Dawn of the Dead...the December Sun is Setting, Isn't It.

I played this game online until I found the phrase that I wanted. Some one on that game had a sense of humor. And what of me? Gaining knowledge from a being an online gamer? Well, you can draw your own conclusions, I suppose.

Never argue with an idiot. They'll just drag you down to their level, and then beat you with their experience.

Oh, yeah, ain't that the truth.

So, we still hang people, do we. We still drag people from the backs of pick-up trucks in my state, sometimes. Everyone so excited to hang someone. The TV was all the rage with violence this weekend. Torture displays to justify the hanging. Torture images to justify a war. It's a fucking place where you want to hurt someone else that bad. It's a weird place to want to hurt an entire nation of people. We just keep repeating that lesson. With the same results. As if the lessons recorded by Piggy, in Lord of the Flies, was a recording of real life, not fiction. We just keep producing people to do this kind of crap.

I was at coffee last night. I spoke about my childhood fights. I grew up in a place where people were so bored that's what they did....drink and fight. I was lucky, I was so scared every time that most times I won. Note that the word won...well, it goes there. That word won.

I can only recall one fight that I had where I was the attacker. No real reason for the attack. It was a fight about being part of the group, about being cool, about being top dog. It was stupid. It was ego. And after I beat this girl up...let the rage in me take over...I stood tall looking at what I had done...and I puked. I puked hard. It was as if my body knew more than myself. My body had the reaction first. My body knew that is was vile and rejected it. My body rejected the evil. I never did that again. I had learned my lesson.

I don't think that it's hard to learn that lesson. I suppose it's a valuable lesson, in some aspects. I don't live in much fear. I know what I'm capable of doing should the occasion call for it.

I had a stalker during my pregnancy. He was a neighbor. He went crazy on drugs and alcohol, and focused on me. He had said outloud that he wanted to cut out my baby and kill me. He banged on the walls separating our apartments. He followed me to my car, the trash can...everywhere. The cops couldn't really do much. The laws are such, that he would have to actually attack, then they could get him. I was asked if I had a gun.

I had a gun.

I sat with that gun one night, when the neighbor was loud and scary. I just started crying. I was asked if I could kill this man if I had to. Yes, I could kill him. Yes, I would if it were him or my baby. But, I cried.

The idea that I would have to do this. The idea that my unborn where hear the blast. The idea that my child would know that as one of his first things to know. Jesus was that just so stupid. I mourned deeply for that idea. I mourned deeply for the sadness and loneliness that my neighbor must have, that was making him act out, that might cost him his life. I thought how stupid we all were for not having a better plan. It wasn't a special circumstance. Lots of women go through this every year...and men too...children, too. We have built hiding places for people. We have had to build hiding places...Pause and think about that.

There are so many against the death penalty. I cannot say that if I had been under the rule of this man, that I wouldn't want to see him hanged. I cannot say that if someone hurt my family, I wouldn't want them dead, that I wouldn't want to do the killing myself. We are all capable of that emotion...even if you say you've not got it...that's a lie...a lie to yourself...it's in all of us. But, I didn't watch the TV...I turned it off. Why?

Well, there's a fine line, the tiniest line, between killing because you have to, and killing because your ignorant, or killing because you feel like it.

And we should all mourn a killing.

We are not connected as a world...there aren't many secrets anymore. We can do better. I have to do better.

You Just Can't Make Some People Cool

December has always been a hard month. I've never been truly happy. It could be the pressure of the Holidays, the pressure of my birthday, my Season Effective Disorder. How's to say. But, every December rolls around with its crap, and there I am sitting in it.

But, this year....this year, and why this year?, I don't know...but, this year, I've changed. When does a person change? What really makes a person change? Did happen over night? Has it really taken all this time, and now, just now, I'm seeing it? Hard to say.

I didn't really feel that bad this year. Not much at all.

In fact, I might have been over excited about the season. I wanted everyone to be happy. Shit, if I can be happy...then, it's not that fucking hard. I put up decorations. I attended parties. I made cookies. Organized a food drive. Gave gifts to everyone I knew. Made the phone calls. I even mailed out cards. I mailed out fucking Christmas cards. Yes, you may need to sit down.

I have been completely out of control.

I'm a bit tired now...and a bit reflective. I recall a poem that my friend Ric once wrote about giving everyone bags of shit on Christmas, and being nice the rest of the year. He has lofty dreams...that resonate within me. It was a striking story. If we could only follow Ric. He might be the smartest.

I saw one person going through a divorce bonding with another lonely person, who is already bitter and divorced. I took some popshots from these two, about how I just didn't know, wasn't adult enough, hadn't been where they've been, etc. All the pooh-poohing they threw. I did not go to church...however, I knew people who did. I asked them to light a candle for these two. However, I'm not sure if God himself, or even the Pope paid a visit, that it would have any baring on their state of minds. Let's all sit on the self righteous pitty potty. Oh, how they picked on me...how they needed to pick on me. My answer was to buy and hang Christmas ornaments from the dollar store, and hang them around the office. I also organized the holiday lunch, bought them gifts, and made them participate in the White Elephant Gift Exchange! They had fun...don't lie. They didn't even get it, that I had gotten them!

I know of two people in therapy, and one who's suicidal. And, I took some popshots from the family...mostly about how snooty I am with my gifts, and showing how much I have that other people don't, etc. Me? Rich? Me? Snooty? Such a long way from the cotton field that I grew up in. Such a long way from the bad credit, homeless girl, that tried to off herself one year. Didn't the pickled eggs and hogs head cheese show anymore? It's still there. I loves me a good pickled egg...they just don't like anyone else within a five foot radius a few hours later. The thought of me being some classy broad, just cracks me up. I've certainly never been accused of that before.

Normally, I would have taken this all in...into myself...that it was me. Not this year. Not that much. I didn't want to fix anyone...goodbye co-dependence. And I didn't want to hear it either. I just didn't listen. If these people wanted or needed to sit there, that was ok, but, I wasn't going to sit there, too. Not this year. No, not this year.

I found it humorous, and a bit weird about my self image. You know that image, the one that you keep to yourself, about yourself. Versus the one that people project, that people keep of you. So funny. All of the people that talked to me, thought certain things about me, couldn't have been more wrong. And somehow, had I fooled them? Or, was it that I finally felt comfortable with all of me? I can't self analyze to much today. I am laughing right now, as I'm writing. I have a serious case of the giggles.

When did people stop seeing me, like I see me? When did that happen?

Example: I was speaking to a guy about working. He sneered and said, "What could I know about hard labor?" He really thought that I had been on easy street my entire life. I didn't justify to him, no reason, I would never see him again.

Example: I offered some Pimm's, at Christmas. The family, who didn't know what that was, rolled their eyes, as if to say how fancy I was. So, not fancy...cheap at the liquor store.

To combat the work people, and their sadness, I took my bobble head birthday gift. It's Anna Nicole....very cool. They just think it's inappropriate, and I shouldn't worship her. I bought my man some Led Zepplin underwear for Christmas...I suppose that wouldn't be funny either.

Fucking people are just so silly. We all make mountains out of mole hills. This year I got all the gifts that I could have ever wanted. My friends that really know me got me stuff that spoke about them and spoke about me. When did that happen? When did I get that lucky? All of these incredibly special people brought to me, my favorite things...they knew me...they knew the image of myself that I carry with me, and it all came together...the image they have, and the image I have...together...working. Fucking fantastic. That was the true gift. This year, I was not alone. This year, I had stuff to share. This year...this fucking year.

And what of next year? According to my horoscope, I am to repeat what I was doing in 1995, with bigger and better features, and way less hullabaloo. I can't really recall 1995. That's what I'm been thinking about. What the hell was I doing in 1995. Well, if the horoscope is correct, I won't even have to remember it that much...it's already been foretold that I'm going to do it. And I'd better not try to force it anyway. I hope it was good. I do have a really shady past, and wouldn't care to repeat much of that.

My friend stated that you just can't make some people cool. Then again, some of us were just born cool.

To next year.

If You've Never Queefed in a Stranger's Bed...Have You Really Lived?

What is the purpose of the feeling of embarrassment. It is present in the animal kingdom. Whereas fear keeps us instinctively from harm, ...was it part of the greater design for animals to have embarrassment? What real purpose does it have? Are we to assume that from the Petri dish we came from, that was installed to keep us in line from the very beginning? And it's such a vague emotion...and can be somewhat devastating from some....holding them back from experiences that would be quite ok, normal. I've spent my life in pursuit of discovering the reasons for this emotion. Yes, I have.

Recently, I had a conversation with a man that I barely knew. He revealed that his most embarrassing experience was the time that he was sleeping in a hotel, and slept walked to what he thought was the bathroom, but was, in fact, the door to the hallway of the hotel. He woke to the sound of the door clicking locked behind him, to find that he was in his underwear in the camera laden hallway, with no hope of getting back into his room, without going to the front desk and getting a spare key.

I thought about helping him, consoling him with a story of my own. There were so many to choose from. I decided to forgo the story of staying at a hotel with a one night stand, only to have the maid walk in the next day to find said one night stand sitting on top of me with his dick between my tits. I decided to pick the one that I felt was tame enough not to completely shock the man, and have him stop any further conversation with me...or worse, have the light conversation that we were already having take a turn in a direction where he would have no hope of succeeding in.

When I was about six years old, I had a crush on a college age neighbor. He was so smart and handsome, I thought. He looked just like David Cassidy. I knew he was older, but I still made every excuse to go outside and play; hoping that I would have a chance to see him...have a chance to talk to him. He was always tolerant and polite of my six year old conversation. I had dreams that he would fall in love with me, we would be married.

One day, he was outside, I could see from my yard. I wanted so badly to impress the guy. The feeling in my chest of wanting him to notice me was so big it made my chest flutter. I was playing with my Play-Doh that day. For whatever reason, I told this guy, very coolly, I could eat an entire can of red Play-Doh...I always did it. I thought that would be impressive.

He dared me to do it. (Now, in retrospect, obviously the guy was an asshole. Fucking asshole.)

I smelled the salty, doughy smell of the Play-Doh. I put a big chunks in my mouth and tried to swallow. My body was gagging against it already. But, my love was strong, and I knew that I could do this. I had to do it, it was a dare, and it was for my love. I managed to choke down that entire fucking can of red Play-Doh. The guy started laughing. Not the response that I wanted, not the response that I was expecting. He just told me that I was one dumb kid to do that.

My heart broke into pieces upon pieces. I was horribly embarrassed. My face and the rest of my body that had been flushed with love, was now, flushed from so much embarrassment. I didn't let him see me cry though. Nope, not that. I told him he was stupid because everyone who was cool ate Play-Doh. I was so embarrassed that I had to pee. When you're little every emotion of any worth makes you have to pee, and had to pee bad. I knew that I couldn't make it home, and I knew that it would really be bad if I peed my pants in front of him, so I asked if I could just use his bathroom. He said that I could. (Keep in mind this was before the days of thinking all your neighbors were child molesters.)

I went to his bathroom. I was in his house. The man that I loved, and the man that had broken my heart. I peed. Then I realized that I wasn't feeling so hot. No, I wasn't feeling very good at all.

And before I could even finish that thought, I barfed red Play-Doh, splattered red Play-Doh barf, all over this guy's bathroom. Whatever embarrassment that I had felt before that moment was just intensified by a zillion. And there wasn't enough toiletpaper to clean it up. I panicked and just ran out of his bathroom, out of his house, out of his life...never to see him again. (Again, in hindsite, I'm quite happy that he had to pick up my red Play-Doh vomit...serves him right.)(I also, to this day, cannot smell Play-Doh. I'm scarred.)

I finished my story. The man before me felt comforted that he was not the only one with a story. And he's not.

We parted ways.

I recalled this morning another story that wasn't mine, but damn it's funny.

There was a table in the back room of this bar that I used to go to. It was the "cool" table. I wasn't really that cool, but I knew friends who were, so I always got to sit at the table. It was kind of stupid, really. These people were stupid, really. But, they did have the best cocaine in the area...and there was a time when I could put up with stupid people for free cocaine.

This one particular evening, I found myself alone at the table with this local musician. His band was somewhat famous for about a second...so they did have attitudes of such. It was funny. In my mind, if you were really that cool, your cocaine would be better, and free, and you wouldn't be here with the likes of me, or the rest of us in this bar...but, whatever.

He was pretty fucked up, and like I said, it was just the two of us at the table. All of a sudden, I heard this guy gasp and say, "Damn. It's him. Shit." I looked up just to see a rather ordinary guy walk into the back room. He didn't look gasp worthy to me. So, I asked, "What's so special about him." The guy I was sitting with said he didn't want to tell me. Oh, he couldn't tell me.

But then, he told me.

Not much of a fight about it. And he asked me to promise not to ever tell anyone else. Sure, I said. But, after hearing the story...there is no way on God's green earth that I would keep that promise. Oh Sweet Jesus, I could never keep that promise.

It appears that Music Man and the guy that had walked in, had gotten really fucked up one night. They were alone. They decided to have sex. Out of the blue they decided to have gay sex.

Music Man was the bottom. In case you don't know what that means...he let the other guy stick his dick up his ass. Neither one of them had ever tired it. And as the guy on top stuck his dick in Music Man's ass, Music Man found that this was rather painful. He still wanted to pursue the act, but they both stopped, and took into consideration the need for lubricant. He did not specify if it was painful for the top guy. I don't know that. Just that it hurt like a mother fucker without lubricant.

Since Music Man didn't regularly stick anything up his ass, he didn't have any ass lubricant. So, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing that came to mind...which was the Canola Cooking Oil. Music Man and the other guy lubed their respective parts with the Canola Oil. Music Man did admit that once the guy's dick was in and the pumping started it was nice, he liked it, he was unlike anything he had experienced before. He really lingered a little to long on that point for my own comfort...but whatever. Now, the pumping of the dick in his ass, and the friction, and possibly whatever was in his fecal matter, made the room smell, not of sex, but of popped popcorn.

Right after the sex act was over, the roommates of Music Man came home. They asked where the popcorn was...who had it...the whole house reeked of popped popcorn..only to walk into Music Man's room to see both men trying quite quickly to put their dicks away and pull up their pants. Needless to say, the roomates got it.

And now Music Man had told me. I tried so hard to contain my laughter, but alas, I could not. When I saw him, from that time on, I would always ask, "What's up Jiffy Pop?", or sometimes, I asked "How's it hanging, Orville?" Afterall their fame had died down, and their cocaine wasn't that good anymore. And I didn't feel like comforting this guy.

Embarrassment, the subject of entertainment and power...a human saga. And no, I did not tell you my best story.

Armadillos and beer....the story of my own life

Why did it not surprise me to see you handing out underwear on tv?

The sentence above was a true email that I received from a friend. Later, I would also find out, that a t-shirt that I made with my own face on it, had been in a garage sale, and another friend, in Arizona had picked it up, and wore my face a lot. The t-shirt was his favorite.

Things come back. Are secrets even real?

This past weekend, I went to a friend's wedding. It was to be a camp out as well. I didn't know about that part, and showed up unprepared in my nicest clothes. The kind of shit that I'd wear to work. It was very uncomfortable, actually. But, it's the kind of thing that you do for a friend.

Everyone was happy and drinking. I wasn't going to at first. But, I changed my mind. I am so easily sucked into anything that I think might be an adventure.

I had a beer and asked a hippie if he would go to the Wal-Mart with me to get some more beer and some camping clothes. The hippies don't like the Wal-Mart, and frankly neither do I. However, it was dark, I had already gotten lost once in the tiny town, and didn't want to do that again. So, the Wal-Mart it was.

We went and I picked out cheap clothes from the rack. He started to direct me to the Junior's section. I commented that I had a big ass, so we would have to go to the "Women's" section. I found a cheap jacket from the Just My Size Collection. I started laughing about the label. The hippie trying to share my feelings asked me if that was how I dealt with things, by laughing it off. I already had a buzz, and didn't really want to get into this with a hippie. I did say that sure, I would agree that I dealt with things with humor, but, I would also state that, what else could I do, when they label things like Just My Size?!? It wasn't very clever, nor was it necessary. I know my own size. But, just to make sure that I wasn't ever confused, I had my own very special label. The hippie got some McDonalds to snack on before we returned to camp.

We left the store. Upon arriving, some other hippies really gave my hippie a ton of shit for going with me, and on top of that, eating McDonalds. I went on about my business. Part of me wanted to stay and point out that they were all wearing these wonderfully dyed patterned clothing from places like India, etc. And those were some of the world's biggest oppressed groups, and unless they fucking dyed that shit themselves, they might be worse than the McDonalds. They were supporting the exploitation just as much, if not more, by donning clothing they knew nothing about, but bought because it was colorful and exotic...not that they actually went there and learned anything. I could have said all that. But, I didn't want to ruin my buzz, and you can't change people in a group very easily, and I had only bought a case of beer...it would have taken much longer than a case of beer. Also, they had already judged me, not knowing much about me, which is completely against that whole hippie thing. I would have liked to say, at least the Right Wing side never pretends their going to like you, or let you in...and there's some honesty in that. Yep, there's some honesty in McDonalds. But, again, not enough beer. I left him working it out on his own.

I could tell you everything that happened on that trip, but, I'm just not ready to tell that complete story yet. And it's not the point of this one, really.

Later in the evening, I was drunk. I hadn't been drunk in quite some time. And it was glorious. I felt alive again. I had to piss. And the bathrooms (yes, the hippies/campers had actual bathrooms and everything) were so far away. I was content to be drunk were I was. I went behind a tree.

The problem with being a female, and a drunk female, at that, is that we can't just take our dicks out and have a pee. It's an entire process. The pants, the underwear, the squatting, the holding the pants and underwear forward, the balancing, and the aiming. Not to mention the getting back up, without stepping in you're own mud pee. It's an entire process.

Well, I got most of it. I found that I had grabbed most of my clothes out of the way, but not the back edge of the underwear. But, luckily, I had a handful of toilet paper (because I had bought a package at Wal-Mart, thinking that we were in fact camping, not that we had cheater bathrooms), and I used a bit to soak up my pants tinkle. And I will say that I was more like the hippies than they thought. I didn't litter. I put my soggy toilet paper in the pocket of my Just My Size Pants, until I could find the appropriate receptacle to dispose of it.

Needless to say, it was a long piss. And under the stars, hoping nothing would bite my ass, drunk....I had a few moments to think.

I used to be and adventurer. I used to do things. Why had that stopped? Also, the few back-dated adventures that had come to surface this week, were just that...stunts of the past. And I was drunk, and had peed on myself, and I suppose this was an epiphany of some sorts. What had I become and why?

I suppose it was because I had a child. And I suppose it was because, I know that stunts come to surface, and I had more at stake now...the corporate job, the money, the house.

I was sad. I had fallen into the trap that most people fall into. Know wonder I had gained weight. Know wonder I slept. Know wonder I'm so grouchy.

I've been thinking about this married man that I slept with once. I knew that he was going to be beautiful naked. I knew that. So, I made it so that I would see him naked. We talked about what this was to be. And I explained, very clearly, that this wasn't going to be a relationship. That I did, just want to sleep with him.

Well, short story, we did do it. And he was beautiful naked. His penis was a masterpiece of humanity. Dicks like that don't come around very often in a lifetime. But, then were the calls from him. Sneaking out of his house to call me. Driving around in his car, masturbating to the sound of my voice. I do give fabulous blow jobs, I know that. But, I cut the relationship off, right then and there.

Whereas, I would agree that I can be fun in bed, it's hardly worth breaking up a marriage for. I told him to go home to his wife. Fix that, just fix that. I wasn't sorry that I slept with him...but, I didn't want to deal with breaking up a marriage, and being a step-mother, which is what he would have wanted to happen...only, later to realize, that it wasn't what he really wanted to happen. For both of our own goods, I made him go. I only saw the wiener that one time. (Yes, you did hear a sigh.)

Did I want to become that guy?

No.

I came back with a bit of renewed energy. And all it took was pissing on myself.

The consequences of being me are perhaps a bit scary and maybe even self-centered. Is it the disapproval I fear? Is the influence that I fear?

Hard to say. But, fear can be a complete immobilizer. That's just not good enough for me.

I had a wonderful dream, sleeping on the toiletpaper roll pillows....

Thoroughbred Smoke Signals and Seeing the Light

The funny thing about doublespeak is it is definitely hard to listen to and much harder to decipher. I have discovered that I am not long for the powerbottom world. I get it why secretaries and artists are drunk, alike. It would be easier if people were just honest and hard working. I laugh out loud, at that sentence. As if such a place existed. We grow up to be such assholes.

This week, we had a meeting of the minds, at work. I laugh outlouad at that sentence, too. We were all fed the party line of how we are a team. A Team, the A Team, the best darn tootin' team ever! We are just a little, bitty, cutey, booty team, right now...but, soon, we're going to be a big boy team...just like other teams in our field...why, yes, we are!

The part that I noticed, during this ever too long speech, was that the power ups, never asked us about ourselves. We were told that the team would make use of everyone's special talents, but we were never asked about what we thought our special talents might be. We were told that the team would make use of us in areas that we liked to progress in, yet, we were never asked what we would like to progress in. As a team, we must not really know eachother. We must not talk about such things.

Example: I learned that it was in all confidence, that a man at our job and his wife had lost their baby...it was in all confidence, but everyone knew, so keep it very hush-hush. The appropriated "Oh that's so sads, and that's just awfuls" were said. That part was discussed with great fake passion, over lattes. I almost choked on my free latte. Oh, the horror. I don't want to spit up in my free latte.

We were, however, enlightened about thoroughbred horses, and who owned one, and all the funny quips that come from owning one. And wine country...we all talked about wine country. I said that I didn't really drink wine, I have an allergy. And I, instead, told the story, about how, most recently, at a marketing dinner, my companion, did the whole thing about tasting the wine, and smelling the cork, over a twenty dollar table wine...and it made me giggle. "Oh this is awful!!! This fucking twenty dollar bottle of table wine. I send it back! I send it back, I tell you! And don't you dare serve me another bottle of cheap wine like this again!!! We'll go with the TEN DOLLAR BOTTLE!!!!"

And I also, stated that I just liked Lancer's in the Green bottle. Man was I in trouble. Despite any other obvious work related talents that I may contain.....Guess who's not moving up...go ahead, make that guess. Perhaps, I should not put forth my grand recipe for Halloween punch that's made in part with the green version of MadDog 20/20....I'm just saying, that perhaps, I keep that one to myself.

And what I've discovered, the more smoke that you blow up someone's ass, the more that you are respected, and the more you get to move up. There is one person, who just flat out lies about stuff, and is currently the office favorite. I'm not kidding...flat out lies....makes shit up....completely fabricates entire conversations - like they are the God's honest truth.

Example: I took this said person to a marketing event. I am still quite nervous about meeting people, but for the good of the company, I force my own hand to make the introductions. There was a woman, at this event, who is a national person..SHE IS A FED. She is a mammoth of a woman, in both, body shape and reputation. But, here went nothing. I marched right up, smoozed and got the lunch. I conquered the Mammouth!!!

LiarPants was outside smoking...not even in the room. Other women, in my low paid group, at the event, celebrated with me, my accomplishment of getting the lunch with this very high up, nationalized woman. Did I say that she's a FED? I need to make sure that everyone gets that. It's a very important detail to my self promotion.

When, I was back at the office, gleaming of my triumph, and pushing forth the woman's card, LiarPants said that this woman was someone's ex-assistant who had just gotten lucky and moved up the ranks. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD!!!

I believe that this Fed-woman's education was from and Ivy League, and I can assure you, that just in talking to this woman, she was never an assistant. And LiarPants NEVER TALKED TO HER. The lunch, that I had set forth with sweaty palm and everything, was accepted by others in the office, and a nice attempt on my part, but really their hopes were to get the top dogs. I'm not sure that getting a lunch with anyone past the feds, for us, without going through the feds, is possible. Go ahead, LiarPants, call up the Prez, and see if he has time to golf with us.

I just about fell right out of my ergonomically, correctly adjusted office chair. Fell, right there, on the carpet, in front of the big color printer and everything. I only caught myself by the edge of the putty grey file cabinet, I tell you. A near miss.

I'm not the only one, who knows this is going on. However, being so low in the eyes of the PowerBottoms, we are powerless to say anything or stop it. And what's worse, is LiarPants not only tries to do the work that was assigned, but tries to do the rest of our work, too. It is out of control. Reading other people's faxes before delivering, and the like. Thank you, I say, but yes, I can seal that FedEx by myself. I do appreciate the offer, but after I seal it, I can hopefully find the Outbox, by myself...but, I do feel better knowing that you're there, just in case. THANKSSSSSSSSS!

I get it, that LiarPants is insecure, and just needs love, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. But, how do you tell someone that they would get the love they grave, if they weren't trying to hard. Basing love on lies never works....haven't you read and learned anything from Danielle Steel?!?

And my word on that wouldn't hold water, when the bad behavior is being rewarded by a bunch of other similar sick fucks. The needy hang out in unbelievable numbers! See the popularity of Benny Hinn...not Benny Hill, Benny Hinn.

The rest of us are left with those quiet complaint whisper times. Jeez, those are so boring, and really do not offer any relief. Did you see how LiarPants did that? I DID!!! I can't believe it! I would certainly never do that!!! Me neither!!! (Secret handshake, and pinky swear.)

And the one-upmanship is a constant. I can't keep up. There are two of us, that no matter what we say, we are wrong. And how can I compete with the fact that LiarPants went to school with Bush's Cousin!!!!?!!? How can I compete with the likes of that? I dare point out that going to school with anyone, has yet to help LiarPants...we are at the same pay rate. But, who am I? I once met Clint Eastwood in a downtown elevator. He was nice, but I didn't get anything other that a handshake out of the whole entire ride. Please don't tell me that I have to suck someone's dick. I just don't think that I can. If I have to go that route, than I'm going solo, and starting my own business. Those ladies bank! Look at Monica...she did quite well. She sucked the prize wiener, and got national attention for it! If you're going to suck dick, that is definitely the way to go!

As I am not a meek person, this has been very unsettling for my bowels. Having to behave myself, and keep quite, it the hardest thing ever. I've wanted to say, quite loudly, that I have constipation everyday, and it's your fault...in fact, I have constipation right now. Let me check, yes, yes, I'm constipated right now. Perhaps, if I bend over, spread my cheeks, and you could just blow smoke up my ass, it will help loosen things up a bit. Would you mind? Just a minute, this belt is stuck. AAAAHHHH, smoke up my ass...the heavenly scent of the sweet perfumed incense of big business. Could you kiss it a little, too? THANKSSSSSSSS!!! You're a peach, yes, you are!

I have brought my Feng Sui egg to work, my calming teas, and silver amulets, my perfume herbs, and let me tell you...nothing works. The force is stong in these people. I am hoping next week to announce that I am moving my desk to the other room, in guise that I need more space for my obviously developing workload. But, I'm hoping the change of rooms will force these two, to just communicate with me by email, and thus calming the air waves that have been disturbed by the constant clatter of agreement of nonsense, and one-upmanship.

I almost got lost in the swill again, like at other jobs, the same as this one. But, today, with the idea of moving rooms that came to me in a guided meditation, from what I believe might just be my spirit guide...there is promise, there is hope, that I, too, might find a tiny sliver of peace in earning a paycheck from whoring my soul out to the boggy mudpit that is big business.

Let us all pray.

Chairman of the Bored, and other clever quips from the pantyhose lockeroom

I have nothing to say. I haven't had much to say for weeks. In the past, when I got to this point, I would take off to Mexico, or go on a drinking binge...but, I have responsibilities now, and am not likely to do either. Which, frankly, hurts my feelings. I have hurt my own feeling. Iggy Pop may have said it best..."I'm bored. I'm Chairman of the Board."

The highlight of this weekend, I suspect, is going to getting some new clothes. And not just any new clothes, no, not just any old thing. I will be buying respectable, boring, professional clothes. These are to make me appear to be the professional, that every sick fuck in my office thinks I can be, if only I had on the right clothes. Our President of the company is coming for a visit next week...we must look like we're doing something.

It doesn't matter that I'm tired from marketing my ass off. It doesn't matter that the people she's meeting are the meetings that I cultivated and set up. Nope, I gotta' look like a powerhouse. I'm feeling itchy already.

I hated to point out that I got these contacts, etc., just with my dirty crap on, and my winning personality. I hated to make that point. I hated to make the point that perhaps part of my charm was that I wasn't intimidating in my own clothes, that people thought they might want to work with me/our company because I wasn't a bulldozer in pantyhose. Just maybe, just maybe, just maybe, I was on to something. No, we don't say those things.

I also didn't point out that a talk, that my boss was going to present, that I had to label, was from a list of corporate words that I had found online. This was a list of corporate words that a website was making fun of, and I just pulled some of them off the list and labeled the talk. Everyone cheered at my clever wording...no one knew, that I had it in me, to use the big words. Everyone was so impressed. I thanked everyone, and turned to stare blankly at my computer screen, I just stared blankly...not really knowing what to say to them the rest of the day. Where to you go after such a spoof on the English language?

I do sometimes get a bit passive aggressive. Perhaps it's my only saving grace.

When we were all trying to think of a place to have our "team" powerlunch with the bigwig, some place that was uniquely Texas, everyone picked this fancy-smancy Mexican food restaurant. Everyone, stated how it was really Mexican, very authentic, from the interior of Mexico and everything. I piped up that it was crap. Oh, how everyone disagreed with me. And one person, stated that she had been in Mexico, and it was in fact, very, the most, authentic, that we had here. She was just a vacationer, a person who only went to the fancy, well guarded spots of any country. I replied that she was just a tourist, and I had lived there for about two years, so, I knew more than she did, and I was the winner. Yes, that's what I called myself, the winner. I said outloud, that I was the winner and I win. I also said that our President wasn't going to know the difference, just as she didn't know the difference, and it was a very nice restaurant, so what the hell. We weren't doing it for the authentic flavor, we where doing it for the shiny silverware and the service. Then I did realize that I might be sounding a little on the bitter side, so I pulled back the attitude a bit, and went back to smiling and nodding. Good monkey, good puppy, good girl.

And this week, I went to a marketing function for women and minorities. And everyone was so happy and gaining strength from eachother for being a woman or a minority. It was so awful. There is was, listening to this gobblity goo. And I smiled and shook hands. And at lunch there was even a rep from the Governor's office. It's an election year. His whole entire speal was just: Governor, Governor, Governor...Governor, Governor...Governor, Governor, Governor. I made a side be with the man next to me, on how long he was going to talk, and how many times he would say Governor in the talk. I'm not sure the many even took a breath or said anything else. Luckily, I was distracted by my the many layers of my giant piece of chocolate cake, so I don't think that I was brainwashed too much. Only time will tell.

I thought to myself, I wondered to myself, if there would be a time, in my lifetime, where I was just paid for doing a good job...just that. Not for my clothes, not for my gender, not for my color. I wondered if people would get that for themselves, so I would have to stop dealing with it. Not likely. It will not happen in my lifetime. Even now, around me, I watch people cultivating crap in their children. We, in this county send our kids in flag suits to war, a war that they didn't even start and know nothing of the history of. Just great. Just fucking great. Here's a gun, go get 'em tiger. All of this technology and science around us, and we are no better than where we were centuries ago. We still have people believing in ghosts, goblins, and fairytales.

You can look at the face of Mars. That belief changed just in our life. It has been determined to be just a rock formation...not alien art afterall. Well, unless you are of the group the believes that our trip to Mars isn't real, that's it's just computer generated art, and until you go to Mars yourself to see it, you're still going to believe that Mayan Aliens did it, to watch us from outer space.

And what about me. I'm bored. And I'm going to buy my powerbottom clothes for next week, to get my paycheck. But the lure of drinking until I puke, snorting cocaine out of the end of a straw in some dirty bathroom, and spilling shit on my powerbottom clothes, and screwing some guy, who's name I'm too screwed up to pronounce, is looming in my mind and in my heart. I'm not that special, or that smart, I do just truely think out of the box that we all put ourselves in. And that's sometimes a lonely place to party. Enjoy the freedom of childhood, because growing up sucks.

signed,
Chairman of the Bored

Death Becomes Us

I chewed off all of my finger nails last night. I knew when I was doing it, and somehow just couldn't stop myself...all but two survived. I'm mulling stuff over in my head. It won't stop.

I don't want to go to work tomorrow. I mean that I REALLY don't want to go to work tomorrow.

I feel asleep going back and forth between a murder show and a terrorist show. Such great choices to view, and I pay for this privilege each month, out of my own pocket. I find it so tasteless, the hollywood version of things that I watched myself happen. As if these actors could really capture these moments. Well they can't.

These days, I find myself not even wanting to eat any meat. A dear friend pointed out, that you can associate killing meat for food, or you can associate killing meat for sport. I believe that I have begun to associate eating meat with the latter, as it's so prevalent in our neighborhoods. It grosses me out, the little arms and legs, the flesh, and fat, and bones of something that used to be living. On occasion, with me, this has come up. I'm not a vegetarian, I just automatically associate the meat with carnage...without really even thinking much about it.

We pay more money to watch football, than discover new ideas. I have witnessed this excess, just this weekend. With the flyby of the jets before the big event. The jet flew right by my house. With the loud noise that usually is supposed to signal a tragic event, that death and destruction is forthcoming, it flew right over my house, and gave me chills. We've sent these jets to kill people, to kill other people's children, using our own children to drive them. Maybe some would find me unpatriotic, but that is not the case. I just believe that items such as fighter jets should be recognized for what they are...killing machines, not toys to show off before a game of sport. Death should not be hailed as a sport. A fear driving machine should not be seen as a cheering toy.

This weekend, I learned of a friend's death. She had been poor and in pain for some time. She was basically alone, and no one to take her in, she was in pain and still had to do odd jobs to cover the rent, as her social security just didn't cover everything. She took so many pills. And in the end, she took too many pills and died. She didn't leave a note, so it probably was an accident. I always meant to spend more time with her, and I was busy, so I didn't. Now there is no more time with her. And the building where we met has been mowed over to make room for a new highrise. I failed her. And I didn't take the time. And I wasn't helpful. And I didn't share.

And the jets flew over yesterday. I am ashamed of my people, and I am ashamed of myself.

All the fucking things we choose not to become.

miraculous phenomenon

The thing about doing major drugs, be they legally induced or not, you can have epiphany or two.

The whole time that I've been taking these steroids I've been thinking...lots. A bit of a side effect of the medication itself. And I've gotten to take a good look around, being a bit out of the scene. I mean to say that I'm physically there, somewhat, but it's really more like I'm watching rather than participating.

I spent the week in observance, and in commentary. When I've been bored I've been leaving phone messages on a friend of mine's ole school answering machine. He is so kind to allow me that. Little fucked up nuggets of wisdom that I incurred during my trip. He says that their brilliant. Maybe they are...but maybe I'm just leaving a piece of myself to be retold later. The best way to live forever is have other people tell stories about you. I'm not without ego.

I found out this week how ordinary I am. How ordinary everyone is. I sometimes get fooled. I'm terribly insecure...at what age to do begin to shake that? Maybe now...hard to say if once the drugs leave my system I will still think this way.

A few years ago, it was my birthday. There was a party and I was completely smashed. I was in my CP-30 pj set wrestling for beers against my friend who was wearing my Mexican wrestlers mask. My landlady came over and said there had been some complaints about the noise. I told her to come back at six, then there would be something to complain about. I always wondered why she didn't just call the cops. She could have, but she didn't. I was drunk and horny. I slept with one of the guys at my party. I didn't really think that I would have much to do with him after that. I didn't count on it. He was just some guy...he didn't even look like one of the guys that I normally attached myself to...just some guy.

Two weeks later, I was taking the pregnancy test. And me, the dog and the cat, all sitting in the bathroom watching for the double pink line. I already knew...maybe, I knew right when it happened, the jizz and the egg, swirling...micro changes that come from that to be so huge it can take your breath away.

I was to be somebody's mother. It's a weird feeling. Sure it's one of awesome weight...but, then there's just this sense of being ok with it...it's just nature...it's what is supposed to happen.

I didn't have insurance. The doctor at the free clinic told me that people like me shouldn't be having children. I asked him if he had been to Wal-Mart lately. He fucked off.

My own father and his new wife told me they thought it was best if I had an abortion. I quit speaking to them...it was only logical.

During my pregnancy, I wasn't like other mothers. I didn't feel like my son was a part of me, in the traditional sense. I felt this other human. I felt like he was just renting space in me. He was already making his own decisions. I was only to guide, support, and bare witness. He was his own human. There would be things that I would get to see, and just as much that I would never get to know, because he was a different person than me, only connected by some blood lines and some tissue for a bit of time.

Tomorrow by son is starting school. His first day. We've met the teacher. My son thinks that she is pretty.

We bought him school clothes, and supplies. He has his lunch money ready, all ready...in his new velcro superhero wallet. He does not want to take his lunch. My son is handsome. And he's funny, really funny. He's smart, and has feelings, and generally likes most things. He is prepared. He's now going out of the house to start the next phase. It's a big deal. I am proud and my heart aches. He is not just a little baby anymore...whispers of the man that he will become have started. Be they whispers, I can still hear them.

We have a family. The three of us, have a family.

I stood by while he picked out his first day outfit. I watched his small hand lay the socks next to his pants with care. Then changing his mind, and changing what pants he was going to wear, and laying the socks back down again.

If we are such fuck ups, and weirdos, and the kind of people who could have been contenders, etc. How could I have been so fucking lucky to end up with such a big man who helped me bare such wonderful moments with this tiny human as these? Not luck...no not luck.

We are that cool. We are just that cool. My family is just that cool.

All of those stages of dying...short for some, not for me

So, here we go again. Another flair up of the MS. I missed my friend's art opening, and I didn't even publicize about it much. That's when I knew that I was loosing it. I didn't want to miss that. He's badass...and I missed it. Fucking disease bullshit.

AND: Right after a rather shitty work review, by a person perhaps stepping off the deep end a bit...but, nonetheless, it stung. I knew it was the MS. I've been trying to fake it a bunch, as my thoughtfulness goes down the tub.

What stung about the review, was the lack of being able to talk back. Jeez, for those that know me....that really fucking kills me. I was told that I wasn't living up to my potential. So, I will write my response here:

Who in the hell ever said that I wanted to live up to my potential in the first place? And who around me is doing it? The Prez? That bike guy? Who? There seems to be a fair amount of cheating and improvised potential....enough to go around. And who said that I was going to live up my potential at a job like the one that I have? Are you kidding me? Seriously. I am smarter than that. That is perhaps the part that makes it hardest for me to live up my potential in some job that I know, if I completely applied myself and did every this just shiny, fucking perfect, I would knitted buttlint for and have to seriously flog myself into oblivion for doing such a good job at, in the first place. Are you kidding me?

I did not have a golden family, nor do I have anyone that can slip me creamy testos for my nads. I hate to say it outloud, but I come from the hardknock, passive/aggressive, school of hard time, that allows me sometime the opinion that I should be getting lots of stuff for free. And cut...scene fade.

So, I've been dragging my tail about going to the neurologist. I waited until it really was beginning to hurt and show. It's the same thing every time. And I hate it. AND to make it worse, I watched an episode of some cold case TV show. And do you want to guess what it was about? Well, I'll tell you. There was a serial killer, and he was catching people and making them write out their will, and pick out their death spot, before he killed them...and the kicker was that he had MS. He was having trouble dealing with dying.

It was kinda' fucked up. I mean, I sometimes get in the mood to be reflective in not the most positive of ways...but, jeez, dude, I never want to take people with me. It was a downer to watch...I didn't want that to be representative of "my people". I almost wrote a letter, but my hands are numb, and I can't think on cue, and the Family Guy was on...I got distracted.

I went to the doctor, and I knew the answer, I would start the chemo drugs. I hate them. I never thought that I would say that I hated drugs, but I do. I hate them with all my heart. I hate the stinging needle. I hate the warm goo that runs into my veins so much that my mouth can taste it and I vomit. I hate it. I left the doctor's office and went to sit in my car...in the ever so cool handicapped parking space. The label sucks, but the parking is cool. I just cried. I wasn't mad, or sad...I just hated it...not the angry hate, just the here we go again hate. I cried. There wasn't anyone to need to call or anything like that. I just need to cry...it wasn't really even that dramatic...it was just a cry...an it made me feel better. And then went back to work until injection time.

I went at my prescribed time. Sometimes, there's no clocks in the waiting room. I get it, but everyone has cell phones now that tell the time. It's kind of just stupid. We all sighed. The only decent thing about this place, the infusion lab, it that you're not alone. We're all fucked up. We can all agree with that. Not matter what, being in a room full of other fucked up people has it's privileges .

My eyes met with the guy. His neck was swollen. He has hotchkins lymphoma. He looked like he had swallowed a chicken bone, but bigger. He was worried. He was newly married and they had a baby on the way. He asked if this was my first time. Oh God no, I'm old hat at this. He looked scared. It felt weird to have something consoling to say, but I did. I told him that it seemed like a big deal, and it was a big deal, but people had strength in them that no one knew they had. He was worried about his job. Me, too. But, it's just a fucking job, and you can get another one. It's easy to concentrate on that, but really, you can just get another one. I, also told him that it was boring. It was really fucking boring. And the second time wasn't nearly as bad as the first. It's the first time that's the kick in the pants, but you can get the routine down. And I told him to eat whatever he wanted and buy lotto tickets if he wanted...whatever was fun was an absolute must.

And that there were tricks, yes, tricks. What tricks, he asked.

I laid it out.

Always try to schedule your shit in the late afternoon...that's when the old people are gone, and you have the bigger chance of getting the remote control, or at least getting something bearable to watch. Otherwise, it was strictly Judge Judy and Oprah. And if bossing healthly old people around was super bad...well, fucking with Sick and Old People just got you a bad needle sticker, and no juice box...it was the death of you in the lab. Not even worth the trouble of trying...straight to hell, my friend, straight to hell.

They have juice boxes and cookies, crackers, and peanut butter crackers. If you were hungry, just ask nicely, and say that you had to fast for your morning labs. They'll totally give you more than one helping.Or, pretend that you're feeling nauseous...then, they break out the spread.

Also, it's ok to sit next to someone who's worse off that you or even dying...they will remind you that you're not, and there's strength in that. There is strength in that. And people have stories...it's important to listen...they gain strength from that.

Also, wear easy on and off pants, cause if you start your drugs and have to go to the bathroom, you can get the pants down, but it's getting them back up that sucks...so, you either have to open the door for help, and everyone sees your business or you stay in the bathroom forever struggling and when you come out everyone thinks you took a big shit.

AND, when in the bathroom, when on drugs, you always need to get some toilet paper pre-grabbed with your good hand...if not, it's a real bitch to be in there alone, high, wet and trying to grab for the squares in the big, plastic cage.

My last trick was to steal something...or ask for it, if you're chicken. I usually take a few extra butt cancer pamphlets, or breast cancer pamphlets...or whatever you can find...and then give them/mail them to friends and co-workers...an preferably anonymously. Face masks, big tongue depressors...whatever. One time, I scored a ton of How to Put On a Condom pamphlets, in Spanish and in English, with pictures of a real wiener. Very high prize...very indeed.

He laughed. I did, too. But, he would learn that I was totally serious. Time was up...we went to the "back".

I was sat in the prime spot. I got lucky this time. I had the chair right in front of the tv, and I was blessed with the remote control. It was just right there. I never had that spot.

I sat next to a woman, who was a dangerously enimec. I started laughing, and asked her if business was so bad she had to drive up to the infusion lab. Everyone laughed. She had really almost died. Her medicine was liquid iron...thick, blood-shit, brown creeping. And to my other side was an old woman who bone marrow quit working and she was having leukemia...her progress might turn out ok...might be remission...or she might die...to soon to tell. We all felt like shit.

As keeper of the remote, I wasn't a tyrant about it. We all agreed that no war, no stocks, no barrels, no deaths, etc. We watched Flava Flav. We had quite a debate about it. There women that fought over him on the show. He a little older now. And so is his wiener. I said that it my look like a beat up mangy pitbull at this stage of the game. Yuck!!! Saggy, too, was the concencious.

And there were women really fighting over it. BITCH!!!! OH IT'S ON NOW!!!

Who is the looser there? Are you the winner because you didn't win the hog slop wiener? OR, are you even a bigger looser because you didn't beat down the hog slop wiener lover? It was a hard call. And how romantic is it to think of Flava Flav going down on you when he has all that metal in his mouth? Lookin' like the also fro lovin' JAWS from the ever so hip 007 James Bond movie. Thoughts of him coming back up with girlie hairs stuck in the bling, and the painful bald patch it might cause.

Don't get me wrong, I like Flava Flav, too. I just have enough sense not to ever want to get me any of that. I'll bet I have to rumble some getto stake who wants to defend his honor now. That's funny. Did he live up to his potential...Yeah, chew on that for a minute.

The man that I spoke with in the waiting room left before me. He had a juice box in his hand, and one in this pocket...he winked...and we both said out good lucks. I think that he will be fine. I really believe that...of course, it could be the drugs, but whatever.

I have two more days of pumping, then a few days of the come down. The drugs keep me up at night. So, I'm sure this is to be continued.

The aptitude of the home grown eConomist...Con being the opt word there.

In my lifetime I have seen so many examples of when people get a little money, they, then, begin to desire to have more money. As though these little slips of paper and shiny metal coins become and entrance to freedom. I would argue that it becomes more of an entrapment. And I find myself sometimes in that trap as well, forgetting my humble roots.

I ran away from home more than once. I ran. I bolted. I would sacrifice and give away...in order to be free. I wanted the opportunity to see. I wanted the opportunity to become. I took the risk and landed on my own, with nothing.

A bar is closing down to make way for a new condo complex. I used to beg for spare change there. Spare change for food. I had one of my great loves, and most terrifying events come out of that place, too. Ok, maybe more than one terrifying event. But, there was also laughs. And what doesn't kill you does make you stronger. Whoever first said that, was right.

Back to the money, though.

I was living on an apartment roof top across from this bar. Yes, the roof top. There was one way to climb up to the top. And it was a bit of a run down complex, so no one was going to check up there. I lived directly on top of a drug dealer's apartment. So, I did have to be mindful that I didn't get caught by some of the comings and goings of his customers. In years later, he would clean up his act, and become a normal citizen. He knew that I was up there, but he didn't tell. We both had secrets on eachother, so we bonded in a don't ask, don't tell relationship.

Sometimes, I would come down from my perch and he'd let me use his shower. And we would talk on his porch. I traded listening and girl advise for a towel and some hot water. There was a certain freedom in sleeping on a rooftop. All the breezes and stars, very simple sometimes.

One day, I went to have Chinese food with a friend. I had leftovers in a togo box, that I planned to eat for dinner. As I began to climb to my roof perch, I saw a man, about my age. His clothes were dirty, and he was digging in the trash behind a Wendy's. I looked at my container of food, and knew that I wasn't that bad off. I was clean and had just gorged.

I said, "Hey. What are you doing?!?" The man replied, "I'm looking for something to eat." I explained to him that I had plenty of food and had just eaten, and he was welcome to my leftovers, if he wanted. He took my leftovers and said only, "Thanks". He never looked me directly in the eyes.

I climbed to my perch feeling better about myself. And that I had enough to share with someone less fortunate than me. Good feelings can feed a lot of sorrow.

I settled down to read, when I glanced up to see the man digging in the trash can again. What did he do with my food, I thought. There was a ton left, he could not still be hungry. No way.

I asked, "What are you doing?" The man replied, "Looking for something to eat. I don't like Chinese. I threw it out."

Tell me what the hell you're supposed to say to that. Tell me. 'Cause I got nothin'.

I was floored, and mad, and floored. He could have just givin' it back. But, now I realized that he might be nuts and dangerous, so I couldn't go get my food back. So, I was stuck on my perch, floored and mad. Fuckin' crazy fuck! And the sheer oddness of what had just happened.

Years later, I was driving pizzas around. I grabbed a run, and it was to a crappy student complex, near the college, but still crappy. One does not equate big tip, or any tip, from so called "starving students".

As I pulled up to the complex, I could hear the heavy metal. Great, I thought...Drunk, shitty tippers. I could hear the ruckus as I neared the door, number 201. I knocked, and heard the stumbling to the door, through the beer cans, and the shush-shush, in case I was the cops, not the fucking pizza they had ordered fifteen minutes or less ago. I waited, and geared up, for the jokes and sneers. At that time, it was me and one other girl, in the entire town that were pizza drivers. Yes, even with fucking pizza sauce, baked cheese and greasy hair, a girl can still be harassed. (Just on that thought for a minute.)

The door opened. I looked up, from under the brim of my pizza cap, to give my usual speech. But, I stopped.

Again, for the second time, in my life, I was floored.

Who was it? Ah yes it was!

After all these years, there was the slightly older, young man, who threw out my Chinese food. It was his apartment. There was a couple of rock posters on the wall, a crappy worn couch, one lamp, and a jambox. And that was it. Well, there were beer cans everywhere, but that was it. It was a shithole...nothing homey about it. On the other hand, it was a shithole with a roof. So, as my mind raced, I realized that we both, in fact, had moved up. Then, I wondered if he would recognize me. He did not.

The man shoved money at me, and grabbed for the pizza. I counted the money. There was the pizza money, for sure, down to the change. Then there was a hundred dollar bill. I stared at it. One hundred dollars for a tip...shit, that could make my life a bit easier this week. But, the angel vs. the devil. I caved. I have a good heart. I can't take money off a drunk, crazy fuck. I sighed as I explained that this one hundred dollars wasn't necessary, and he must have given this to me by mistake.

This man, looked up, dead right in my eyes, and gruffly told me it was no mistake, and to take the money, and get out of here. Ok, crazy guy, you don't have to tell me twice. I'm outta' here. I took the money, put the old car in gear, and went back to the pizza shop.

Upon my arrival back in the shop, all the guys were standing around. Even though there was pizzas to deliver, they were waiting. All waiting for me. They all wanted to know what kind of tip I had gotten. The man was famous around the pizza joint. That address was notorious. And I just happen to get the luck of the runs to get it...all the pissed off faces told me that. I told them all that it was none of their fucking business, and what was so special about that crazy guy anyway. I did not pipe up that I had met this man before, and I did not explain what the circumstances were when we first met. No way!

Then came the story. The man was a millionaire. He was loaded...super loaded. When he was a child, his rich parents died, and left him the fortune. However, the money was no trade for his parents, and he went nuts...he didn't want to have anything to do with the money. Sometimes he was homeless, and sometimes he would show up at that shitty apartment. The complex owner was an uncle or something...so, he could be a nuts as he wanted to be and never get kicked out. I felt like an even bigger dirty shitbag for taking the guy's money. A dirty shitbag in need of taking his money.

It was three in the morning my shift was finally over. I sat in my shitty car. I took my hat off and ran my hands over my greasy face and through my greasy hair. I put the one hundred dollar bill on my dashboard, and sat there, tired. I sat there eating cold, chewy pizza and staring at the money. I knew that I would spend it. I knew that I had to spend it...all the bills right?!? Yeah, all the bills. I would spend it.

But, I needed to have that money just sit there for a minute, and not be spent. I supposed I needed it to be recognized for something. Also, the sheer weirdness of how this man and I met twice in a lifetime. Both times, being such odd things. This bill, this man, this me, his life, my life, this life...something. Something was there that needed to be recognized.

I spent the money. I never saw him again. Or maybe I moved on enough that I wouldn't recognize him if I did see him again. Whatever....

Right now: Yes, money can be a thing of entrapment, and being mindful of humble roots.

God, Guns and Guts. Let's Just Do All The Things That You Want To Do.

It is my job to give advice. It is my job to keep secrets. It is my job to be supportive. I'm good at it...I can do the job. However, I note, that just because I'm good at it, doesn't mean that I really enjoy it.

This week, those items, above mentioned, were tested. I had to be thoughtful. Really being thoughtful is mostly against my nature. I'm ultimately self-centered and a bit harsh. I do have a sense a fairness for all, but not at a complete cost to the completely unreasonable. I loathe being trapped into being professional, polite and courteous...which is the business norm. What a crock of shit that is. I would much more prefer to just say what I mean, and let the chips fall where they may; however, people don't like honesty. I should say people don't have the stomach for honesty.

So, when confronted with too many things that I have to be thoughtful about, man, oh man, does that ware me out. I found myself thinking this week: What?!? Are you kidding me?!? And, lacking the position to really say that outloud.

I found myself surrounded by klans, as well. We are all so traditionally comfortable with being part of a group, or klan, that we will cut off our noses to spite our faces. It is impossible to make everyone comfortable at all times. You can still be fair in the middle of being uncomfortable, that is possible. But, so many people lack the balls to do just that. Sometimes you have to have the ability to say no. You have to have the ability to say no, in order to reach the bigger goal. So many people lack the balls to do that. And we see examples of this in the larger scale of the world currently.

So, I was thoughtful and mindful this week...oh, yes, I fucking was. And I still watched as others blunder their way. I really have been liking where I work, up until now. The company wants to grow without making it's people grow with it. That is impossible. You will not grow if you people don't. They can not stay the same, small company, klan, family like people. And who said that I wanted to be part of a family at work. Are you fucking kidding me?!? I have a family, and I use my work as a way to provide fuel for my family to work. I do not go to work to include those people as part of my family. Yuck! Blah!

Thoughts of sarcasms boiled in me. Thoughts of why were these people try in sabotage themselves boiled in me. Then more thoughts of sarcasms boiled in me. I'm not trying to say from some mountain top, that I am the greatest thinker of all times...More like, I'm not the greatest thinker of all times...so, you guys must really be dumbasses.

I will use today to think of loftier things...take a break. With only whispers that me and all of Japan have the balls to say no, and sit in the uncomfortable chair.

I'm turning Japanese, I really think so.

The Art of Seduction, and why men cannot be Superstars

In out society men can still do pretty much whatever they want. Women, on the other hand, have to be so clever and take on so much. And now, there is a group of men, who have stolen and produced the secrets that women have used in the dating world for centuries. I watched the television has these couple of men claimed to have the answers, the full proof systems, even had seminars and coaches for this room full of chumps.

I was so angered. I wasn't angered that they were practicing this fine art...only that they thought they had perfected this art...that it was, in fact, their own art. THIEVES!!!!

I recalled how many Woody Allen films I had once endured to catch the prize. All those hours of Woody Allen. And once I finally slept with this guy, I was done...I wanted no more. In fact, after a long night of lovin' and tequila, I awoke groggy and heavy headed, to this guy asking for just one more hand job. I told him no, and got up to find my pants and get the hell out of dodge. He was so sad.

I also recalled the same scenario with a lover of Jim Jarmusch movies...with the same end result...looking for my pants and leaving.

In my time, I learned that buying the drinks often helped in the seduction.

And I learned that one should date the pretty guys, only every once in a while, to up your street cred, but ultimately, those guys were not very good lovers. It was the geeks and the freaks that could really do the deed correctly...the only trade off with them was the emotional baggage, or their obsession with something (i.e. film, star trek, etc.), that you might have to endure a bit of to get to the weenier. All the talking about them...can be tiresome.

I also thought of a guy, who once was big in the music scene, that a friend bet me a Taco Bell, Bean and Cheese Burrito,WITH a drink, that I could not get to ask me out. I had three weeks to do so.

I immediately got to work.

I completely showed up wherever he was, and completely ignored him. I was not a hot, rock n' roll babe. So, I had to be extremely precise and careful. I ignored him completely. And he began to come around. What could the fat chick have? Why isn't she interested in ME? I am a bad, muther fucker!?!

He finally ended up in a conversation with me and another guy, of less stature than he. Oh, he tried to talk to us. And I have to say, he was a cutie, but I could not falter at this time...this was the deal breaking moment. I gave away my attentions to the ugly guy, and even poked an ever so tiny amount of fun at cutie. Then, without a moments notice or hesitation, I abruptly got up and left.

Would it work? Only time would tell. The wait had begun. This entire process had taken almost the entire three weeks. Would I succeed? It was the final night, before the final day of the three weeks. My entire reputation and my lunch was on the line.

The next day, I was sleeping my hangover off, and the phone rang. My roommate nudged me from my sleep and handed me the phone. All croaky, I said hello.

It was cutie. He had even gone to the trouble of finding my number on his own. Fucking bonus!!!!

Cutie asked me out. I held the phone up to my roomate's ear and asked cutie to repeat himself. He did. I had won the lunch. I told him that I had only tried to get him to ask me out for a burrito and drink, and thank you, but no, I didn't want to go out with his conceited ass. I hung up and went back to sleep.

Years later, this same guy would show up fat and road worn from his rock and roll life style. And he pointed to me, came over, and told me that I was the only girl that ever said no to him. I told him I was sorry about that whole mess, I was young...blah, blah, blah. And I'll be damned if his fat ass didn't ask me out again. I told him no, again. End game.

So, all I'm saying, is that these men, these super stars of The Game, did not invent the game, they did not master the game, I'm not even sure if they even know were the game is. Because, even though I have retired my gimmicks and my gags...there is a whole new generation of plump, slightly off in the looks department, young women, who have generations, upon generations, upon generations of women gamer's blood running through their veins...a wisdom the likes that these men have only begun to barely even catch a wiff of.

Nigga' please.

Life After the Stapler

My office has windows. It's been a wonderful treat to work in a place that has windows. Jesus, how the architects have failed us by creating so many buildings without views. And we have all let them do it. We've become mole people. It is no consequence that we're comfortable destroying the planet. We never have to see it. We never really look at the damage that we're doing. Even on vacations, we're in mini-vans, hotels, RV's....always with the walls.

I've been watching the outside. I have a huge butterfly who visits my window every day. I looked it up. The wingspan is about five or six inches across. The butterfly is a Giant Swallowtail. The bright yellow, enlayed with other more subtle colors and patterns. Hard to believe it's a real living thing. Humans are certainly the more boring of all of the living creatures; although, we would like to think that we're not. We're not graceful, we're not really, really beautiful. We're certainly not peaceful. And we can't fly.

I also have been watching a young grackle bird. My office mates hate grackles, call them pests - use the words dirty and hate. I don't hate the grackles anymore than I hate most humans. I'll take a whole flock of grackles over most people. And I've said that outloud. Shocked the office mates are not. If the truth came out I think most people would take the birds over some people.

Anyway...back to the grackle. He's not very big, I'm thinking that maybe he's a teenager or young adult. It's mating season. He's been very busy. Everyday he puffs up, and shakes his feathers...he makes the call. Some times he gets another male, bigger than he is, sniffing around his tree. Usually a bit of a fight starts up. I am proud of my little grackle. He, thus far, has held his own. He doesn't back down. No bigger grackle has taken over his perch...not a one.

He's very black. He's very shiny. And he has bright eyes, which study me back. We spend a few minutes every day checking eachother out. Maybe he knows that I'm on his side, and am certainly no threat to him or his tree and rock.

The grackle has had a few women callers. But, they've never stayed. He puffs up, he dances, he chases...but, they always move on. Like I said, he's not the biggest, fanciest dancer...not yet, anyway. But, everyday, the fucking bird gets up and does it again...every single day. I admire his tenacity.

Sometimes, I see the girls that come by...so far, I haven't been that impressed. Some of them look a little windworn, or too skinny, or that don't take his puffing efforts very seriously - as though they are just toying with him...those make me the most ticked off. I find myself thinking that he didn't need the fucking bitch anyway.

Every day I watch.

Yesterday, was like any other day, my grackle puffed, and puffed, and called. A girl came by. She was about his size, a little smaller, with a golden chest, and bright eyes. My grackle puffed...he shook his black tail feathers and called on his tree branch. The girl puffed back. I didn't know that the girls could puff that much, I had not seen a display like this from any of the others. She puffed and shook and answered.

They danced a little in the tree from branch to branch. Then to the rock, then to the ground, they puffed and danced. He chased her round and round the courtyard of this office building, and I held my breath a little hoping that no one would come out of the building and disturb them. I didn't want her to fly off. Not this girl, this is the one....this is the one. As though, my grackle knew it to be so, he puffed and danced like he'd never done before. And this girl answered every time.

After what seemed like forever to me, it ended. They flew off together. I didn't see my grackle for the rest of the day. I don't think that I'll see him again. The next phase of his life has begun, and I bore witness to it. I bore witness to it from my glass caged window of an office building. I'm sure there's enough words to thank this bird for allowing me the chance to remember what it was once like to be outside.

Shopping with June Doe

Here are a few events that may attend, or shop from, and I believe in my heart of hearts, these places and people have saved me from a life of boredom and poor health. Love, June Doe

Don Snell - Artist
Annarella is in Georgetown, TX
800 S. Austin Avenue, next to the Palace Theatre

Don Snell and Ruth Roberts hope to see you on Friday, June 2
_____________________
http://www.donsnell.com




Secret-Oktober - Clothes, Shoes, Badges and more
Hello!This is a reminder that we are going to have an event called a craft swap.You bring your old/unwanted craft or art supplies, and trade them to other people for their old stuff. I know everyone has some craft project that they will never get around to finishing, so clean out your closets now!Thanks!Secret Oktober
1905 S. 1stAustin, TX 78704462-9217
www.secret-oktober.com
secretoktober23@yahoo.com

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Who's land is it anyway?

What I find interesting about this is that I understand why the Supreme Court upheld the rule last year; although I find in a very dangerous road to start going down, and just because I understand it, doesn't mean that I like it. Wal-Mart somehow has presented itself that this great champion of the poor, with it's crappy low wage jobs, and it's even crappier food and home furnishings. And the cost of everything has been driven to the point that the poor are caught in a cycle of working for crap to buy the crap...so, of course, I do not believe that they are the champions of small communities that need the revenue to keep up. I believe that they are Capitalist Salepeople trying to make a buck, just like everyone else who's a Capitalist. And since we condone Capitalism, what are we to expect. If you want companies to start behaving better, then you have to stop buying from them. Our society is completely market driven. The people who shop have all the power. Entice those shoppers with something else and they will move.

People who are desperate will make sacrifices to better their lives, even if those sacrifices are laid out in taking of farm land and huge traffic jams, and low paying, crappy insurance jobs. That's not really helping them or the towns they live in. It's Wal-Mart in Sheep's Clothing. Wal-Mart does not feed the poor, it feeds off of the poor. We should clarify that mistaken identity.

And I am disappointed that again we have to have an affluent community set the example. However, I am happy that the example is being set. The example that the laws of Eminent Domain can work both ways...not strictly for the Giants of Doom, such as Wal-Mart.

And it is my sincerest hope that in this case Wal-Mart does not triumph of the will of the little people. They have certainly made enough money for their families to live comfortably for the rest of their lives...so, in my opinion, they do not need to take over the world, one small comunity at a time. They could try the tactic of enjoying what they've made, and make room for the next guy.

http://walmartwatch.com/

A yelling match with myself about the stupid

What were we all told? The devil has many forms. And it seems that since there's always a way to defeat the devil, well, the devil doesn't seem to be very bright. Poor, stupid devil...so close to world domination and then, by golly, someone does something good, and the devils plans are foiled again. What an existance it much me to be the devil...to be a constant failure. Yes, what an existance that must be.

I am not unlike other people. I want to be a good person. I want to do good things. But, we all struggle with our internal demons. I don't want to always live in a heart filled with anger and violence, but damn it, some days that's hard to get out of.

This week the sheer amount of stupid, just plain stupid was thrown at me, at a blinding rate. Today, I am angry. And, I haven't exactly decided what I want to do about it, but that thought is boiling. And I suppose that when it becomes clearer to me, everyone will know. I'm not one to do things on a small scale. And I can not longer just sit on the sidelines thinking. I have been called to action by the stupid. I'm not sure if it's volunteering, letter writing or joining a rally or two, I just don't know. But, I have been called to action by the stupid. I have been called to action by the stupid.

Let's start with the smallest of the small stupid things. The place that I used to work, is crumbling. I have never worked at a place that has drawn so many people to join forces and leave...and then stay in touch, to watch the house of cards fall. I have never had that experience, until now. The sheer dislike of the owners and others in power, has drawn people together, who would normally never talk. Yes, through adversity, we saw how different we really weren't. What a shocker! We all converse on a fairly often basis. We have spys on the inside giving us the scoop...or shall I rephrase...we have other in the trenches that we have yet to help get out...that's really more like it.

I learned this week that the one I call Crazy Lawyer has topped herself, really topped herself. She said, outloud, that in her heart of cold dead hearts, she beliefs that in the next ten years, science will prove that being poor is genetic, that there is, in fact, something physically wrong with poor people. Was I there when she said it? Nope. This is strickly hearsay. However, I was there to countless numbers of times when she said similar things, and acted out in a manor only fitting for a ruthless queen of some bygone time. This is a woman who can't figure out which password goes in which box to turn on her computer, and would scream that the computer was just messed up AGAIN!!! A woman that has more money than sense, and who's beautiful daughter is under thirteen and is on a diet, and this little girl would beg all the secretaries for food and candy. Yes, this was the type of woman who said this.

And I'm not sure that this woman is aware that people have kept folders on her actions and displays...actual folders of infomation and examples. I'm not sure this woman gets just how much she is disliked. For that, I guess I can feel a bit sorry for her. That is her accomplishment, she's has banded a bunch or ragtag poor people against her...What an accomplishment to hold dear to your heart.

I am not rich. I am not the poorest of the poor either. But, I would gladly give up everything, if it meant that I wouldn't have to be a person like her. Completely out of touch with this beautiful planet and all of the things that it has to offer. Including, but not limited to, science that does so much more than look up genes that make people poor.

What a completely stupid woman. Completely stupid. Could choose not to be stupid, but chooses to remain stupid and breed stupid. Is there a gene for that?

Next. On to bigger items of stupid.

I learned of a story this week, where a sixteen year old transgender child was thrown out of her home. Several grown ups were looking for a foster home for this child, so that she might have remained in the area, and finish school. A child written off, just like that.

The story continues that the Texas Children Protective Services. And how there may be new rules against Gays and Lesbians from having foster children. What?!? Are you fucking kidding me?!?

I might give the right wing, Christian movement more pause if they proceeded to have an alternative plan for these children. I have not heard of one yet.

I'm not sure how you write off your own children with such ease. Nobody makes people fuck...and we all know what happens when you fuck. And then, we all know the difficulty of raising a child. This is not news. If you're messed up, on drugs, whatever, you get off your stupid ass and you get your shit together and you raise that child! The child didn't hatch a plan to ruin your life...you did it!

Now, lets say you really just can't do it...it really is that hard. Ok, then the child goes into a system, that's not a great system, but it is a system. If you can forgive yourself for that, then there is a system. And some of the people in that system are foster parents who are Gay and Lesbian, and some are Hetero. No person fucks in front of these children. They are feed and loved, and clothed, and loved.

How can you make a rule that says to that child that they cannot have the basic needs, after already being kicked to the curb...how can you, in a clear heart and mind, say to these children that they cannot live in these homes because of this one item, this one personality trait, that makes up about one tenth of a tenth of a person? Me, being a hetero female is not my entirety. That part of me if very small. The rest of my body and mind are made up of so much more. And I'm not special, that's the rule for everyone.

And moreover, you might feel ok saying to this transgender child that what she feels is wrong?!? Feelings are neither correct or incorrect, they just are.

I worked at a porn shop in my younger years. Easter Holiday was my biggest selling day of the entire year.

It was not the Gay and Lesbian community that was buying porn that day. It was Straight Heteros doing the deeds. It was heteros buying porn in their Sunday, Going to Church, Clothes.

And, I might add that the amount of successful nudie bars in my area of Texas alone that are flurishing, are not Gay and Lesbian bars, they are Hetero bars. The amount of White Collar Crimes being committed in our own Government are not being committed by Gay and Lesbian members...they are Hetero. The amount of violent protests being committed are not by the Gay and Lesbian communnities, but by the Straight communities members. Shall I continue? Have we all gotten the point? I'll take a butch, transgender female, or a fruity, flighty gay man, or a mullet wearing lesbian any day over a right wing, Christian fuck. Yes, I will. Viva la homosexuality. I think they may become the answer to saving not only our children, but our very souls.

I also watched a news program this week where one woman was out trying to fight homelessness by herself. She would feed anyone who needed it, at anytime. This made the news. I admire this woman. But, this should be a regular item, in my mind, not a special occassion, news item. Good things happening have become news worthy...special. I am on the fence about it really. Perhaps we continue to focus on these few, good people until the message gets out, and everyone follows suit. Can it happen this way? That the bad news becomes the special occassion news items? Could this happen? Could we be so bold and smart? Not according to Crazy Lawyer we couldn't. And does anyone want to let her be right and win?

I expect better of women. We really haven't gotten it, how much power we can yield. We, as mothers, need to stop raising our babies to be such scary little mongrels. Stop pointing the fingers at matters that have really very little to do with the benefit of everyone. We could change, and change others. How about no war, no hunger, no drug addicts, etc. How about that? How about really telling our children and everyone else's children that they can be anything that they want to be. When did we become so afraid to do the right thing?

And before anyone thinks that they are speaking for me, a heterosexual female...well, please think twice. I vote, I am active in the community, and I am very tired of stupid. Right now, I am very tired of that.