Going to the Booby Hatch in One's Space Diapers

One lesson that I firmly think must be learned, seemingly over and over again, it that no human is better than any other human. No person is better than another. You have to believe that in your heart of hearts, your third eye, down in your bones...all that jazz. But, we don't do that. We believe that other people are better than us...or worse we're better than other people. All the roles we place on ourselves and blame others for. Everyone is a genius at something...a fucking brilliant, fantastic, obsolute, no competition, goddamned genius at something. And if you don't see it, then you aren't looking.

Someone recently asked me how I would feel if someone made fun of me the way that I make fun of other people. I looked this person straight in the eyes, and stated that I already make fun of myself, so there's not much for someone else to say that would "get me", and who really thinks that people don't do this or have done this to me already. I'm not worried about other people.

This brings to mind my relationship with Anna Nicole Smith. I didn't really have a relationship with her, but I secretly admired her. Growing up in a small Texas town, there's not much to do...drink, fuck, fight, get knocked up, go to church...that's about it. And for everyone this week that has made fun of her, speculated about her, etc. ...How fucking brilliant is that? She's dead and still keeps living through our society. She didn't really even have to lift a finger, or her legs and people gave her stuff...she died flying back and forth from the Bahamas. Fucking brilliant. Dead and yet still living...all that gossip. Fucking brilliant.

I was surprised to hear all of the negative stuff that came out of people's mouths. Okay, not really, but, having just heard a recent interview with an aging actress, we sure do live in a nosy society. This older actress was smeared in the papers, the collumns, online, T.V., all for being a drunk and on drugs. She never did either. She has Rheumatoid Arthritis, and for years would be fat, then skinny, then drop out of the scene, then reappear. The commentator asked why she never straightened everyone out about this. She said, everyone would hire a drunk, they would hire someone on drugs, but they wouldn't hire someone who's sick. And also, she didn't care what other people thought...they were just bored and sad, and she was too busy getting well to care or get too annoyed.

So, I guess my point is, we do not know the whole story. And people are vicious.

I was also talking with a friend this week who's reading a book by Frank Sinatra. There's a part were he talks about Marilyn Monroe. He talks about how filthy she was, and basically what a whore she was. That she would leave tampons in for days.

This strikes me as funny. Wasn't Frank part of the Brat Pack? Wasn't his image about women, booze, clubbing, etc.? Do you really think he washed his winky every time? That's a little of the whore calling the whore....

My dog and are are both having our periods this week. My other male dog licks it up for the female dog. I, myself, do not have a man that does this for me. In fact, I cannot recall any female friend of mine that has that luxury. But, I'm beginning to think that we should have that service available. A period is a vile, stinky, sticky, bloody mess that happens to a woman once a month, that we have no control over, that we didn't ask for, and would certainly rather give up. The upkeep of it, the control of it, all while feeling like shit...well, that's just an added bonus, isn't it. So, Frank, maybe if you'd lapped it up for Marilyn, after she worked hard on a show, or had to answer to her fans, and all the flashing lights, and on, and on, and on, well, perhaps she wouldn't have been so stinky. As I sit here in my giant diaper pad, with wings, yes, I think Frank should have lapped it up for Marilyn. It's a real loss some of the things that we have given up to walk upright.

So, coming full circle, I was made fun of this week. I was put down. Someone tried to steamroll me with their wits. And it was in an email...which is kind of chicken shit. But, ok, ok. At first I was angry. I wasn't angry that I had been called out. I was angry that I had to waste my time with this nonscense. It wasn't going to be very had to win. And I knew that...it was just a stupid thing to begin with, that had nothing to do with anything.

I sat as my desk and took in the view for a moment. I have an Anna Nicole Smith bobblehead at my desk. In my head a lit a single white candle to place in front of the mini-Anna. She nodded to me and winked. I imagined her having her period, too.

I took comfort and fired back an email. I barked in the most professional, polite and courteous manner. And noted that I would see her at the meeting tomorrow, and if there was still some confusion, to please see me, and we would discuss.

The next day, I wore a suit and heels. I was tall and tailored. I took my cell phone and my black planner and my business cards. The woman was there. I sighed. It was to begin. She gave me just one look and one sentence. I shot back with a direct order. My voice is booming and deeper than most women that I know. I never diverted my stare. I never waivered.

The woman took the order. Now the order had been set between us. I was to be the dominate person. I would advance. She didn't put up much of a fight. She took it. It had to be the stupidist thing ever. It was the tone of my voice and my suit.

I felt sorry for us both. I played right into the very thing that I hate in this world. Dressing for success, after we're taught to judge a book, not by it's cover. And she would spend some time being dominated by a person that didn't want to dominate....I just wanted to work. Why would anyone think I was better than them? I don't really believe that.

I have to go change my pad. Perhaps, sometimes, I can be got.

Social Vomit and Other Fables

I googled myself today. I found this blog, my words, myself, on various websites. Yes, other people were linking themselves to me. Some I do know, some are just weird, far, pages on the vast network of the internet. And some sites you could even vote on me and my content. Well, that stuck me a bit. Perhaps I should step up my game a bit. Or perhaps I don't give a shit what a bunch of people who don't know me think. In the end you just have yourself. So, vote away. I may never read or never know the results, and ultimately I may never care. However, if it means that much to vote on me, if you think this is a use of your time that is valuable and well spent, go ahead, cast away, I am happy to oblige you in this. Funny stuff.

I wanted to stay asleep this morning. My dreams were far more interesting to me that whatever I was going to create for myself today. I'm a bit worn out. I usually blog about the time I need to regurgitate a bunch of things stored in my head. Today is not different. I'm going to use this tool to vomit out the week. So, if it is your intent to read this entire page, you are the proud recipient of my social vomit. I'm sorry that I didn't have time to wrap it.

It's already February and I haven't made my year's list. I choose not to make resolutions. That's just setting me up for failure. I make a list. It's a long list. It's just a list of goals for the year. Things that I would like to do. Last year's list was about 32 items long, I made it to 27. Not to shabby. I have a bank account for my child, and I have a bird bathe that I welded out of a plow disk. I'm good.

But, this year....it's going to be a doozie.

Every morning has been the same. Get up, let the dogs out, start coffee, pee, drink big glass of water, find my smokes, drink coffee, let the dogs in, wake up the child, kiss the man, more coffee, smoke, bathe, take meds with my liquid breakfast, get dressed, smoke, find something to stick in plastic bag for lunch, start thinking about work day, say good bye to man and child, give hugs and kisses, and love you more than anythings, turn off lights, find my keys, find my togo coffee, get in car, open the garage door, down the driveway, close the garage door, turn on CD, light cigarette, wave to the workmen working on my street, drive to work on the same street, stop at same lights, note that there's a new homeless person, what happened to the other one, arrive at work, get my bags, into the building, good morning to the security guard, punch in security code, round the corner in the hallway, take deep breath, and enter office, say good morning, and begin shit. Rinse

and repeat.

At one point during the week, I did try to sneak off for a nice lunch. I was excited that at the restaurant, I was getting a great table. It was right next to the windows, and hanging were colorful bird feeders. I thought that I had made it. What luck, I was never in this quiet room before.

But, thoughts can be deceiving. There were two men at the table next to me. Average men, nothing spectacular...completely ordinary, completely boring. I wouldn't have even noticed them, and how great would that have been. One of the men was just fine. The other man was a jackass. A loud jackass that completely ruined my sacred dining experience. Motherfucker. If only he had been entertaining. If only he had something of validity to say. If only he was hot. Something, anything. But, no. He was just ordinary and fucking loud. Not just kind of loud. I'm a loud talker myself. This guy was fucking loud. And he used ever business word, every code business buzz saying possible. I would say that he had to have practiced in the mirror. No one that I have ever seen before could have that much useless garbage streaming out of their piehole without practice. He is an avid visitor of the business section of Amazon.com. I was trying to remain calm. I was trying to think of a nice and polite and professional way to tell him to shut it up. But, is there? I think not. And I tried to use all of my super powers to shut him up with a look, a vibe, anything. But, my energy being depleted was doing the trick. And he wasn't even a salesman. He was just a fuck. He was trying to look cool in front of the other guy. I would be so mean to him if I worked with him. He has no idea how lucky he is not to work with me. Then as if he couldn't get anymore ridiculous, he started talking about how he starts his party around eight o'clock at night, and he's been out late, and that's why he's dragging so much. But, yeah, the party really starts then, eight. He goes to the topless bars for some womanizing, if you get his drift. Yes, he did say the words: "If you get my drift."

Having been in that industry for a bit, I wanted to point out that he wasn't even using the term womanizing correctly and if those places were where he had to go to womanize...well, then he was just sad fuck who couldn't do it on his own, he was paying for the opportunity to feel like a man. he was paying for it. And he was loud. And that's probably why he has to pay for it. And even though those places are loud enough to drawn out everything brain cell in a person's body, that he was one louder...and he had to pay for it. I had to wonder if his loudness was over compensating for a small dick. 'Cause we all know that's why. And that was sad in itself, he couldn't even buy the big car to show that he had a small prick. All he had was his voice and his buzz words. Maybe his dick was just fine and he was still compensating for it's size because that's the trap that so many ordinary guys fall into...worrying about weiner. He probably makes it as big as he can get it while he's practicing his buzz words in the mirror. I must, I must, I must increase my....

Must...Then when he startes using all the buzz words, because they're so boring, it really downsizes his penis, and there in lies the need to overcompensate. Why can my dick be big and by words be big at the same time....WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!? Where in my business journal and my penis pump. What's wrong with me?

But, I wasn't feeling like being nice for the sad fuck. I just wanted a quiet lunch next to the window with colored bird feeders. And he was totally harshing my mellow.

And to top it off, the new waiter took my food to the wrong table. I was powerless to stop it. I had ordered a club sandwich. I watched the old man pick up part my sandwich with his old man hands. He took the toothpick out. He examined the insides of the layers of the sandwich. I could hear him discussing that this what not what he ordered. Well of course it wasn't, old man, it's what I ordered. He put the sandwich down. His old lady picked it up. She looked inside the delicious layers, and confirmed for herself that it was indeed not what he ordered. I was hungry. And there they were taking apart my delicious sandwich as though it wasn't good enough for them. Then I watch as the old man took out a piece of cheese. It was slow motion as I watched him put the cheese, my cheese, my lunch, in his old man mouth. He chewed first on one side then the other. Then he went for the bacon. As though the cheese and the bacon were supposed to be seperate bites. Well, they're not old man. They are supposed to be layered within all of the other delicious layers....the you fucking take a bite. That's why it's a sandwich....not a bunch of seperate shit on a plate.

I wanted to scream at him. Oh the humanity. Next he did, in fact, put the layers back together and began to each my lunch....knowing full well that it was not his lunch. What the hell? Why would anyone do that? Why would you eat something that you know is not yours? It took the waiter discovering his mistake on his own and actually going over to the old people table to get the old man off my fucking sandwich. And even though they deducted some off my bill, I was still pissed that the old man was eating. I wanted him punished, barred from the restaurant. Something, anything. That was my sandwich!!!!! And you took it from me!!!!! Old fuck.

I chewed my food hard. The jackass kept pontificating. Shut up, just shut up. Please shut up. I didn't feel like making a scene, but then on the other hand, right at that moment, had he not paid the check, I was going to make a scene. I only had moments of silence left before returning to work. Mere moments left in my escape from the norm.

Currently, I have a boss that's going through a divorce. It makes for some long days. The boss was at first so happy to have signed the papers, to be free. But, as we all know, those of us on the outside...this is only a short lived phase. A false happiness. Once the papers are signed, and a person is free...then comes the part, the dawning, the recognition that the problems you were having in the relationship...well, some of them might just be your own shit. The boss is slowly pulling into this part. The part where now the other person is gone and now you have to look at your sad, unhappy self, and figure out what the hell your going to do with it. Hard to say if Boss Pants is going to make it. Could go either way. The boss is middle aged as well. And as our society defines it...well, he may be in for a crisis. Things to go terribly topsy turvy. And a dear friend once told my that my shit affected her. And it's true your shit effects other people.

The boss is mostly taking advice from the other divorced person in our office, who, I might add, is not the picture of happiness. So, there's me. I don't really have too much wrong. I know that I must annoy them, just as much as they annoy me. It's made for some delightful and absolutely non-stimulating conversation. All of which has nothing to do with anything work related. And work is busy, it's piling up...we're on the go. It's been distracting me from what I really want to think about.

Those of you in cubicles, be thankful for those walls of fake carpeting and aluminum siding, get done on your hands and knees and pray that you are never in an open office space. Perhaps bring and extra can of compressed air to spruce up your cube, to some how thankful your are to the cube makers of the world...they are guards and gods of our privacy. Go ahead, thumbtack something there for yourself...it's your space. Go ahead, do it.

In fact, yesterday I was so tired of it all, I became the laziest of the lazy. I had a stack of files to be put in the file cabinet across the hall. Maybe about a twenty foot walk, maybe. I was so worn out from this week that I didn't even want to get the key out and walk this span to unlock the door and file. I was using the fact that the door was locked not to do my work. I thought once the other worker was back from lunch, I would go then, the door would be open. The daunting task of unlocking the door would be taken care of. But, asking me to get the key out and just go that tiny extra step, was vastly above my capabilities at the moment. Eventually, I conned someone else into unlocking the door for me, even stand there with the files, so all I had to do was actually put them in the drawer. Now that was company money well spent.

I also lied this week and told people that I had a headache...perhaps a migrane. Sympathetic, everyone let me out of all sorts of obligations. Although, I am not prone to migranes, they are a wonderful excuse. Better than cramps. Everyone knows that you have to be by yourself and in a quiet space when you have a headache. Oh the wonders of migranes. At some point science will find a cure, and I'll be screwed, but for now, I'm golden.

The other thing that I found troublesome this week were the non-smokers of the area. Oh how we're looking to make the US a non-smoking space. With so many pollutants around, I doubt that my smoking is really going to be the death of people. Also, since we just taxed cigarettes, and I have to pay out my ass to enjoy my biggest poor man's tax there is, my thoughts wonder to were the tax is going to come from should we all have to quit. Instead of the non-smokers thanking me and my friends for that extra cash....they are willing to take the taxes upon themselves to insure the health of me and themselves. How kind. Will it be a gas tax? Will it be a house tax? Are you, non-smoker, really willing to take on that extra load after being fed a load about how I'm going to kill you more that Iran will? Just asking. I have switched to rolling my own cigarettes even...with natural, non-chemical tobacco. Once, in my lazy phase, I didn't really want to roll them...I thought about just switching back to the pre-packed kind. I gave it a long pause, then the thought of driving to get the package of cigarettes lost to the work of just rolling one. It is healthier and more cost affective.

So, does my second hand smoke, with this kind of tobacco, say that it's quality second hand smoke? Is it healthier to be around for the others? If we all switched to the natural tobacco, would people get off our backs a bit? I'm not sure. Smoking and abortions are such a touchy and delicate subjects. If only God could come down and use his giant gavel to help us arrive at a solid decision on these very important matters. Perhaps he's just waiting until we build a giant podium for him. We should get on that. Or he could just use Sealand. I would buy Sealand if I could. Unfortunately I my credit rating does not allow me the luxury of buying a big metal piece of shit in the ocean, at the moment. I can, however, finance metal pieces of shit from the local junk yard. Hard to say if I buy in and build on my city lot, if I can declare my own country. In my spare time, I may delve into that. I'm not sure if I would want to join the UN or not. Sounds like a lot of paperwork.

It seems the only escape that I had from the norm was my Sea Monkeys. They are tiny creatures who grow only to about 3/4 of an inch long. And that's top, if they make it. They have black round eyes. I wonder if they watch me as much as I watch them. Probably not. They are busy, fast, and busy. I do have to wonder what my world looks like to them from the inside. I wonder if they recognize me, and know me by the food person or something like that. I'd like to think I was that important in their world, but like I said, I doubt it, they are very busy.

I watched an entire life cycle of a couple of them, in particular. I watched my girl this morning give live birth to the next generation in the tank. Sea Monkeys can give birth or lay eggs. This one gave birth. She looked to be in pain. I gave birth, and I was in pain. She's keeping near the bottom of the tank today, and she's going to die. It was a long process. First came this large ball near her back side, and then some guy Sea Monkey riding her around for a few days. She had to fight with him in tow to get to the top of the tank for air and food. He was very large, twice her size. All that extra weight, must have been a bitch. Normally the Monkey's legs all flow, just flow, in time. However, my girl's legs were out of time with her struggle. It looked like so much extra work. It made whatever I was going through very tiny in comparison. And as I watch her die, the smaller Sea Monkeys, her children don't stop to recognize who she was, they are off...very busy....very fast. I suppose they have to be fast as it's only about three weeks or so before their deaths. Very busy.

Oh the random thoughts this week. See what I mean? Unfocused...layabout that I am. I wanted to stay asleep.

I've been making personal decisions by Magic Eightball. So far it's extremely pleasing. I'm thinking I will continue through next week. Then I may go with my Tarot cards. I will fight the urge to reopen my huge credit card an run off to somewhere no one speaks my language, and no one knows my name.

The song was wrong. It's not always cool when everyone knows your name. And I still need to make my list.