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?

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

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

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

Oh, yeah, ain't that the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

I had a gun.

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

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

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

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

And we should all mourn a killing.

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

You Just Can't Make Some People Cool

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

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

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

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

I have been completely out of control.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To next year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We parted ways.

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

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

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

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

But then, he told me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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