Tuesday, February 15, 2011

the future

I totally forgot about this little private spot on the internets. I missed you so! I haven't posted here in a couple of years which is a good thing because the last couple of years kicked me square in the vadge.

But the last couple of months, it feels like someone opened a window in here. There's sunlight and a fucking sweet breeze in here.

As a great man once said,

"History says, Don’t hope
On this side of the grave,
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme"

-Seamus Heaney

Okay, my sitch isn't that dire. I live in America for chistsakes. Not that I haven't gone hungry, just not in years and years.

Also, why isn't anyone named Seamus anymore???

Wednesday, September 9, 2009


Hey! Over here!


Wednesday, September 2, 2009


Just got this fortune. Let's check back and see if it happens.

"Something to do with the country, or near a river or ocean may figure strongly in an event which will occur within about one month."

Pretty specific don't you think?

It would be pretty funny if I drowned in a river that ran into the ocean while visiting the country. And after I died, the universe was all, "bish, we tried to tell you dumb ass but your just dissed us on your fucking stupid blog, so that will be 10 years spent as a microrganism or some shit."

Suprisingly, the universe has a pretty filthy mouth.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Finding common ground

Excerpted comments section on a documentary crime show video between two bored, overly sensitive morons.

BOSM 1: You're delusional if you think he could not have done more. If that was your mother would you just sit there while this guy with a shotgun shot her? He was not being held at gunpoint by this guy. Instead he sat there like a little pussy and his hands in his face. I would rather be a retard than a coward. Which you clearly appear to be.

BOSM 2: You dont know me from shit, dont assume the life i live or what i would. I found out real early im not like most people so i have to think what the "typical" fucking dweeb would do, not what I would do.

BOSM 1: he is a pussy and i agree with you on that. But this world is made up of at least 90% or better of pussies and softees. I wouldnt even hang with nobody who would shoot some little girl in the face OVER NOTHING. So I would never be stuck in a situation like that. Therefore, I wouldnt have to work my way out of it.

BOSM 2: Btw I agree with you. I would also not hang out with a psychotic dickhead like that either. So in a way we all a product of the company we keep.

BOSM 1: Hey you're the one who called me a "fucking retard" is that not presumptuous? Not to mention rude, considering you don't know shit about me either. So technically you started it. Your use of language towards me on my post regarding this video was totally uncalled for considering I was just trying to have an opinion. You could disagreed without using such strong judgmental language about me, then I would not have bit back. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction my friend.

BOSM 2: yea i agree, thats why i didnt get mad when you called me a coward. It aint nothing serious. The bottom line is, the shit was pussy to shoot an innocent little girl, and i think we both agree on that.

BOSM 1: Agreed.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

You should probably wash that first.

This is another entry in my survive-the-recession series.

One of my favorite past times is thrifting. I often have dreams where I’m walking down a street and there are a few thrift stores to check out in a row and they are filled with interesting objects on sale for pennies. These are the most restful dreams. In the bad dreams, the thrift stores are closed and I can only look through the window.

I think the reason I like it so much is that unlike new things, every object in the thrift store has a story to tell. You might giggle and poke at the brown, rubber fake boob, but then you realize that the reason it’s there is most likely because its wearer died of breast cancer. This may seem like a depressing way to shop, but for a person who loves stories with drama, it makes purchasing new things, duller than dull, as beige as beige can be. They are so blank and storyless.

The other reason I like it is the cheapness of it all. I can buy a new wardrobe for about twenty bucks. So what if it’s stinky and ill-fitting? That’s what dry cleaners are for. Recently, I spent more on fixing a skirt than I bought it for.

Here are some objects you should never purchase in a thrift shop; underwear, sheets, nightgowns, porn, socks, litterboxes, bedside commodes, bandages, and inner ear wash kits. Shoes can be okay provided that the previous owner’s foot hasn’t shaped the shoe too much. If so, it’s like putting your soul into someone else’s body. There is something disquieting about it.

The book section is also a great place to stay well read for cheap. Be prepared to weed through Backstreet Boys picture books and lots of lesbian poetry that was probably purchased during the L.U.G.-y (Lesbian Until Graduation) self-discovery years. Self help is also big. Probably more self help books are donated to thrift shops every year than are sold to actually help people. Pick through the celebrity autobiographies and you might find a Graham Greene first edition.

The grossest used object that I’ve seen for sale was a used bed that someone tried to sell me in Texas. It had a bloodstain on it that was about torso sized. Someone definitely bled out in that bed and the salesman thought he could still get two hundred bucks for it! He was an optimist. I can only imagine the dreams that a person would have sleeping in that bed. Maybe thrifting dreams where the only items for sale were blood soaked? I’ll never know because we passed on it. I should probably add bed to the do not buy list too; yeah, definitely no beds.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

The difference between a cement plant and a prison

I took my car to a new mechanic last week. I have had several bad experiences trying to maneuver through the male dominated world of the auto shop. Being a woman, with some automotive life experience, I expect to be ripped off or dismissed by the knowing, macho types that car culture often attracts. As I stood waiting in the steamy, crowded office, papered in Lamborghini (or as Otis “Half-Eaten” calls them, Lambos) posters the main mechanic talked with some old guy with like the worst B.O, ever. When he left, I started telling the mechanic about my car issues. He was a big, hulking guy. He looked Middle Eastern in the way that my dad did, which is to say, probably not Middle Eastern, but from somewhere close by. He was wearing dirty coveralls (natch) and was probably around fifty. He listened and handed me the paperwork to fill out.

He says to me as I’m doing this,” That old man, he comes here a lot. He smells so bad. His car is so filled with garbage that it’s hard for us to work on it. Poor, poor man, I think he’s very depressed. Both his sons died of AIDS. It’s very sad.”

That is one monologue that I did not expect. And the caring manner in which he related it, it was heartfelt and intimate, two things I also didn’t expect to encounter at the auto shop.

The universe is still expanding and exploding which according to Big Sur and I guess science and stuff, causes the world to be entropic, often negative, and chaotic. But, lately I have been surprised by open, generous, caring people with expansive energies and although the world still contains all those explosive characteristics, I’m experiencing a lot of the other stuff too.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

checking the pulse at the welfare office part II (the weirdening)

Actual dialogue at the welfare office this morning.

Scene: generic government office 3/4 full. Two middle aged women sit and fill out forms together while the stink of booze rises off of them. It's 9:30am on a Wednesday.

Woman 1: "Wild Child, what's your real name?"
Woman 2: "Shirley."