knuckle rings

i've decided that i want two knuckle rings.

i'm not talking about the ring that extends across the knuckle. no, i'm talking about, essentially, brass knuckles that say shit...much like Don "Magic" Juan's ring, oh, excuse me, Bishop Don "Magic" Juan. i want them, because i'm not bold enough to get a tattoo of it, but i think it'd be awesome.

here's what i want: two knuckle rings. one that says "wack" and one that says "wrong." that way when someone is cuttin' up and showin' their ass, i can just punch it up, "wack and wrong."

that's what i'm talking about.

beat

there's no real point to this entry, except to keep me from having nightmares.

i just got off of a serious haul. i left my mom's house in St. Louis this morning at 6am and just got in to MA 20 min ago. i'm fucking road whipped. granted, i didn't do all of the driving. Denise did two stints of two hours to let me sleep, other than that, the rest of the 14 hours were my gig.

now, you might wonder why i'm not properly knocked the fuck out. the answer is simple: delirium. the thing is that i'm so tired and the drive is so fresh, that if i don't do something completely unrelated to traveling, i won't know --when i do get to sleep-- if i really made it here, or i'm asleep at the wheel dreaming i'm here.

fucked up, i know.

two of the scarest things have happened to me to make this a rountine. i once fell alseep at the wheel and was so relaxed i was surprised to find myself still on the road. granted that was in my earlier stages of cross country driving, but that's not something you ever forget or repeat. i've also dreamt that i was still on the road and woke up with a start afraid it was true. that is, obviously, less dangerous, but no less jarring. the problem with the latter is that when i'm on the road for 18 hours, the line between reality and dream blur surprisingly easily. your brain starts to go numb after the 4th hour in 80 east in PA. besides, it's not like i have the firmest grip on reality anyway.

so, it's because of that that i'm doing this.

i'm think i'm nice and adjusted. well, whether i am or not, i'm going to do some stretches and pass the fuck out. my eyes just can stand being open anymore.

random acts of kindness

i'm hitting the road in about 6 hours.

i was out running errands and saw Goat and offered him a ride home. i wasn't going to Northampton or anything, but it was 91 degrees out and i could've done for some gas. so, i gave him a ride. as we're driving, i was trying to get my A/C to work. the air blowing out was as hot as the air outside. in fact, as the day progressed, the air outside actually became cooler. this is a problem when you're about to head halfway across the country to a place that promises to average 92 degrees for the entire week i'm gone.

since i was in Northampton, i figured i'd pop into the dealership and see if they had any thoughts. now, i was just there the day before getting an oil change and figured that the problem with the A/C was connected to the coolant. oh, where is Shawn when i need him. well, the coolant just keeps the car from overheating. i, not knowing that, figured the A/C problem would resolve itself with that. so, i never asked the guys to take a look at it.

it's about 4:45pm on a friday and i pull into the drive. i go in and explain the situation and the guys couldn't have been nicer. the main guy, who was going on vacation after today, spend the next 15 min. calling all over the place trying to see if any garages were open. no one was.

in the end, i popped over to Auto Zone and got a "commercial kit" and the guy waited for me to come back so he could put the Freon in for me.

how dope is that? he didn't charge me anything. he is just a fellow lover of the A/C and wanted to do everything he could to keep me from spending the next 20 hours in the sweltering heat of the day. that's just so cool.

yes, i pay too much for my oil changes and they charge for tire rotations, but, in the end, it's all worth it to deal able to deal with genuine kindness like that. it's a good look.

You Are 40% Sociopath

From time to time, you may be a bit troubled and a bit too charming for your own good. It's likely that you're not a sociopath... just quite smart and a bit out of the mainstream!

Are You A Sociopath?

i wonder...

...is there a female equivalent of "bros before hos?"

i came up with "chicks before dicks," but that's a bit too crude for me.

i'm heading out to go MO on early Sat. morning and my girl is supposed to come with me. it's wed. and she's only called me once about the trip...and that was at work for 5 min. she promised to call me back last night, but didn't. when i called her, i got her voicemail. under normal circumstances, i wouldn't care. however, when embarking on a 2000 mi. trip, you sort of want to make sure that we're in sync.

what makes it particular irritating is that she's blowing me off, days before we head out, on account of some damn man. now, i can appreciate the honeymoon period of a relationship, i really can. however, she's been hanging on his nuts for a solid 3 or 4 months. enough. they spend every waking hour together and i'm happy for her, but knowing she's with him all of the time only makes her silence more frustrating. i would be way more understanding if they never got to see each other and she's gonna be gone for a week and they want to spend as much time together as possible. such is not the case.

then i wonder, would i care so much if i liked him more? i certainly like the effect he's had on her. i don't think i've ever heard her laugh so much. so, that's definitely a plus. the problem is that he's gotten to treating me like a little sister, which sounds good on the surface. unfortunately, he doesn't know me well enough to know when to stop. so everytime i go to Boston to see her, not only is he always there, but he just harasses me. if i protest, he only ups the harassment, because "he's getting to me." it gets really old really quickly.

i recognize and own the fact that part of my irritation, at this point, is partially because i'm not too fond of him and she keeps blowing me off for someone who works my nerves. i'm mostly just pissed that she's being so flaky.

i'd like to think that i'm a pretty easy going person. however, when it comes to important things, i get ultra focused and i'm not into playing around; shit needs to get done efficiently and effectively. right now, i have to mentally prepare to drive for 20 hours straight and i need everything in its place and set; it's the only way i'll be able to get enough sleep to do it. if i'm super stressed about some bullshit, it throws me all off. lack of focus at the 16th hour of the trip is not what i need. not to mention that starting out a week long road trip pissed off at your co-pilot will prove for a very tense and excruciating trip.

i understand that since i'm a goofball most of the time people aren't accustomed to my game face. it's a definite break in my normal personality, but at some point i have to stop dicking around and concentrate.

chicks before dicks, it's a bit lewd, but it's all i've got right now.

dead puppies and bread boxes

i was on the phone with my mom, who just had dental surgery and can't laugh, and were talking about Bush. everytime i would make her laugh, i'd yell out, "dead puppies! dead puppies! you're a bad person for laughing at dead puppies," to get her to stop before busting a stitch. really? what kind of sick fuck laughs at dead puppies? apparently, we are. that didn't exactly work, since the process of yelling out "dead puppies" is funny in and of itself.

i was telling her that i've decided that Geroge Bush is the Carl Sagan of federal deficits, with billions and billions of dollars in the red.

to which she jokingly replied, "do you understand the concept of a billion? well, it's bigger than a bread box."

dead puppies! dead puppies!

useful boyfriend

i have a confession to make:

i love Anderson Cooper.

he's adorable. he's like this criminally handsome, highly intelligent, and ultra informative pixie.

the good news, for me, is that to see him, i have to learn something. i've never had a boyfriend i've learned so much from before.

i dig it...and he's on everyday...and has the best laugh.

thoughts on divorce

now, few people standing before their family, friends, and God exchanging vows expect to get divorced. shit happens. i understand that. i, however, do not believe in divorce.

maybe, being a child of divorce, has led me to this belief. i believe in choosing your spouse carefully and working through the rest. no one said it was easy. you have to meld the lives of two adults and eventually incorporate children. it's all a process and it's a blend of compromise and compassion. i'm actually surprisingly traditional in my views of marriage. i will take my husband's last name. as independent as i am, i believe in the joint union in all of its manifestations. i will cook for him and take care of him, as i expect to be taken care of...i'm serious, my left shoulder almost always needs a massage. i can't promise i'll like him everyday, or that we won't need to retreat to our respective corners, but i will always love him and know i'm loved in return.

i know it sounds very idealistic of me, but what else should you expect? i'm not going to walk into a marriage with anything less. i don't expect him to be perfect..Lord knows i'm far from that...but i expect unbridled devotion and respect...oh, and lots of laughter.

i can't really foresee a scenario which would end in divorce --especially with the devotion and respect in tact. i think the only time i'd bounce is with either chronic infidelity or abuse. short of that, you work through that shit.

i just feel like people take marriage too lightly sometimes. i don't feel like a lot of people recognize and respect the level of commitment that is involved. you are promising to spend the rest of your natural life exclusively with one person. you are building a life with triumphs and tragedies, raising children, creating a home, and generally sharing the ins and outs of your day with this one person. that's huge. that's scary. that's not a whimsical, drunken decision you make one night in a drive-thru chapel in Vegas.

i don't know. all i know is that when i get married, i will take my duties of a wife seriously, as i expect him to take the duties of a husband seriously. basically, i can't promise dinner will always delicious or char-free, but i promise to try. in return, i expect him to politely distribute the nasty food around on his plate, console me as i cry from shame, and wipe my tears away while dialing Papa Johns.

a divorce most bitter

i was watching the news tonight and was struck by this story.

"You will be transformed from gold digger to ash and rubbish digger.”

that's some cold shit.

if they ask you why we did it, tell 'em...

...we did it for love.

now let me see the love slide.

WHERE ARE ALL OF THOSE CORPSES!

today

i'm on the other side.

sore

i've been swimming almost everyday this past week. i, stupidly, have not been stretching properly...or at all...before my laps.

i feel like Mr. Universe picked me up by my ankles and repeatedly slammed me into the wall on my back.

(in the voice of Florida Evans) DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!

cuz would like a turn:

can we add one one more thing? the beeping. i mean, when you're turing down the radio as the sun goes down, why don't you stop beeping your horn?

ghetto ass mutherfuckers.

they know you're coming. i'm certain you called them.

since i see spinners on your car, i know you got a phone. why don't you call them instead of interrupting my Law and Order episode?

for the record

i am the mad rapper in that last blog.

yo, yo, yo. who da fuck is you? who da fuck is you to be playin' that shit right outsida my crib. that tired ass crusty beat that's in every other raggaetone song is some ol' bullshit. yo, i can do dat, son. i can do dat. word, that shit ain't nuttin'. that's just a Casio on the bongo setting, yo. my shit is more John Blaze than that. na' mean.

goddamn minorities

as i'm pulling into my parking lot, after work, i can't park where i normally do, because some ass wipe has decided that he's gonna park his car fucking sideways across three spaces. it's not that there aren't enough spaces, it's just the principle.

so, i'm sitting in my apartment with the makings of yet another headache --they've been as steady as the fucking sun lately-- and i hear Bachata bumpin' from the car. now, i can appreciate loud music. i dig it. sometimes, i'm certain it flows from my apartment, out the window, and into the world. i think i really just hate when people sit out by their cars and force the rest of the world to listen to their bullshit. music that comes from houses are more of a whisper on the wind, whereas music from cars is like 90 knots of unoriginal inanity threatening the integrity of your eardrum and sanity.

well, that's not fair. i like Bachata...in doses.

seriously, though, they're right outside my window. it's late, i'm tired, shut the fuck up.

so, there's that.

then there are the rules. if you insist on blasting your music for the world to endure make certain of three things:

:1. make sure the sun is up. nobody wants to compete with your music as they try to put their kid to bed or unwind for the night.

:2. make sure your shit doesn't skip. clean you player so no one has to hear, "t-t-t-t-terror sq-q-q-q-q-quad. keep your shit tight, playboy.

:3. don't play some old ass shit, unless it's Biggie or Tupac. you wanna bump "I Get Around?" cool. blast "Player's Anthem?" fine. but you can't fucking throw on some Naughty By Nature and expect to not have someone call the cops on you. in case you're wondering, i'm not down with O.P.P.

that's it. those are the rules. no one wants to hear Eminem stuttering as he's cleaning out his closet at 9 'o clock at night.

enough.