Insane in the Mundane

I am trying to think of which day it was when I hit it. Normally when you "hit" something you have done three of the following:

1. Finally gotten laid by that person you've been making out with and then whoops! Home base was scored for both parties.
2. You physically assaulted that one human being that has been annoying you for an eternity and a day after having 500 fantasies of doing so. And though you may be sitting in jail, calling anyone but your mother to bail you out, you have a complete sense of smug satisfaction.
3. You have had a long time coming goal. You have been struggling to reach it as far back as you can remember, when all of the sudden out of nowhere it is accomplished and you feel like He-man.

Well. None of those apply to me at this point. Boo.

I suppose i would say boo if that is technically what I was feeling at this point. And by the way I have hit something completely and utterly different. It's the one where you were losing mad weight and you are on the cusp of looking hot but that extra 1.5 lbs just won't shake itself from your everloving gut no matter how hard you try. It's called.....a....PLATEAU.

Yes. Stagnant. Not fresh. Not rotting. Simply just existing waiting for one or the other to happen yet neither does. For some reason there is no expiry date on the container so you are left with a mystery that you cannot afford Sherlock Holmes to solve.

I don't know if I made mention of this specifically I tend to blather on a lot, but someone recently asked me the question: What is making your life so mundane?

I guess if we want to get into the shallow specifics of it all is that trying to break down what is making it so mundane has become mundane in and of itself.

I think the older I get in age years the less I understand that the human psyche is so seamlessly able to be able to accept the mundane as a perfectly rational way to exist.

But then again, I think about that fact that that makes me sound like some sort of cocky asshole and have to start rationalizing that I may have the problem of not being able to accept that updating a Facebook status with, "Just wakin' up!" may be a great method of being able to let others into your life.

What may be considered my hell could be another's heaven. Maybe the devioust in me and the atheist in me refuses to take this life lying down. With that white picket fence smothered in 39494 shitty diapers while working eight jobs and posting infant vomit updates. But then again, there are obviously enough people out there that love Creed's music enough to make them wealthy, so perhaps my taste in life is a little like someone's taste in music. We are bound to enjoy and be fulfilled by completely and utterly different things.

Aside from that fact, just waking up person with said bajillion children does appear to be happy. Whereas, I sit here floundering trying to figure out what really is going to make my bubble swell.

So this post ends with....no resolution. Do not consider myself a resolutionary. Yet.

Counterpartductive

Wow.

I have not been on here in a bit. I almost forgot how to log in. Let's just say I have been thoroughly distracted. But something (gin) whispered into my ear that it was time to make a new post. (boredom and gin)

So my 30 Songs in 30 Days is most definitely going to be 30 Songs in 30 Years.

My health has improved significantly. My ability to pay bills with no paychecks....not so much. It's a long story that has a lot of me saying blah blah blah in it, but we will just say that as of Friday I was officially Fed Ex Overnight terminated from my less than understanding place of employment that I had worked at for 6 arduous years.

Said place in which I sell many an item to supplement my income has started holding funds on every item I sell "just because" is the most coherent answer I can get after many a phone conversation. But honestly, I am not bitter. This. Is all TBE. (to be expected)

If at least 34839743 stupid things don't happen to me a month, then I am am not meeting my metric of retardicity. I did get a diagnosis which was awesome after 12 years of not knowing, but also saddening, as I do not know what to do with this broken little body now.

I suppose that doesn't matter because everyone else seems to know what would be the best method for me so maybe I should just continue drinking those brain cells into the black abyss from whence they came!

But that is neither here nor there. Part-time work, which was once so easy to find, has not become an impossible feat to overcome. I am still pushing for it though, as I feel like I have been a drain on all of those nearest and the very most dearest to me. For the love of God, I was telling my mother of the tale about my dog that enjoyed hunting down and eating all of my underwear and how I planned on being commando until I could go buy more today. I intended this to be a humorous tale, as my sweatpants with commando action fell down in my backyard, and I was praying that none of my neighbor friends had witnessed this horrifying event. But instead, she got very sadfaced and tried to shove $20 bill in my hand to go purchase new unmentionables.

When your mother is trying to hand you money for underwear, that means it is time to find work.

All of that said, I love, love, love the people that invented me.

All of that being said, let's get to our song. This is dedicated to my male counterpart that lives across the many seas out with the hobbits, and stuff and things. We phone speak on occasion via Skype and our timezones never mesh, so it has made for some fun times. Probably one of the more funnier people I have encountered in my life, and when it is time for me to leave for homework, this song gets sung in my ears.

I then proceed to laugh my everloving brains out as it is great, and as I wake up with it in my head for the next week and a half or so, and as I love this song's face off.

There is more dreamy hair in this video than you can shake a brush at.

Nuances Can be Nuisances

I am going through a very strange period in my life indeed. I'm not sure if it is the insomnia, the sickness, or self-reflection catching up with me.

I could quite possibly have short-circuited finally, and maybe I have become one with the 40 oz. of crazy that I should have dealt with a long time ago.

But I don't really deal with things. Not in the manner that I guess they should technically be dealt with. I like laughing and having fun and being witty and making sardonic comments so that I don't have to feel that sense of doom that is always hanging over my head like a big fat gray raincloud.

My actions have always been impetuous, ever since I was a child. Yet I have always been prideful of the fact that I don't over-analyze things and I am quick to let any feelings of panic by way of my actions go with but a brush of the hand.

I cleaned out my garage on Sunday. It was a hellhole. It was also fucking unreasonably cold out for May weather. With my iPod hooked to me on full blast and a hoodie on, I got my hands dirty as I pored through the past that I have been dragging around with me since the age of 15. Soon the hoodie came off, as I was sweating, and soon I was drowning in a sea of memories.

I used to have quite a prowess for documenting every last second of my life. I have over 10 journals as proof. I found them. I started on the ones where I was 14 and falling in love, but got bored of what an idiot I was and moved over to the later years.

As I started reading, I realized there were far to many nuances from my past of over 10 years ago that were mirroring my current state. It's slightly disturbing. How can one person continue to bitch about something yet think they are making changes only to look back and realize that they are still standing in that same pile of quicksand that they had been previously stuck in? How did I manage to trick myself into thinking that I had gotten out? I don't know.

It's odd. I don't like when people throw quotes in my face. Because they are taking advantage of a profound thing that another person said and trying to switch it up so that the quote applies to the situation at hand. I think that's cocky. That's reading something into words that a person said and then assuming that they meant something by it according to the current state of affairs that you are trying to apply them to. Feels dirty.

But what if you quote yourself?

I found this entry tonight dated 03/27/01: GOD I AM OLD. No that was not the entry.

It was:

It's moments like these that make me step back and look at my life as a whole and appreciate it through and through. I wish I could remember those moments with a distinct sense of clarity while taking into account that I just need to appreciate them for what they are. They are just moments. I don't need to cling to them. I don't need to crave them and lust for them. I need to remember to enjoy the ride and stop flashing back on them wishing that I were there right now rather than at work, sitting in front of the t.v., napping on the couch.

Yup. I officially realized tonight that I am an over-analyzer. More so in the sense of nostalgia though.

And to top it off. I haven't changed. I suppose that should be slightly depressing, but in all honesty, it's more embarrassing than anything.

Anyway, 30 Songs in 30 Days.


* Day 07 – A song that reminds you of a certain event----Huey Lewis

My friend summed it up best when she said that when she was little she had herself convinced that Huey Lewis was her cool uncle. It's true. He's been there for me through the bad haircuts, the happy moments, the breakups, hanging out at breakfast, making up dance moves to his album Sports, reappearing for American Psycho, and not too long ago on a warm spring day, I didn't even care if this was the dorkiest thing ever, I BLASTED Sports while I drove around with my windows down. I will always have a special place in my heart for Uncle Huey.

He reminds me of damn near every event in my life. He's my little musical family member. My cool uncle who gave me noogies and a hug.

Mope Than This

Oh Hay. I. Had. Whiskey. I haven't been drinking much since I have been down with the sickness. But I am a miserable fuck to begin with, so every once in awhile, you have to have your medicine to be able to tolerate the abundance of suck that this world is in.

Yes.

I am in a positive mood tonight.

No.

Really I am. It started out with my BFF (we should just get BFF necklaces already, oh wait we already did) coming to visit me. And that was awesome. We had amazing conversation.

I swear to God. Sometimes I wish I could be more attracted to the female persuasion. Because her and I would totally be dating right now. She gets me in every way. She doesn't judge me. I share errything with her. Everyone needs at least one person in their life at one point that is like this.


She needed to go home. Which is fine. I GET IT. Hahaha, kidding, but she left. And I was left to my own devices. Beer, whiskey, and my songs. Generally I have a hot playlist going on in the background when I drink of pure unadulterated stupidity.

But I let it roll on random tonight.

Tonights 30 Songs in 30 Days consists of:



* Day 06 – A song that reminds you of somewhere

I already gave my warning of how subjective this is.

But tonight I picked a song that was...well...ubiquitous. Meaning, it am thinking of a song that reminds me of somewhere, but it is everywhere in my life.

The first time that I heard this song as an adult...my heart hurt and thudded. I can't really explain it. It was as though I had heard it 5,000 times before and it invoked 5,000 of the first feelings that I had ever experienced all at the same time. Again, there was no explanation for it. It's like when you have relived a beautiful moment over and over again, but there is no way to be able to put it into words.

Which of course is a feeling that you can't explain to anyone unless you were Foreigner singing "Feels Like the First Time" or Madonna (that scary spidery looking bitch) singing "Like a Virgin"

This song is all of the best things happening to me in a lifetime comprised with every single horrible and hurtful thing that has happened to me. I feel torn when I hear it. I want to get laid when it comes on or I want to ball up into a corner and cry when I hear it. How do you explain that to any
one? I was just trying to, but again, it's inexplicable.

It's inexplicably nostaligic.

The reason I say that is because, I never made out with anyone to it. I have, and never will, give birth to it, I wasn't in a breakup when I hear this song, it wasn't the first time that I fell in love with a person that I heard this particular song, I wasn't down and out, I wasn't up and high, I just.....was.

So it covers every aspect of my life. Happy, sad, lonely, covered in an orgy of too many people, it's a mixed bag of emotions.

Now.

Gaze into the hypnotic eyes of Mr. Ferry.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOnde5c7OG8

Cool Dude. Dude Cool.

I have an admission. A confession. A cadmission? When I was little and living in the flat grassy country lands of BF Tinytown Iowa, my four brothers and I had nothing but time on our hands and not enough bills to pay yet. We would play all day, creating forts out of the farmer's haystack next door, and ride the horses that belonged to someone else to the field adjacent to us. When it got hot out, my brothers would tear off their shirts and run around. I followed suit.

One day, my mom told me I couldn't do that any longer. I was so confused. Why not? My brothers got to. And so born was my longing to be dude cool. Luckily I got this sweet John Cougar shirt in the mail today to keep me clothed and off of any Girls Gone Wild videos.

I was always a tomboy. I can't tell you why. It may have been all the brothers being my main source of company for the first vital parts of my years. Maybe it was because when I was playing with my friend and tromping through mud puddles and when I eagerly asked her to join in, she looked disgusted and shook her head no, saying she would get in trouble by her mom if she came home dirty. I never got in trouble for being dirty. My parents encouraged me to play sports. (I suck at all sports but track for the record.)

I remember coming home complaining to my dad about a boy that used to pick on me all the time, and he said "Well punch him!" That's because if you were a girl, you could get away with punching a boy. If they punched you back, then they punched a girl. If you punched them, then they were a sissy for getting beat up by a girl.

I matured really slowly when it came to liking boys. I wanted to play GI Joe with them. I wanted to pinch them, and punch them and call them the names they called each other. I was never on level with the girls who couldn't write all over themselves with pen and who wanted to quietly play Barbie whips up Ken a sweet meal. (Ken's gay, Barbie.)

So many times in childhood and in adult life even, the way I act has gotten all misconstrued too. When buddying up with a buddy, buddies or buddy's friends assume that I have a crush on him. Sometimes it's met with a friend saying, "Not true, she's just nice like that, or whatever. Or when I was in the 4th grade and someone asked me if I had a crush on the boy that sat in front of me because I was always poking him and giggling about things, I got overly defensive on stating my wish to just go catch frogs with him.

The first time I even kissed a boy, it was because I was surrounded by people egging it on. Wow, that was romantic.

When I really learned to kiss though, I definitely couldn't stop. But that's where things even got more turned around and my Dude Cool longing kicked into high gear. I learned the hard way that you couldn't just make out with a guy and then turn around the next week and make out with another person. Okay, I never officially learned my lesson on that one, I just had more questions.

Why could guys do that but if girls did, suddenly they were called all these names and labeled as something terrible? Why couldn't I kiss someone and then contact them the next day just to hang out with no expectations?

Trust me, I have had plenty of cad guy friends, and to be honest with you, I don't care. It's endearing.

Yes, I was one of those idiots who always tried to stay friends with my ex, or a hookup because come on I still want your high-fives and stories about the time you shit your pants!

And I know chicks can be crazy when it comes to situations with guys. Trust me. But it's still not fair, and it still gets blown out of proportion. I swear 99.9% of the time that I have done something so-called "crazy" it has to be the male's fault because their perception on my actions is completely skewed. That's the thing, I am fine with just the old hangout afterward. I hate awkwardness and butthurtedness. So if I come off as overbearing, it's because damnit let's be friends!

As I got into the pubescent years, it became even more apparent that the female persuasion was just not for me. Women elevator eye you. If you are a girl, you know what I am talking about. The ol' sizing you up from feet to head. They think you don't notice it, but you do. Plus I have had girlfriends freak out on me for the STUPIDEST things. Guys never had periods or jealousy to blame anything on. If you got in a fight, it was about food or because I pinched you too hard, and then all was forgiven without even having to say a word.

I like to belch really loud, because if I have to, I have to. I like talking about poop, because I poop. I love a good dirty joke, and I have the mouth of a sailor. My dad said I am a version of him out to sea. It's so true. I kind of think like a man. Every single time I have written anything fiction, the main character is a man. I can't get into the brain of a female to write a full story or book about her. I mean look at all the shit Hunter S. Thompson did. Could a female have done that without being labeled just some crazy bitch? Odds are probably not.

When I look at the dynamic of men with each other, it's like the world is their locker room and I wanted to badly to be in that locker room with them. If I talked to a girl the way men talk to each other, it was met with horror. I have been hated by oh so many girlfriends of guy friends because they assumed we were flirting, when in all actuality, no, him telling me he was going to shove that ketchup bottle up my ass if I didn't knock it off was not a form of foreplay, that was me having a taste of being dude cool.

So I thought I found my niche. But you never really do in these kinds of situations. It seemed like whenever I was with the guys it's like my vagina was hanging out or something. I couldn't just start mooning everyone without being treated differently.

Plus, I reached a point of where I had to admit that I am still female. I wanted someone to talk about my makeup and clothes with. Someone to let me be just a little but of a crazy bitch when I needed to be, and someone who could empathize with fluctuating hormones. Someone to explain to me why a male was making me crazy because they were thinking it was crazy that I just honestly like making and keeping my guy friends and that I must have some crazy ulterior motive up my sleeve.

So in my older years, I have been very picky about the females I surround myself with, and the ones I do surround myself with are the ones that are just like me. We are the little female outcasts that have the luxury of peeing outside when we get drunk, burping in each others faces, and calling each other names and LAUGHING about it. We compliment each other and don't act like a bunch of jealous whores around each other.

Even as an adult, I GUESS I can get it at times, when I meet an awesome person and I want their number, or if I get drunk and start chest bumping them or leg humping them or hugging them, I can see where the confusion may set in.

And I don't want that confusion, but part of me still wants to pretend there is a banana in my pants. (Just kidding I don't want a penis)

I would like to hang out with guys that are legitimately my friends and if they happen to be in a band not to be ribbed by strangers about being a groupie, I want to wear tight as hell black pants with shiny shoes and not be given shit if I didn't shower that day, I want to shove someone with my elbow playfully without them thinking I am flirting. I want to be in a room full of guys and have one of them not pause and look at me suspiciously when they start to tell a tale of hooking up with a girl like I am going to go all Sex in the City on them and divulge all about their secret life of debauchery. I don't want to take my shirt off and run around in the backyard anymore though.

It's all ebb and flow though. I will get those few precious moments when it happens, and when it does it feels wonderful. And when I am with my other dude cool female friends, it's even that much better.

Oh yeah. This is also 30 Songs in 30 Days:


* Day 06 – A song that reminds you of somewhere

Strange Currencies by REM. What a gorgeous song. Lyrically and musically. It's so wistful when I hear it now. It reminds me of somewhere in my mind. And that's youth, longing, loving, wanting to be loved back and just wanting someone to just fucking open up and say it already to you rather than be so ambivalent about it all. Before Katy Perry and her stupid Hot and Cold song, this my friends, is the OG Hot and Cold.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Strange+Currencies/xjPeZ?src=5

Who's the Boss?

This rock t-shirt summer is going to be pregnant with epicness. I got a trigger finger that cannot be stopped. When that car payment can't be made, or the house gets repossessed, I will just make me a giant quilted tent out of all the Rock Ts I have purchased and I shall live in that.

I have officially cut myself off until I am actually bringing in decent income (until I pretend that I am and start mindlessly bidding on shit at 2 a.m. is what that that means) but it did end on a high note.

Everyone needs something Bruce Springsteen in their lives. Whether it be a pin, or shirt, or some albums with pins and shirts attached to them, he is pretty much a rock-n-roll icon. He's rugged and dreamy. He had Courtney Cox in one of his videos! Ben Stiller did many parodies on him when he had The Ben Stiller show in the 90s!!! Remember the 90s?!?!

The guy wrote Born in the USA, and the best part is all these dipshit people in political office want to use it as an anthem of sorts, when the song isn't about that. It's about the effects of the Vietnam war on Vets.

Reminds me of the time that Palin/McCain wanted to use Pink Houses for their campaign my Mellencamp. Yeah, Cougar contacted them and was like, "Uh what?" Rawr.

But that's my rock-n-roll T of the day, and my song of the day for 30 Songs in 30 Days is:

* Day 05 – A song that reminds you of someone


It's so hard to pick one song for these things. So I just kind of go with the first thing that pops in my head.

Kings of Leon have been kind of a long running joke when I find someone that likes them. It goes like this: "Oh sweet, they have two fans now.

Because even though they seem to be able to successfully sell concert tickets for 40+dollars and we've seen their Sex on Fire plastered all over MTV more times than we actually would want to count, (that one kind of does sound like a VD commercial jingle) I consistently run into others that, not dislike, but LOATHE them. They basically Creed hate them. You know what I mean by that.

I had a really talented friend that opened for them one time when they played here, and though I thought the show was pretty awesome aside from all the popped collars there (OH MY GOD JOCKS LOVE THEM THAT'S WHY I KNOW NOBODY THAT LOVES THEM) and maybe it was the half bottle of rum I had ingested, but when I met up with friend at the end of the show, he told me that they were a bunch of pompous assholes who used like 500 cans of hairspray in the dressing room and then got far too drunk to even play a proper show.

I really try to separate myself from bands when I hear stories like that. I tell myself it's all right, because I'm not really there to befriend them, I just want to enjoy my music and go home. I don't condone other bands being assholes to friends opening for them of course, I just again, try to separate myself from the assholery that musicians are so prone to possessing.

Now that we've established it's Kings of Leon.


I lost my Grandma, this is terrible I don't know the exact amount of years ago, but it was September 15th, I believe five years ago. She played a really important albeit strange role in my life.

Growing up in Iowa, a lot of our summers were spent coming out to Utah to visit Grandma and cousins. Grandma came out to visit us once or twice on our little farm/notfarm. She was VERY and I mean VERY proper. I was helping her do dishes one time and I remember I put the dishtowel between my legs to grab something really quick and she told me that ladies don't do that. That paired with having 4 brothers growing up, no wonder I turned out to be such a filthy little girl who thinks she's a boy.

One of my most shocking memories of Grandma was while she was visiting in Iowa was her getting really angry about something and I heard her curse. "WHAT IN SAM HELL!!!??" She said. Amazing how we can never quite remember why someone got mad, but we can remember their reaction when angry. (Dad, I was listening to Back in Black by AC/DC when you threw my door open and kicked my CD player across the room what were you mad about again?)

Anyway, I was beyond shocked. MY GRANDMA SWORE? Never! She was still living in the 1800s, did people even swear in the 1800s unless they lived in the land of Deadwood? I finally gutted up and told (tattled) to my mom about it, and my mom informed me that she was using and old expression "What in Sam Hill"

I also found out that my shopping problem and love of all things clothing is not my fault. Turns out I am genetically predisposed to want all these sweet unique and beautiful pieces of clothing in which I want to adorn myself with out there. My grandma was a snazzy dresser.She was classy about it and had great taste in the items she picked out.

When I got uprooted from Iowa and moved out here to Utah, and my parents were super pissed at me because I was 15 and all I wanted to do was drink, smoke, and swear, my grandma still took me school shopping. I even have a sweet photo of the shirt I picked out for my first day of school in Utah. I was in complete and utter 1995 with it.



There are pages and pages and stories stacked on top of stories that I could fill you with about my grandma, her house, her weeping willow tree, summers in Utah, Cottonwood Mall, the clothes she made me,the cookies she baked, the smell of Tide wafting from the laundry room, but I am sure you don't have all night, and well, I do probably because I feel like shit and will be awake for another 3-4 hours.

Toward mid-adulthood, my grandma didn't care for me that much. I was shacking up with dudes while not being married, dying my hair pink and purple, working in bars where they served ALCOHOL, and sin of all sins, I worked at eBay. I remember now with so much fondness her telling me how stupid that company was, and who would want to sit around all day buying a bunch of other people's junk?

I said "Grandma, when I was unemployed, I made a ton of money selling on eBay, it got me through my unemployment."

She yelled, "A TON of money? You made a TON of money? I highly doubt that!!!"

She really thought the Internet was the devil, and for that, I love love her.

Toward the end there, she just got old. It was hard for my parents. They spent a lot of time taking care of her. She got a little bit nutty. She got a lot of panic attacks. She couldn't do stuff on her own, and for a very independent woman, that was difficult for her to come to terms with. At times, she was difficult to deal with. She would, out of frustration, confusion, and getting to the end of her life, be pretty cranky. She would yell at my parents and they would get sad because they were spending so much of their time with her and doing everything they could.

Eventually she did need to get placed in a home when it was getting pretty apparent that people couldn't be there for her 24/7. She was livid. I took it upon myself to start paying her frequent visits. She took it upon herself to start only liking me. What a strange ironic gift. She was never fond of my hair or my lifestyle.

One day while visiting her, some people from her church came over, and she kind of brushed aside some gifts they brought for her, and complained of everyone around her, and then said, "This is my granddaughter. Isn't she just the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? Don't you just love her hair?" as she ran her hands through my hair. I was glad that crazy Grandma decided she loved me, even if sane one wasn't too fond of me at times.

I was out of town when she passed away. I took it hard. I got back and got ready for the funeral, and I HATE funerals. I hate them so much. I mean I don't know anyone that loves them, but I am ultra-sensitive when it comes to death.

I still try to trot around in this fantasy world that we don't die.

But we do. And it happened. And I was driving down the road to go to her funeral when King of the Rodeo by Kings of Leon came on. And Kings of Leon reminds me of my best friend Victoria too. We both listened to this album so much, and she is that 2nd fan of theirs. It makes me think of all the fun but crazy weirdness that we were experiencing at the time as single people.

So that song was such an upbeat number for me. And I started to giggle at the irony while in my car, and then I burst into a blubbering pile of I wonder if I am going to crash my car from crying so hard. I was singing to it while bawling and simultaneously laughing at the situation.

Because this was the only thing that made me not completely lose it; thinking about all the good times with my best friend while listening to this song. I can't even tell you to this day what that song is about. As a matter of fact, I can't understand what the hell he's saying half the time.

But now when I hear it, I think about both life and death.

Believe it or not, this is my first time seeing the video!

Feelin' Fine...Be That Way

Today's 30 Songs in 30 Days is brought to you by sheer exhaustion. I have been up until about 3:00 a.m. or later for about the past month, and I think it finally hit me like a ton of bricks. Good news is, I will probably be in bed by midnight tonight, but the bad news is, my body is going to flip me off about an hour into that, and I will be wandering the house like a peevish ghost in no time. You will hear my haunted swears in your dreams.

Day 04 – A song that makes you sad

I talked about sad songs that make me happy in a way. If I am depressed, I might throw on some John Cale and hear his deep melodic voice sing songs of woe, but it doesn't make me cry. It comforts me.It validates my feelings. It tells me that I'm going to be in a great mood tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, maybe the day after.

It's like getting one of those hugs from a person that doesn't quite know how to hug you which makes it all the more endearing, as opposed to the person who will hug you if they see you scowling. That just means I wasn't wearing my glasses and was trying to read something of a wall, hands off Handsy McHandserson!

But there are songs out there that reach into your heart and start poking at it with a needle. You may have been hanging outside on a sunny day just moments before, soaking in how wonderful life is, only to go inside and put your music on shuffle when out of the depths of your playlist comes out a song that sags your shoulders and makes a few small fat tears start to drip from your face. After the song ends, you throw on a little Huey Lewis for a pickmeup, because what the hell? Where the hell did this come from? There are a few songs that do that to me. Some because they are just damn sad, and because there was a difficult period on my life when I heard them and they remind me of being down with the sadness.

This one is a culmination of the above. I was going through a breakup, (Okay who hasn't) when I started listening to Beck's Sea Change. Holy depressing. This album is about his own going through a breakup, and he spared all of us the grueling duty of writing a bunch of shitty poetry about ours by writing a naked and heartfelt album chock full of gorgeously articulated grief.

Whether you are a Beck fan or not, or whether you memorized all the words to Loser like my friend and I did in Junior High, this album is worth giving a good hard listen to. It's so raw, his voice is so full of broken beat down emotion. It cracks with pain that is so authentic, that there is no way he could have been feigning it when he recorded these songs.

So when I hear Guess I'm Doing Fine a number of factors come into play. It's like having a friend show up on your doorstep sobbing and you just happen to be able to feel every single thing that they are feeling at that time without going through it yourself at that exact moment. Or being at a funeral of someone you don't really know, but seeing all of the people around you, the look of loss on their face and despair, and suddenly you are right there with them. Or, if you were going through that breakup yourself and this little ditty popped on, it feels like he wrote the song JUST for you at that moment.

The lyrics aren't as such that come off as whiny woe is me. They are a genuine feeling of loss and pain when everything is fresh off the suck press. You wake up one day and everything looks and feels so gray. Songs don't sound the same to your ears, it's just a record that the needle is scratching in an ugly manner over and over and over again. You are so exhausted from the blue snuggie of depression that has enveloped you that you can barely bring yourself to get out of bed to get a glass of water.

When Beck gets to the chorus, that's the real kicker for me:

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

Right there where he says "Guess I'm doing fine" that's it. I mean it's such a sarcastic bald-faced and obvious lie. But what else can you tell yourself when you have hit this point? It's that or yes, drown yourself in the toilet. He gets to the end of the song and sings the chorus one last time, and his voice gets so overwhelmingly emotional, he is wailing so hard that it really does bring on a wave of boo-hoo.

I have to commend you Beck, for successfully being able to bum me out every single time that this song comes on.

Full lyrics are:

There's a blue bird at my window
I can't hear the songs he sings
All the jewels in heaven
They don't look the same to me

I just wade the tides that turned
Till I learn to leave the past behind

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

All the battlements are empty
And the moon is laying low
Yellow roses in the graveyard
Have no time to watch them grow

Now I bade a friend farewell
I can do whatever pleases me

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

Press my face up to the window
To see how warm it is inside
See the things that I've been missing
Missing all this time

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine (x2)



And here, go cry yourself to sleep on your huge pillow!

Concentrated Happiness

Who's your little slacker? I am, I am! 30 songs in 30 days will probably end up being more like 30 songs in 3659678674 days for me, but I am not good at keeping up on everything like I should be. It's called Attention Deficit Disorder for a reason.

Plus I have physically been feeling like downright shit. (No pun intended)

Today's topic for 30 Songs in 30 Days is:

A song that makes you happy.

So many songs make me happy. If I am in da club and I hear a song that I love, I squeal with happiness and start dancing. If I am bummed, and I hear a morose song, it makes me feel sad yet strangely comforted. If I am in the car and stuck in traffic and I hear a good upbeat song, I get happy. And on and on.

I want to verbally vomit on happiness for a minute right now before I post my song that I am choosing for today that makes me happy.

I went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment on Friday. I had this huge thing written out for laundry list of "am I dyings" questions that I wanted to bring up. My legs and toes and hands tingle, I get panic attacks, I Hulk out into uber-bitch at the drop of a hat, I start bawling for no reason, I get headaches, I am exhausted out of nowhere, I can't eat. My damn mouth hurts! (Probably because I talk too much) The list is too big and whiny for this post.

He asked if I was depressed. I started to say yes. Because I do get depressed, and I was really depressed that day. But I am not your standard I HAVE DEPRESSION! person. I have always learned to laugh things off, make a joke out of it, or find something funny that makes me feel better.

So I changed my answer to basically this:

Last time I was sick like this, I had just gone through a terrible breakup. I had been dating around a bit as well, but I was newly and freshly single, and a lot of my friends just were either out doing their own thing or maybe they just got stick of calling me to do things and hearing me say, "I can't." It's hard to explain that you can't really leave the house much when you feel like this. Sometimes people ask if I am contagious hahahahahahaha. No. I am not. I will kiss you with tongue, ALL OF YOU to prove it.

I refer to my precious few hours that I get to leave the house every few days or so as "DOMINIQUE'S BIG DAY OUT."

I got really lonely last time. I slept a lot, read books, remained confused because doctors kept telling me to stop being all periody and womany and stressy because that's what was causing this. I probably got the most down I had ever been in my whole life. Toward the end of my illness something happened that I will probably only talk about to maybe two people, but it as so humiliating and horrifying and downright just the last straw that I told myself I was done with life and if I wasn't well soon that was that. It's weird reflecting on that, because I have never felt that way before and never have again.

Of course I talk about drowning myself in the toilet, crashing my car into the freeway wall, running into traffic, hanging myself in the bathroom, but we all know I am kidding.

Anyway, I got better that last time and came back to Earth.

This time, I started to get a bit blue, but suddenly out of nowhere, I had friends coming by to visit. My friend Andy brought me this Lil Wayne/John Wayne shirt which made my life and my t-shirt collection's life.

Victoria told a co-worker, whom I have yet to meet (IRL tee-hee) that I wasn't feeling well. He sent her over with Noni Juice and supplements for me. More than once. (thank you Randy!!!)

Conor asked if I was seeing people, and I told him I almost locked Andy and Victoria in my basement when they came over that one day. Ever since, Conor has been taking me out on little errands and popping by for visits.

Terrence is being so nice to me, even when I am being a raging whore about all this.

My dogs are driving me insane.

My mom still answers the phone when I call and she lets me ramble like a lonely crazy cat lady. Sans the cats.

Ian brought me a AN AWESOME tank top.

I keep wanting to namedrop erryone here, but anyway, I have been flooded with hugs, emails, phone calls, text messages, little pick me up gifts, and even thinking about that right now makes me tear up (AND I DON'T cry) because I feel so loved that it's overwhelming. I have so much gratitude for knowing that such sweet selfless people exist in this world and that THEY ARE MY FRIENDS.

It probably doesn't hurt that I have threatened many of them that if they aren't nice to me I will haunt them from the grave if I die.

For the record, I am pretty sure I am not going to die, it just feels that way. The speculation is Crohn's right now. To which I said, "Shit." To which I also said, "At least my disease will sound like an intelligent professor.

To which my beautiful friend Jenny Poplar said, "Sorry to hear this, Dom. It is a well documented fact that people with Crohn's disease are often of above average intelligence. Seriously, look it up. If it is Crohn's at least you have a smart person's disease.."

I am not even going to look it up, I am going to take her word for it that I am the smartiest.

So all that is not a song, but it makes me beyond happy. You know that whole bosom swelling with happiness feeling. Well, I wish my bosoms would swell, aggressive sick weight loss took those away pretty fast!

Enough about my boobs and me boobing and happiness in life.

The song that makes me undeniably happy; the song that if I was in a coma in the hospital and it came on I would wake up and dance to it; the song that I listen to 325879 times a week, is by a little band called Orange Juice.

They're a Scottish post-punk band that came about in 1979. They never made it huge but they are huge in my heart. The song contains all my favorite elements; saxophone, clapping, campy vocals, COWBELL, and a beat sent to you from the blue clouds of heaven.

As I write this oddly enough, that song JUST started on a shuffle playlist I have going. BRB have to DANCE!!!

Whew. Back.

Favorite verse:

Nothing worth finding
Is easily found
Try as we might
That was supposed to sound
Very profound
It probably sounds dry

Now you dance!!!!

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/I+Can+t+Help+Myself/2Ts6L5?src=5

Emphasis on the BLOW

All right! Song number two for 30 Songs in 30 Days!

This one is going to be convenient for my current state of negativity. I think my immune system ruptured a pipe a day or so ago, so now on top of impending doom, I have current doom of some sort of other sickness. Blah. Or as Dracula would say, "Blehhh!"

Day 02 – Your least favorite song

Well there are a lot of songs I loathe out there. Just turn on the radio and I can pick out probably every single one playing right now. I chose this song though because of the fact that it's one of those double-edged swords.

I will be mindlessly wandering the aisles of TJ Maxx like some sort of bargain zombie when it comes on and the song sucks so bad, the artist is atrocious, yet it brings back a treasured gawky youth memory. So that in turn makes me think, "Awesome, the one thing that brings back a treasured overly hormonal pleasant memory is this bag full of pure yuck."

Just my luck right?

When I was 15 I got a huge crush. Sound familiar? I mean I turned into a bumbling fidgety melty mouthed dolt around this person. It was the olden days before your Internets and your cellular phones and your sexting that all you kids are into these days, and it was in Iowa circa 1995 small town style. That was the grunge explosion. Try being into that when everyone else just wants a good pair of Girbauds and to see how high they can get their bangs to look so that they'll match their collared polo shirts.

I loved Radiohead. Yeah, before their Ok Computers and weird electronic bleeps and blips. It was their Pablo Honey straight out of the 90s grunge rock, honeys.

I remember I purchased a ginormous Pablo Honey shirt only to be questioned by my peers, "What's a Radiohead?" and giving them my best, "You just wouldn't get it." Gen-X face.

But then as I was walking down the hallway, this person pointed to it and said, "I like your shirt." I looked up at him and I am pretty sure made some braying donkey noises and that is where my crush began.

He of course was older than me by three years, and when you are 15, that may as well be three million years. Once you reach your late 20s we are all basically the same age.

But anyhow. He was the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase. A series of awkward events were surely to follow, such as not feeling well and sneaking off to smoke behind the library one day during school and him being back there.

"Do you want to hear what I wrote on my guitar?" he asked.

This was also back when hell yes I wanted to hear what you wrote on your guitar because playing guitar is the cooolest! Now Anyone Can Play Guitar, and I don't give a shit when they tell me that unless they aren't a total boner.

So he plays this really pretty song, I don't remember what it was. I was beautiful in my head so that's all that matters, and all the while, I am a bit nauseous from not feeling well earlier that day and as he winds up the song, I look him in the eyes, and I say the most romantic thing a girl could ever say to a boy she thinks she is in love with:

"I think I'm going to puke."

We got married and had 7 kids after that. No we didn't.

I was never big into dances. Or anything school related for that matter. That's not something Kurt Cobain would have done. But my friends and I decided to attend some spring dance. I don't know why. I don't even remember really any specific details on it, this seems like eons ago.

All I remember was Hootie & The Blowfish, "Hold My Hand" coming on and my CRUSH coming up to ask me if I wanted to dance to it. I am sure my heart beat out of my chest the whole time I awkwardly stood there trying to figure out how one dances.

Trust me I am still trying to figure out how one dances.

So that was the peak of my Jr. High life. And I have Hootie & The Blowfish to thank for it. A band that seriously has one of the most poorly named titles ever and their music is just as cheesy and lyrically devoid of any human life. Every time their music comes on in these stores I am shopping at I am filled with I need to punch something from how bad they suck anger, to wistful thinking of my youthful days when everything was so new and exciting and full of prospect.

Do you see how that can confuse one's mind?

So here's it is my friends. I think I'm going to puke:

30 Dongs...Er Songs in 30 Days

I have decided to do the 30 Songs in 30 Days post that I have seen floating around. Some of them seem a bit redundant, and some seem a bit subjective for the period of my life that I was in when being axed the question, so this could change on a day to day basis, what the hell. WHAT THE HELL?

Day 1. My favorite song.

I have had many favorite songs in lifetime. But I am going to pick one of my favorite songs and hand over two versions of it.

I choose you Do Ya, by ELO. ELO has been one of my all time favorite bands as far back as I can remember. Nobody, and I mean nobody has walked this earth that can compete with them in my opinion. Everything was done with such orchestrated perfection and Jeff Lynne has sweet hair.

I curse the fact that I am too young (still olde though I promise) to have never seen them play. I even set up ELO Play One More Show! On Facebook. Well, it didn't take off, but I still have hope.

Nuff said. I am usually not "that guy" but I kind of have a tendency to judge whether or not I want to be friends with someone based on how they feel about ELO.

Do Ya is probably one of the most beautiful love/lust songs I have ever heard. It doesn't say, "Do ya do ya wanna hump," or "Do ya do ya want to bone." It's Lynne listing off all of the things that he has seen and heard in his lifetime thus far in this world; things beautiful and things sad that have touched his heart in a certain way and stirred him emotionally. As he goes through his checklist, he ends it each time with, "But I've never seen/heard nothing like you.

Be still my aching loins if someone were to say that to me!

When he says, "Do ya do ya want my love...WOMAN" They way that he says woman is so pronounced, manly and forcible, like the question needs to be answered know. After that spiel, drag me by my hair into your cave buddy!

Let us not forget that the song just plain fucking rocks balls.

Without further aDoya:



For those of you who don't know this, Jeff Lynne was in a band called The Move prELO. This song was originally done by The Move, and it's kind of like the whole tomato-tomahto thing, but I am a bit more partial to the Move's version due to the fact that who the hell can resist cowbell all up in your face?? If you can then you are deaf to the siren song of rock.

Here's the OG version:



I spent years looking for the perfect vintage ELO T-Shirt. People kept either outbidding me or it just wasn't the style and fit for me. A week ago, fate and destiny collided with my body after I won an ELO shirt that knew one day it would need to meet and marry me.

I think I wore it four days in row before I came to terms with the fact that it was not going to meld itself to my body. Regardless, the fit, material, print, was the closest I will ever get to touching the hand of God.

Next Holy Grail purchase? A vintage Hall & Oates shirt.

The Heart of Plimsouls Still Beatin'

No shit. I went to bed last night at 3:30 a.m., and as I lay there drifting off, I had a very vivid dream that I got knuckle tattoos that said: |H|U|E|Y| |L|E|W|I|S| Needless to say, I was a very sad panda (or human being I guess) when I awoke to look at my knuckles only to see that they were still untouched by holy words. We will talk more about my affinity for Huey one day. That may take awhile though.

Lately since I've been on my death bed, only get to sit in front of the computer sick, I have had time to rediscover music in ways that I haven't since the olden days of horse drawn buggies and Napster.

I tapped into a genre well that I have never quite played around in before, and that would be Mod/Pop/Punk mainly from the 70s and early 80s, and music started to spray all over me. It's been an overwhelming yet delightful experience, regardless, I don't even know how to start jumping for joy. For when I find one HOLY SHIT THIS IS AMAZING BAND! all of a sudden, another one crops up. It's like I have lice, but the doctor assured me that it's just a lot of bands thank God.

Say what?? There is more out there than just The Ramones and The Sex Pistols? Don't get me wrong, those bands are great too and they were a definite staple of the punk scene, but telling people you like them is like telling people that Jay-Z is your favorite when you claim that rap music is your bag.

Generally most things that I have been drawn to have been out of the UK, Scotland, Australia, etc. But I recently came upon the Plimsouls, and Lord knows, I have listened to this song 3,000 times. I am pretty sure my house's ears are bleeding right now. But it's so solid. It's so tight. It's so rockin', It's just a little over two minutes. You know those songs. They leave you longing for more. You rinse, lather, and repeat. Over and over. It's called The Zero Hour.

The Plimsouls were formed by Peter Case who had been in the Nerves prior, another band I have been drooling all over. The Nerves by the way were the OG writers of the now infamous Blondie song, "Hanging On The Telephone." Again, more on that later. These guys ar also, bless their I love their little souls, from L.A.!

Enough! Put some socks on and prepare to have them rocked off and listen to this bitch already! I have three times thus this morning.

Rock T Diaries

No, not rock tit. However that does have a tendency to happen if you don't wear a bra and walk down the refrigerated aisle at your local grocery store.

Or if it's a hot summer day, you are wearing a halter top that doesn't support bras, and your bring your chihuahua into Petsmart to get his nails trimmed and he misbehaves so badly that one of the ladies asks you to hold him while she attempts to trim his nails and you do and he gets that "going to his rape place" look in his eyes, and starts pawing at your halter until you flash all five people working behind the counter. True story.

But I digress. Rock T Summer started last year when I started the hunt for the latest and greatest t-shirts that I could acquire sporting a favorite band. I am big into the vintage originals, so it can be quite the hunt. At times in the past, I haven't pulled the trigger for years until the perfect one manifests itself before my very eyes.

So here I shall start posting all of my favorite finds.

We begin with Eazy-E. Straight Out of Compton was one of my favorite N.W.A. albums to listen to when I was in high school. Well, skipping classes in high school that is. Yet, I could never find a girl shirt that had my man Eazy on it.

One day while at my local mall, I found a screen printing kiosk, and asked them if I went to get a tank top, if they would print him on there for me. They went for it, I went to Mervyn's (now defunct right) came back and had this beauty made. It was about 10 years ago, but I have held tight to it ever since. It has since cracked and faded, but I guess now we can consider it vintage right?

PedNONONOphilia

So today a huge debate sprayed out over freedom of speech all over Amazon’s face. I know what freedom of speech is. In my opinion, (FREEDOM OF SPEECH I GET MY OPINION!!) freedom of speech is more times than not some loud idiot who thinks they know everything yelling about a bunch of crap that doesn’t make any sense and then when people are like, “Dude don’t yell that crap, it’s completely uncalled for,” they yell back in what I picture a Larry The Cable Guy voice, “FREEDOM OF SPEECH!” while standing behind and American flag and waving a gun in each hand with two angry pitbulls barking by their side.

Okay so I exaggerate. Freedom of speech is great in many ways. I don’t think we should be limited to what we want to see or say to an extent, but I don’t think it is something that should be taken advantage of either, and then backing yourself up by yelling the phrase the second someone says back off. I am also aware of things called courtesy, respect, ethics, blah blah blah. Of course we can’t walk around whispering, afraid that we are going to offend someone at any given moment, but we do have the ability not to act like loons too.

What I’m referring to here was the book "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure: A Child-Lover's Code of Conduct,” being placed on Amazon.com today. Now of course everyone got really riled up, a Facebook page was created, 10,000 people joined in hours, I didn’t because I hate getting unnecessary updates on things, especially months after the fact. Amazon really didn’t have a whole lot to say about it initially. I think their PR rep may or may not have been hungover, but it was along the lines of, “We aren’t pulling this e-book , freedom of speech, words words words.”

And then it hit the news. The author, Phillip R. Greaves II, happily took on interviews of course. The scary thing is, because of all the media coverage, all the pedos out there are probably clamoring to buy this book now. He claims to be a non-practicing pedo. My ass. If you are writing a guide on how to violate children, you can’t tell me you haven’t tried something before or studied it. The book talks about how fondling and kissing children is okay, but penetration is not. The description of the book reads, “"my attempt to make pedophile situations safer for those juveniles that find themselves involved in them, by establishing certian [sic] rules for these adults to follow.”

Okay, well first of all, this guy is stoked because his book is getting exposure. Second of all, he put his stupid face out there continuing to defend and promote this. I can tell you one thing, dude is probably going to end up murdered.

Sooo, I guess since it was totally cool and nice of him to make this book, when we have kids, instead of giving them copies of “Everybody Poops,” let’s give them this “How to Get Violated by an Adult and Like It” book instead. Now listen Johnny, at some point in your life, a creepy man may offer you candy to get in his van. You should probably take that candy and let him do certain things to you, but this book outlines what he can’t do to you. Have a nice not messed up life!

But then again, I’m a person who thinks that nobody should even be allowed to exclusively date until they are 25 because even then we are still bumbling around with our still forming brains sloshing around in our too big heads trying to figure everything out. So call me weird if I think it's pretty atrocious that this dude wants to let the world know that dating children is perfectly acceptable. There is no such thing as a willing child when it comes to pedophilia.

Again, freedom of speech. I know. We can argue that until we are both blue in the face and fall over and wake up from our lack of oxygen nap and keep arguing it again. And then people start saying, “If you pull that then are you going to pull (insert hypothetical scenario here) too? I don’t want to get into hypotheticals today because the bottom line is:

NOBODY LIKES PEDOPHILES. Nobody! I bet not even pedophiles like pedophiles! I have never once heard a person say, “Well you know pedophilia, yeah, it’s wrong, but I can see where he’s coming from.” People that savagely murder people, people that beat women to pulps, people that rob banks, all of them serving time in prison feeling no remorse whatsoever for what they did, don’t like pedophiles.

So Amazon pulled the book finally. And then put it back on. And then pulled it again. Like I said, the PR person was hung over. I think, no matter what, that this is one of those instances where there is an exception to the rule, and this is where freedom of speech should not be taken into consideration. As a matter of fact can we make a “Pedophile Clause” where it doesn’t count when it comes to freedom of speech?

Work: My Eternal Purgatory

This one time, I walked out on a job. I felt like raising my fist in the air like the rebel at the very end of The Breakfast Club while "Don't You, Forget About Me" played. It's five years later. I work at eBay now. I still don't make as much as I did at that previous job, but honestly, I won't complain. Leaving that previous job was probably the best decision I ever made.

Per my previous post, I was REALLY sick at this point in my life. I don't know what officially happened to me but the final conclusion was a strong dose of antibiotics that finally fixed me. I was on FMLA at my old job and lots of people would question as to whether or not I was making it up. Basically that led to me standing up and yelling, "Guys I'll be right back! I have to take a shit!" To which my old boss finally took me aside and quietly told me that I didn't need to explain to everyone what I was doing when I stood up. I told him that everyone thought I was feigning an illness that was ruining my life, so I figured they may as well know if they were so curious. By the way, it's illegal to speculate as to why people are on FMLA, the gossip girls did just that all of the time. We even had a meeting with HR explaining this to them numerous times. They just couldn't stop though.

Also, the supervisor that wouldn't piss on me to put it out if I caught on fire? He got shitcanned from Harland awhile after I started at eBay. Why? He was playing World of Warcraft instead of doing his job. Suck it Martin! You looked like Peter from Family Guy! Your ex-girlfriend who skinned your Alf doll in High School and stuffed him in his locker knew what she was doing!

Read below:

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

So sometimes the question arises in everyone's life: Did I do something wrong in a past life? Was I a serial killer, rapist, bank robber or Dr. Laura?

I have often questioned that in the course of my years working at my job in sunny Harland. The place started off as a haven for call center holocaust survivors.

Then about two years into it we got a new director. I swear he thought we were his boot camp recruits. All respect for employees went down the toilet and just didn't quite flush.

We were treated as money making tools, our department never got acknowledged and you just got smoke blown up your ass all of the time.

So four years into it, yesterday I think I finally just snapped.

Victoria had recently just quit, my friend Aubrey had left to have her baby, I had just gotten back from vacation, and I was left with nobody to back me up in my department.

I have often dreamed of walking out on break to have a cigarette, only to get in my car and never come back. I've never been quite brazen enough to do that and I would trudge back into work with a small shudder.

Yesterday I got into work a bit late. The day had already gone to shit. Our department is generally very slow 20-30 calls a day. But somehow all the calls from other departments started routing into mine. They told us to just deal with it and to take the phone calls even though we had either not taken these calls in over a year or had not been trained in the ones coming through. All day we were 30 in cue with a 30 minute hold time, only to get a pissed off customer who would get even more pissed off when they found out we had absolutely no prowess in taking their calls.

At 4:30, everyone but me is left in my department. I am there from 4:30-6 alone.

My competent boss, note sarcasm here, didn't bother checking in to see if I was ok before he left at 3:30. One of the girls on my team called downstairs to see what we were going to do once they all left and I would be alone to contend with this mess.

They said that I should just "deal with it." Deal with it. They couldn't have suggested me routing the calls to the correct department, or sent someone up to help me out. I just had to deal with it.

So I decided maybe they should just deal with it. I packed up my shit, waited until my 4:30 co-workers left, and took off, with nobody there to take the calls.

In a moment of empowerment, I walked out of a job that paid me $12.72 an hour because finally bending over for that wasn't just much fun anymore.

My boss was PISSED today. He was so mad at me because he thought it was all about him. He spoke of never helping me out or actually I believe the correct term he used that if I was on fire he wouldn't piss on me to put it out.

Because to him, it wasn't about me. It wasn't about respect and treating your employees like they were human beings and having an ounce of sympathy for situations we are in or the daily stress we go through to get our jobs done so that we can make their damn company some more money.

I am now faced with the reality that I do not have a real job, I have a very part time night job. I have a car payment, cell phone bill, insurance and groceries to buy. I am faced with the fear of the unknown and the definite possibility of a pay cut in my next job whatever it may be.

But I don't regret a minute of it!

The Ocean Absconded With My Sea Legs

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

My trip to Vegas/California was definitely something I needed to get out of a slump. Plus I always need a nice long drive to remind me that buying plane tickets can be a good thing.

So much happened, and I don't feel like writing a book on it, but I am going to put the highlights of this trip down.

My cousin Nicole and I left at 2:00 on Friday. It was pretty non-eventful, with great conversation that made the ride go much faster and smoother. Midway into the trip we drove into a gorgeous rest stop and downed two beers each to balance out all of the energy drinks we had been guzzling.

Got into Vegas around 8:30 to stop at my cousin Kurt's house. I hadn't seen him in years. He has the cutest wife named Elizabeth and an equally cute little boy named Austin. Other cousins Suzanne and Michele were there as well. We had a good dinner and sat down for reminiscent times.

After that we followed Michele and Suzanne to their place. Michele took Nicole and I out to a casino sans strip. You will soon find that people who live in Vegas never want to go to the strip, it has become old and tedious. We had some of the best margaritas and bloody marys I have had in my life. I got drunk really fast, and we left around midnight.

Michele got more beer. Her, Nicole, and I sat on her back balcony having some of the best conversation in the world. These girls are related to me but I feel almost like they are these intelligent strong deities. I feel like I should be paying for their company. Four o'clock was bedtime.

Wake up at ten on Saturday hungover. Vegas will do that to you. You don't even have to be on the strip to want to be drunk or in some sort of party mode.

Suzanne agreed to drive us to California which was very nice of her considering Nicole and I would have been taking baseball bats to cars by the end of this trip if we had to drive them anymore.

We got into Redondo Beach at 5:00 and right over to my cousin Charise's house. Her boys Cody and Colton are eight now, I swear every time I see them they have gotten bigger and smarter. I all of the sudden feel like the old crazy cousin that wants to pinch their cheeks and kiss them all over. If I did that I am sure I would get a nice shin kicking!

Charise took us to see this view of the ocean that was indescribable. I guess anyone's first view of the ocean is just that though. It is so infinite.

Then we went to Joe's Crab Shack. Travel weary, I couldn't believe there were so many damn birthdays in one day and Joe's likes to let you know it with dancing, singing and strobe lights that were seconds away from giving me a seizure. At least the food and company made it worth it.

Sunday, Nicole and I decided to hit up the beach. It was Labor Day Weekend so there was a market going on. Everyone in California seems pretty casual, walking around in their bathing suits, no need for makeup. I thought it would be Silicone Valley of the Scary Barbie Dolls, but even people with cellulite let it all hang out.

It was 72 and a bit overcast and I took a big step in my life and gasp!!! I wore a bikini top and laid in the sun. It was euphoric. I could see now why people get suckered down there.

We walked out to the ocean and I tentatively put my feet in and stood there for a few moments before we left the beach.

Remember when I said people in Cali were laid back? Well I was wrong in a way. Nicole and I stood by a building having a cigarette, minding our own business when this woman shouted "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Instinct told me she wanted a cigarette to because that is what always happens in Utah, so as I was acknowledging her and getting ready to reach into my purse, I see this blonde the weight just melted off after I had the baby woman with her husband and child.

"Can you two please not smoke?" she said. "I have my child out here." She was literally 25 feet away from us. Talk about ownership of the air. Californians think they do. We kindly obliged and went to stand by the dumpsters like the trash we were. Muttering about how her baby was just going to get cancer anyway because of all the smog.

After showering at Charise's and having a nice dinner she cooked for us we hit up tourist trap Hollywood. It is amazing, the history of that place. But it is so dirty and sketchy out there, that you couldn't pay me to live there.

I went to Sephora and dropped $70 just like that. It was getting dark and we decided to head home. All the crazies come skittering out of the woodwork about then. We walked by a gang of guys yelling at a person with his girlfriend in front of us saying "What you lookin' at Motherfucker? Huh? Huh? Look again I bust a cap in you." Sure enough the dumbass kept looking as one of the men lifted his shirt to reveal a gun. The guy ducked into the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum only to be followed by them. Wow, if I ever go down, I don't want it to be because I looked at someone.

After Hollywood, we got back to Redondo and had a nice sit down at Bucca De Beppo. I am amazed at what one glass of wine can do to a person.

Nicole, Suzanne, and I headed to our hotel room we were staying in that night, but first stopped off at the Drugstore to get more drinks. Hey, if one glass of wine can make me feel that good what can half a bottle do for me?

As Suzanne headed down for a slumber, Nicole and I sat outside finishing the wine. In our drunken excitement at two in the morning we decided to walk down to the beach.

We passed a bar that was having last call. I always forget about the free pouring that goes on out of state so our drinks were all man. I think I would have been a lot different had I just stuck to the wine.

Bar closed, we walked to the ocean, first thing we do? Run in. The water was warm. The moon was out and the waves were crashing down like mad. After we got our clothes soaked, I decided to put my pants and shirt with my purse on the beach. We laid in the ocean for what had to be more than an hour. It was unlike any experience I have ever really had.

After a while we stumbled out to make our arduous journey home. I could not, for the life of me, find my pants. The ocean must have eaten them. Luckily I had a long sweater, but somehow managed to also lose my tank top in the process. So I am walking down the street at four in the morning with no shirt or pants with a long sweater.

Some guy stopped Nicole and I and shouted "Hey! Do you know how to get to this or that place or the other?" We told him we weren't from there and he almost acted offended that we couldn't help. He said he was from Arizona and his buddies ditched him and he was lost. I said "Look on the bright side, it could always be worse. YOU COULD BE MISSING YOUR PANTS!!!!"

We of course got lost and had to call Anthony, Charise's husband at four in the morning to come get us. He later told Charise that we looked like a bunch of hobos.

Nicole and I stumbled into bed talking pirate talk and how the ocean stole my sea legs with an occasional drunken yarrr yarrr coming out of our mouths.

Waking up the next day reminded me why I never drink wine. I was covered head to toe to crevice to orifice to crack in sand. I cannot believe I slept like that. I think I had swallowed way too much sea water the night before.

In a desperate attempt to stave off any impending doom, I drank some Immodium and had some breakfast with Suzanne, Charise and Nicole.

After getting the hell beat out of me, it was time to leave California. Suzanne, Nic and I packed up and took off.

We reached Vegas around four, hit with the reality that we still had a seven hour drive ahead of us.

We got a nice dinner of burger and fries and made our way out around 5:30. This was exhausting.

Mid way through getting home the saltwater, and all the bad food I had eaten began its course of revenge on me. Poor Nicole was stopping at every other rest stop for me which I am sure delayed our trip home by a good hour. No amount of Immodium was going to stop my stomach's protest at this point.

I took over the driving and lasted maybe an hour before I started to hallucinate and things started blurring together. Some guy had also pulled so close behind me that it was unnerving because I was going about 90 and that just wasn't good enough for him so had to start flashing his brights at me. Bit of advice for you angry drivers, don't flash your brights at a night blind person it makes it worse. I was quickly gaining on a semi too that was going far slower. The asshole passed me and pulled up in front of me. Surprise, he was behind the semi that was going slower than I and he happened to be boxed in. Nicole and I decided it was time to be funny, so I pulled up behind that guy as close as I could and started to flash my brights at him repeatedly. He couldn't do anything or go anywhere, so we had a good tired laugh over that.

After violating every bathroom from Vegas on up to Utah, we were finally home.

I ran inside put my stuff away and passed out.

I had to work the next day at 9:30 but that is a whole other story.

Wax On Wax Not Off

Wednesday, August 24, 2005


In this modern day of technological advancements and scientific marvels, I would figure there would be better methods for hair removal. I, for one, hate the whole process.

So why do you continue to torment yourself while doing it? You might say. Well, since I don't hug trees or participate in enough protests, it is just something that I feel more comfortable without on my body.

Over the years, I have experimented with several methods to no successful avail. Having sensitive skin, not a lot of things take to right to it without attacking.

I remember buying Nair, really excited about the fact that as my hair dissolved down to the roots that I would have shiny tan legs like those women who wore short shorts on the commercials. I ended up instead with a giant flesh eating rash on each of my legs, which then resulted in a lot of tears streaming down my face.

Razors. They are another shaving foe to contend with. The effect that you get from a razor doesn't last long enough at all. If I catch even the slightest cool of a breeze, hair starts prickling back out of my body. There is also no way to describe the feeling that you get when you are in the tub running a razor up your shin and out of nowhere a big chunk of flesh comes up with it. You stare down at your leg, which now resembles a potato that is being peeled. A very bloody, screaming potato.

Electrolysis is next. Since I work at a call center who gives me raises that are, say, twenty two cents a year, I cannot afford the luxury of this permanent hair removal. I suppose I could stop paying my rent for a few months, but I don't think my landlord cares whether or not I have hair on my body. So until the day my sugar daddy comes running up to me, insisting to pay for this, electrolysis is out of the question.

Finally, there is waxing. A great concept. Rips the hair out, you are baby smooth for a good six weeks or so. This is something you can pay someone to do, or you can go to a store, buy your own, and do it yourself. Well since I dread going to the doctor once a year to pull down my pants and spread my legs, it is pretty much out of the question that I am going to someone I don't know at all to rip hair out of my crotch region. So I buy my own wax.

It is never as perfect and easy as it seems though. Wax is so messy. You have to heat it and mix it up until it reaches the perfect consistency. One time, I went to pull it out of the microwave and two runny droplets fell onto my unsuspecting fingers. It was so hot that when I went to pull the wax off of my skin, the flesh came right off with it. Then I had to go the next few weeks explaining to everyone how this happened.

So, a week ago, I made my way to the beauty supply store and dropped twenty dollars on a wax kit. Yes, that is how much you have to pay to get everything for the most part. Don't forget razors, shaving gel, after shave lotion, all this crap that you have to buy for hair upkeep, of all things.

Usually with the wax I buy, you heat up, put it on your skin, wait for it to dry, yank, and it comes right off.

I pulled out my new kit to inspect what a potentially great new product I may have in my hands. I didn't notice this before but this was honey wax. You put it on your skin, take a cloth, push it down, and yank. This new stuff was also very very sticky.

I microwaved it, did a test strip on the back of my wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot. Satisfied that I wasn't going to burn the hell out of myself, I got out a dollop and tried it on my upper thigh.

I pushed the cloth strip down and proceeded to pull it off my skin. Half of the wax came off of that area. I had to try and get the rest to come off ,so three tries later I had finally succeeded.

Oh, and yes, this was extremely painful. Just in case everyone isn't aware, you are not supposed to wax the same area twice. It pulls the blood vessels up to the surface of your skin and creates bruises. So great, my upper thigh was throbbing in pain, and bruised.

The cloth strips were shedding into little lint pieces as well and embedding themselves into the wax.

I got another applicator and a gob of wax fell straight onto my bathroom rug. I promptly stepped right into it. Anything that was on my bathroom floor starts to adhere to my foot. Dirt, hair, an old wrapper.

I was also trying to get all of this done before the wax cooled. Another gob fell off and onto my favorite towel.

I felt completely sticky and disgusting, attempted a few more spots before giving up in defeat.

Oh and that test patch I did on the back of my wrist? It is now a giant red mark from when I had to try and get all of it off by scrubbing and picking at it.

Maybe I am just not quite getting it. I mean the pros that do this for people all the time don't seem to have a problem. Maybe that girl in the beauty salon could do a better job. Is it worth it though?

That, I am not sure as of yet. Maybe I should just start hugging trees.


Now: August 21, 2010


All I can say is thank you Jesus for advances in technology that were a few years away. I totally financed laser hair removal like the American consumer I am, and I slapped $1000 on a credit card to get laser hair removal. I later went on and paid another $300 to get my underarms done, that's how much I loved it.

The laser hair removal process is embarrassing, funny, and painful all at the same time, there's another blog that will explain that years on down the road. I rationalized this by figuring in the cost and time that I spent with all this wax, not to mention impending possible emergency room visits given the chance that I sealed my vagina shut with honey wax.

Saving Face

Another oldie. Oldy? Moldy.


Monday, August 15, 2005

Saving Face

So I have had a love of makeup for as long as I can recall. I think my earliest memory would be stealing my mother's blue mascara from her and learning how to apply it in the second grade. That is when it began. I have been wearing some form of makeup since about the second grade.


I don't wear it because I think I look ugly without makeup, or to make men think that I look better. I do think makeup definitely has enhancing qualities to the face and it can bring out features on somebody with it on. But I don't NEED it, I just enjoy the ritual of putting it on, seeing what I can do different with my face that day, trying to make my eyes look more blue or gray, pronouncing my cheeks or putting on some bright red lipstick to make my lips stand out, matching my eyeshadow to my clothing. It is almost like art for me. Anybody that knows me, knows I wear a lot of makeup. Some days I do it up just right, some days it is borderline ridiculous. Other times it is hardly any at all.

So, in with loving makeup, which may seem materialistic or vain, but if you read the above paragraphs it really isn't, I have to purchase it. I buy all sorts of makeup. I buy the cheap stuff, the medium price, the overpriced, and the overly super inflated ridiculously priced. When you go to Wal-Mart to buy one dollar eyeliner, you really don't put a lot of thought into it, you put it in the basket, hope it looks good, if not, oh well you are out a dollar. Sometimes after working at the bar I will stop off at Wal-Greens to pick up something I need and get sucked into the makeup aisles. I will be there for a half hour picking one or two new eyeshadows out or a foundation I have been wanting to try.


For the most part, I don't need to go to the makeup counters, you can find things that are comparable at the cheaper places. But every once in awhile, flipping through a magazine some new shiny promising product will catch my impressionable eye and I have to have it, got to try it out, need it now I don't care if it is just sparkly mascara & and it is $30 I am getting it right after work!


Then comes the dilemma of actually hitting up a, shudder, counter. I am not being paranoid or making any of this up. Dealing with the bitch at the counter. Countless times I have been to makeup counters without getting any help whatsoever, I have been completely brushed off. Once again, anybody who knows me will tell you that on a given day I am one to drop $100 on an eyeshadow,some lipstick and some blush. These girls are making commission, I assume, so I guess it makes me feel even worse when they don't pounce on me and sink their talons right in.


Granted I don't look like I am loaded by any means. Actually I am not loaded by any means. But I am horrible with money and when I get extra money there are about three things I am more than likely to spend it on even over groceries. Music, makeup, & clothing. I once went to Vegas with my friends with no intent to gamble. I knew there was a Sephora and it had every kind of makeup imaginable all wrapped into one big giant store. I went to Vegas to blow money in that one store. I believe the first day in there I spent $160. I went back the second day and spent $50.


So comes the cliche term, don't judge a book by its cover.

I made my way down to Cottonwood Mall on Friday to return a skirt I had bought that was too big (suprise!) and a shirt I had purchased months before that I never wore. I had the receipt for the skirt but not for the shirt. I returned the skirt and got money back. For the shirt, I got about $30 in store credit. I couldn't find any clothing so I figured I hadn't bought any nice makeup in awhile and I would make my way down to the counters.


I browsed around for awhile, not seeing anything that quite caught my eye. I usually don't buy from the Clinique counter but they have an overpriced $12 mascara that I love but haven't been able to afford in awhile. Also they had some new blush and eyeliners out that I was quite taken to. I stood there for a good five minutes browsing waiting for the lady that was so obviously behind the counter to help me.


She looked like she was in her 50's, blonde dyed hair, botoxed a bit that was probably in need of a touchup soon, smart looking suit on. Completely ignoring me. I tried a few times to make eye contact with her at no avail.

Bored, I decided maybe I would go browse a couple more counters. Nothing that I really wanted.


I ambled back to the Clinique counter wondering if maybe my BRIGHT FUCKING PINK HAIR hadn't quite caught her attention the first time. Well apparantly it hadn't the second time as well.

I stood there not looking at anything, kind of like when you set down your menu at a restaurant to let the waitress let you know that you are ready? Nothing.

A couple in their 30's walked up with a small child that looked maybe three. They were literally standing there for about one minute when the woman rushed over to them and asked if she could help them. They weren't quite sure of exactly what they wanted, so she coached them through what each item was, what it did, how much it cost.

Great. Well, maybe they were going to spend more money then myself. I should have just up and left by this time, but it was almost to where I wanted to make this woman help me at this point.

The couple made their purchase which came to $30, the same amount I was about to spend.

After they left, it took a good two or three minutes of me giving her a dirty look to come help me.

"Can I help you?" she asked wanely. "Yes, I would like some of this new blush you have here." "Sorry, we are sold out of that." "Ok," I said "I would like some of the High Impact Mascara in black please." She went and grabbed it and didn't politely ask if there was anything else she could help me with. Instead, she said "What else do you want?" "Well, I would like to know if you have anything comparable to that blush you are sold out of, you know something light and shimmery?" "All of our colors are on the makeup wall, you can go look at those if you want." Wow! what sales skills!!! What a great tactic! Go do it yourself if you want to find it. Nevermind. "Ok?" I said "Can I actually just get this new eyeliner you have?" She came back after a minute of rooting around and said "Sorry, sold out." Then she just stared at me. "Alright,can I get it in black?" I queried. She went and grabbed it in black.

At this point I was really unsure of what to do. Should I make her ring it up and then I pay for it? Then wait about five minutes, come back and say "You know what? You are a bitch and I don't want you to get commission for any of this, could you please just return all of this? Thanks!"

As she coldly rang up my purchases, which came to, guess what? $30, the same that couple just spent. I had my gift card in my hand, that I got for store credit and she looked at me and said "Swipe your card." I said "I can't swipe my card, it is a gift card." So she takes it, finishes with my purchases and mumbles a thank you.

What did I do? Nothing. I took my shit, and her shit and got out of there. What does one do in a situation like that?

At least I got my free gift.

Now. August 19, 2010

Now that I am all old (30 gasp) My skin has gone through second puberty. It sucks. So now I feel like I need to wear some form of makeup every day. It sucks even more balls that I have to do that.

But now that I am all old, wrinkles and weird things happen to my skin. I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, and I wonder who the hell is looking back at me. I am in school, so I don't sleep. So here comes the giant bags. I work under fluorescent lighting all day at work. That gave me a complex so terrible that I was convinced I needed Botox forever. I will hold off another five years when I have earned my cougar merit badge.

I still spend shitloads of money on the stuff though. I still flip through the magazines and I think, "If I own this one thing, it is going to change my life" It hasn't so far, but I haven't learned so far either.

We have a Sephora in Utah now. I am embarrassed to say that I waited in line on opening day for 1.5 HOURS to get in and peruse. I am not embarrassed to say that I wasn't aware that it was opening day but I felt since I had made my way down there I felt some sort of obligation to stand in line. Plus, I was hoping for free shit. I got a free tote for waiting all that time. Shit indeed.

I'm no longer afraid of makeup counters. Of all places to thank, I have the Chanel makeup counter. This wonderful woman there did my friend's makeup for her wedding and mine as well. She was quirky, older, sweet. She loved us. She loved that we were different than the usual people she got, and that she got to have fun with our makeup. Her name was Taylor and she was so very New York. As she applied my makeup, she would tell me how she goes to other Chanel stores to see how the employees treat her. She said no matter what you look like, they should never judge and always be willing to help. She has suckered me into spending $45 on blushes, $35 on lipsticks, $30 on eyeliners. Granted Chanel is decadently splurgalicious, but every penny is worth it when you get someone like that.

I have toned down my makeup over the years. Big time. No more glitter eyeliner, no more clown cheeks, and green eyeshadows. I look like I'm trying too hard now when I do that, and I like to look unnaturally natural now. Gone is the pink hair, and the juniors clothing that I liked to purchase at Hot Topic. My skirts now ALMOST hit my knees.

Though I may look about 10% classier, I haven't started acting it.

Funstalgic

Well I haven't deleted my stupid Myspace account because I like being spammed. Okay, maybe it is because I have 330-some odd blogs just hanging out on there being all ignored by me and I have this whole journalistic teenage notion that I can't erase them lest I forget. The next probably 300-some odd blogs on this page are going to be just those so I can close my "I'm Tom and I am billionaire for running what is now all spam" site account.Plus I just don't blog anymore. I think school is stealing my thoughts. Here we go.


I'm Waiting To Be Impressed- July 20th 2005


First of all let me preface this the way somebody would before they get ready to tell a joke that is dead baby or racist:

I am not perfect in any way shape or form, these are merely opinions and things that I could probably stand to work on a little more every day in my life. I am not telling anyone what to do or how to act according to my novice observations.

I always was very paranoid what people thought about me. Scared that they wouldn't like me, that I would or that I did say something completely and utterly idiotic out of nervousness or social retardation. It was a deep panic I would feel when I would meet somebody, my heart would palpitate and I would stutter over my words and try to say all the right things and laugh at the right times. If these people that I wanted to impress would say things that were rude or judgmental, I would go along with it as well for fear that I would not be accepted. I also did it because I felt like I had no self worth unless I could think of people in terms of beneath me. In the back of my head I always knew a lot of these people that I would consider friends were saying the same things about me that we would talk about to smear other people's characters. The difference between me then and me now: I was ages 13-15 when I did all of this.

Not that I have ever quite gotten rid of my social anxiety or the need to feel accepted by everyone around me, but it is not a hunger or intense paranoia that I feel about it. Not everyone is going to like me. Same as I with people in general. It is human nature. Plain. Simple.

I am still now fascinated by the sociological interaction that human beings will have when they are all put together and decide to gang up on a person or people. A witch hunt or wolf mentality, I would say. I would like to say that I love and accept everyone and be sincere about it but a part of me will always have a love/hate relationship with humanity. I am not the type of person who will give into phony behavior and try to say the right things at the right times, try to run someone's name into the ground just because I merely dislike them. It is too much energy that gets wasted on hate when it could be used toward more productive tasks such as making someone else's life better. I know it is much easier to judge someone, to be petulant, to hate something all because you don't understand it than it is to take the time and effort out of your life to try and look at someone as an extension of yourself and not a thing that you are competing with to gain a false sense of gratification.

What have you done today to assist humanity? What can you do to assist humanity? Really it isn't that difficult of a concept to grasp. If you could do things effortlessly and selflessly for others and expect nothing in return. Learn not to be disappointed, or angry when someone "fucks you over" I think we as a hoi polloi could go along our days as much more self assured, happier, secure group.

I try to look at my intent behind wanting to or saying something about somebody behind their backs. Is it true? Would I say it to their face? Do I really mean or believe that? Am I just saying this to make myself look or feel better?

I have never wanted to be classified as a phony or someone that tries to dupe people into thinking I am something that I am not, which in turn, could make me an unlikable person or even come off as strange.

I am at the point in my life where I can take accountability for my actions. I could make an itemized list of every choice that I have made that has led me up where I am right now accounting for the very second that I am writing this. It is choice theory, and the way you choose to live, treat others and react to situations is all solely based on you. Not others.

So in an ideal world I want people to stop whining and boobing about how fucking miserable their life is because of what a person did to them or their shitty upbringing and take some accountability to realize you are who you are based on yourself. These are all things that have happened because you chose to react to them the way you did and you are accountable for your coping abilities in that should not be someone else's fault.

I used to blame a lot of my failures and discontent on other people. I was angry at my parents,friends,enemies,strangers who cut me off, someone who talked behind my back for a long time because I thought it was their fault I ended up the way I was. I have a lot to thank them for. They gave me the capacity to love, to read, write, be passionate about learning, empathy, grace, not being selfish. And it isn't because they looked at me and said "LOVE, READ WRITE, LEARN." It all is based on the way I look back situations in my life and think about what I learned off all that I considered a bad time or even a good time for that matter.

So in all this incoherent babbling, what I am really trying to say is I am waiting to be impressed. I am waiting to find people that aren't so fucking petty and fake in their daily life that they have to meddle in other people's affairs just to give themselves a temporary lift. I want to see grownups acting like grownups without being smug or pompous about it.

Don't get me wrong I have a small handful of people in my life and I love them so much for all their good qualities. These will be people whom I plan on keeping with me forever. As for those of you that don't enhance my life, or want to be nice to my face but turn around and whisper about something I did twenty years or minutes ago that bothered you, go fuck yourselves. You are merely illusions of human beings and I don't have time to waste my time on what I don't even consider real.



Today: August 16. 2010

As I read back on that, I think not much has changed. I am still socially awkward. I have to have at least three drinks in me before the thought of being in a public setting doesn't set me on edge. The comfort of talking to strangers is probably never something I will possess, yet when approached, I would like to think that I am open, honest, likable. I would like to think now though, that I may say or do things that I consider embarrassing, I have overcome being gripped with a paralysis of paranoia. I am able to shake it off and laugh now, and I love that. I do what I can to try and make this world a happier place. Even in my negativity, I try to make everything funny. That's how I cope with being a generally awkward human being, and it has gotten me by thus far.

You know what though, I have talked mad shit. I can't help it. I am fascinated by people and the things they say and do. When I make fun though, it is never out of malice. And now if I ever get busted I am willing to own up to it. Confrontation was never my forte, but now I have to say that it is. Sure I get shaky and trip over my words when I am getting yelled at. But it's a far cry from just running away like I used to. I have become a more genuinely forgiving person too. I think I am just too alzheimered out to stay mad at anyone or anything for longer than one day. Thank you goldfish brain, you are serving me well. I feel anymore lately, I don't have time for agonizing over what the world thinks about me, but there is still that tiny little piece of me that wants to be liked by everyone. Thanks nature, or nacha!