I'll eat cake, you can eat crow

I've been watching two crows from my office window. I haven't really see very many crows up close. They are large birds, with slick black feathers, and piercing eyes. I've watched them dive from tops of the trees, straight down to gather a smaller bird to eat. It's quite vicious really. I watched as the crows pinned their prey against a tree branch and pecked the smaller bird to death. The pen feathers raining from the tree branch, blowing like white cotton in the wind. Pieces of raw, dead, red meat falling from the sky, too, all the body parts the crows didn't want to eat.

On breaks, I've noticed that they imitate other birds calls. I'm not sure it this is to identify the other birds locations, or if the crows are just fucking mean. They also have a large vocabulary, talking to one another in great detail. The crackles hang out with them. As I read up on the crows, they keep to themselves, the will even fight with other crows who are not part of their flock. This, of course, leads me to believe that the grackles and the crows have some sort of mob relationship. And for as smart as the grackles are, I do think eventually this relationship will end badly for them. There can only be one top bird.

Not unlike people, are the crows. As I was at Fat Camp this week, you can begin to see the personalities of all the fat people. Most everyone is okay; however, it should be noted that by okay, I mean that some people's level of being nuts is more tolorable than others. But, there are some, yes, there are some that you can't be nice to, they will bring you down. I have lost weight, not a lot, but am doing ok. Some people have gained. They gained by eating the diet food AND regular food. If you gain for two weeks in a row, they switch you to the loser fat camp class. I'm not sure if they wisk you away right after weigh in, that I just don't know. But, I do know that for what I'm paying to learn how not to be fat, I do not want to wear the scarlet F.

No one has been pointed out, but we all know who they are. This one woman sat right in class and ate four of the delicious chocolate snack bars. They are 150 calories each, so right there in less than thirty minutes, she consumed 600 calories. She was shoving them in her mouth and crinkling the wrappers loudly. It was an obvious cry for help, for attention. It was really quite sad. My heart did go out to her. But, it's every fattie for themselves, I can't help her, she'd just bring me down. Plus, next week, at weigh in, she'll just disappear, not to disrupts us again, off to that "other class", and I will not have to think about her again.

Also, there are two ladies that sit right in front of the class. They are mean fatties. Whenever some one speaks about something, they always turn and stare, roll their eyes, make faces, and whispers giggle. They have not picked on me, yet. They prey on the more insecure. This week they picked on an old lady. Yes, I know it's their own insecurities...I get that. But, I just don't really care. You can be a jackass in the back of class. It's pretty much a nusance to have them right in front. They give off airs. Fatties with airs...there's a joke or two in that.

Didn't we all have these people in school. I didn't like them then and I don't like them now. If they continue, I will gently remind them that they are fat, too. That they are in the fat camp, just like the rest of us, and if they were any better, they wouldn't be at fat camp. I will also remind them that some people have actual medical problems that led them to being fat, so unless they have one of those things going on, then they're just fat, which is worse. Yes, I will pick back. I don't feel particulary insecure about them, their just disruptive. I was the champion of the picked on in school...it's part of being a Sag, we have a heighten sense of fairness about us. To be a sparrow, a grackle or a crow, yes, that is the question.

I went to a friend's birthday party last night. I got to see my dear friends, Chris, Steve and Billy. They are, by all rights, superstars. As I noted this, at one point in the conversation, some other guy, said that I was just obviously smitten. No...not smitten....in awe. He said asked if I was like that with other famous stars...he was thinking that I was a hangeroner. No, most stars in the public eye were not really stars, but rather, portals to conformity and comfort for the masses, not really stars. However, these guys were actual, live, in the flesh, stars. People who broke the mold, pushed the envelope...didn't he see that? I used the example of Imus vs. Vonnegut. Imus, who has always been a jackass, and did nothing of memory, sure did get a lot of attention. Kirk Vonnegut, who did everything of memory, when dead, just barely made the news. There is a difference between stars, and fucking STARS. He just proclaimed again that I was smitten. I quit talking to him, I wasn't in awe of him, and he was the hangeroner.

I mostly hung out with the men at the party. Women don't like me, I'm not very girly. I can't even try. Now, don't get me wrong, I did try, really I did. I compliment the host on the home she built, and the decorations, and the food spead. Then I went to pee, and in her bathroom for reading material was a bible and a southern comfort magazine. Oh, sweet jesus, fuck. I pulled up my pants and sighed. I hoped I didn't get kicked out of my friend's party. I knew she would hate me. And she did. She and one other girl whispered and pointed a bit, but not too much, because I had strong support from my long time friends. I tried to make a joke. I told one of the girls that if I got too drunk and puked would that please hold my hair back. I laughed. She looked confused. She said, You have short hair. Yes, that's right. Move on quickly, move on.

So, she tried to get me back the rest of the night. I noted that I was in Fat Camp, and would not be having any of the food. And actually, I didn't want it. Trust, that surpised me more that anyone. That's a first, and I thought that was cool. The rest of the night she spent trying to get me to eat. Almost chasing me at times, with olives on sticks, and piece of cheese, and cracker spread. Have you ever been chased with olives before? Holy shit, this woman was relentless. I was being chased...it was insane.

It was all we had to talk about for the evening. She would have a bite, try to feed me a bit, I would say no, but thank you, I would explain that I wasn't hungry. I would move, start a conversation with another person, turn slightly, and there she was with the pita bread and humus spread...we would start again. Over and over and over....for hours. She was on a mission. And later by the fire, she actually pouted about it. I'm not kidding. Lip out and everything.

Now, you would think that it's just me making things up. However, one of my friends noticed it, too, and commented on this squirrly behavior. The only answer that I had was that I made her look stupid, actually I didn't make her, I just made a couple of jokes, that were consquently above her thought level, and now she was out to get me with cheese cubes and the like. However, once challenged by olives and cheese, I couldn't back down. Can you imagine the shame that I would have carried this morning had a slipped off the fat wagon? Can you?!?

To be a sparrow, a grackle or a crow. That is the question.

I loved you Kirk Vonnegut. And I thank you and the other super stars that I know for just being alive to influence and inspire me. How shitty and bored I'd be if you never had existed at all.

Why do I have to worship the Toast Jesus and not the Chocolate Jesus

As this week was filled with a lifetime of worldly stupidity, I of course, have taken time to reflect.

My comments on politics:

I do not care who can raise the most campaign funds. That is just fucking stupid. They are buying their way into power. Isn't that a direct hit on what we're not supposed to be about? That is why I never check the box to donate to the Federal Campaign Fund. Fuck you! Get you're own fucking money...And, well, they do. With all of the options, most of them very cheap, you'd think we could run a paperless campaign, or something close to it. No, no one gets my $3 per year.

Also, to the guy who walked out of the Muslim held prayer in the Texas Government. You, sir, are a dumbass. He all but accused this man of being a terrorist. It smacks of the years past when a black person, a Communist, a woman, or a Jew had to be beaten, shot, jailed, or burned. You, sir, are a dumbass. And I mean that from the bottom of my ordinary citizen heart. Dumbass.

And, jailing illegal immigrants and their children in Texas, in a specifically designed jailing system in Hutto. What?!!!? What of this makes since? I am paying tax money to jail people, who's only crime is to be on this soil, this dirt. Either let them work, or send them home. At the current cost, of keeping small children in orange jumpsuits, we could have rented a bus or five and driven them in air-conditioning, home. Or, let them work. It's not that big of a deal to make a good decision. Spend my money wisely or give it back to me.

But, it could be to the rest of us. I site the twenty-four year old who just got out of seven months of prison for refusing to testify in front of a grand jury about the footage he shot as a G8 summit. No more vacation pictures and amendment Rights for me...I'm out.

Right now my butt is probably being monitored for top security reasons. Maybe I've even gotten a phone tap. It won't be very interesting, but as long as there's a court order to back it up, I'm cool with it.

Ok, with that out of the way, how is June today?

I have been busy. I'm at leg therapy for an over a year old leg injury. I'm on day four of fat camp. I organized big meetings. I organized a Happy Hour for a bunch of women in a trade organization that I'm not sure I like. I'm even helping with the big Gala for this organization.

I've been a bit grouchy. I like not doing anything. And having to do things is new and difficult. I'm an American for fuck's sake. I've grown use to not doing anything productive. It smacks against my very American Spirit. Oh the horror of it all.

And on top it, I've had to deal with people. I'm good for about two years at any given job. That's it. Once I really get to know people, I'm itching to leave. It's not really anyone's fault...I just don't like people. What's really a fixture in this, is that I'm great with people. But, I don't like them. There is a small select group that I keep near and dear to me, and that's it....that's all I got.

Case in point:

I am not a snazzy dresser. ( I can be when pressed to do it for money...i.e. work) But, if I could look like shit all the time, I'd do it. (However, please note, I love bath products. Sit back and reflect on that.) I do not think that the clothes make the man, or the woman. Nope. Just a clever disguise to fool the weak minded. Are you sitting there in your mall bought house robe? Don't worry I can't really see you. It's just a blog, not video conferencing...or is it?

I was outside smoking yesterday. We all have to smoke outside, lest we kill someone with the second hand smoke. (I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I really do not care if I harm someone with my dirty smoky habit. I know, I'm an asshole. But, I am truly offended by most peoples' habits, and sometimes I feel little pieces of me actually dying. So, we're even. And, I'm smoking right now, just know that. Know that I am comfortable with that, very comfortable with that.)

So, outside, I was not alone. There were three mortgage company women down there with me. All of the mortgage people are salespeople, they all dress to impress every day, even though they are in a call center. They should be more mindful though, call centers are leaving the U.S. at an alarming rate. None of them have any flare for foreign dress at all, nor do they have competitive accents, and I do fear for their worse, but whatever.

One of the girls had gotten in trouble for wearing open toed sandals. She asked me if I had that problem with a dress code in my job. I said, of course. One of the other girls looked me up and down, and noted that obviously I had won that battle.

Oh, I see. I'm being snubbed. My dresswear was crappy. Oh.

Now, I could have taken the highroad. But, a friend of mine just sent me an article from the NYtimes, ScienceTimes about how boredom makes a person cruel. I think that in the end I am no better.

I ignored to snub, so it looked, and started asking them what they did, exactly. Wasn't I interested? Didn't my engaging smile seem interested? Because they were, after all, terribly interesting people, in a call center with their designer clothes on. Oh they talked. I would repeated it, but mostly I just smiled. I can't really recall any one thing a one of them said. Not one of them. I think one of them was wearing something fushia, if that helps you set the stage in your mind. But, that's all I got, sorry.

They asked what I did, exactly. I help build transportation for the world, I said. I explained to them, that in this area they should see a high rate in their business, because transportation fueled the economic development in an area. Didn't they find that to be true?

They didn't know what I was talking about. The words to big, the concepts to hard. I could have stopped picking on them, but I didn't want to. I think if I had seen the Chocolate Jesus, he would have made an impression on me, and my soul. But, we looked him away.

I explained that I wanted to buy land myself near one of the new projects. Only to turn about and sell it to a developer. One of the girls said that she had a house near one of the big highways. She was excited that she might have suddenly struck it big.

Oh, I said. Houses right next to highways usually went getto if they stayed right next to the fast food restaurants and big malls that went in. She might still have a chance though. Could still work if she didn't buy into something that had a big, but restrictive, and all fooling Home Owners Association...then she might be locked into the getto. Oh, she was. Oh, sorry. But, nice try. Really, nice try. Most people don't know. They don't think ahead and read the public information, I understood.

Maybe next time not buy next to a big highway, watch the papers and the public information sights, and try to sell to the developer before big highway went in. She could probably still use it as some kind of rental property and, at least, try to get some of her money back. She looked worried.

Whether I was correct or not, it not the point. I was poorly dressed and had successfully lobed the insecurity ball right back. Now, I know that they will talk about me behind my back, making snippy comments. However, they will not talk TO me and make snippy comments to my face.

That's ultimately why I don't like most people. That gentle tango of small daily battles, that in the grand scope of things, don't have anything to do with anything of any sort of merit and worth. And we have built and entire society around it. It's boring...and it makes me mean. I am not above the science.

Hats off to Hemingway. He left and went to an island. Now that's a smart man.

I saw Barry White at Fat Camp

Has it been sense February that I updated my blog? An entire month gone without recording anything? Yes, it's true. I should tell you the story about the drunk birds and the screaming computer nerd. I should tell you about seeing and ex-boyfriend and how disappointed he was in seeing me. I should tell you how I had to go to Fort Worth and hang out with white people in boots. But, I'm not going to yet. I will instead tell the story of the Fat Camp.

I've gotten fat. Not huge fat. Yet. But, I'm on my way. I'm busy, I'm a snacker. I take drugs for my disease. I am prone to pie. I drink to much coffee. Frankly, I don't like water, so I don't drink enough of it.

I was feeling more shitty and exhausted than usual. I went to the doctor. I complained about my teetering weight gain. The unstoppable weight gain. We took blood samples. I am low on B-vitamins. So, it not only my crappy eating habits, but also, my drugs that I take for my MS. As it turns out, the damn things mess with your system in so many other ways than controlling a disease. So, I could be eating just fine, and I could be exercising my heart out, and still be fat. Some people go the other way and get really super duper skinny. I, what a shocker, didn't get that set of problems.

The idea of learning nutrition makes me tired just thinking about it. Portion sizing makes me tired. I don't want to have to learn about food. It's such a secondary thing to me. I don't think about breathing. I just do it. BUT, I'm fat. And maybe I miss the badass clothes more than the learning makes me tired. So, I checked around for my options.

I am going to the hospital's Fat Camp. Yes, I will have medical support, but also, delicious meals, and super training in the form of actual classes that I must attend in order to not be kicked out of the "program". You can get kicked out of Fat Camp. Which is amazing to me. Fat people have a hard time committing to stuff....you'd think at the prices, the huge amount of money that I'm fixing to spend, that they would cut me some slack. But, nope, you have to be totally serious about it. Ok, ok, I'll try to be serious, but it's going to be really hard.

Can I just say that I totally hate this? Can I? Well, I am.

I talked about the program to a person that I work with. Our project manager butted into the conversation to give me his fifty cents about my weight. He said that he was German, and his family drilled it into his head about portion size and nutrition. And if my family had done the same, I wouldn't be having this problem. I explained to him, that partly that may be true, but also, I have health issues and medicine issues that contributed to the massive weight gain that I was experiencing. He said that just wasn't true. He stood there looking at me as though I was just another stupid, lazy, fat person. He also noted that I should stop eating fast food, that was a big part of my problem. (I should note here that I don't eat fast food. ) I've gone to McDonalds, maybe once, in the past two years. I didn't bother fixing him. I knew Jesus had already given secret information on my eating habits...so, how can I compete with the Rez?

In all honesty, part of what he said rang true with my own lacking of self confidence in the matter. Now the other more rational part of myself, told me to be careful in listening to a Kevin Bacon hair, checkered shirt donning, German, Super Christian, Right Wing, Idiot. Be very careful. And perhaps I should take into consideration the cold hard medical science that was my own blood tests, and the doctor who had multiple degrees over his stupid ass.

Maybe. The battle between the June Does was to start.

I've had work dreams, health dreams, fat dreams....oh, the dreams....the dreams of dancing pants. My, oh my, this is a big deal.

Aside from my own want to have more energy, and the nice pants that I want to wear, there is the battle of wills. The battle that I will and can control my body. The other stuff is really secondary. I need to kick my body's ass. I need to be the winner. The need is deep rooted, for what ever the reason is. My body just can't get away with this. My mind is stronger than my body. So, if it's Fat Camp that does it, than it's Fat Camp. See how my body likes this! All the pre-planned meals and delicious shakes and snack bars....take that!

So, ok, I signed up for the Fat Camp. I had to go to orientation class. I went.

Upon arrival, I had to sign in. I had to grab the packets of information. One reason for going to Fat Camp is not to have all this information. They will be telling me what to do. So, I picked up the packets, knowing that I wouldn't read them. This is going to be hard for me.

I looked up to find my seat.

I was in an entire room of Fat People. It really struck me. All colors, all ages, a new mother, old people, a couple, a few handi-caps....the class really ran the scale. We were all fat. And we were all fat for different reasons. Some people admitted they were fast food junkies. I don't really eat fast food, but I am a snacker. I hate to cook. I really hate it. I don't want to be creative in the kitchen. I do not want to design the foods. I want to eat and go. I have other stuff to do.

I'm sure somewhere that makes me less of a woman.

The orientation power point didn't really speak to me. I knew that it was a part of their regulations. They had to tell us all about being fat, the food and the program...on and on and on. Oh and the part about exercise. Hell, we all fucking know that part. Who doesn't know that part. Jesus, that part was stupid. I know that I should exercise more, but go ahead, find that time for me, go ahead. I have never like that stuff. And maybe if I wasn't so fat and tired I would consider it more. So, let's save that part for later. I knew the other massively fat people in the room we're thinking the same thing. Right now, right this minute, I am lugging around two of my son's weight all the time. Yeah, I'm going to think about exercise.

The presentation, it was a necessary evil. It did seem to help some people. It also seemed to dissuade others. Too much work, all the monitoring and classes, etc. And the skinny lady giving the presentation was so happy and excited to see us all. That was too weird.

I don't want all the fanfare from someone who doesn't know me. I don't want to be excited that I'm making this big, fantastic change in my life. I'm still annoyed that I have to make the fucking change in the first place. So, let's just have a go. Let's get it started, give me the snack bars and the record keeping book, and let's just go.

Yes, I will note that I'm not to be fat...however, I'm not sure that I'm going to be part of the skinny excited cult. I'm not suddenly going to Jazzercise my way into the office, or done a red dress and show off my sexy legs. I'm not going to suddenly dance and do cartwheels. Are you fucking kidding me?

I already know how much I'm going to hate all the comments about how good I look, and how did I do it, and all of that shit. I know I'm going to hate it because we judge people who are fat, I judge myself for being fat. I'm still the same heart and soul and mind...inside the fat ass body. But,we're not going to think about that, are we? No, we're not. People will whisper how I finally quit going out to eat, and that's what did it. People are going to whisper how I finally got control of myself.

Yes, I finally have control of myself and isn't it just grand.

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.

The sanctity of the group activity.

I've seen a lot. I'm rarely shocked, surprised, embarrassed, whatever, pick the word.

I was watching TV one night, flipping around. One channel runs this sex show sometimes instead of movies. I was hoping for a movie. It was the sex show. I don't watch it normally. I'm pretty ok with sex, I get it. But, this time I paused. This time I watched.

The segment was on a group of grown-ups that get together, get naked, and group masturbate. That's right. They do not have sex. They only help eachother masturbate. There are safe words, in case you get uncomfortable...or, whatever. They have toys. They give the person who's turn it is to masturbate in front of everyone words of encouragement. "Oooh, you're almost there." "You can do it." "You're so sexy."

I personally never need another person egging me on. I think that I would find that distracting. My quite time and my imagination are good enough for me.

I was sad to note that they do not where sweatbands like most people who are getting encouraging words during their work out get to wear. And it didn't appear that this group had nicknames of any sort either...another disappointment.

They said that they found the group because it was an opportunity to be in a group that didn't think masturbation was unnatural or dirty. So, to me, by saying that, they all did in fact think it was unnatural or dirty when they were by themselves. I thought some of them just liked the exibitionism of the group. Although no one would admit it. They also did not like the comparison of pornography that showed group masturbation...they did not feel like it was the same. I would note that they were now on TV, so to me, it's exactly the same. I'm not sure where the fine line is.

I have been perplexed by this. I have laughed....oh, I've laughed. How do you find a group like this? Is there an entrance exam to determine if you're right for the group, or the group is right for you? Can you observe once or twice before joining in? Or, if you do that, are you considered a watching perv, thereby negating your chance to join the group? Do you have to dress up? Can you show up without a shower first? If you like to hear special words being spoken to you, can the group accommodate that? and is there a limit? Is there a nap place afterwards, or do you have to get up, get dressed and get out? Are there snacks?...like a cheese and fruit plate?...petit fours?...sodas, wine? It just looked like a bunch of naked people in someone's living room...it didn't look that sexy. It just looked a little boring. I've never wanted to masturbate in a group just at someone's house. "Sure you can sit by me on the couch...but, FYI, as soon as the recliner becomes available, I'm outty." Also, does the group let you in on who's attending beforehand? What if you run into someone you know? Like maybe someone at your office? Is that sexy or a social transgression? Do you have to supply all of your necessities yourself?...or is there a special trunk or group fund? Is this run on some kind of schedule, like every third Thursday or the month? If you do this at home, have you then cheated on the group? Nagging questions, that were not addressed or undressed in the segment. And I'm not about to go looking for the answers either. I already get enough junk mail without being added to this mailing list. Would their mailouts include coupons and handing tips? Maybe a get to know a new member sections or recognition awards?

There I was, I obviously had the time to watch this segment on the TV. I was glued. It was a little like watching the monkeys at the zoo...what would they say or do next....couldn't predict.

Silly people. I've never been a fan of being a part of any group...too much responsibility. This group seems a lot to bother with just to masturbate. All that work for such a relaxing event.

Who has the time?

Some people have the time.

If I die before I learn to speak.

There are so many differences in people. And yet we're all the same. Just a puzzle...such a popular puzzle. How many self-help books are there? How many self-help groups are there?

I watched a weightloss commercial this week. The woman was skinny and running on the beach. In ever so tiny letters was the disclaimer that these results demonstrated weren't typical. The commercial was saying it's own product was shit...fucking brilliant.

In December, I finally met, face to face, Helen, from Earth Angel Oils. She's such a wonderful human. There in the big building, where all of the natural healing people where selling their wares, she really stood out. Everyone else was so shiny with their wares...too shiny. Helen's booth was a bit disorganized, and she was disorganized, trying to help everyone, trying to personally talk with and touch each person. There was open food and water containers in her booth...Trying to eat and work. She was the only real person that I saw. She was the only person who wasn't in it for the money. She really loves what she does, she really wants people to be better. I spent a lot of money at her table, because I wanted to be better, and felt that I was really touched by her. As I went to another booth, I was dismissed for another human because I didn't look like I had the money for what the table was offering. Oh, I had the money, but I wasn't going to spend it with people who only wanted to money. People never learn. Never judge a book by it's cover. Who hasn't heard that?

But that Helen, was a real person. A cool person. How fortunate I was to meet her. She works hard so we can enjoy life. Amazing.

I've been making progress. A little better each day. But, who's in it with me?

I woke up this morning to news of dying dolphins and children who's homes are being bombed. People killing eachother because that don't read the book, they look at the cover. At this pace, we will all die. We have a country of rule makers who don't follow the rules. I'm feeling a little pessimistic today. Yes, it's there...like a little hard rock.

I often tell stories of my live in small town Texas. All the violence, all the time. At work, one guy that I work with thinks that I just attract with type of violence. He says that there's no way that this town existed the way I describe it. That it must just be me. He was analyzing me. I thought to myself, how bigger,more educated people had tried this already, and it broke their brain. But, go ahead.

He felt like if this was all true it would be on the news, on one of those spotlight news shows. I told him that it was too spaced out, the fights, the deaths, no one pays attention to that. I used Iraq as an example, we have had enough deaths there to wipe out an entire town in Texas. An entire town, just gone. We would pay attention if a town disappeared, but when it's spread out...it doesn't fade us a bit.

He thought it was only a certain "type" of people that fought. He was raised in the suburbs in Houston. Houston being a violent town...yet, he never saw any of this. Didn't my town have those kind of walls? Nope. To small to have walls. It's bigger now. But, when I was growing up, everyone redneck fought. Rich, poor, white, black, brown....didn't matter. Nothing to do, but fight and drink. I did admit that I used to skip school and go to the museum. I never saw any fights at the museum. However, I did see a fight or two at the old Texas Houses, outside part of the museum. Did that count?

He just couldn't believe that I didn't attract it, make it up. I told him how lucky he was to be sheltered and to shelter himself from the outside.

It's what we do, isn't it. I don't have to leave my neighborhood for anything. Groceries, church, carwash, coffee, movies...whatever I want right here, all the time. I never have to see anything. I never have to work for anything.

My boss is fond of the saying, if you want to play, you have to get in the game.

We spend most of our life never knowing.

I showed this work guy the death statistics of my small town, and the town we live in now. The small town has this town way beat. I showed him the domestic violence statistics. The small town wins again. Last week there were several public shootings....Bonus. God, Guns and Guts.

And today, I'm tired. And staying in. I'm not doing a goddammed thing. How's that for getting in the game?