Bring back the Flaming Beavers....A Quest for Action

I have resurrected an old habit.

My love for silly underwear. No, it's not the kind you can jackoff to later. (i.e. a man wearing a lacy red thong with an even racier, silkier read top, under his suit. Not like that.) Just silly underwear.

My favorite underwear was a pair of plain white cotton briefs that had red, orange and yellow flames around the top, with a crudely drawn beaver with a chainsaw in a big circle, at the crotch. I bought those at a fundraiser for a local radio station that needed money to survive. Eons before satellite radio. I do hate space junk radio. It freaks me out, and makes me think that I need a aluminum hat to protect myself, or something. Plus, I just don't like the idea that we're going to be seen by our space neighbors as the planet with our cars up on blocks in the front yard of weeds with all our satellites, etc. But, the underwear, the beaver, they were very special. When I put them on, the cotton always felt so clean and refreshing. Of course, we all know that cotton is so cottony absorbant; which is important when you're running and hopping fences, and important when your hot with lust and you know you shouldn't sleep with them, or aren't drunk enough to sleep with them, but you're still hot for and need to just go to the bathroom, wipe and get back to drinking your beer. Yes, our bodies place cruel messy tricks on us sometimes.

The beaver drawing, somehow made me feel like my body, my soul, my personal space was completely my own; that it was in lockdown, and if anyone neared me without permission, they would get the chainsaw. Ahhh, the chainsaw.

It was just very nice, at the grocery store, in the big giant lines. At the DMV, the big giant lines. At the frigging bar, just trying to get my drink on, the big giant lines. Or, the people fucking with me at work because they were bored, stupid, didn't have a life. But, simply no bother, I had the flamming beaver panties on. Safe, secure, tough.

Those underwear have bit the dust. I think that I still have them, but they are at the bottom of the underwear drawer, in a dark corner, by themselves, only to be seen in the awe of memories, so worn out with holes and stains to really don them. But, to fucking awesome to every throw away. Maybe to be found, once I'm dead, and someone would scratch their head in wonder, and never know they had just touched greatness.

I was also partial to a silver lame thong that I once had, when my ass was perky and smooth. Oh, how I loved to put those on, and do my hair and make-up, put on my silver velvet six inch heals, turn on some kickass music, make myself a drink, and clean the house. And no one, I mean no one was in the house for that. It wasn't about the sexiness of it, so put your hands where I can see them for the duration of this blog. It was about looking and feeling good while doing something that was boring and stupid, but simply had to be done. I would dance with the mop. I would sing with my drink in one hand. I would scrub with my cigarette in my mouth, and my rag in the other hand. It was so much fucking fun. It was awesome. I highly recommend it. Even for the guys. And if your a guy who doesn't wear heels, that's fine, just put on your going to church shoes, the really nice ones, with the fancy socks.

I can remember a time with the flaming beaver and my friend Chanda. She's very tall and has big boobs and long, flowing blond hair. She wasn't single, but I was. I drawfed in comparison to her beauty. Men would come to her with numbers in hand, weiners out, eyed glazed. It was costly going out with her if my intent was to get laid. I had to buy the guy I had my sights on, way more drinks to get him refocused on me; rather than her. Focus, I'm buying the drinks here....and if you're a good monkey, I'll buy you a drive dinner after I'm done with you. Focus!!!!

She's a looker for sure. And I love her. She's my friend. I could tell you all about her personality, but after the discription above; what's the point, you've already lost your focus, too. I'm sure.

Chanda and I would go out to the bar order drinks, and keep them coming. We would get twenty dollars worth of quarters, maybe each. We would position ourselves in front of this gun game, usually in some darkly lite corner with the smell of old spilled, rotten drinks and carpet/floor burns from cigarettes stamped out in a hurry. We would proceed to masacare aliens and get our drunk on. We would laugh, kill and drink. So good, so wholesome, so fun.

Ocassionly there would be some guy, with an attitude, who would try to show us up at the game by placing his two quarters on the plastic of the game consol, next to the start buttons, signaling that he would be next. Oh, two quarters? That's it? Do you not see the fucking fourty some odd dollars worth of silver next to us? The humongous pile of silvery promises that we're here to stay forever?!? And you come over here with two?!? You walk over here with that cocky attitude, slamming down hard, what?!?, TWO?!? What exactly do you think your two quarters are going to do?!? How far do you think your 1999 and 1776-1976 are going to get you?!? Are you fucking kidding us?!?!! Just look at our score, our empty shot glasses....do you not feel the flurry and fury of sweaty underwear, smeared lipgloss, and booze?!? And you walk over here with that?!?

We would always just look at eachother and laugh and laugh. With big grins on our faces, ok, one of us would step aside for the next round and let the poor sucker put in his two, tiny, dull quarters in the slots, and try to have a go. Okay, okay. He wouldn't make it very long. It was over once he heard the clink, clink of the machine taking in the money.

We were never sure if the guys who tried and failed were really just that bad, or if it was the silly, violent, loud female energy that just overpowered them and sent them packing. We're not your sister. We're not your mother. We're not your ex-wife or ex-girlfriend. We're not here to fuck you. We're not even here to hear you fucking name said by anyone. We're not your fucking friend. We are here to kick ass...be it alien or man....just here to kick some ass.

They would always leave with their pee-pee tucked between their legs. Nope not sure if they were really that bad, or the girls just sent them packing. Hard to make that call, we were never sober enough for that. And didn't really care. Just bra wearing, video game junkies out for the thrill of the hunt. For hours we would commandeer that game murdering the evil species and drinking deliciously intoxicating drinks.

I could try to redraw the design on a new pair, or spend a ton of money getting a shiny new one; though, but it wouldn't be the same. One has to seek new pairs, and retire the old ones once their service of duty has been completed. That's just how it is. You cannot reclaim the feeling of memories or a time past. We all know what a person going through a mid-life crisis looks like....I shudder at the foolishness of it. Eek, Yuck, Icky. Yes, one just has to find new ones.

I did find one new pair. They are cotton briefs, and their very loud hot pink and royal purple strips, with silver lame lettering on them. I wore them. The feeling on just having them on and if I needed their super powers, I could just run to the bathroom and stand in the stall with my pants down for an extra moment. I have taken great comfort in them, their cottony comfort absorbing all the bad. Everyone noticed my new look, my new confidence....some even commented, asked what I had been doing. I didn't tell them about my secret weapon underwear. It would be highly inappropriate and totally ruin my underwear high. It is secret underwear after all.

I'm not quite ready to clean my house in them. Not quite ready to go out and drink in them. I have to create new meaning for my new underwear. I am sure that whatever it is, it's going to be simply fantastic. I may even tell soemone about, minus the fact that I was wearing my super strength fun britches.

Yes. It's a new dawn and it smells like fresh new cotton briefs.

I wish THEY would come here and see me.

This may be a short transmission. I'm not even dressed for work yet. Seriously.

I've been seriously detoxing. The new diet that I've been on, well, it's not a diet at all. It's just eating the foods that I should be eating anyway. Man oh man, does it make me shit. And I have begun to shit on time, every time, on time. I have a friend that really monitors her colon activities, and when I tell her about this, she's going to be so happy for me. My energy is starting to be up, and my mood swings are starting to be down. Maybe it's this time for real. Hard to say. I'm not very good with any kind of follow through. Frankly, that maybe one of my charms. As least, I find it charming. Not so much for other people. But, I feel better, so whatever.

In the office this week, I screwed up on my timesheet. In an email to office headquarters, which is located in some topsecret state, maybe run by robots, I did confess to that screw up. I confessed to it all. And even asked for help in fixing it. I received notice back in the form of an email (which I totally wish has music or at least the Whah, whah whah whah song), repeating to me, the exact way that I screwed up (which I had already confessed to), and that this indiscretion would be let go, THIS TIME, but, THEY frowned upon this kind of action.

THEY. I had heard that word quite a bit lately. THEY. I don't even know who THEY are. So, I'm note sure why I would need to care so much that THEY are frowning at me about anything. I don't see THEY. I don't talk to THEY. I'm not even sure that THEY know who I am, or where I am. (or do THEY?) I'm note even sure that THEY are human. Maybe THEY are robots. Or, maybe THEY are monkeys, or hippos. Or, maybe it's just one guy named THEY. I just don't know.

However, it should be noted that THEY are obviously very important. And THEY can frown upon us all for everything. THEY frowned upon me. I was maybe a bit sad that I had made anyone unhappy enough to frown. I'm sorry THEY. I'm very sorry.

I've decided to make it up to THEY. And hold THEY in my dearest of dearest spots in my daily activities at the office. If I do not like the way some work has turned out, I plainly state that I do not think THEY would be very proud of us. Or, if someone has a bad attitude towards another, I remind that person that THEY would not think that was a way to work with others. Even if I just don't like the office coffee, I state that THEY wouldn't like this at all.

I have become a champion of THEY. And perhaps they will bestow on me many blessings in the next year. I honor you, THEY. Yes, I honor you, THEY. Since I do not have a picture of THEY to set us an office shrine to THEY, I have had to make do with a fancy stapler and some hole-punch confetti, and a necklace made of paperclips. I cannot light incense or candles at my alter to THEY, so I substitute with a pleasant, spray odor remover instead. (Not anything that really smells that might upset another office member. Most certainly not. THEY would not like that one bit. THEY do have rules, of which I can review on the confusingly laid out online intranet or my handy, bulky, hard to decipher employee manual that I was given at the beginning, which I think I've lost a few pages in the back of my car.)

Once when I said THEY to another worker, the worker asked me who THEY were. I was shocked. Then, I stated that if she was supposed to know who THEY were, then THEY would have told her. I felt like I had said to much already, and made my escape to another task, like filing....very busy. I realized that she really may not even know the secret of THEY at all. Even though I screwed up on my timesheet, I realized that this had made me a little special. I had been allowed to even know of the existence of THEY. Oh, the breath escaped me, and I hurried to my shrine to don my paperclip necklace and give thanks and prayers. Oh THEY, thank you THEY, praise THEY, Amen.

This has been a clip from my daily inner monologue to myself that helps me make it through the nonsense of the corporate world.

This is my horoscope from Rob Brezney's site www.realastrolgy.com for the week of January 3, 2008.

In my dream, I was addressing a crowd of Sagittarians in a festively decorated hall. It was the first week of 2008. "You are not yet ready for the wonderful things you think you want," I told them. "To actually get them, you will have to change yourself in the coming months; you will have to shed some old conditioning that is interfering with your quest for success. Do you know what that old conditioning is? Find out NOW! Figure out how you need to transform yourself in order for the world to give you what you yearn for."

I think he's hit the nail on the head. If I am going to reach success in my life, I am going to have to shed quite a bit of nonsense that has been ingrained in me. Prime example, determining my security level at a job where I am threatened by THEY. Yep, all the silliness that we instill in ourselves. Yep, has to go. I have to poop.

End Transmission.

It was supposed to be my Year of the Pig. Instead it was Monkeys.

As I have read through by last Year's blogs, I can see the depression. Not so vague, am I. I am simply Hemingway, without my great novel. Ahhh, to live on an island, far away from people. He was very smart, smarter than most of us, smarter than me.

I've taken this last week off from work. Maybe to think about getting my shit together... the older I get, it's harder to recover from the lasting affects of the rages of depression that I go through. I am mindful of the last time I let this go to far...I fuckin' broke my leg. That was the universe telling me to stop, and it really hurt like hell. And still having the recent surgery to remove the metal that was in my leg, that didn't seem to stop me. One really cannot get a bigger fucking hint than that.

The fact of the matter is that I have no place to be the weirdo that I am. I feel restraint all the time. I once found myself with purple hair and tattoos. But, there isn't a place for me in the world of corporate culture looking like that. And I need the insurance. No wonder the country is messed up. I cannot be the only lost soul. I'm thinking that I need to get back to myself. It's going to be a long haul. I've gained a ton of weight, I'm trapped in a dead end job. Oh, there's room for promotion, but if you could see the likes of the people that I'm working with, well, I'm not sure that Up is really the New Down.

What this lack of behavior problems has left me with is an obsession with buying made for T.V. exercise equipment, a credit card to Lane Bryant, big flabby boobies, a lack of sex drive, a need for cookies (all the time), and a huge cable Movie Channel bill. Yes, I have been rolling around in my self pity for a long, long time.

I am; however, very fortunate. I didn't do one god damned thing for any of my friends this year, and yet, they still produce. They still come through.

My birthday was upon us. And my friends gathered for drinks at the usual spot. I brought Christmas Gifts for everyone....just silly things. Maybe my favorite was the tiny plastic monkeys I included in everyone's packet. I like monkeys and gorillas. Frankly, they have gotten the hole thing exactly right. And we're going to kill them all for it. They stayed in the forest, naked, with the green food and the rain. Very nice, indeed. So smart, smarter than us. Humans can't sit still. We we're given this great green planet, and we can't wait to fuck it up, and move to the next one. There's not an antibiotic to cure the planet of us.

Once having dispersed this packets, I opened my own. There was lots of silly things, which, I loved. Then there were two small packets of chocolate covered candies. Nice, I thought, but weird. They just looked weird, sitting there all by themselves. Not to worry, I was told, I would see.

Then came the biggest, best present of all times. The cake. And not just any cake, mind you, the fucking most awesome cake that anyone has ever gotten in the history of cakes. Even better than "let them eat cake" cake.

The cake stood about two feet tall. Delicately, and personally decorated. The eyes of the character seemed to beckon me, and the little toes and fingers made of icing did not want to be eaten, they wanted to jump and scream, and make a scene. One arm of the character stood straight up in the air, as if to ask, "Does this armpit smell bad to you?". Yes, it was bad, very bad. Bad Monkey. It was a Holy Monkey. A Holy Monkey Cake. But, it didn't stop there. Much to my delight, the arm gently rocked backwards, and was to be armed with the chocolate covered nuggets, that I had received earlier. Once the hand of the monkey was armed, one had to let go, to watch the choco nuggets fling through the air like a hail of bullets on one's unsuspecting prey or target, if you prefer. This cake was a Poo-Flinging Holy Monkey Cake.

Can you imagine? No, you can't. No, you can't. Or there would be thousands of these cakes made. Everyone would have one. And even if you get one for yourself, which you totally should, my friend Raina would have thought of it first, and given it to me first.

Raina had to find the specs on the Internet. Then she took it to a wedding cake bakery. I would have put their website in this blog...but they didn't seem it fitting to put my cake on their website, so, no go. They did agree to make the cake, and she kept getting delightful calls at work concerning the cake status. When the gearman was there, they called her to ask just how far she wanted the poo to fling. What a wonderful call to have at work. Raina's face lite up with such glee as she recanted to story. She works with lawyers.

The tables around us were filled with the norms. The norms of people in their bedazzled, holiday wear. Their sweaters, their baseball caps, all in boring normal colors. Jesus, the norms. I couldn't even get away from them at a fucking bar. But, as we all took turns flinging poo, something awakened in me. Something that I had kept to quiet, and held in the dark for too long. That need to be silly. That need to have the weird hair, and the weird dress, and to eat lovely weird things. Why have I let myself stray so far?

The Norms stared first in curiosity, then in envy. Then some of those Norms made the face. You know the face. It's the face that every God Fearing American makes when a Muslim walks into the room. That repressed face of anger with a twinge of "I just masturbated to Super Porn in the church bathroom, before I got here, but me and Jesus hate you.", face. We've all seen it. Hell, most people seem to live by it; their faces contorted permanently. We should have listened when our mothers told us if we made that face, it would stick like that. But, we just shot a few poo pieces their way. Awesome poop.

I also received a fantastic piece of art from my friend Ric Williams. www.ricwilliams.com

I now have been blessed with two pieces of art from this man. And I own his book. Which is signed. Oh, you say, signed. Well, if I know him than why did have to have him sign it, you say. I'm no fool. I have watched for years as Ric has blossomed into his own, as he's blossomed into our own. He has the balls to share this with the rest of the world. And once I'm long gone, my child with know that his mother once stood in the presence of, and hung out with, human greatness. That's the purpose of having the book signed. And of course, should my child ever get in desperate need of money, due to bad gambling debts, or medical bills, practically the same thing, he can sell it. Ric would understand that.

He's the top dog when it comes to scanner art. Oh, you haven't hear of that? Yes, it's new.

This year, the bar and the cake, and the friends, was really less about me. I'm not sure that I made that point clear. I'm always a show. But, it wasn't about me. It was about all of the people that were at that table. The finest of humans humbled me. Their knowledge, their thoughtfulness, their badassness....it humbled me. The drinks were shit. We all agreed on that. I think that the Po-Po's got to the bar, maybe they were fined or something, but the drinks were shit. We'll have to move places next year, for sure. But, I'm one lucky son of a bitch.

This time of year really does stick it to me. My birthday, the birth of Christ, the New Year. All of them periods of reflection, and it all happens within a month. It can be powerful, I suppose; or crushing. I sleep a lot. Perhaps, at some point, I will awaken from my long hibernation to seize the power of it all, maybe. Maybe.

I also watch a ton of T.V. Reminded me finally of that Welcome to the Jungle song and video. Just sitting in front of all of those T.V.'s gathering shit. I did notice that Comedy Central has a ton of wonderful stand up comics. All of them seem to be men, though. I'm not sure that we have gotten to the point that women can be that crude and still respected in the comedy world. That's a real shame. I'm very crude, and very funny, but not sure that I could make the kind of money that the boys do. I had to wonder if this was Comedy Central's way of paying back for the lack in pay that all those Male Models get. It's widely know that beautiful women make more money that beautiful men. I think it may just be that type of conspiracy. If you're not pretty, Guy, than you can be funny. We'll help you. If I really thought they'd give a girl a fair shake, I could think about sharing some funny shit with them.

This is only a point because I'm thinking about breaking out. Really breaking out. I've got to get my butt in gear though. I can't decide if I should quite my job or not. Usually, I'm good for about two years at any given job. It's been two years. And since the company got bought out by an even bigger, stupider company, it's a tough call. The new people that I work with are very ignorant, and quite lazy. Two things that seriously make my skin crawl, and I do think that I have received brain damage just from the staff meetings alone, already. Seriously, they are mind numbing. The bosses come in with their lists of things to talk about, and it does drag on, and they could have just sent a fucking email. We have that now...some people use it.

I was ready to quit. Then, I thought, perhaps I could use this to my advantage. Maybe I could slow it down a bit. Not be some dedicated to things that I don't care about. Even if I took it easy, I would still be light years ahead of the fucking rest of them. But, I'm not positive that I can stick it out though. I'm really going to have to buckle down.

What I mean by this is I'm going to have to introduce small facets of myself into their world. Maybe just secretly. Well, it would have to be secretly. They can't handle the truth. I didn't want to be on the office birthday list, and this woman wouldn't let it go. It just stopped her completely. Why wouldn't anyone want cake with a bunch of people who don't give a shit about you in the first place? Why or Why?!? She really did try to talk me into it, too. It was about a ten minute conversation. Then she finally resided herself to having a cake with everyone without me. Now you're getting it. Great. No problem. Awesome. When I didn't relent, you could see the face. (see above for the "face" description.) Frankly, had I known about the Holy Poo-Flinging Monkey Cake, perhaps I could have suggested that. She really did get so bad that I almost told her that I was Muslim, just to get her off my back. I think that might have excused me from a ton of office crap. But, in clear mind and heart, I couldn't do that to my Muslim friends of the world. I could have told her that I was raised Southern Baptist and if she let me out of this, let me break the rules and behave badly, I would just give her some money to make it all go away. But, I didn't think of that until later. I was slow from the brain damage the meeting had inflicted.

Yes, Little things. Must bring in tiny things, like smelling of foreign cigarettes and incense. Taking breaks were they can't get to me, find me, reading in the bathroom; without having to poop. I'll have to find a coffee shop and maybe buy a new laptop where I can keep my secrets and blog about them publicly. I wonder if I can Sage Stick my cubicle based on my religion. They would have to let me, right? I should get Raina to ask her lawyers.

Oh yes, can you feel it? The New Year's Resolution List is forthcoming.

1. Clean House.

2. Buy laptop.

3. Get Comedy Central.

4. Eat better food. (Throw Out Cookies.)

5. Finish bigass art project, that's been sitting on the porch for a full year.

6. Exercise. (Use at least one if not two things bought off T.V.)

7. Loose Weight. (By combining all of the above.)

8. Combat work related brain damage with humor and foreign smokes. (Maybe fling poo.)

9. Dye hair respectable funny color. (Respectable to me.)

10. Get out in the Public Eye. (Maybe an Open Mic or just the Grocery Store.)

Yeah, shit like that.

Beauty and the Beast...Not Completely Sure Which Beast

Thankfully I received a bunch of painkillers after my surgery on my leg. And the Doctor used the same scar to cut into me. I thought that was pretty thoughtful. My body is already riddled with the scars of my personal history. Sometimes making me proud, sometimes making me embarrassed...just depends. The past few weeks have been a ride. Oh hell yeah. I have enjoyed the clarity that the pills have offered me. The need and the time for them is almost over. But, I can understand why people get hooked. Yep, I can see that....with the special clarity that I currently have. So, despite the pain in my leg and healing they have helped me with, they did offer a slight vacation. Oh sweet legal drugs....and their blessed, convenient, euphoric powers.

The vacation wasn't without costs though. My car smells...it smells bad. I currently have junk stacked inside of it that competes with any trashfield. The sweaters, the food tins, the notes, the coffee mugs...you name it. And I haven't done my laundry either. I've been using sprays made for the couch and drapes to fight of the B.O. and washed underwear out in the bathroom sink or in the shower (if I've taken one), and put them in the dryer with the spayed outfit. I fear that it's really starting to show. I haven't worn make-up and I have had some pretty creative hairstyles, and stopped wearing anything open-toed. I have a pack rat nature anyway, but bad health and good painkillers do help to magnify this attribute. Maybe this weekend, I think this weekend, I'll start on the mountain of shit that is me. I'm going to need more smokes and way more coffee, but I think I can make it happen. Like I said the pills are just about out, and I might want to save them for another occasion of real need. My real need is just about over. Oh, the sadness.

I'm not sure that I have taken a breath in the last couple of months. I went and did a charity golf tournament. The likes of which the women are scantily clad, the men drunk and stupid, and the charity that's picked is usually politically motivated. I met a man before the tournament. I still needed players, and stupid goodie bag items. I asked him if he would play. There was amazingly no hesitation. There would be marketing benefits for him. He told me the story of his daughter that died of cancer, early in life. They had a charity. I made him no promises. I was a peon, but he was so nice. And I know that I couldn't do that kind of work if my child died. I would just die, too. I would. It would be slow, but I would die.

I suggested his charity. Not so much response at first. I told him if the committee selected him, he would probably get a tiny amount. We most of the committee did select him. One of the committee members had lost a child, as well. Do you call that luck, fate...what's the word?

The golf tournament came. The BBQ afterwards came. I hated all of it. The man in charge, when I pointed out my charity man, told me that the charities hadn't been formally announced.

I spoke to the committee member who had lost his own child. He told me, fuck that. He teared up, and publicly announced my charity guy and his story. There was NO WAY to politically back out now. I smiled, a real smile, maybe for the first time in weeks.

Not only did they select my charity guy, but, they gave him an unprecedented amount of money for the tournament. I saw the check and the letter. Everyone's name was listed on this, but mine. Sure, at first I was angry...then I realized the opportunity. Doing something well, it should look like you've done nothing at all. The little secrets that sometimes I can keep to myself, I found one. And most of you don't know me, so the secret is still safe. And, the man was so thankful. I stopped him. I explained to him, how I did the stupid golf tournament every fucking year. I did it, and never got anything out of it, other than it helped the corporation that I worked for be seen. But, not this year. This year, he and more importantly his daughter had tied me to the work that I was doing. It gave this work meaning. Meaning that was meaningful. I had really needed that. So, did he understand the gift that he gave me?, I asked. Do you understand that? Your work gave me purpose. That's not something he needed to thank me for, I was truly the honored one. We smiled, that's what we did. We just smiled.

Then, the company I work for was bought out. The craziness has ensued. All the training, all the conflicting personalities. All the pay changes. Just so you know, I made and 86% on the test regarding Sexual Harassment. How did I even pass with my pottie mouth. Really, only God and the Fates know that. They guided my fingers to the answers, because it certainly was my fucking idea to pass that dirty-brown butthole of a fucking your sister test.

Everyday it's a new political ego mess that I have had to sooth, navigate, stop in it's tracks. We never leave the playground. We never stop not sharing or dominate that need to over-dominate, or that need to extra kill, make sure things are extra dead. I'm not sure there are prayers that can answer this. Look around, it's on a bigger scale. As if there are just fucking huge waves of selfishness, giant waves, to and fro, back and forth. Can't you feel it? If you said no, I don't believe you. Only tiny incidents of goodness or happiness, seemingly unrecognizable because we all run out of breath and time. And not those fake ones they show on any of the news channels between the murders, the economy and the wars...not those, those don't count...they're only there to make sure you stay awake and stay tuned to their chatter. If we count those then we're in bigger trouble than any of us can imagine.

At the office, I had to make sure that a phone list didn't go out. Everyone was mislabeled. Oh the feelings that would have been hurt. And frankly, this one woman should just stop using the spreadsheet program for anything. Too many squares and too many colors a blatant misuse, and not was this program was designed for...they have classes online, they're free...stop the killing of my eyes, my smarts, and the egos of the wrongly labeled people...fucking stop that. It's a program that's supposed to help up, not hurt us. How can anyone know that many ways to jack something up? Please, please, please stop sending stuff out. She's my counter-part in the buyout. During the Non-Agenda'd Staff Meeting, she's repeatedly offered me lessons on Memos and usage of Letterhead. The first time I couldn't reply, I just didn't have it in me to find a response that wouldn't hurt her feelings and probably get me fired. I just announced that I had to go to the bathroom, right then, and would she be so kind to tell me where it was. Currently being a gimp, well, the "got to go to the bathroom right now" excuse has super powers. NO ONE wants to help clean up that mess. I am going to miss that.

Now, I just tell her sure, sure, when things get settled.

Next, we all had to ride together in vans to a lunch meeting halfway between all of our offices. A get to know you meeting. I couldn't smoke. Everyone complained...We arrived. Everyone was sitting by their best friends forever. I don't have those at work. Are you kidding me?!? I was a meeting co-leader. We made everyone move, until they we're sitting by someone they didn't know. I smiled a secret smile. Sometimes being a little mean, passive aggressive, just sits right in my soul.

I had organized a White Elephant gift exchange. White Elephant always being crap around your house, the stuff you mean to get rid of, but just can't seem to. We hang onto so much shit. White Elephant always brings out the best and the worst in people. Another smile. It did. Oh, how it did. Some people really get mad that they get the shittiest of the shit. The shittiest of the shit. How can you get mad about that. The super fat guy, and I mean super fat, got the great abs in ten minutes video. Boy was he mad. People laughed. Well, you're fat, and not to worry it didn't work for the person who brought it either. No worries. I stole the lottery tickets, they got stolen from me. I'm not super mean, the guy who stole them from me, wrote me a check for half, and I wrote a check for half of that to the guy that I stole them from. That was nice...we didn't win enough to be shitasses about it. I ended up with a Cowboy Boot Flower Arrangement. It had a Texas Flag and a Mexican Flag in it. Later, I paid the mailclerk at my office to put it in the men's bathroom. A couple of days later, someone stole it. We asked the janitor, he didn't take it. He thought it was funny, he had left it there. We thought it was funnier that someone stole it. It probably had fecal spray on it....we've all seen the news programs with the black lights...yep, probably had shit on it. Shit on shit, stolen.

Back to the lunch, what I did notice though, when I sat down to eat...was that even though we had all switched places, people ended up sitting exactly by their personality counterparts between the companies, between the same offices. What?!!? I blinked. Crap, it's hard to get one over on human nature...it's very complicated, and even my super powers of passive aggressive goodness was no match.

And, who did I sit by? Oh, let me tell you. I sat by the drunk, name dropping, boobie twins. You know these girls, they can't be saved. They've been ridden hard and put away wet. Big hair, tight shirts, big gold Kal-Mart jewelry, all the important work they did. One of them was my office arch-enemy. Well, she thought she was. Always trying to get one over me. Sometimes she would get to me....then, I had to realize how many light years ahead of her that I actually am. Then I had to put on my I feel sorry for you suit...that usually put her in a quiet spot. Yet, these women always get free stuff. Free stuff from men and women a like. I'm fat, and smart and have glasses, right now. My stint in free stuff land may come back, but I didn't like it there....way too sticky. But, maybe there are times when I could use a little free stuff, not enough to trade places, but sometimes my desire to be a free, pornstar, maybe that gets to me....sometimes.

These two talked and talked and talked. They talked about all the drinking they do, the men they meet, where they meet them. All trendyshit bag places, and all they want to date are rednecks and cowboys. At some point, one of them took notice that my eyes have glazed over, really glazed over. One can only stir the mashed potatoes so many times on the resturant plate without being noticed. She asked me if I liked drinking and cowboys. I replied dryly, nope.

I thought about stopping there, but I didn't. Maybe I didn't stop because, I was really that bored, maybe because I didn't win all the lottory ticket money and I could quit, maybe I just super didn't want to talk to them, and was super sore that since I was a meeting co-leader, I had to sit down last, and all the kindof' good spots were taken. I'm not a fucking saint.

Anyway, I told them that once I dated a peanut farmer named Charley. You should never settle for a cowboy....go for the rancher or the farmer, who have cowboys that work for them. Charley was rich. He was good to sleep with. Not good to stay with. Dumb as a sack of diapers and sometimes mean. Luckily, he was stupid enough not to really recognize how inexperienced I really was, with everything. Also, he had a friend named Todd, who was even stupider and meaner. Me and a friend lied to our parents, and took off with these two to the coast for a weekend getaway. We drank a lot and fucked a lot, all by the ocean. The ocean that had better things to do then pay any attention to the likes of us. It's where I learned the gimmick of microwaving a piece of ordinary soap. It melts from the inside out. When you put it in the soap dish and someone uses it, the soap just crumbles in their hands. It's pretty funny. That's what I got out of Charley and Todd. Well, that and free, occasionally roasted peanuts.

I had already been there, and decided that I wanted more for myself. I had decided I deserved better. And I only drank with dear friends, or bigwigs. Not just random getting fucked up. I just had too much to do.

Their faces weren't used to being told the truth, maybe about anything. They quit talking to me. Ok, good stuff, good stuff. Back to the potatoes. I pretended to nap on the way back. You know, the leg injury...somethings, all the hard work that I do, just takes it out of me, so thank you for driving, as my eyes closed and my mind wandered.

The funny thing, the quandary is that I have beautiful friends who are so smart. They do not use their beauty for evil. They really do have the same problems that I have. They are treated like idiots because of their beauty, and not recognized for their absolute massive brain power. Later in the week, after another brilliant meeting, without an agenda, a guy asked me about one of my such friends. I patted his arm, and gently explained to him that it would only be for masturbation, the introduction. He just wasn't smart enough to keep up. He thought I was jealous for a minute, and he was angry. I patted his arm again, and told him lovingly as possible, that just wasn't it. Some of us just don't get all the prizes, we just don't. I want a million dollars, I'll never see that. And the closest that he would ever get to her, was his imagination and his hand of preference. And, yes, her giant beautiful breasts weren't real, she had bought them, and they were perfect and as awesome as he could ever imagine, so that was another thing. He just didn't make enough money to cover the fact that he wasn't smart. There was no temptation for her, even if she slipped in a lonely moment of weakness, towards him at all. Sorry buddy. The God's honest truth.

I have to say that I did puff up a little... just in case. Do I know that she could take care of herself? Yeah, I know that. But, there's a little redneck in me. too. Mess with a friend of mine, mess with me, crap. I puffed up, just in case, I needed to make my point clearer to this man. Going this route always ends up that I'm a big fat lesbo but on occasion the point hits the target. Well, either way, if it goes to the next level the target gets some point. We girls have to stick together. Stop what you're thinking, I didn't mean that kind of stuck together. Pervert. See just what I mean?

I suppose watching these two twosomes of boobies yak it up at the luncheon, made me angry for my beautiful friends, not just me. Their actions make it harder on the rest of us that are here now, and the rest of the babies, the children, the teenagers, the unborn. It would be pointless to explain. They were really past any form of education on the matter, I just wanted them away from me, and understanding that it was best for them to stay there, in the far away spot. I'm not without sadness for them though. They were past erasing it all. I'm so thankful that I have never reached that point. Some people just will never have the capabilities to change. And it is a burden. I think it's okay to let people know that sometimes, even though they can't change, and they'll probably still get taken care of, it still really is a burden for them just to be there.

I was at the new work place yesterday. I've worked hard. Everyone was gathered for free cake for someones random birthday that most everyone didn't know. One of those terribly personal office moments. I didn't want the cake. I had already stolen a day old chocolate doughnut from the office kitchen table, and used someone good coffee to make myself a nice cup of coffee to go with my stolen, stale doughnut. I didn't even have to take it to the bathroom, grab a stall and enjoy. I made it, unseen back to the cube. AWESOME. So, I had enough. No need to be greedy.

Out of the blue, someone that I hadn't seen in months, yelled my name though the crowd. I waved. She, out of the blue, announced that she had been keeping up with me, that my name and influence was everywhere in the industry....the pictures, the newsletters...I was famous. I turned red....I'm more of a behind the scenes person. I looked around. There where some people smiling for me...some people where angry and jealous. Maybe because of my life, I took it all too heart. And maybe that's why I'm a behind the scenes person. I was frankly too damn tired to take in the range of egos that flowed over me...and at someone else's birthday cake thingy. I politely told her thank you, and really it wasn't me, if I just didn't like everyone, and the work I saw all these people doing, it wouldn't make me want to be involved. Oh, Sweet Jesus, or Whoever, help that lie work, please, today, just help that lie work.

In my work life, I am mostly selfish. I am mostly conceited, mostly grabby...for the scraps of money for myself, for my family, for my friends, for other random people. I am ultimately no different than any of the people in the crowd, maybe I'm just a better grabber. It's complicated. And I do not deserve recognition for that, it's nothing special. No, that is nothing fucking special....but, one can hardly say a truth like that, now can we? Jesus or Whoever, just help that lie work, and get me safely back to my cubicle...the safety of the grey foam walls lined with papers on tacks, and ergonomically placed plastic. Get me there. I needed to sit down. I needed to ease my breath, and take in the tops of the fake flower arrangement that tops the woman next to me's cubicle. Get me to that sweet quiet place.

At work, my father called. We're not close. He decided to buy my son, who he's never met, and wanted me to abort, an expensive toy. He called to ask me what my married name is. I'm not married dad. We never did that. I tried to protect him from the flatness of my tone. My name is still the same, even after all these years. Oh, okay, then the embarrassed laugh. I didn't say much, no point really. It's just there. Yep, Dad, remember, you gave me a way a long time ago, but it was never at my wedding....never, then. I might have called, maybe I would have called about that. Hard to say. Thanks for the gift. We always talk in money and expensive things. Maybe that's were I got my sense of fairness, and my love for free things, of special moments not tied to any coins or paper. I can say thank you for that. You wouldn't understand it, but maybe I could say it, in my head, and it would transfer through the phone. Yeah, maybe, maybe it would. I wanted it to as I hung up the phone.

At closing time that day, I didn't waste time, I didn't say long goodbyes. I logged off, and ran as fast as my currently with cane ass could get me out of that building. I lit my cigarette even before I locked in my seat belt. Oh, people saw me. I waved goodbye. No worries, the windows of my car were shut and the car was already turned on. A clear signal of no talking. I put my car in reverse, and with the cigarette in my mouth because I just didn't want to miss a single breath of it, I turned my head, and moved fast out of the parking lot. I immeadiately went out and spent money that I didn't have to buy my favorite bums, on my corner, a huge dinner and some supplies, smokes, booze, a blanket, etc. Just to pay penitence. This form is better than flogging in the long run, and certainly less messy. I was feeling a little better standing in the liquor store line with the cheap stuff. But, it wasn't enough. I hurried home, turned on the T.V. and took a couple of my sweet pills on my almost empty stomach, save the stolen doughnut...and waited for the floaty goodness that would wipe away the day, the weeks, the T.V., all of it. It's not really depression, so don't think that. I just get overloaded and need the break from the super highway we live on. I HAVE to pull over and stop.

Everyday...it would be way cooler if I had a sword to slay some of the beasts with. Can you imagine? Oh, I can. For now, I've got pills, and the excuse to use those are just about gone.

Then, I'm just back to the daily grind.

Contemplating the space time continuum

I tried to get everything done before I went into surgery. As though all of those things really would matter. Not really. Nothing that I do is crucial, clutch cargo happening. I suppose that's what curbed, seriously curbed my enthusiasm about doing any of my work. I couldn't really pull it off the couple of days beforehand. It started to show. Jesus, I would be a shitty actor.

But, I had to have something that distracted me from the heart that I was suddenly aware of pounding in my chest every single fucking moment. All those chances that I don't take. Every single day I am handed so many, and I never just take them. Can you imagine what would happen if we all just took the chances that were freely given to us by the fucking universe....can you fucking imagine that?!? Well, I can, and they called to me, and everyone one of them that I didn't take advantage of seemed to flash before me, they seemed to partially slip though my finger tips, but I felt them, I felt how wonderful they were each supposed to be....all of everyone of those sayings, those sayings repeated with every enlarged heartbeat. Would this be the time that those chances ran out? I've been given more than my fair share, right? The universe is going to call in it's marker sometime. Why not now? Yeah, that's what I thought.

I was alone when I went into surgery. Part of me wanted people that I knew there with me, everyone else in the waiting room had someone. An old lady asked if they could borrow my cell phone. The old man had remembered everything, but forgot the cell phone. His name was Roger. I let the woman make the calls. She told everyone where she was, when she was supposed to be out. And she told everyone that Roger had forgotten the cell phone. We're all quite the same, the same words, the same actions. I had to be there at six o'clock in the morning. I'm sure that I forgot a lot of things. Roger didn't seem to mind that everyone knew that he forgot the phone. He knew she was scared. They gave the phone back to me, and Roger took the woman's hand and let her know that he would be there all day waiting for her to wake up. For a second, I wanted that, too. Someone holding my hand. But, I knew that it was just a load of crap. When I went under, and had the actual surgery, and the machines breathing for me, and the knife cutting me, and the waking up....I would be alone. It's just what it is. It's being alone. And it's scary. And no Roger equal would help her or me through that. It just is what it is.

I kept waiting for the caring or maybe the ceremony to start. But having surgery is really just like going through the drive thru. I'm not just typing that, it really is. A lot of formality, a lot of organization, and lot of impersonal caring, and bright lights with bright smells. Some people complain about that. I'm not so sure that I want to complain about that. The fact that they're impersonal made me rely on myself. I didn't want them wrapped up in any emotional state. I wanted them focused. I wanted them precise. I didn't need for them to like me, or to fucking care about me, I needed them to do their fucking job, and do it right. I needed that. I wanted them to please do their fucking job right. And I just needed the I don't care drugs to get myself started. When it was over I had been moved. Just like that, without even knowing, just moved. Yes, they did their fucking job.

People came by. I got some gifts. That was all the ceremony. I really liked it, but it also made me tired. In the end, it really is your body and your mind and your soul, and you just have to take care of most of it yourself. Of course, I could have put down the guard, and ask for the help that I needed taking a bath. Instead I just made a mess, got pissed off, and pretty sure that I broke something I wouldn't want broken if I was sober. But, I'll worry about that tomorrow.

I was in quickly and out quickly. Someone had to clean up my blood and piss when I pulled out my IV, and missed the toilet a bit. Can you believe that kind of job? The girl seemed okay with it. It's a big deal doing that kind of work...being able to go into someones intimate space like that, and not make it a big deal. I gave her all the chocolates out of my fruit basket, and told her not to share them.

I have some pain. But I have more relief right now. I'm on the drugs right now, and the pain isn't so bad. But, just now, when I thought to write my feelings down. Everything is quite here now. I can think. I have some water, I'm fairly clean, I can smoke, and take the pills, and yes, I might have a glass of wine, as well. How immoral and devilish that seems. But, I made need to curb the feelings a bit, and being messed up it the poor man's way. And I am not a rich man.

If I were to say it out loud, I was scared. I'm not ready to die. But, most times, I'm not terribly ready to live either. I don't take the advantages. I do and act as I'm supposed to mostly for my paycheck. How sad that makes me today. I could have coded on the table. Someone could have nicked an artery. I could have gotten an infection. Every heartbeat....all that blood circling around in my body. All the cells trying to repair. How soon before they just give up on me.

Jesus, it's scary to trust in people that they'll do the right thing by you, especially when you don't do it by yourself.

And the sight of my son, I got home. He was in such a bad mood because of his day at school. I loved his bad day more than anything in our entire universe. The smell of my dirty house. My man's forgetful way of remembering that I'm not that tough. The sight of my dogs. My car has a flat tire. I will go to work on Monday. I will be able to walk better. I can cry because I really am safe. I really did make it.

Jesus.

I have at least one more chance.

Scheduling a much needed surgury to buck the Man

Writing down my thoughts today is a small attempt to get back to some sort of normality of my personal being. We have created quite an oppressive world. One of which, and I am not alone, that I am perticularily subject to, if I'm not careful. I've never been one to be careful.

Oh yes, the greatest of pitfalls in being human is often being around humans. Lately, I have found my only escape to be one of sitting in my car, in traffic. If there's an errand, I'll do it. If there's a trip, I'll do it. Whatever I can do, that involves being in the car, incased in the car, with my music and cigarettes. Incased in metal and glass. But, I've let things run amuck so much, that I didn't even want to hear the music.....just the metal and glass, and the engine running. I thought about running. Where would I go? I am busy. And the masses with their needs and wants just keep coming...in droves of bodies and noise...they just keep coming. And my creativity, my sense of myself, those things that make me just me, and happy with me, have become secondary to the constent noise of the needs and wants of the masses.

This morning I tried to recall what event started is all. When I let it in. This time, the stacks are so high, I couldn't exactly pinpoint anything. And in trying to release the mountain of garbage I've been accumulating, I thought, if I moved one piece it would completely collapse on me. Then I thought about how I'm not much of a person to shirk away from a challenge.

I think when it really hit me, that I was out of control, when I had completely moved away from myself, is when my current boss, a high level executive said this:

"Do you realize how much you've grown? Do you realize how much you're beginning to think like a business person?"

There is was....the sentence that began to crumble the tower of crap that I had been collecting. Jesus, Sweet Jesus, could it be true. Had all of those trips to the mall, the carwash, the cellphone calls, and the watching of the national news really started to sink in? Oh God, what have I become? Oh God, what have I done?

You have to understand, I know that I could think like this, but it wasn't what I wanted. Never. I have purposely fought my entire life to have substandard jobs, with low pay, and crappy benefits, and lack of stimulation to be able to protect all that I hold sacred. Oh God.

I felt the loss, in my very core. But I didn't cry. I couldn't cry because I did it. I let it happen. I was responsible for the entire mess. And everyone and everything that I hold most dear was suffering.

And if I were to tell the truth, all of this nonsense didn't get me anything. I regained all of the weight I had lost, my house and car are a complete mess, I've lost touch with my dear friends, I sleep a lot, and I do nothing funny. AND, after all of the best, most professional behavior I could muster, I was rewarded with a shitty bonus, and watched the other jackasses, and I do mean very stupid people, get rewarded beyond my wildest dreams and still find the hot air to complain about it. Oh the money flowed; how it flowed...just not towards me. And wasn't that the main goal? The dollars? I could achieve something for my family? Something for me?

So, yesterday, I yelled. I did. It was a release. And could get me in a bad spot I suppose. But, I've been in very, very bad spots before...and this bad spot won't be that bad. Secondly, I scheduled a much needed surgury that I had been putting off, absorbing the pain for, due to project contraints. Oh yes, I'll be out of work and on a walker for a bit. And I scheduled it right when I was due to make a company appearance. Oops, what? I have to have it, doctor's orders and short term disability rules and all of that...said smiling. Oh, yes, the little things, coming back to knock down the wall of shit. I went and got my hair cut at a cheap salon. I like this cheap salon. The woman that cuts my hair is funny, she does a great job, and she has the longest getto nails that I've ever seen. She's fantastic. And we sit in the salon and chicken sqwak. It's loud and funny and chair to chair goodness. I told an officemate, who always puts me down, because I'm younger, and what could I possible know....well, I told him yesterday, that I wasn't going to talk to him anymore. He thought that I was kidding. But, I didn't talk to him. He backed off, at first, saying ok, tell my story. I told the other old officemate to go ahead and explain that I wasn't talking. They both said what a baby thing for me to do. Yes, I said, yes it is. Yes, it is a baby thing for me to do.

Somewhere inside of me is a small pool of warmth...a tiny glimmer of good. It's the hope...that completely wonderful, and mostly useless emotion contained in humans. Can I do it? Is it possible? Lance Armstrong has one ball and look how well he's doing. I don't have any balls at all, so there must be hope...Great Hope....The Great White Hope.

Fucking Awesome.

I always have had a desire for the finer things in life...

There were so many things to do this week. By the week's end, I had worked a considerably large amount of overtime. I worked so fast and furiously that I wasn't even sure that I had done anything at all. My head was fuzzy from storing too much...it was on overload. It was the kind of week that my arms and brain and fingers all seemed to work outside of myself...they were on some sort of other plain...it was as though they just ran by themselves...and me the soul of me was locked up somewhere else. I dreamed when I slept, but mostly of work and nothing of any consequence worth mentioning. Yeah, it was a long week.

I had dinner with a friend, one evening, at least. She asked for my advice on a couple of points. That always seems a bit funny to me. Me, giving advice. Is that a sound idea? Hard to say. I've seen a lot that's for sure. I done more than I seen, that's for sure, too. But, since I hardly see things as the majority does...is that such a good idea to be asking me about anything? Hard to say. What I did know is that the time we spent together was hardly enough.

I had friends that I should have called this week, but I didn't. Instead, I took cigarette breaks and talked way too much to people that I don't give a shit about. And I really can't say what I'm thinking to them anyway. It would just be bad for them. It would be just too damn hard for them to think outside of the safety of their box.

Finally, Friday did roll around. I was late getting out of work. And if I were to tell the truth, I was still on the phone with work, as I was driving home. It was not until I was actually in my house I shut the phone off and was sort of done for the week. We had a family dinner. After which, while everyone was still there, I feel asleep on the couch. The next morning my child and man left for another town to see a museum exhibit. I had the entire house to myself for about twenty-four hours.

I slept. I slept for most of the entire twenty-four hours. I did get up a couple of times to eat. Mostly whatever was a leftover that I could stick in the microwave. And when those options ran out, I started on anything that was in a box. I let the dogs out when they needed to go. I pissed when I need to go. But, I hardly moved from the couch at all. The television stayed on to keep me company. I only dreamed of the television shows. I did watch a bit of television and smoke most of my boxed cigarettes. Then I started in on the roll your own kind, that I had bought. I was almost too tired to do that. I felt aggravated at having to roll my own cigarettes. And maybe aggravated that I was too tired to drive to the store and buy anything else. I was probably just mad that I wouldn't be using my off time for anything productive for myself. This time that was so precious I would be using to sleep....to regain my energy...just to give it away to a bunch of stuff that wasn't that important to me. What a fucking surprise. Isn't that what we all do? We get up, go to work, do a bunch of bullshit that makes someone else money, then sleep, only to repeat. Yeah, maybe I'm feeling a bit crabby.

And now that's it's Sunday... I'll be getting a move on to do my house stuff that prepares me for the next pile of bullshit. Yep. It's a very exciting life that I lead sometimes.

My friend at dinner reminded me of a letter that I once wrote to Hunter S. Thompson.

It was funny. She had told her friends about it. I never expected an answer from him, and I didn't get one. She was a bit curious if I was going to write someone else.

I thought to myself that I might. Since SpareUs Hilton is on the MS bandwagon and I have MS...maybe I'll write her a note. I thought the other day, as I was in the tobacco shop, I wished she been there to help me. This must have been Tuesday or Wednesday or this week...I can't really recall.

The shop was out of my favorite kind of rolling tobacco. I was standing there in my work clothes, so I wasn't very convincing as a prime customer of a head shop. They weren't taking me very seriously. And I was tired from work, I wanted a smoke, and was annoyed that this was one of the only places that I could go to get a deal. No, I didn't want a small packet of tobacco. I wanted a full tin. I didn't want to have to come back in a few days after my packet ran out...I was just too busy for that nonsense. I asked the boy behind the counter what he would recommend. He tried to give me something that I knew was crap. It was complete crap. Jesus, was it crap.

How did I know it was crap?

Well, I'll explain. I don't really have that much experience with being jailed. I did go once, to city jail for traffic tickets, but that hardly counts as hard time. However, there was a time earlier on, when I was homeless, I did stay in a house full of ex-convicts. I know what you're thinking, they're not supposed to hang out together. But, they did. In fact, they all worked together at the same car wash. No one else wants to hang out with them, and no one wants to hire them. The system is way more flawed than we all suspect.

Anyway, the point is, I learned what they smoke in prison, and what they smoked out of prison, and I knew what this guy was giving me was prison swag. In prison you're poor and take what you can get or steal, and out of prison you're were poor, and you take what you can get or steal. I had worked too long and too hard to smoke prison swag. Once I made that point to him...another helper came up and moved him out of the way to offer his assistance. I wasn't being loud or rude, just making a point. But, it was as though I had said some magic words to make the understanding that I was a connoisseur of tobacco that should be handled with some thought and discretion. Or, maybe, I said the magic words, that scared them into thinking that I was some bad mother fucker, and I should be handled with discretion and care. I didn't care, either way, I just didn't want crappy tobacco. So, whatever works. The new guy brought out something else, and explained to me that if I hated it, I could bring it back, no problems. Great, I said, and I bought it.

How I did wish SpareUs was there. Her recent incarceration might have given her some incite into which tobacco product I should have bought. Could have saved me some time. I might include that in my letter. Hard to say. I don't really think that I would like her as a person, so what if she responded? Then I just be stuck talking to another person I didn't really care about. I'm going to put this on the back burner for more thought.

I got in my nice car, cranked up the AC, rolled my cigarette and lit it. I took a long drag before putting my car in reverse to turn to make my drive home. A brain will recall things, long forgotten, at the strangest moments. It's not exactly the transport back to that moment, just the passing thoughts of how I react to certain things from other things I learned and stored.

I paused to wonder how it was that I survived that period of my life. Those men, in that house, were hardened beyond belief. I can't recall everything that all of them had been in prison for. And it is a long story how I ended up there in the first place, and an even longer story as to how I got out. I can't even recall most of their names.

I did have my own bedroom at the house. And I was more of a little sister, and more of a mother to them. I was never really in any danger. Which should surprise you, it surprises me. To be a female around those men, in such close quarters, one would think that something horrible would happen. But, it didn't, not to me. Later in life, it would be a rich, frat boy that would rape me in a drunken blur. He wouldn't see any prison, and would go on to lead a gifted life. Funny the different levels of respect that come from different subsections of humanity.

Some people were in danger in this house though. Mostly it was dangerous when the guys were drunk together and playing Spades. It's so odd that a card game should mean so much, but it did.

I remember one young guy that had just gotten out of prison came over to play Spades. He had too much of a ego. You didn't want to have too much bravado around the guys that had done more time or had done bigger crimes. It wasn't a smart move on his part. He messed up playing Spades, he ruined the hand for his partner. He talked to much. And even though his partner was the friend who brought him over to the game in the first place, it was his friend that would help in teaching him a lesson about being to much of a loudmouth.

The entire group ended up taking him outside and beating the shit out of him. It was a circle that he was in. The closed fists and knuckles that collided with his body to bruise it and make it bleed. He was, at first, ready to take them all on, then at some point he realized that this was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. You could see the idea resonated in his head, he understood, but it was too late to put that experience into action.

He resided to take his beating, it would be over faster that way. Everything like this goes in slow motion. Maybe due to the shock. Eventually, it looked as though he seemed to only be held up by the fists that continuously hitting his body. When the men were exhausted or thought he had enough, they stopped. I'm not sure what the signal is that someones had enough. They all stopped hitting him at the same time. The guy with his eyes bruised shut, on the ground on all fours, was puking and spitting up blood. Then they picked him up, like brothers would, and brought him into the house and cleaned him up and got him ice and a drink. He wasn't completely scorned, just had to be taught a lesson. They all raised shots of crappy whiskey and drank. They mocked the blood that had soaked the front of his face, shirt and pants like it was an honor. They played Spades without him. He just sat on the couch recovering and keeping his head down.

He survived, but didn't come around so much after that. Maybe he was scared straight. I hoped so. He did have a big mouth.

There was another guy, his name I remember, Johnnie. He was small, and quick, and had been in prison for stealing cars. He had been made someones bitch in prison. He only talked to me about it in small doses. That experience did make him not steal cars anymore...but, that experience also made him feel like he wasn't worth anything to anyone either. He felt like he was damaged goods, so to speak. Rape in any form does that to women, but to men, too. Maybe worse for men, since women have been dealing with that issue since the beginning of time, it's at least more open and the options for help are greater. For men, I'm not convinced we've done such a good job.

There came a time for him when the guy who had been raping him, pimped Johnny out to cover some drugs that he hadn't been able to pay for. Johnny knew that it was coming, he just did know when and how. The marker took weeks to call in. And he was teased everyday about it.

Johnnie almost had to kill a man to prevent being gang raped in prison. He was on mop duty when the men he'd been promised to, surrounded him. They teased him as they were closing in. Johnnie raised the mop and put his back against a cool tiled wall. He told me that he closed his eyes and swung the mop with everything he had for fear of his life.

Luckily, if one can say luckily, Johnnie's aim was true. He hit one of the men in the head so hard that the mop broke. The man fell to the floor unconcious. As a second man came closer to grab him, Johnnie ran him through with the splintery, broken mop base. At this time, before Johnnie could make a run for it, or grab the other part of the broken mop, the guards came in and the crowd dissipated. Johnnie was put in solitary. And, since this was in self defense, he was not given any extra time for the stabbing and assault. He finished his sentence in solitaire. So, even though he wasn't given extra time...he was in solitare, which is like a slow death, but he wasn't having any guy's dick up his ass anymore.

Johnnie hung out with me quite a bit. He talked to me quite a bit. He was so young to have been put in prison. And he reminded me of an ally cat. He flinched and ran if you got too close. He looked down a lot, but his senses were always on...as though, at any minute the sky would be falling and he have to hide or would make his move for a weapon that would just be made of anything that he could grab.

If you were to look at him on the street, maybe you would miss all of this. Maybe he would look like any other young man that had hopes and dreams about the life in front of him. But, he wasn't that young man. I wasn't sure how a person comes back from that experience.

The time came when I had to leave that house very quickly. The house was owned by this elderly woman. She had given it to her son, the ex-convict, and his friends to stay there, in exchange for the free rent, they were supposed to be fixing up the house. They never did.

The son wasn't very bright. He was kind of stupid really. Not just uneducated, but clumsy with his brain. Maybe it was damaged, or too many drugs, I don't know. I didn't really care. But, it was the son decided at some point that he fancied me. It was clumsy and with plastic flowers when he shared his feeling with me, and I was smarter than he was, and was able to get out of the situation without any major incident. Whoa to the woman he wooed with the plastic flowers, and a prayer for all of us if they reproduced. I can't even think of that.

However, when I didn't respond the way he wanted I was told that I had to get out of the house. Ok, whatever, it was ok. The other men put of a big fuss about it...they would have to cook and clean for themselves. And it was the other men that protected me from incident from the loverboy. I knew that he was afraid of them all, so I used them to cover my own hide while trying to move on. I had picked up a thing or to from living with them... much like Jane Goodall did with the chimpanzees. But, the chimps were way cooler, I'm sure.

It was Johnnie that would help me find a new and better squat to live in.

I didn't see Johnnie much after that. I hoped that he didn't go back to jail. I didn't really think he had it in him. I did not think he would make it. But, I wasn't sure he had it in him or would make it on the outside either. Both ways seemed to have a doom of some sort for him.

Our system isn't all that it's cracked up to be. It doesn't always serve it's purpose. And it certainly doesn't always protect us by teaching people a lesson. They do not come out with less baggage and more desire to become better citizens. We have created a machine that pumps out more dangerous people that when they went in.

The brain remembers. I knew that I didn't want to smoke prison swag. And that I needed to sleep and not think about anything for at least twenty-four hours straight before putting my suit on and going back to the same old shit. I was a long way from that place now, sitting in my underwear, rolling my fine tobacco, the t.v. on, with empty potato chip wrappers around me. Yep, a long way away from there.