You Got Sars!

I’ve been called out… or something like that. I’ve been asked to post 7 things about myself… Oddly enough, for someone who talks as much as I do and often uses my life as a subject, focusing on myself for the purpose of sharing is rather difficult. But since Sparticus Wore a Skirt requested and I love his little blog, I shall do my best. And try not to bore those that already know me…

When it comes to road trips, I prefer (see have to and will figure out a way to) to be the one driving. I get car sick really easily, plus I just get frustrated with other peoples driving abilities when it comes to the freeway. I am of the belief that you should always be moving forward… I also think that the left lane is for those who agree, it is not for cruising. I could go on and on but I’d work myself into frustration.

My favorite movie ever (ever, of all time) is The Color Purple. I can probably quote the whole thing word for word and I can most definitely sing “Miss Celie’s Blues”

I have fantastic legs! Probably my best feature. I once had a girl crawl across a bar floor (yuck!!) to get a closer look. Now that’s flattering even for us straight girls.

I love hearts. I love them enough that I have three tattooed on my body at present with plans to have more. They each represent a very powerful presence in my life: on my side is the heart that says seeker of truth… I think that is pretty self explanitory. On the outside of my right arm as the bottom of an eventual sleeve is a huge winged heart with a halo being held up by a set of horns… a friend told me this symbolized me completely and whould draw it everytime she wrote me or gave me anything that was hand written. She said I was the “good one” (and not in a goody-two-shoes way, but in the always be there to take care of you way) but there was a little bit of mischeif there and I think I agree. The last is on the underside of that same arm, it’s a heart bound by wire and dying at the bottom, but the top is pink and perfect. It’s from a drawing on a 1902 album and it’s my brother’s heart (at least it once was, may still be). He has the exact same tattoo in the same spot… it is my favorite as is he. So I had Love and Solidarity scripted around it, love for me, solidarity for him.

I love shoes! (I know you are shocked by this) The reason I started my obsession with shoeas is because my feet don’t change size. I had a bout of thyroid (coupled with evel husband) disorder and had a nice flux in weight. Shoes were always a safe purchase.

I love to sing and don’t even suck at it. But because I’m not cool enough to get away with standing behind the drummer and never talking about myself, keeps me from doing it for real.

While I can’t say I’ve been with the same guy since I was 21… I have waited almost six years for the one I’ve got. Through ugly relationships (for both of us) the flame never died, he waited and watched… I know, gross… but in such a good way!!!

Listening to the train and the frogs isn't exactly first on my list of things to do at 1:30 in the morning. Not to mention the fan from the gigantic computer and the perpetual winamp play list that is currently cycling through 846 songs (that's barely scratching the surface… Not even an entire genre…) or the creaking and groaning of an old house at night. I don't mind the sweet sound of heavy sleep and deep breathing next to me, though I am totally jealous that he is getting the sleep and I'm squinting at the keypad of my phone. It could be worse. It could be 4am.

So while I'm on my way to the next hour marker, the thought has crossed mind that just maybe I shouldn't have had the coffee this afternoon. Damn the tasty, tasty frozen, malted coffee concoction…. But no matter. The eyes are finally heavy. Dream well, I will because tonight, oh yeah, woodland friends and temple friday!

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Dear Weather Controlling Dude,

While I appreciate your recent efforts to warm things up, as it is spring, setting the temperature to linen/wools is just too much. I realize you were trying to respond to the numerous complaints. The past couple days have been much cooler, bit nipply, but nothing like today. A sudden drop to damn, it’s frickin cold out here was too much. How do you expect us to plan any fun activities? Or sit on the porch and have a beer? Or just decide what to wear to work… That’s right, we can’t because we’d have to bring a duffle bag of layers. Your erratic behavior just can’t be tolerated.

Okay, Okay, I am a big softy.. If you can prove yourself over the weekend I may keep you… on a probationary status… I’ll give you through the weekend to figure it out. Anywhere from dude! I love bikinis! during the day to don’t forget your sweater in the evening will be acceptable. But this is your last chance. We’ll talk again on Monday.

Best regards,
The Secretary of Something

I’m a very bad liar. Ask anyone I’ve tried to lie to and they’ll tell you. That’s probably why I make it my practice to be honest, even if it hurts. I have this rule that I’d rather hurt a little (sometimes a little more) now from the truth, than a lot later because I was lied to. For me lying can include omission and secrecy. I do realize there are exceptions to every rule and sometimes we keep secrets to protect others from unnecessary hurt. I don’t need to hear stuff that doesn’t concern me and will only cause me anxiety. I’m really good at worrying… about everything… including those things I shouldn’t. But we are all products of the past that shapes us. Be it the divorce of our parents that caused us to be fearful of commitment, or the breakup that made us bitter or even the amazing love we once shared with someone that just wasn’t timed correctly, we are molded into who we are by these events. I think if I add up the events of my past that I fear reoccurring and throw in a healthy dose of Freud (oh yeah, he’s in there too, in spite of all I did to insure the contrary) I get an accurate sculpture of myself. It is not easy to look at and I keep the white sheet over it when others are nearby. I can see every nick and mark where time and pain have caused imperfections. So I hide them. The last thing I want is others to see, is the flaws and their origins, right? But that isn’t how it should be. We are scarred and flawed beings, all of us… some of us in ways immediately recognizable, some not. I am scarred and flawed, though not in easily apparent ways. I bear the markings of many hurts that I’ve never shared and may never share. But they make up a small part of the whole. My heart is big and full of love. The scars just make it stronger. Still, I need to move forward daily. I need to pull the sheet back and let the sun shine on the dark parts to wither them away to nothing. The past only recurs if I let it. I can’t hide the past and the parts of it that frighten me. I can’t hide from the man who cares for me despite the times I fear recurrence, though he has given me no cause to fear. The anxiety is from within. So I guess its good I have more clay and keep close to a window.

I’ve been listening to Explosions in the Sky (or something similar – …Pandora) all day. When you are already busier than hell (how busy is that exactly??), doing the job of 2 ½ people and trying to stay sane.. (maybe should have clarified when I made that wish not to be bored at work… damn) probably would be a better idea to pick something with a bit more pep. Maybe I should have put on the “f-mix w/a lil p in butt” station. My friend sent it to me after the tall one made it during a movie night.. He has a way of putting some crazy shit together to make you whip your head around and ask wtf mate?? Where the name came from and what it has to do with electronica/dance hall/hip-hop/disco I don’t know. I try not to ask questions I may not want to know the answers to. So anyhow, I opted not to go with pep, but sort-of punk-ish ambient music that I really like. It hasn’t helped with the work-flow but has kept me from blurting things out in a frenzy of musical tourettes. I don’t like the looks I get when I blurt out “pee in the corner” or say the word “douche”. They don’t like that in government buildings. Incidentally, I like saying the word douche. Its always funny.

I’ve switched over to winamp in hopes that something on there will perk me up. Basically, for someone who talks as much as I do words are becoming more and more difficult. I said I wouldn’t and yet, I keep putting them through a filter so they don’t sound like the person that I really feel like. I wear a gas mask of recycled feelings, only sometimes I think I have the thing on backwards. I keep thinking it will all flow quickly and easily onto the paper. There are so many things swimming around it’s like a schizophrenic radio. There is no rhyme of reason to it, no pattern. My mind isn’t cooperating with me, more like its playing pong at high speed. I don’t want to play pong. I like video games, but not playing them. I want someone else to play and I’ll read a book while you shoot shit and kill the grubs or roll the little wheely ball to make birdie or whatever it is you’re mangling today. I don’t need all that on my hands. Anyhow… it’s not flowing easily. It’s jumping around in there like a kid trying to avoid a spanking. So here I sit… hands poised, thinking about many things; shoes and ships and sealing wax, maybe cabbages and kings too. I know I’m not the walrus, at least that’s something. I think I’m trying so hard to keep things cohesive so that when someone other than myself reads it, there can be a sort of understanding, something to follow. Why? Isn’t the point of this that it’s mine? That it’s a place of journaling and venting? Read it or don’t but maybe today I want to write a completely disconnected four paragraphs about three different things that have absolutely fuck all to do with each other. That’s what is happening to me in this moment.

women drivers, twit or tweet, m & m’s, what to eat, emoticomics, number crunching, headphones humming in my ears, pennants on the wall, jackhammers, beer and strippers, Alabama slammers and dirty slippers, lazy workers who won’t leave their desk, scotch tape, data, data and license plates, governmental red-tape crap, color my hair, and ZAP (it’s a sticker)…

hhhhmmmmm it is like schizophrenic radio in there. I need to pick a station already so I can be productive. I put on winamp to get me out of the ambient punk depression of my afternoon. I chose three or four artists and made a playlist of all of their stuff. (some 27 albums). I have now heard the same song in three forms in less than a half hour. hhhhhmmmm again. Good thing I like the song. Not inspiring to write, but I guess I can work to it, and I guess that’s better than playing pong.

beer, food, geekitude is one of my new favorite places…

These are words from my friend. He writes in a raw, naked way that lets you know you are alive and it is real. I hurt for him and I feel anger for him. I also hope for him and see the beauty that makes him one of the most amazing friends/mentors/men I have ever known. I read these words, part of a much larger blog, and, as he often does, was inspired to think about my own life. I thought about the difficulties we’ve weathered together and what storms he’s faced alone (much, much more fierce). I am thankful for his constant friendship. We can go weeks without talking and still we never lose our connection. I love that.

“I’m working on anger issues. Part time. Well….kinda part time. Less than 10 hours a week. Everywhere I go nowadays, I carry a pocketknife. The highly spiritual metaphor here is this. Whenever I get around someone I know…and I mean in the moment, instinctually know….I don’t like, or who would stab me in the back, I pull the knife out…closed….and hold it and rub it in my palm. Then I move…mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or physically….to strategic high ground. My trust was broken at the last job….by someone who’s job I saved repeatedly. I have no trust left for business purposes. I won’t be caught again. Conversely, I won’t dirty myself taking my pocket knife (or say…a pen or pencil) and ramming it through someone’s eyesocket….I just choose to disengage. “

On my way to higher ground.”

I can’t fix anything, I can’t even pretend. When your pocket knife wears out let me know and I’ll replace it… because I love you and wish you to find your higher ground. You deserve to find rest.

Thank you for inspiring me.

Walking With My Pocket Knife

in the gardens
efforts fraught with heartache
withered stems mark
passing time
dreams broken by deceit
yet the path continues
climbing higher on
through land unkempt
new growth is seen
untouched by the immoral
nurtured by time
within grasp
a calm
the game is past
what once was
returns to the earth
regeneration
through land unkempt
passing time
a means of letting go
by leaving angers perils
on the roadside
there is light on the horizon
within grasp
a calm

Reverend “comb over with a pot-belly” in a purple velour jumpsuit with Jesus written in rhinestones across his bulbous ass, toolin around the stage on a Segue… A televangelist “Father Tremendous”, handing out $20 bills (10 or more) from his “pulpit” with a gyrating nun chanting lu-ya ha-holy in an ethereal haunting voice… News of throngs of people worshiping at the feet of a marble statue with a talking ass crack, quoting the twelfth chapter, seventh verse of the “Book of Douche Bag”… The crowd like a wave chanting along with the common theme and ever present mantra “V is for Vagina”… Sniffing out “the Sin” in dens of iniquity because BOB is everywhere (the talking ass crack said so)… and cracked out looking doll baby girls with guttural voices because “it’s all fire and brimstone baby”, L.S.D. and the chupacabra….

Um, Yeah…

Accompanying a friend on a journey of closure and renewal that could potentially turn bad by including lots of man bashing, crying and evil shit: potentially too expensive to say

Dinner at LA’s famous Yard House, including drinks: $140

Hotel room to stumble back to after said journey: $100

VIP Tickets to the Club Nokia (which seats about 500 people in high back leather chairs and has three bars for your drinking pleasure) to see Maynard’s side project (Maynard from Tool if you don’t know me and haven’t been paying attention) and potentially the most crazy show of the year: $300+

Getting dinner and the tickets because you sent said friend a link to something funny and she saw the notice for the show, thus causing the chain reaction that lead to the quest for closure and renewal, and allowed you to see the most awesome show of your life so far: Absolutely fucking priceless!!

Not to mention, I got stoke to out my best friend by meeting Danny Carey and getting him to sign my ticket. I got to watch two mommies have a good night away, just for themselves, see the “LA scene” that I don’t have any desire to be a part of, but was fun for a moment and sit next to Milla Jovavich without even realizing it because she was dressed and made up like a cracked out dollbaby! But with all the video clips, the rocket man, sniffing out the sin, finding of the sin, flamenco guitars, wine, $12 beers, songs sung behind LCD screens, indigo children, getting right with jesus and dueling drummers, the question remains… What is a Puscifer?

I’m not super political. We know this from prior posts in the political area that bring facts about obscure laws rather than stats about affects laws have. There are a couple things that I don’t have to wax on political rant to say… I don’t like this “war” we’re fighting. But we’re fighting it none the less. I don’t like the killing of other humans for gain of materials or property or something that may or may not exist, now or ever. But it’s happening none the less. War is not new. Killing for materials or property is not new either. Nor is “protecting” claims on or interest in those properties. Whether or not we like these things, people with more power than we have, make the decision to pull the trigger. Fallible humans capable of mistakes just like me. Now I realize I am dangerously close to the rant, but I won’t, that’s not the point. As a person just a fallible, I can choose to be angry or not. I choose to recognize. Too many blame and rant and yell and burn out their lungs and my throat is tired. Wow, I’ve gone askew from where I started… In the vein of recognition some of the music I listen to has a political theme, some more overt than others. It was interesting to get a soldier’s perspective on one of those songs. I fully expected a pro-defense, though not necessarily pro war, stance and a reaction giving me shit for listening to stupid emo kids that have no idea what it’s like to be on the other side of the weapon or be in combat or even to want to be in the military. Well I can’t really argue, but I didn’t get that reaction at all. What I got was ‘so its an army song.’ (former Marine – very loyal if you know anything about that stuff) ‘doesn’t matter though, people with think its some cool anti-war song, but that’s real. That’s what happens, everyday. You live that shit and then it comes home with you’. I was taken aback, first by the even tone, then by the reality of what he said. We listen to songs about war and killing and what someone interprets soldier life as, but never realize the implications. You never stop to think about that the vet may have a completely different view than you think. So I filed this information away. I changed cd’s and hadn’t really thought about the conversation again until I saw the latest The Big Picture Blog post. It was picture from Afghanistan and they aren’t old or retouched. I look at the Big Picture every time he posts because it is always amazing. This time was no different. In my day to day filled with data entry, eating, getting coffee, making plans for whatever and all the hustle that is life I forget that there is much beyond my control. I can’t fix it, nor can constant worry help. But awareness and taking a minute now and again to remind myself ‘that’s real, that’s what happens everyday’. And more importantly that someone I know, and probably someone you know now lives with that shit because it came home with them.

Rise Against
Hero of War

He said, “Son, have you seen the world? Well what would you say, if I said that you could?”

I’ve been pining over this car, a loaded up A4 Quattro, since it rolled up into the shop last year. Cleaned up and maintained and unsold, I’ve watched… and waited…. and wanted, actually coveted this car. So when I decided to put my car up for sale I thought just maybe… it could happen. Because you know, my car is a good car. My last tank got me 38 mpg, not bad for 7 years and 146,000 miles. But she’s showing signs of age. Crows feet around the eyes and the laugh lines, you know, little things that tell you it’s time to upgrade to a trophy wife. But, she’ll make some college kid or high-schooler a great little mobile. So I post her on craigslist and low and behold… I get an email two days later. The dude (we’ll call him that for the moment) would like to see/drive the car and show it to his wife, who incidentally shares my name, while he shares the tall one’s name – creepy. I agree to meet them halfway as they live 45 minutes south of me. He asks the standard questions… does it need major service, what’s been done recently, why are you selling it, blah, blah, blah. It seems people have a hard time accepting that a single woman has some knowledge of cars, doesn’t care to pay for maintenance that will be necessary soon and really just wants to move on when the car gets to a certain mileage – without there being some severe mechanical failure of some kind. The car is used and I’m selling it for less than $100 over low bluebook. I even sent the bluebook printout via email. Incidentally, low blue book is defined as “severe mechanical and/or body damage”. Yeah, no. I have neither of these things. The car is used. (wait, did I say that already???) It has dings and scratches; it needs new shocks and in about 30,000 miles will need a timing belt. Otherwise it’s all standard stuff. Stuff you expect and factor in when you buy a car that is used and being sold for low blue book. Anyhow, back to dude and his wife (still dude at this point though, barely) drive it around for a half an hour after he uses his little pen light to look all over the place and check it out. Wife on the other hand sees leather interior (not offered, but put in aftermarket) and looks happy. When they return he tells me they are very interested and will talk to me tomorrow. The next day he emails me to ask if “his mechanic” can take a look at it. I knew what he’d be told as the encyclopedia and the ex bf (who just gave it a major tune up 6 months ago) pretty much told me all that’s wrong (see above list). Fine, fine… if you want to spend your cash, go ahead. When I find out his “mechanic” is at a Meinike I should have just said no. But I didn’t. I actually drive it down there on what was a bad day anyhow. The “mechanic must have been looking for loose nuts and bolts and writing down every minute thing that may need to be done in the next 6 to 8 months. It took him an hour and fifteen minutes and then the douchebag kept us standing there while he’s in the office waiting for an “estimate”. (yes he is now douchebag) Get your little estimate – but we have shit to do and it does not include waiting in the parking lot for your anal-retentive ass. I finally walk into the office (where all talking stops) get the keys and leave with the feeling that he does not want my car – or any used car really. When he emails me, he tells me that his “mechanic” has given him an estimate for $1,500 worth of repairs that need to be done. Wha??? Huh??? It’s a frickin Honda? For all that’s wrong I could have the encyclopedia –at his shop rate- do the work (replace the shocks and bushings, do the brakes, change the oil for good measure) then kick down a keg of beer as a bonus and still have money left over to replace the tinting that’s showing signs of age, and still come at least $500 shy of $1500. At Least!! Hell, I could probably get it detailed too.

That being said, he never tells me what the estimate includes. I can only guess that the guy told him front suspension, brakes, timing belt and maybe tune-up. Either way he makes me the most amazing offer ever. I am still in awe. He’ll give me $2,000 less than I’m asking or I can have his “mechanic” do all the work necessary after which time he’ll buy it for what I’m asking. BAHAHAHAHAHA… wait, just a sec… my stomach hurts and my eyes are watering because the laughing is causing me to cramp up. Two words: Bite Me. If you want a perfect car, buy a brand new one. Otherwise, realize it’s used and being sold for a reason and not only that it’s a used car for six grand. Not 22, not even 15 but $6,000. I spent 15 minutes writing and re-writing a response to his offer and in the end decided to simply tell him good luck in finding something he was satisfied with. I should have gone with bite me.

I re-posted my car and had a couple other inquiries, but nothing of consequence. I drove the lovely, fast, amazing A4 for the weekend. It made me love it more than ever. But alas, it seems I am to covet and not obtain. Isn’t that a sin??? Maybe that is my problem… I am fucking up my karma by coveting the car!! No matter, if it is meant to be then the owner of the shop (who apparently loves me- why I don’t know) will enjoy driving it around for a while until I can try again with more successful results. Or I can find something else that’s fun and cool and know that is what it should be.

Just this moment I’m writing with my mouth full. I’m not the biggest fan of leftovers, a fact that perplexes my mother to no end, but here I sit enjoying the remains of a dinner prepared just for me. Pesto-cheese tortellini in a fresh tomato, basil and olive ragout with Sicilian style chicken sausage. And we can’t forget the crack bread on the side. I love food. I love it more when it is made for me and not “okay, let’s go get pizza” for me or “hey I cooked for my roommates and we have some leftovers if you want them” for me, but “sit down and relax, I’m cooking you dinner” for me. Even better still is this isn’t a random occurrence. It happens, in the very least, on a weekly basis… usually more. This dinner came on the heels of other gifts of time. What the hell does this have to do with the price of cars on ebay? As it would happen I did need brakes, not the biggest deal, it’s a frickin Honda. So I was preparing to take it to the shop and have this and other things done (you know shocks and stuff – a technical term). But I ended up not needing to afterall… I turned around and the amazing man had replaced my brakes (I must have been napping). Then while out testing their awesome stopping power, he picked up movies then came back and made me dinner. All of it just because… hhhmmmm maybe my karma isn’t so bad after all, Maybe putting up with the douche-bag erased some of my debt to her. Now I just need to figure out how to reverse the coveting so I can get to the obtaining……

Friday friend dinner: two friends plus the new guy… Pretty awesome. Everyone else is lame for bailing. And the food is fuckin amazing. Yeah, thanks encyclopedia: happy day.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry