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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did I know it was crap?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another day, another dollar...Playing a Double Agent Is Hard When You Have To Piss

I stopped to buy cigarettes the other night. It had been a long week, and a long day, and an even longer drive home down the highway to my house. I had been in a day of training, taken a tour of a city site, was wearing a suit, had on my big fake diamond ring that everyone thought was real.

I can't even recall what was playing on my car stereo. I can recall that I was so tired that my head was spinning with trying to organize my thoughts about all the things that I had learned that day and seen that day, and what was left to do...and how to put all of this in time with my home life, etc.

I was mulling over how much the lot guys we had met had made faces and jokes about the "suits" that were touring the city site. One of them was a large man, with massive shoulders, and a giant beer gut. He looked rather menacing in his overalls. I behaved myself, so as not to get tackled by him. But, that was hard for me to do. It would have made for a better story if I'd caused a scene and been tackled by the overalled, redneck, lot guy. However, I've done that before, already. I did find it funny that this man considered me a "suit". Yes, I was wearing one. But, I only have a limited supply of these, as I do not wear them everyday. And if he had looked closely, he would have noticed the slight ill-fit of it, the slight off-color of it. That certain something that says that I do not actually belong in the "suit" family. I was in disguise. And he and I probably would have more in common that the people I was on the tour with. He would never know of the struggle it took for me to put the outfit together, since I hate them, and don't really knows what goes with what. He would never know how hard it was for me to try to speak their language, and keep my own language out of any conversation.

The thought crossed my mind of my hard hat falling, and my hand dropping the plastic safety goggles falling from my hand, shedding my suit, letting my tattoos and piercings out, my hair flowing in the wind that came from something related to watching a scene from a movie about a Phoenix rising, rays of strong light, and some angels singing....very dramatic. And everyone would be in awe of the real me. I would be respected and appreciated, and we all could be just who we are without overalls and high heels. I could fulfill my destiny as the being who sparked that change.

Yeah, right. I just tried to keep my mouth shut and my hands in my pockets safely away from all the shiny big buttons that I totally wanted to push, that would start some sort of alarm and giant disaster, and get me tackled and probably jailed.

Right now, though, I was in the car and had to piss so bad. I hadn't wanted to go to another public bathroom. I don't like them. They generally smell of other people and their shit. People are quite filthy. They pee on the seat and can't wipe it up. They crap and don't courtesy flush. I don't want to smell the fish fry and taco hell they ate all week...Fuck No!

I'd actually rather piss outside. The fresh air, and the lack of concrete and tile with poop germs on it, much nicer when you think about it. In our world now, well, you just can't piss outside, their are big laws against that...such a shame.

I was also out of cigarettes. And it was time for the end of the day smoke. The end of the day is a relaxing, reflective smoke. And if you're an addict, such as I am...it's ever so hard to resist. Starting to de-stress and jones.

I was arriving shortly to my exit for the last convenience store before home. My only thoughts at this point where gauging how much I had to piss and could I stop, get the smokes without having to use their bathroom. Or, how many favors did I have left with my man? Could I make it home, piss in the safety zone of my own precious bathroom, and con my guy into making the trip back out into the rain, after his day of labor, just to buy my smokes. He had quit smoking...so, I couldn't use the You Fly and I'll Buy gig anymore. And he had already bought his favorite ice cream at the grocery store yesterday. I concluded that I had no strategy on the front, and would probably fail. I also knew that we had cleaned the house, and the ashtrays would be empty, so I would find any salvageable butts either. It was do or die time, the exit had arrived. I really had to piss. I was not going to go to the store's bathroom. I had made my decision. I was resolved to make it.

I pulled off the highway, over three lanes, and into the parking lot. I thought that I stood a good chance of not peeing myself. And if it did get that bad, I'd probably be close to home that time, so if I did piss myself, I'd be around family who already knew how weird I am. I got my wallet, got out of the car. As I neared the door, I saw one of the homeless people sitting to the steps. I knew he was going to ask me for some change. My wallet was so empty. He had no idea, but I knew he was going to try. I wasn't completely sure that I wasn't going to bounce something at the bank by giving them my bank card for my cigarettes. It had been a hard month, and the paychecks were small, due to the calender days. I would be back on track the next paycheck, but for now, I was super broke. I had already started digging into my change pile...that's really my man's change pile...as long as you don't take all the quarters, it's unlikely that your theft will get noticed...always take the small stuff....skimming is an art form.

I was stepping closer to the door. I could feel the homeless man's eyes on me...looking for the moment. He did ask if I had any change. He was completely soaked from the rain, and he was smeared with dirt...only his bright red hair seemed untouched by dirt. He was soaked so much that his t-shirt stuck to his body like a wet t-shirt contestant, but his older man boobs probably wouldn't win him any money. I told him that I didn't have any change. Most homeless people just looked at you like you are lying. Not this guy. He nodded at me like he understood. And then he just slumped and looked down. It was a bit uncharacteristic of most of the homeless people that I dealt with...the slump. It wasn't just his shoulders and his head. The slump was like his whole body slumped...so tired and wet and dirty. The door swung open and I felt the cool air of the air-conditioning against my humidity soaked, suity skin. Normally, I would think about that, I wouldn't take notice.

Jesus, I had to piss.

I jumped in the nearest line in the store. I wasn't quite at shifting from one let to the other yet, but it would be soon, it would happen, I would have to hurry. I asked for my smokes. I didn't really want the kind that I asked for, but I didn't have time to check to see if they had the kind that I really wanted. Is my card, debit or credit? Oh, I didn't care....please, just hurry. Well, did I want cash back? What?!? I have no cash...I'm hoping the damn thing just works for the purchase. Then the words fell out of my mouth...Can I get any amount? Yes. Okay, then it's debit and I want five dollars back please. It's a longer process to run debit...the entering of the code, the signing....blah, blah, blah. I don't know why I didn't think about the bank charge that was huge and I might get stuck up my banking ass. Maybe I thought I could pay it, even though I hated it, and I was doing better than some people. I got the cash, I signed, I got the money, I said thank you and have a nice day, and I walked fast outside.

The man was still there. He was in the same slumped position. He hadn't asked anyone else for change. I went over and said excuse me. He looked up and I gave him the five dollars. He said thank you, and just looked very relieved. He put out his dirty, sticky hand to shake mine. I took it and shook his hand. He told me that he didn't do drugs or drink much. He was drunk. He corrected himself, and told me that he did drink, but did not do drugs. I told him that I didn't care about that. He could drink and do drugs, I didn't care. I told him that I was homeless once, too. I knew how hard it was, and I knew about the decisions and/or circumstances that might lead a person to be homeless. He said it wasn't so bad sometimes. He had a tent in the woods and a small T.V. that was hooked up to a car battery, and a blanket or two that covered his cardboard box bed. Yeah, it wasn't too bad sometimes.

I told him how once I slept on top of an apartment building roof. It wasn't too bad up there either...high up, near the breeze and the stars...much better than a lot of places I could have been. I sat down. I still had to piss, so I had to sit down.

I opened my pack of smokes and gave the man one to have with me, and a few to have later, I gave him my extra lighter. We smoke together, on the dirty steps, looking at the traffic.

He said that he had worked hard labor most of his life. He had started work early for his family/his parents, and didn't finish school. Now, he was getting old and he couldn't work hard labor so much. And most lots hired younger and stronger guys, and they were cheaper, too, since they didn't know any better. He didn't feel like there was a job for him using his brain since he didn't read and write so good. He asked me if I thought his life could turn around. I told him yes, that mine had, and I was not that special. He asked if I was going to tell him that he just had to stop drinking and clean himself up and that's what would do it, how easy it would be, since that's what he heard all day from lots of other people. No, I told him that I wasn't going to lie to him, and tell him that shit. It wasn't easy. It would be hard. It could take a long time. I told him that he would have to make the choice if he even wanted to do that. Maybe, I said, you'll find that you like living in your tent more. I don't know. Some people do like I did, and some people don't....and either way was hard...just living is hard. It just is. I also thought to tell him not to be so down on himself. That no matter what decision he made about his life, to at least be proud of himself, try to like himself. That's the important thing over having stuff...and that's the point that took me the longest to get, and was the hardest to get. I also told him that I had to go. I had to get home, and I had to piss. I laughed, too, and then made the face that I really might piss myself and maybe him, too. We laughed some more.

I stood up and shook his hand again. Then I got in my car, waved at him and turned the car, drove home. It was nice to just sit with someone, chat and have a smoke. The simple conversation refreshed my mind a bit. I'm not sure he would know that he had done that for me, this dirty, wet man with bright, fire-red hair.

His name is Henry.

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.