretty sure... anyway, to be so invested in something, and then get dinged for something that really seems like a technicality... well shit. what the fuck?

i do understand that the disciplinary action has nothing to do with how my managers feel about me. and i completely understand that we lose a good chunk of change every day from people giving away drinks. i understand that its technically stealing from the company, and i understand why its as serious an offense as it is.

but in the interest of not short-changing myself, i FEEL really upset. i FEEL really fucking pissed. i'm irritated, i'm annoyed, and i'm really fucking ANGRY. i'm not sure what to do with it, or where to put it, but its there.

and that was my day at work.

also, in the "Use It Or Lose It" department, my sadly neglected jockal area has jock itch. which is in actuality, a minor fungal infection. but i can't find my lamisil. and its gonna sting when i do.

all in all, what with the tiredness, and crap, and the dick issue, i feel like i'm falling apart, and i don't necessarily feel like its even worth the effort to put myself back together again.

and having written about my jock-itch, i am now absolutely certain that someone i know will find this all. because the chance of my cover being blown increases in direct proportion to just how embarrassing things get on this page. well, we have a new winner.

Jock Itch, everyone, Jock Itch.