my mother

my mother is a very cool woman. at first, she, like me, can be hard to get to know, but once you do, she's very easy to figure out. she never ceases to amaze me.

i was talking to her last night and i was telling her about this band i've been listening to a lot called Stars. as i'm saying it she says,"Oh! Stars, i know them. i really like their music." how is it that my mother knows more about them than i do? it's like the day she told me that she really liked Radiohead. come to think of it, i think she went to see them in concert. i don't know, i may have just made that up, but i don't think so.

the best thing about mom and music is that it's never that sort of, "so this is what you kids are listening to today" way. she actually likes them. she's the one who gave me my first Death Cab For Cutie albums. she also bought me Postal Service and Frou Frou for my birthday last year. it's so crazy, i mean, she likes Bjork. whose mother likes Bjork? that is what makes her so damn cool.

i was reading this magazine the other day and it said that Stars and Death Cab were in town at Pearl Street the day or two before. i told her this and figured it had to have been cancelled, because i hadn't heard a thing about it. she said, "What? They were in town and you didn't see them? You're not my daughter." it's funny to freak out about a group to your mom and have her not only understand, but, generally, freak out more than you.

the best is when she gets crushes on band members. my mom is a very adorable woman, but few things are cuter than her groupie screams.

lazy wildebeest

Andrea and i are some lazy bastards. at least Andrea has a valid reason, she's disabled and has limited mobility. i'm just your standard, run-of-the-mill lazy. ruled by lethargy, i am.

i think it's been worse lately since i've been sick. i've been giving into my whims. when i yawn, i take a nap. when my stomach growls, i make some food. i wake up when my eyes open and spend my days playing games or watching cartoons. so, this whole "back to work" thing, is really fucking with my nap time.

i am, by far, the laziest when it comes to my hair. it's thick. it's fairly long. it's extremely curly and is as unruly as i am. luckily, people have no expectations for my kind of hair. there are times when i, literally, won't comb my hair for three days and i'll come into work and people are like, "your hair is sooo cute. what did you do to it?" to which i'll respond, "neglected it for the last three days." it's crazy. it works out well for my slothful disposition. i guess i just lucked out.

i've been meaning to wash and straighten my hair for two days now. i revised my 5 yr old retardo braids for a more...maintained look. make no mistake, they're still retarded, but they look intentional, which makes them a "style." so all night i've been on the phone with Andrea telling her periodically that i need to do my hair. right before we hung up she said:

"you did it again."
"did what?"
"got distracted and didn't do your hair."
"oh shit. well, i guess i'll braid them up again and watch some more Looney Tunes."

so that got us started on laziness. since Andrea is disabled, she has an aide come and clean her house and give her a pedicure and shit like that. she's had a few trial and lots of errors with helpers and has settled with employing her sister, Pauline. so, in our talks Andrea says she has me beat in the laziness department. she said, "Girl, Pauline shaved my legs." i just started laughing and then said,"How do you ask for that?"

not doing your dishes for a few days is fine. not doing laundry until your clothes damn near walk on their own is fair. not shaving your own legs is acceptable for awhile. not shaving your legs and then having someone else do it for you is crazy...yet admirable. i think i respect it, in a way. it's just one of those situations where you can't even imagine how that conversation goes. apparently, Pauline offered. i guess she figured that Andrea couldn't really reach all parts of her leg, especially the back, and thought it'd be nice. it is really nice, just weird.

pot roast

i've been cooking more lately. now that i have guinea pigs, er, i mean, dudes who will eat my shit, i can try new dishes and they can tell me how they like them. they seem relatively comfortable with me experimenting on their stomachs. the thing is that i generally don't like eating things that i've cooked. not that it's nasty, it's just that i've been looking at and smelling the damn ingredients all day the last thing i want to do is consume them.

i'm on to the crock pot. the nice thing about that is that since it takes so long to cook things, i don't have the "sick of looking at it" problem. so, i'm more inclined to eat. today, i made a pot roast. it's not spectacular. really, it needs some lovin', but i don't know what; salt, for starters, i suppose. the meat is super tender and everything looks right, it just isn't very flavorful. i noticed that when i was mixing the ingredients together, but you never know what 6 hours of cooking will do to the juices and flavor. so, i didn't want to add anything, in case after a few hours of stewing, the spice became overwhelming.

it's not bad for my first time out of the box. it's definitely hearty. it looks like i should be force feeding my drunken friend and telling him where to find Count Rugen.

sick

i've been sick for the past few days. i'm not intensely sick, but i'm a "general crappiness" sick. i took off of work yesterday so i'd have three days to just sleep and relax. the worst thing about living alone is that there's on one to take care of you. back at home, i'd have my dad pick me up medicine or food or something. now, i have to drag my achy ass out of bed and do it all myself. it's fucking lame.

my dad's always been on my case about taking a multi-vitamin. i've never gotten into it. i don't generally eat well, so i could do with one, but they're fucking nasty, horse pills. fuck that. so, yesterday i was thinking again about vitamins and decided to take it back to old school, eatin' soul food. Flinstone's Vitamins...ya damn right. they're chewable and come in different shapes and flavors. just because i'm older doesn't mean every part of my life has to be bitter and hard to swallow. it has all of the things i need and is tasty. yea, me.

since i was already in the 5 year old mode, i decided to keep it going. i braided two big retardo braids in my hair so i didn't have to fuss with it in between napping. then, i went over to a friend of mine's house and borrowed a shit load of Looney Tunes. Looney Tunes Ultimate Collection volumes 1 and 2. Sah-Weet! i rearranged my room so that the TV in my room is right next to the bed and have been watch, laughing, and nodding off to animated shenanigans all day. it's amazing how the comedy in them holds up to time. i've come to realize that my favorite ones are with Bugs Bunny and operas. by far, the best one is where he's conducting the opera guy and has him hit this high note and makes him hold it until the guy is banging on the floor, turning blue, purple, and polka dots, and the ceiling falls in on him. then the guy emerges from the rubble, Bugs looks up and sees this boulder teetering on the edge of the beam and makes the guy hit the same note until the rock falls and nails him.

that's some funny shit. i'm not even stoned. oh man! how funny would that be? fucking Looney Tunes stoned. good times.

this is the first time in a long time i've enjoyed my sick days. i can't eat a lot of sweet things, because sugar lowers your immune system, but i've been fucking up some yogurt and orange juice. i've cooked myself breakfast and made dinner and everything. it's been raining like Seattle here, so i'm not missing anything. i'm just chillin' out at home, cooking, sleeping, reading and napping. that, my friend, is good living.

the best thing is that my girl is home all day, so i have company. few things are worse than when you're home sick and there's nothing on TV and no one to talk to. if you have someone to call, the worst show becomes highly entertaining.

tomorrow's going to be a sad day when the alarm goes off.

cruel

accidental cruelty is almost as bad as intentional cruelty. the latter means you're being a asshole. the former means you don't care enough to pay attention. i'm not sure if there's much of a difference. academically, there is, i suppose. either way, the impact is still the same. i guess it all depends on which is worse: being a target or forgotten.

fight

i got into this fight last night and got fucked up. i was trying to print out the playlist of the cd i had just made and the fucking printer had a paperjam. that's not that big of a deal, except the printer wouldn't let go of the damn paper. i kept pushing buttons and double clicking and everything. it got to the point to where i was losing my cool and started to pull the printer out of its spot under my desk.

so, i'm on the floor and tearing and ripping at the paper, while i'm cussing out the printer. i finally get the damn thing to spit the paper put. that's when it happened. my hand started to hurt and i realized that i had cut both of my hands in several places and there was blood on my printer. i fucked myself up.

few things piss me off more that inanimate objects not doing what they're told. especially computers. i mean, you are comprised of nothing but a motherboard and 0's and 1's. so obnoxious. come on, the printer only has one job.

well, that, and i might need some anger management classes.

origin

at least i know where i get it from. i can be quite the asshole and condescending to boot. it's good to know why you are the way you are. i'm this way because, much like the kid with drugs in the PSA from the 80's, i learned it from my father. my dad's an English professor and has a way with words. he's trying to get some paintings over to Ukraine for an art showing and is worried that, in the KLM leg of the trip, the "bitches" on KLM (the stewardesses) will make him check them and, therefore, guarantee the ruin that comes from a 11 hour flight in the cargo hold. so, my dad wrote a letter to the President of Northwest Airlines --partnered with KLM--to inquire about this issue.

here are a couple of gems from that email:

Here is my question: can you -- or your agents in
St. Louis -- guarantee that my carry-on paintings
(which I am sure will be allowed to be carried on in St. Louis)
will then be allowed to be carried on by KLM stewardesses
(who are notoriously arrogant and unhelpful)
from Amsterdam to Kyiv?

then there's:

But, if you cannot guarantee
my paintings' safety at the hands of your KLM "partners,"
I will, instead, fly Delta from St. Louis to JFK
and AeroSvit from JFK to Kyiv and from Kyiv to Odessa,
thereby avoiding the KLM "problem people" completely.

problem people...what a dick.

i love my father. the good news is that i really did learn everything from home. it's gotta start somewhere.

honky town

won't you take me to (trilling tongue) Honky Tow-w-wn!
won't you take me to (trilling tongue) Honky Town.

oh, wait, i already fucking live here.

before i continue, here's a cast of characters:
Karen: store manager, early/mid 30's, all around pretty nice
Lou: cafe manager, mid-late 50's, basically cantankerous and angry at life

so, i'm at the morning meeting and we're talking about shit that almost never has to do with me. it's a good way to kill 10 min. of the day, though, so i don't tend to mind. we're at the meeting and Karen says to start looking out for shoplifters and shit. apparently, people would take the book and leave the jacket behind.

here's a tidbit for everyone: the barcode is not the sensor. take the jacket. you went through all of that trouble stealing book, you might as well get the pretty pictures.

so, Karen is naming off some of the jackets left on her desk. a couple of Anne Hooper's pocket sex books and the new 50 Cent book. what happened next epitomizes why i hate living here:

Me: why would someone want to steal a 50 Cent book?

Karen: No, not a $.50 book, the book about 50 Cent.

Lou: You know, the rapper, Fiddy. Fiddy Cent.

Me: Yes, thank you, I'm black, I know who 50 Cent is.

(staff laughter)

Karen: Oh, you're asking why someone would want to steal his book.

Me: Yes, because he's garbage and so is his book.

(more laughter, mostly nervous, with eyes searching wildly)

Me: By the way, I'm going to tell all of my black friends about this.

what a bunch of assholes. i realize, in life, assuming is not a good look, but let's employ a little logic. i think it's safe to say that i know a little more about rap than a fucking angry, 50 year old grandmother from western Mass. Je-sus Christ. Fiddy. shut the fuck up. if Lou knows more about 50 than i do, i will surrender my black card. i'll start from scratch. i'll read Jet magazine and Ebony to build my blackness back up. i'll watch BET and fucking read every Eric Jerome Dickey book out there. Fiddy. just be still.

i was trying to explain to someone why living here sucks balls. basically, i need black people. not sold muthafuckers or over-compensating assholes, either. i need some chill black people. i need slang. i need Cosby references. i need to know that you've seen the fucking Cosby show (believe it or not, it's not a given). the thing is that i can certainly activate my white side and speak in Cracka code, but i need a break from it. there's a whole other side of me that needs to come out...and not solely for entertainment purposes. i don't want my slang to generate laughter. it's not "a good one," it's my fucking dialect. i once brought in my Mos Def cd and got through two songs before the dude i worked with said,"Mos Def doesn't like white people, does he?" boy am i not fucking getting into that shit. i took out the cd and Mos has never made it back there. Mos isn't even the worst i've got. i just can't relax and be me. i can't really do what i like. there is, of course, a certain amount of conformity wherever you go, but i've got nothing. that's not to say i don't like Death Cab or the Decemberists. i fucking love them. i'm definitely better for having them in my life...and totally want to make out with Colin. i also like Fatman Scoop, though. how do you rectify that? i guess you dance a lot at home.

i feel so fucking stifled. it's like if you loved meat and butter and accidentally moved onto a vegan compound. you can eat vegetables, they're good. i like spinach. however, snow peas are not curing your hankering for some BBQ ribs.

luckily, i employ a zen-like attitude with these people. i fucking have to. they should thank me too, it's the only thing keeping them safe.

i almost forgot

last night at the concert, right before The Decemberists came on, they were playing Peter and the Wolf by Prokofiev on the overhead. we all agreed that you're another kind of badass when the prep music to your show is fucking Prokofiev. i was standing there with Sarah and humming along to the music and she turns to me and asks, "Is this Peter and the Wolf?" i'd been singing along and knew the melody, but hadn't realized what it was. so, we ask Travis and agreed that that was pretty fucking cool. it makes sense, though. this is a group that can effortlessly and logically work tarlatan and palanquin into a song. so, it's not too much of a stretch to have Prokofiev playing. it was very cool.

sort of like when i went to see Wyclef in concert and, at the end of the concert, he turned the house lights up and played Ah-Ha's Take on Me. you know you're badassed when you have niggas dancing in the aisles to Ah-Ha. That, my friend, is the mark of success.

the hotness of glasses

some friends of mine and i went to see The Decemberists tonight and it was so incredible. i love this band. it was Sarah's first time seeing them, so i had the double pleasure of seeing them for myself, but watching her experience them for the first time. it was so much fun. she was so geeked out about it. it was really fucking cool. the music was amazing. i had such a good time i was sweating from everywhere. at one point, i took Sarah's hand to my chest and had he feel the copious amount of sweat pouring off of me. good shit.

my favorite part was watching her see Colin for the first time. he's a very unassuming, dorky looking guy, at first glance. he has that geek hair, scooped to the side, and some horn-rimmed glasses on. then he opens his mouth...my God the hotness. between him playing the hell out of the guitar and singing those incredible songs, he's oozing hot. not in that rock star back-to-your-hotel hot. i'm talking totally take him home to mom. he'll hold your hand walking down the street and sing you new songs on lazy Sundays afternoons.

part of the appeal is the glasses. Sarah and i were talking about it and i said that what makes glasses so hot is that you can take them off. the process of removing someone's glasses is wildly sexy. in taking off the glasses you are placing yourself the other persons' hands. your vision is impaired and are at the other's mercy. not in a sinister way of "mercy," but in the way that it requires trust. even if they're not legally blind, the principle remains. with their uncorrected eyes you can tell them anything. for all they know, with their 40/20 vision, i'm amazingly hot.

Sarah and i went on with that for awhile. Colin is just so adorable.

oh, continuing on the glasses theme, a weird thing happened tonight. i rarely wear my glasses. primarily, because i never remember until i need them. that only happens at night, or when i'm driving long distances, or need to see long distances. since i don't need them for everyday life, i forget them a lot. i didn't forget them this time. i figured we'd be far back, or i'd be inbetween civilized giants, so i need them to see Colin's face. so, i put them on and had a few drinks. it was such a strange experience. the liquor was blurring my eyes, but the glasses were correcting them. i'm telling you, it was so weird. it's like having a lucid trip or something. everything is in perfect view, but your brain is swimming and not really understanding everything that you're clearly seeing. fucking weird, man.

just a kiss

i, under the influence, no less, realized something. i don't really date...at all. i date people, but i don't go out and meet people at bars or anything. so i don't have that casual interaction with men. so, when i kiss someone --these days-- it means something to me. i certainly had my, ahem, promiscuous days, but i'm well over it. i don't get involved with just anyone. well, my last boyfriend turned out to be a nightmare, but who could've known? anyway, i met this guy a while ago and have been waiting for the time to be right for us. it was for one night, but it seems as though we came at it from two different angles.

i don't know what his angle is so i'm not even going to postulate. i'd liked him and had been wanting to hang out with him since forever. i think we were on the same page there. after that, i have no idea.

so, it seems to come down to this: it was just a kiss.

granted it was a 4 hour makeout extravaganza, but it seems to have meant the same as a single kiss. it's ok, i guess. i mean, there's nothing i can do about it, so it sort of has to be ok. i think i've just been out of the dating loop for so long, that i don't know what anything means anymore. i really like this guy, but i'm not savvy enough to figure this out. i don't know what to do. obviously, i would've liked for it to have meant something to him or, i guess more to the point, for me to mean something to him.

it's silly, really, to think that a kiss can change something. how very Hollywood of me, i suppose.

couple of questions

i have a couple of questions i've been thinking about tonight:

how can PYT make you feel so good to sing along to, yet so dirty?

do Brazilian waxes give you that intense pleasure/pain? i mean, for something that forcably rips the hairs off of all that you hold sacred on your body, i imagine that it provides a certain intense, euphoric pain that makes your nipples hard.

my cure

i love waking up in the morning to The Cure's Pictures Of You. i love this song. it makes me feel good and i swell with a love for everything. it's like nothing can touch me with this song. it's one of those songs that the best way to listen to it is with some DJ headphones turned almost all the way up, laying in the middle of your livingroom floor in the dark. it's not even a happy song. it's very lamentative and longing. plus the lead singer sounds like he's on the brink of tears. it's wierd, though, because the song doesn't make me sad. i don't know how to explain it, it's just a wildy amazing song.

whatever it takes

i felt sort of bad for people who had to suffer through me today. i was in the foulest mood. it was definitely prompted by a few rapid firing things, but i hate subjecting innocents to my moods. i can get quite icy. it was so bad that Sarah had offered to come hang out with me on my lunchbreak and i called her back to tell her not to come. i was in no shape for company and would, undoubtedly, spend the whole time wallowing and complaining. i didn't want to put her through it and i didn't want to hear myself whine. especially since, in both cases, there's nothing i can do and just have to suck it up.

i broke out of it after i wrote this...well, let me explain first. i had just wolfed down a 6" sub and was feeling rather nauseated. truth be told, i was really hungry, but i was mostly angry and wanted to punish something. so i punished the sandwich. clearly, that was a bad move which i came to regret about 5 min. after doing so. i'm not normally that reactionary, but i was in rare form today. so, i'm in the back, trying not to move too much and really detesting my current state--on a number of levels-- and decided to call Andrea. when answered i said:

"I wish I could drink some lighter fluid, or some sort of accelerant, vomit all over this place and burn it down. I would be satisfied with just set it on fire, but I want to be actively involved in it. I want my burning bile to singe their lungs so they can know my rage."

yea, i know. i was having a moment. i'm really quite a jovial person. i was having a bad fucking day. more than anything, i just let my mind run with it. not that i don't want to burn this place sometimes, but the whole "singe their lungs" bit was just watching what fucked up thing my mind came up with next. sort of like when i write at 2am. all of the social mores and personal restraints are gone and it's just me and whatever the hell my brain comes up with...for better or worse. i know. i'm fucked up...

... but it got me out of my mood.

insane in the membrane

i've been so crazy this last week. i came home from my brothers' wedding last Thursday and tomorrow will be my first day off. it's so ridiculous. 6 days in a row and the first two were 15 hr. days. crazy talk, my friend, crazy talk.

working this much has sort of worked out well. since i got back on the 29th and Sept. has 30 days, i had to pay all of my bills and prepare for the first in a day. luckily, i've been at work and haven't spent hardly any money. so, first it was good because i had no money, but didn't have any free time to lament that fact. now, i have money and still have no time. consequently, i have no groceries.

i went home for about a week or so and had to clean out my fridge. i bought milk as soon as i came back, of course, but other than that... nothing. so tonight, i had to rush home to call Andrea in time for Lost. therefore, i skipped the store. (i know. i know. priorities) for dinner i had popcorn, about 6 pineapple chunks, water, and oatmeal. well, i'm eating the oatmeal now, after my stomach let out a woeful cry for...anything. my place is in the classic case of "peanut butter and no jelly." i'm missing one ingredient from everything. it's sad. it's very Fight Club. how embarrassing. a refrigerator full of condiments.

i have tomorrow off, but still can't go shopping. i have to wait for the phone guy until, at least, noon and then i have a doctor's appointment at 12:45pm. after that, though, i'm seriously Big Y-ing it. not to mention, i'm cooking tomorrow and have two of the seven ingredients needed.

on the plus side, my bills are paid and i get paid tomorrow. that's a good look.

weeping

i have been weeping like a child for the better part of two hours. maybe an hour. i don't know. it's not even that sweet flow of tears like the movies. i'm a bit scared to look in the mirror, but my lips are chapped, my eyes are swollen, my nose is stuffed up, and i have a lump in my throat. it's 2 in the morning and i've been laying in bed crying.

what, do you ask, has caused this emotional outpour? memories of a tragedy long since past? no. bad news on the homefront? nope. a midnight showing of Beaches? not even close. i just finished reading Harry Potter and Dumbledore is dead. seriously, i'm welling up just typing it. i've known for ever that he died, but to read it is so sad. the last time i cried like this over a book was Brilliance of the Moon, the third book of the Tales of the Otari trilogy by Lian Hearn.

i left a few tear stains on the pages and my comforter is sopping wet where i was laying. snot was running out of my nose. i'm not kidding, man. i was crying so hard i could barely read the page. i happened to have a paper towel near by and was seriously soaking up my tears so i could keep reading. i realize that death hits a harder chord with me now, so maybe that aided in the weep-fest.

ugh, it's just so sad.

i realize that i'm not 15 or anything, but what is Harry going to do? how is he going to find the horcruxes by himself? then he has to kill Voldemort. how's he going to do that? he'll probably push everyone away to keep them safe, but he can't do it alone. maybe Dumbledore's Army will really become just that. and Snape! that bastard. there better be a twist, because he knows where the headquarters' of the Order is and their secrets. there has to be a twist. he'd better be working the inside. Snape's been so horrible, but Dumbledore trusted him. there'd better be an unbelievably moving story behind that bond.

man, this woman has one more book. that bastard had better be fucking incredible. it better be amazing, long, and with the return of, at least, Sirius. i mean, he only fell behind a creepy curtain. surely there's a way of retrieving him. oh, i'm so distraught. the worst part was Fawkes singing his song of mourning all over the grounds of Hogwarts.

this next book better not take as long as this one did, either. i can't bear to reread this again.

i've gotta go to bed. my head hurts and i'm too old for this. i have a job and bills and am a grown-up (sort of) dammit! i can't lay here crying over Harry Potter at 2:30 in the morning.

ah, the shamelessness the cover of night allows us.

marlboro man

i had this dream last night about Marlboro Reds. yea, the cigarettes. it was weird. i was in some town and i was looking for someone. when i found him, he ended up being Diego Luna... who is adorable... but, in a way, it wasn't him. anyway, so i found him and we went back to his place. i think he was hurt and tired, so i put him in bed and then went searching for a quick store that sold the cigarettes for him. it was late and the streets were damp from an earlier rain. there were all of these things (people, clubs, etc.) that kept trying to derail my mission. i ended up finding a little store across the street from a club that was trying to lure me in. i bought the cigarettes and went back to him.

it's probably one of my most vivid and random dreams i've had in a very long time.

so, tonight, i got off of work --after cramming a weeks worth of hours in two days-- came home and took a hot bath. so, i'm in the tub, surrounded by sun ripened raspberry bubbles, and am running the sponge over me and all i'm thinking about is Marlboro Reds.

it's so weird. i don't even remember the last time i smoked them. when i was in high school i did for a bit, but quickly switch to Newports...because i was black and smoked weed. anyway, i quit for a long time and then started up again. the last time i smoked i was deep into Camel Turkish Golds...which are delicious...so i don't know.

maybe my heart desires a man who smokes them. if that's the case, then i need to move back home. they're rampant there. here everyone smokes Lucky Strikes or Camels or Native Spirits. either that or they're really pretentious and roll their own. i don't think i know anyone who smokes some good ol' Marlboro Reds. i think it'd be refreshing to see someone who did, though.

careful, folks

the points of your hoods are showing.

between Bennett and Barbara, it looks like these good ol' boys and girls have gotten a bit too comfortable.

seriously, Democrats, the Republicans are lining them up...knock those bastards down. for the love of Jesus Christ himself.