BC's gonna' take you out!!! I loves me the old BC.

It's morning. I'm thinking that my period is fixing to start...maybe...or it's the drugs that the doctor's have me on for the flare up of the MS, that I'm having now. Hard to say. Sometimes emotions are a tricky thing. One has to wonder if we're ever truly supposed to master them. I have to wonder, since we are a terribly ignorant species, if my dog runs the gambit of emotions that I do, and what he would say about them, to me, if he could. I wonder what if I tried not to box them in, not to file them, not to control them...where would I be. I do say more than most people, I'm comfortable with that. And still sometimes I hold it in, I say nothing. I say nothing because of the social constraints.....the expected, controlled constraints. I have to wonder if those really do any of us any good.



This week are our reviews at work. We have two, one mid-year, one end-year...the sum of both are added, and tied to our money. I've watched people who do not deserve money, get money. And I've watch people who did deserve money, not get enough. It's all opinions, not based in any fact. I'm actually beginning to really in my heart of hearts believe there are no true facts anyway...only opinions. Take history and science as examples....completely changing and evolving as we discover new things. We just made the word fact up, to solidify our opinions....bolster our own egos. We are good about that.



Last year, my first review was complete shit. Then just a few months later my review went up, way up. And everyone noted how much change they had seen in me. I can honestly say, I never changed one bit, not what iota. Could it be that people took a bit of time to discover that I wasn't this complete waste of time? Well, I couldn't say that to them, could I? I just took the money and ran. Good for me that I changed so much....good for me.



I don't want to do this one, this year either. Not unless they're planning on a big monetary surprise for me. Otherwise, I think that I'd just rather be left alone to work. I do my work, when there isn't work, I often find work to do. All signs of a good employee. Just pay me fairly, let me do my time, and then retire. It's hard for me to get excited about this.



I work with a group that are all about twenty years old than I am. Completely different work culture that they come from. And their desire to learn anything else is pretty limited. Sometimes it strangles me.



On occasion they will all sit around and talk about the good old days. Okay, not on occasion, must of the fucking time. It was so bad at last year's holiday season, I wondered if I should get them all shotguns, so that they could just end it all in the breakroom or something like that. Maybe the handi-capped stall of the bathroom...it's big enough. I mean, they really talk about the good old days. Not just a quip or two, but really like old biddies sitting on a porch, rocking and fanning themselves, waiting to die. It's awful. And it sucks moments off of my life, as well. I don't learn anything from it....well, except that maybe I don't ever want to do that to anyone else.



Last time it was about the old neighborhood in Houston, and Green Stamps. I don't have anything to relate about Houston, I don't like the town. And the only thing that I can relate about Green Stamps was that yes, I used to lick and stick them in the books for my Granny and my Stepmother. I got a book for my own for every five books that I completed. And when I had saved enough of my own stupid books, I went to the free stuff center. I turned them all in for a Dungeons and Dragons game set. This game set that was Satanic in the eyes of my small town, and I just wanted to see what it was, and couldn't believe my eyes that it was there on the shelf. I took it home, sat in the closet, opened it up, waited for Satan himself to jump out of the box and tempt me....and then.....NOTHING HAPPENED. It was so boring and stupid. The game is boring and stupid. I don't want to play like I'm a wizard. I would really want to be one...not play one. I was sooooo disappointed. And now I live on occasion by making fun for the D&D cult.



That's what I had to relate. The others stood there looking at me as though I had just farted. Needless to say, I dropped out of the conversation. I am not old. And I know others their age who aren't old. It really is a mind set.



Later in the week, we had a business lunch. They were all discussing something. I made a reference from Thunder Cats. Nothing....the table went dark and quiet. Again, I farted. They had never heard of Thunder Cats...nothing. Okay, I thought, maybe Thunder Cats was a tiny bit off the beaten path...so, I brought up He-Man. Still nothing. Skeletor? Completely blank. I brought up one other example. And then my eyes completely widened, and I let out a laugh. It wasn't on purpose...it escaped me. I had a jailbreak laugh. Maybe I was just surprised that in this office, I was completely alone. Completely and utterly alone, in anything remotely humorous. There was a part of me that was saddened by this revelation. Humor is a big part of what I am. I find humor in everything. And these three must just think that I babble like a crazy person all of the fucking time. I occurred to me, that this really may be the case, they may never get any humorous remark that I make. I am the office babbling idiot.



The third and most horrific example of the old biddies this week, was the Aloha themed business lunch that we had to Pot Luck something to. Jesus, it sucked. I brought ham and Ambrosia Salad. One of the old biddies started telling me that this was not Ambrosia Salad, that it was, in fact, Heavenly Hash. BECAUSE, that was how her mother made it. I noted that I got this recipe out of the Betty Crocker's cookbook, an old Biddie favorite, with tried and true, traditional recipes. She wouldn't let up. I also noted that I looked it up online to see if there was any variations on the recipe that I might like to try. Yep, it was Ambrosia Salad, and definitely not Heavenly Hash, as per the THOUSANDS OF ONLINE RECIPES. She STILL would not let up on me about this, and noted it loudly in the fucking Aloha themed, joke of a business meeting, in order to somehow make herself and her crazy, fucking recipes up, mother, look like the be all and end all of recipes for Ambrosia Salad....as though, this was some delicacy that took some sort of sacred knowledge about to make. It's a fast, easy, white trash short cut to cooking anything of merit, and I took it, only because I wasn't really in the mood to cook for an Aloha themed business meeting. What- are you kidding me?!?!???!!!!



Now, I could have taken the high road. I could have not let it bother me. But, true to my nature, I didn't. The fact that I had to make something, show up, decorate, and all of this had nothing to do with anything business, deeply bothered me. I was not getting paid extra for the effort, I didn't like these people.....there was nothing redeeming about it. I wanted to by this giant, blown-up monkey that I had seen on sale. But was told that this would be inappropriate, and there aren't any monkeys on the islands, anyways. WHAT?!? It's true, I was told that. I was hard not to buy it, and just put it in my passenger seat and drive it to and from work every day. I am still considering this. I digress.



I noted where I got the recipe, that in fact, in Betty's Cookbook, there was no such thing has Heavenly Hash. And the thousands of recipes out there....that all said AMBROSIA SALAD....this was just like them, the crap that I made. AND perhaps, just perhaps, her mother was either a bit off, didn't actually know how to cook, or maybe, just maybe, called it Heavenly Hash to confuse her daughter about food for the rest of her life so much that she would be doomed to bring it up and to the attention of everyone at every time, she felt that there had been a food injustice done. But, whatever. The room went silent for a moment. Then we ate, and the salad was eaten, and the woman only brought up her point about fifty million more times, but it didn't matter, everyone would see her for the sad, pathetic salad lady after that. I had won. Don't mess with me and Betty. Betty will fuckin' take you out!!!! You and your crazy ass mother!



See, that there was the other part of me, that part of me that makes fun of the D&D people and obsessed salad people. The part of me that maybe wants to take back part of the office that should be rightfully mine. I do get tired of the high and mighty thumbing their noses at me, sometimes treating this grown up like a baby...boo-hoo....it's really not me. It's them, they do not understand any reference I make. Can you imagine? Going completely through your entire life never having any reference to anything past your own "glory" time, one's heyday, that only lasted maybe ten or twenty years? Shit, that's less that a person's entire lifespan. Why would one do that to themselves and them pick on someone else for not doing that? Mother fuckers.



So, I started my day off by hitting the office and saying: "What's up, Plisken?!" Oh yes, it's on now. My reference to Snake Plisken from the lovely cult classic, Escape from New York, and its' counterpart, Escape from L.A., fell on deaf ears. Once I explained where this one came from....this was followed by the conversation about how completely crappie these movies were. In which I asked if they like the Terminator series. Oh yes, very much, they said. I noted that those movies had completely ripped off some of the sythenized, dark music, and stunning effects from the Escape from series. And how surprised I was that they hadn't noticed that themselves...what a pitty.



This followed up by a few quips like: "That's a negative Ghost Rider.", and "What you lookin' at Willis", and finally, "DYNOMITE". I ended the day with a "One time at band camp....." All of which, I did not explain. I would be the office idiot and enjoy myself.



After all, my review is this week, and I wouldn't want to disappoint. And I can't die a small death in an office with toner, and files, and staples.....that just can't be the end for me. Holla' if you know what I'm saying....can I get an "AMEN".

The Importance of Well Thought Out News and Jack Daniels

I promised myself that I wouldn't work so hard. But, it' s weird...I can't really stop myself. Even if I hate it, if I hate it so much that I become obsessed about it, I can't stop. This week I buried myself in a complete waste of time that is my day job. You don't have to put your coffee down and take notes...you don't have to pause to analyze. I know the answer. It's all in the avoidance. I am a hell of an avoider. A voyeur. An observer.

Even right now, I am avoiding at looking at my own words and typing with my eyes closed. The funny thing is, one might think that I'm going to check my thoughts later, but I won't. So, this post could be complete gobblity-gook...like if my hands were just slid over by one key. But, there would just be some nerd who would figure it all out and would then think somehow they broke the code. (Not as good as the American Indians during the war though. Jesus, we didn't really thank them very much for that did we. I don't know, maybe by giving them more land and better care, honoring the treaties or something.) I digress.

But, just like most poor people with depression, I can only play hide and seek in my head so long. Then I get worn out and it bubbles up to the surface like a bad frito pie.

I'm thinking that today it's a curse seeing the bigger picture. I'm feeling overwhelmed by it. And Oh, I do a few good things here and there when I can, but in the grand scheme of things, they're shit. There is big scary ass stuff out there and not enough people thinking it through.

Lance Armstrong, Austin, Texas wants the State of Texas to "invest" in a cancer research center. It's going to be fucking billions that the State just doesn't have, if we do this, our State will be borrowing the money. I cannot agree Lance, I'm sorry, but you cost too much.

Then a read this article in the paper that talks about all of the toxic waste the comes from America and is imported into China. The parts are dipped in something to remove the metals, and then that shit is dumped into the land, and rivers, and sewers. There is a rise in deformities and cancer in children...their entire next generation. I just found out that my Aunt has cancer. We'll know tomorrow if it's the kind where she has a five percent chance of living or a ninety percent chance....it's going to be a long twenty-four hours. Lance himself only has one ball from his cancer. And my MS, they're thinking could be from environmental causes.

So, it's not like this shit doesn't touch us. Like this is something that doesn't happen in our own backyards. And China really isn't that far away anymore. What was that saying about shitting in one's own backyard. All those saying that we get to quote and never learn from.

Keep this place Weird. That's the saying around here. But, don't look weird or act weird. We'll have you arrested if you upset the developers. Those days are gone. And quit having abortions and quit smoking you dirty filthy fucks. Jesus is watching you. And I certainly hope you don't have any Mexican friends right now. Well, you can have them as friends but only after they've been properly tagged. Good enough for our cattle, good enough for our Mexicans.

And the two news stories that shocked me, only because they made the news. The one about the man who died Battle Dancing. It was sad that he died. The news led us all to believe that this was a highly dangerous, new thing, that parents and the nation should be aware of. We used to do this on skates at the roller rink, but I guess that stuff on Dance Fever after the roller skates has influenced people to take it to the next level and we really should be watching out of it. They're going to keep dancing in the dead man's honor, dispite the danger.

And the other story about the couple who found a bag of pot, a lighter, and a pipe in a Happy Meal that some teenage at stashed his stash in, that then went through the drive through to their kid. It was a bit funny to me. I giggled.

They were so scared and tearful, and we still thinking about suing. I would have almost felt sorry for them, except when they told the story, their little girl first brought them the lighter. Then moments later brought them the pipe, then the baggy of pot. Then and only then did they check the meal box. I would have probably checked after the first item. I would not have waited until my child brought be the pin pulled hand grenade. I'm just saying. These were top stories. Right along with SpareUs Hilton. Do you think she knows the word shank yet? Or being someone's bitch? There are lots of gang members in California, maybe her mommy and daddy could afford to get her a tutor or something.

It used to be God Bless America/Texas. Now, I'm thinking it should be I Hope God Doesn't Strike Us Right the Fuck Down for Being an American/Texan. I told you that it's been a long week and I digress yet again. Too much in the news.

So, is it research that we need for the cure? Or, is the cure in not doing screwed up things for convenience sake? How easy would that be? Well it's not easier for those of us who are too broke to buy the good stuff and are being led around the China makes everything ring. That's very similar to Ring Around the Rosie.

I saw a Vice-President of IBM speak the other night. She talked about the "Green Grid". I looked it up. It's a group of big companies "looking" at ways to go green with technology. It's very elite. It cost $5,000 to be a member, that's one's yearly dues. We can't just have anyone vote. I'm broke. Needless to say, I won't be joining.

This woman said that these companies were looking at automobiles, and making them smarter and better. I raised my hand and noted that I was currently working in the transportation field. I asked if they were looking at the transportation field as a whole or just cars, because the transportation field, the projects, used technology from start to finish and beyond finish actually, and the cars were just a one sliver of the entire industry. She couldn't answer my question. And then she stated that recently she had had a dinner with Jacques Cousteau and blah, blah blah....something. No one else seemed to realized that he had been dead since 1997. And no, it wasn't his son, Felipe. Felipe is dead as well. And his grandson was not named Jacques, and was not an explorer. She was a liar. What a shocker. So, this is who we have running the show.

And it is a show, not a show of hands outstretched in help, in honor....no, they are hands showing fists full of money.

You know who I do like. Who I do admire. Who I do think did something? Cindy Sheehan.

A recently read a post were someone called her a traitor, and this person thought we should "Torture the Filthy Bitch". I hope she doesn't take the crazy people too seriously. People who use that kind of violent language aren't very forward thinking. I somehow just get some picture of a God Fearing, Bell-Donalds Eating, Fat Ass in a Big Truck who probably doesn't read much or real good and hasn't been out of the state since never, unless there was a Kal-Mart sale in the next state over that couldn't be resisted. Probably burned the Dixie Chicks album and then thought the smoke was Satan, so put out the fire and took an hour to find a hammer. Now the fire was probably doused with regular water, not Holy Water, because I doubt they thought of or know any Catholics. And all the while, not realizing that Cindy Sheehan used the very rights that our country was founded on. And, she did something with those rights.

Having bought the land right next to George, who really isn't from Texas. (He's a transplant.) It does have to get a reaction out of him. It is not possible not to have a reaction as a human. Now maybe he has a reaction like the above quoted person, or maybe he realizes how badly he has hurt this one person. Either way, it doesn't matter about the reaction....only that he has one. In that, Cindy has made a point, she has caused a reaction, and she has done something. As a mother, I get it. I completely get that. Most of us cannot say the same.

There's a lot going on. And the bigger picture is muddied sometimes. But, I can't always just ignore it. I can't just do that.

Sometimes the best laid plans....

My Mother In Law died this week. She was old enough for it. However, it was sudden. She fell, and was hurt badly enough not to recover. I learned.

There was such a whirlwind of activity. My man, her youngest son, was up at the hospital with her, every day. This, of course, messed with our son of six. Our son didn't get it, he missed his daddy. My schedule was a mess and I couldn't think. When you become accustomed to running the house with two and one is gone, the world is fucked.

It was up and done all week...maybe she would make it, maybe she wouldn't. The phone never stopped ringing. It felt like one long sustained note of level of intensity that just struck the level of sustained annoyance. My man never ate, or slept, it seemed like. And I was quite without the power to do anything about it.

The family is not fond of me. Maybe it is the distance that I keep. I am not a family type person. My own family being one of crap, I'm just not prone to family type situations. I do understand them, with all of the internal politics and guilt and love...I just don't have it in me to be a part of that situation. I do what I can with the man and son that I have, and everyone else is just "other people's" family. I know that can be bothersome. I'm not completely without feelings, I just do not have that capacity. It's a struggle, I know. There is little acceptance in the world for people such as me. I know, and I take that.

I did have feelings about my Mother In Law. Secretly, from my reserved position, I did have feelings. I found myself in the shower last week, quietly observing my thoughts and singing a Buddhist Prayer to God. I had my son get dressed. It was time for he and I to go and see Granny. I gave this quite a bit of thought. At six you are left out of so many grownup things. Did I know that her looks, the beat up, despondent world that she was in now, could have a dramatic effect on my son? Yes, I knew that. I was making a decision to send him right into the headlights of pain. I hoped that I was making the right decision. I would be there for him, but this might be so tough, and he was so small. But, I weighed the other side. What if he didn't get to tell Granny what he wanted to say, what if he needed to see her. Would I want to be the parent that said no to that because he was a small human. Would I want to bare that guilt, or be the one involved in him baring that guilt. No. So, I sang to God and let the water wash over me until it was hot to cold.

We were dressed and in the car. Driving. I had this overwhelming need to stop by a Catholic church. I wasn't Catholic. I'm probably never going to be Catholic. But, Granny was. She was probably more Catholic than the Pope. I knew that Granny was probably one of three to four religious persons that I had any respect and admiration for. She was dedicated to her faith, she lived in her faith, BUT, she was never pushy about her faith. As though she read the books and really got it. She was one of a handful of people that gave me hope that everything I heard about God might be true. I am not a person of faith. I am a person, sometime of hope. And her ideas and lifestyle with regards to God gave me hope. For people who really know me....that's a lot.

She was in pain, in a shitty hospital room. And she didn't have any of her relics. All week she had been messing with her feeding tube, and pulling this out a bit, until it dawned on someone that she was saying her Rosary. This was my pain for her. She didn't have any of her things....those things that brought her comfort. I'm so not Catholic, I couldn't even remember where the Catholic churches were. I thought there might be one downtown. My son was eating doughnuts in the backseat and complaining about this taking to long. I explained what I was doing driving us around like a madman. He was ok with it.

I pulled up to what I thought was a Catholic church. I parked in a no parking zone, and looked up at the sky and thought, I can't afford a ticket, but if you're up there, you know, and are going to help me, right? It was Sunday, and the church was busy...busy with people in their Sunday best. I was in jeans, tugging my son and his doughnut crusted mouth along with me.

It was a Catholic church. I stopped someone who looked official and asked for some Holy Water. We had once taken Granny's car on a trip. When I opened the glove compartment, looking for kleenex, I found a bottle of Holy Water with the kleenex and the maps. I thought about that. What was she going to do with that? Bless the blown tire after? I didn't care. But, she had relics everywhere, and this one time, she was fucking going to have them now. The man looked at me like I was nuts and sent me down to the next building to the gift shop.

The gift shop? People hocked Holy Water? As pissed off as I was about that point, it was small in comparison to the overall mission that I was on. The gift shop was closed. I stopped another official looking person and explained why I needed this, and I was happy to pay, but I was in a hurry. He hurried off, saying that he would be right back. People in their Sunday best looked at me and my son...some with curiosity, some with annoyance. No time for that either.

The man came back, he came back. He had a plastic cup with foil on top, and a Rosary. I teared a bit, and told him thank you. That I knew it was maybe silly, but this was important, and for once, I just needed a church to do what it could, and he did that....thank you. We hugged and my son and I ran to the car and hurried to the hospital.

We hurried, we parked, getting out of the car, I spilled some of the Holy Water on my shirt. Shit! I can't waste this. This I paused, as though I was waiting for something to occur. Wasn't this water magic? There's that hope again. Nothing. Nothing happened. It was as though I expected, just like the vampires, for there to be a hole. Yet, nothing. Well, fuck it. This wasn't about me, or for me, or anything me.

We were in the room. My son looked relieved. My son was ok. He talked to Granny quietly. None of us know what he said. And frankly, it's not our business. He was ok, he was sad, he understood the gravity of situation, but he was ok. I was relieved.

I wanted to talk to Granny, too. The room was full of all the family, all of the children. Ok, I would have to do this publicly. She wasn't my mother, and you cannot, as the outsider, ask people to leave for you. I get that. I put the Rosary under her pillow. She looked like shit. I was angry that her hair was messed up. She had just gotten a new haircut, and it was cool. And this place, and these people couldn't even fix her hair for her. I whispered and I began to cry. I wanted her to know that I knew that she felt like she was the last of her line. I had heard her say that before. I told her that she was wrong. I told her about the hope that she gave me. I asked her to know how important that hope was. Important enough for me to drive to church on Sunday to bring her things. I told her that her line didn't stop. She had a children...she had a son, her son was in my life now, and we had a son. Did she know that gift that she had given me?....a perfect stranger, linked now to her forever, through tiny DNA and blood vessels? Did she know that? And I told her that I had know words for the work that she had done in her life to give me that gift. And there were no words to express it or give thanks for it. All I could do was drive to a shitty church and bring relics for her.

I took the Holy Water and pulled the foil back on the plastic cup. I couldn't even get the gold cup I thought she deserved. I began to realize that other people in the room were staring. They knew that I had brought Holy Water.

They all knew that I was not religious. One commented that she had already been anointed, and in case I didn't know what that was, Granny had been given her last rights. I replied that I knew what that was, and this water wasn't for that. I asked if there could be such a thing as too much Holy Water. Wasn't it supposed to be magic or something? Didn't they have faith in it?

The slightly sarcastic reply was that Granny wasn't suddenly going to be healed. Yes, I knew that, I replied. But, what if God or Jesus, or an Angel or something came to her because of this stupid water. Wasn't it magic? Wasn't it supposed to do something?....Anything?....Didn't they believe?....They were Catholic, and Granny believed....so just for this one fucking moment, couldn't I, too, have the hope and maybe the borrowed faith that something good...no, something great would happen for her while she was waiting in pain?

Granny passed away a couple of days later. I haven't really teared up since. I said what I needed to say that day. I knew that she was prepared for the end. What I learned, truly learned, was that it isn't death that bothers me. Once someone is gone, they are gone, the end for them. It is the act of dying, the days, hours, minutes, seconds towards death that is so awful. People are scared. The body is still reacting. There are still moments of reaction to the old life before crossing to the new. The body takes it's fucking time letting go of the soul. That is the painful part for me.

Watching everyone who knew her be so tired and in pain during the moments before her death, and the human caught in the headlights after her death have been hard. One is completely powerless to help another during this grief. Grief is only for the living and is only for the single, one person. My grief is different from my son's, my man's, the sisters, the brother, the grandchildren. It is single to everyone.

I did learn how I wanted my own after death proceedings to go. I did take notice of that. So, I have to say thank you to Granny for that. She did most of that work before she went. She was not afraid, it wasn't that big of a deal to her, her own death. She had faith, she was comforted and prepared. She gave me hope, she gave me that lesson. I am compelled to write that down in her honor.

I hoped there were angels for her. I somehow imagined that all of her plastic, all of her wood, all of her metal, all of her resin angels came to life, became glowing and life sized, and airy, and singing for her....to guide her to the next place. I hoped more than I have ever hoped that this one thing was true.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters.He restoreth my soul:He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

Virtuous man, after Treasure-Sea Brahmana had pondered upon such great compassionate vows, he uncovered his right shoulder, and proceeded to where the Buddha was. At that time, innumerable hundreds of thousands of ten thousands of billions of gods performed heavenly music and rained down myriads of flowers from the sky, and praised together: 'How virtuous, how virtuous! Virtuous great hero, you are now going to where the Buddha is, to make the unique vows, to eliminate the afflictions of the living beings in all worlds, by using the wisdom water.

Naked you came from Earth the Mother.Naked you return to her. May a good wind be your road.

Sure, I wanted to write the rest of the story, but I can't. I would be letting go of some secrets that I know belong to others. I would be selfishly writing about myself. So, this is one story that ends here, right here.

I'll eat cake, you can eat crow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My comments on politics:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Case in point:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I saw Barry White at Fat Camp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I looked up to find my seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going to the Booby Hatch in One's Space Diapers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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