What are we not allowed to say? As a kid were told that honesty is the best policy, and with all the court shows out there we are programmed to believe that we should always tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Its true that a good friend will tell you the truth even when it is not asked for. For instance
"Emily, don't wear that. Trust me, just don't"
"Emily, you have something in your teeth"
"hey bitch, youre skirts up, we can all see your ass"
Etc
But there are other things, that while, yes, they are the truth, and they are probably the whole truth you are not, or SHOULD not be at liberty to say. You may not speak freely on some subjects. I dare you.
Do you ever tell somebody that you 'settled' ?
That you regretted either staying with them or regretted leaving them?
Do you ever tell somebody the same tale you told somebody else while you were with them?
Even disclosing infidelity can be incredibly self serving. My many times you find that it really only relieves your conscious yet it will weigh so heavily on the others that its just crippling at times. Granted infidelity is by far the trickiest of the bunch and is all too subjective for anybody to make that call for anybody but themselves, and it really has no place in this tangent other than to serve as an example.
Where love, fondness, and favour are concerned, the truth can be just as, if not more self serving than a lie.
The word love bothers me. There are too many of them, either as nouns, or adjectives.
There are first loves, epic loves, star crossed loves, lost loves, the love of your life, comforting loves, a dangerous love, forbidden loves, and strange loves. Theres platonic love, and worst of all there are loves that never quite got to be LOVE. Those are the ones we always questioned. These are things that if realized, or even fabricated out of broken memories can haunt you.
I think that as a person we are dealt the unfortunate hand of being doomed to fall in love with love, or something that we are told to be love. We become a kennel full of strays staring out of our cages to all of the people who walk by with big hopeful eyes hoping that well be picked to be taken home, play in their yard and sleep at the foot of their bed. Sure, some of us are runts, mutts, show dogs and designer cross breeds, but a dog is a dog. A show dog doesn't give any more love to its master than a stray, both can snip at your fingers if over eager for a treat or if they feel their territory is threatened, both will occasionally take a shit on your carpet. Yet all kinds of dogs, all sizes, colors, shapes and breeds are depicted in timeless paintings of honour, nostalgia, friendship and compassion. From portraits of the wealthy to the poverty stricken resuce missions.
Sadly, not all owners are fit. Weve all been left at a doorstep, run away from our own yard, gotten things blamed on us that was never our fault, and have probably wondered if wed ever make it out of the pound alive.
Metaphors aside, I know that my dog loves me. Of course she lies to me. When shes doing something shes not supposed to be doing I hear a scurring and a knocking over of numerous things and magically find her across the room, with food on her face, or gum stuck to her ear. This does not mean that she does not love me. She has no reason to lie either. Not about the big things anyway. Hell, she could hate me, and there would still be my father, or any number of people who I know are just dying to get their hands on my dog. But after the initial excitement of a new face, and a new scent, she always comes back to sit in my lap, put her chin on my knee, and try to sneeze in my food in hopes of getting it.
You probably think that I, like every other dog owner (usually female) give my dog too much credit. And I probably do. But lola has never pretended to lick my face or snuggle up against me just for the brief pleasure of a tummy rub or a game of tag every couple of months, when her schedule allows for it or when every other pair of hands is busy playing with other dogs. Sure she whores herself out, but not like that, and not with me.
I don't expect any of these qualities really from a person. I don't expect the same exact qualities from any other dog either for that matter. All of my dogs have been very different from one another, yet the one thing that remained consistant was that they all had my best interest at heart. Even when she does misbehave, as with all loves, sometimes you need to accept that maybe they just cant help it. Nurture all you want, some things will never be able to get past their nature
Thursday, June 3, 2010
glamerican fiction
Its really only a matter of time before we pass each other in a bookstore and either pretend not to notice or force a surprised tone and feign happiness for how well the other seems to be doing, or how far they’ve come in life ;it’s the kind on emotion which one can only express if they havent listened to a word that’s been said. Its unique exclusively to repressing the memory of a person who isn’t gone.
that’s what friends are for.
They grow up and apart. They grow up, they move on. They give you a base mark. Or that’s what we all like to think.
I saw Jordan in the dressing room of a small trendy and overpriced boutique. She would go on to become a weather girl. Her forecasts and her bust line wouldn’t fool anybody in any city.
Mary Anne I would see in a gas station, buying a butterfinger and paying for gas and a diet coke. Tall, tan and gorgeous as usual. She would have an extremely buff and guido boyfriend waiting impatiently in the car for her tapping the steering wheel with an exasperated look.
Johnny would drunkenly hit on me in an after hours joint a few times before he would eventually realize who I was. Then a few more times before he remembered how much of an asshole he always to me in school. How many jokes and laughs he had at my expense. I would entertain the idea of vengeance the first few times before I deciding it wasn’t worth it.
Mr. Montfries my French teacher would sit next to me at the one and only AA meeting I would ever go to, as moral support for my sister who had woken up naked in somebody’s back yard a week before. Mr. Montfries wife was known for giving tutoring sessions that yielded notoriously slim improvements in the ability to actually conjugate verbs.
Bennett would do lines with me in the bathroom of this one club that had a good show every few weeks. She would always look like she had been up for days crying, I was never convinced it was solely due to the blow. But I’m sure that never helped the matter either.
Matt and Elliott, the twins were always fighting. Years of ’maturity’ would never change that. With some it never does. I it would rain the night that Stephen would have his gay assistant carry me out to the car when my heel broke, and we would pass the duo brawling in the parking lot. One would eventually notice and think that I looked a little like me; but not enough to say anything. Later that night and early into the next morning Stephen and I would get into a Jesus brilliant fight about me not being impressed enough with his his bank account and that he could do better. His assets were more than impressive but not why I was with him, and he would go on to do better.
Kayla's family would unknowingly hire Marcus to play bagpipes for her funeral. I would hear him tuning from outside the men’s room and never let myself ask exactly how one goes about tuning a bagpipe or how to know if its out of tune. At the time it would seem inappropriate and out of place, and I would probably never get the chance or remember to ask again. I would later when “friends” of ours went out to a sports bar for drinks. And to remember Kalya, and of course freeze with the fear that even the gymnasts, and health nuts out there aren’t in shrouded bubble wrap.
I would see Monica on the news when her family hadn’t heard from her for a few weeks after she had joined some new age movement. Her remains were identified due to her dental records, the braces that she had always been so proud of as a little girl. “Monica Shaw….” I would mutter “that the name sounds sooooooooooooooooooo familiar” to my fiance. But I just couldn’t place it. Probably because she had dyed her hair green like all the rest of them. That engagement was remarkably brief and ended quite abruptly for some reason or another. I forget why exactly.
I would see Evan out in the college town bars acting as if he was blind, quite convincingly with his dog and sunglasses. Giving folded fives or ones in lieu of the 20s or 50s that he should be paying. Even with every shadow of a doubt that he could have had e ruined when he would wink at me as her back was turned. He had always been a snake.
One day I may look back at these blips of my past and others futures. Time is a creation of man, and exists solely for the purpose of convenience. Waiting until something happens, or how long since something has. Perhaps I had mistaken one person for another, or my memory had been clouded due to the dust storms of my own life. But sitting here alone with my memories I take comfort in the fact that if I can remember things so insignificant of others that had floated languidly in and out of my life that somewhere or someday somebody else will remember me talking too loudly, crying in a booth, or helping a stray dog cross the street safely. Isnt that all we have really? The stories we have to tell, or is it the ones that we ourselves cannot tell, ones that have to be told for us?
that’s what friends are for.
They grow up and apart. They grow up, they move on. They give you a base mark. Or that’s what we all like to think.
I saw Jordan in the dressing room of a small trendy and overpriced boutique. She would go on to become a weather girl. Her forecasts and her bust line wouldn’t fool anybody in any city.
Mary Anne I would see in a gas station, buying a butterfinger and paying for gas and a diet coke. Tall, tan and gorgeous as usual. She would have an extremely buff and guido boyfriend waiting impatiently in the car for her tapping the steering wheel with an exasperated look.
Johnny would drunkenly hit on me in an after hours joint a few times before he would eventually realize who I was. Then a few more times before he remembered how much of an asshole he always to me in school. How many jokes and laughs he had at my expense. I would entertain the idea of vengeance the first few times before I deciding it wasn’t worth it.
Mr. Montfries my French teacher would sit next to me at the one and only AA meeting I would ever go to, as moral support for my sister who had woken up naked in somebody’s back yard a week before. Mr. Montfries wife was known for giving tutoring sessions that yielded notoriously slim improvements in the ability to actually conjugate verbs.
Bennett would do lines with me in the bathroom of this one club that had a good show every few weeks. She would always look like she had been up for days crying, I was never convinced it was solely due to the blow. But I’m sure that never helped the matter either.
Matt and Elliott, the twins were always fighting. Years of ’maturity’ would never change that. With some it never does. I it would rain the night that Stephen would have his gay assistant carry me out to the car when my heel broke, and we would pass the duo brawling in the parking lot. One would eventually notice and think that I looked a little like me; but not enough to say anything. Later that night and early into the next morning Stephen and I would get into a Jesus brilliant fight about me not being impressed enough with his his bank account and that he could do better. His assets were more than impressive but not why I was with him, and he would go on to do better.
Kayla's family would unknowingly hire Marcus to play bagpipes for her funeral. I would hear him tuning from outside the men’s room and never let myself ask exactly how one goes about tuning a bagpipe or how to know if its out of tune. At the time it would seem inappropriate and out of place, and I would probably never get the chance or remember to ask again. I would later when “friends” of ours went out to a sports bar for drinks. And to remember Kalya, and of course freeze with the fear that even the gymnasts, and health nuts out there aren’t in shrouded bubble wrap.
I would see Monica on the news when her family hadn’t heard from her for a few weeks after she had joined some new age movement. Her remains were identified due to her dental records, the braces that she had always been so proud of as a little girl. “Monica Shaw….” I would mutter “that the name sounds sooooooooooooooooooo familiar” to my fiance. But I just couldn’t place it. Probably because she had dyed her hair green like all the rest of them. That engagement was remarkably brief and ended quite abruptly for some reason or another. I forget why exactly.
I would see Evan out in the college town bars acting as if he was blind, quite convincingly with his dog and sunglasses. Giving folded fives or ones in lieu of the 20s or 50s that he should be paying. Even with every shadow of a doubt that he could have had e ruined when he would wink at me as her back was turned. He had always been a snake.
One day I may look back at these blips of my past and others futures. Time is a creation of man, and exists solely for the purpose of convenience. Waiting until something happens, or how long since something has. Perhaps I had mistaken one person for another, or my memory had been clouded due to the dust storms of my own life. But sitting here alone with my memories I take comfort in the fact that if I can remember things so insignificant of others that had floated languidly in and out of my life that somewhere or someday somebody else will remember me talking too loudly, crying in a booth, or helping a stray dog cross the street safely. Isnt that all we have really? The stories we have to tell, or is it the ones that we ourselves cannot tell, ones that have to be told for us?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
the symphony and the skillet
the symphony and the skillet
My family is, well, to put it mildly… vocal to say the least (which we can never seem to bring ourselves to do) although there are a few members who are comparatively men/women of few words, when they talk, brace yourselves, because they'll probably be talking over you or will be pretty trashed by that time.
My household however, which consists of my father and I, is actually fairly quiet as far as conversation goes. We tend to go about our own way and what not. We talk, but its never the flutter of conversations that one would probably expect from the both or either of us. What we do however do is talk to objects, the dog, and ourselves. Well sing fragments of songs usually unintentionally turning it into something of a parody half way through. Then I usually try to guess what song my father thought he was singing.
This will tie in, I swear. Or it least it should.
Many fond memories of our families usually include food. Which isn't surprising since scent is the sense that can most strongly evoke memories of the past, and holidays all have their rightful and respectful dishes - families tend to gather on holidays. Food is always around and recipes are shared, or in some cases sabotaged or hidden. turkeys get burnt, somebody forgets or drops the pie, the person least skilled with a grill will some how end up at that station. there is birthday cake, Halloween candy, Christmas cookies, valentines day candy, easter eggs, 4th of july BBQ and apple pie, thanks giving, new years day black eyed peas, wedding cake, and in some families there is a traditional dish of fish served after a funeral. You get my point.
Yet there are other - almost more intimate memories that tether family and food to one another. Breakfast is always one that I remember always have really. Breakfast is probably the one meal that I could tell you the most about from the memories Ive held on to.
Back to my house, in the here and now. Mind you, the breakfast experiences that I still hold fondly are currently vastly different than the memories of days past. But memorable all the same. We don't really cook that much. There is no family dinner, the breakfast table is cluttered with a mountain of shit including me typing this right now. But a few times a week my father will make eggs. sometimes a fried egg sandwich, sometimes scrambled eggs and toast, others who the fuck knows. I always know when this is because even without my sense of smell taken into account, I can hear the symphony begin. The refrigerator door opens, the rummaging through the shelves, the squeak of the Styrofoam, that is the last of the strings warming up, as if clearing their voice before speaking. the two eggs set on the counter. This is the maestro tapping the stand to signal the begin of the culinary opus.
The tub of smart balance hit's the countertop, the muffled whispering of the twist tie and cellophane that houses the bread, and the click of the toaster lever locking into place.
Then the shell crack.
This is when I know that the crescendo is about to begin the prelude is the microwave door slamming, the hum of the coffee being reheated -for entirely too long, the ding, and then the sharp guttural intake and sigh of coffee and cruel joke of a ceramic mug that that is still too hot and has caused more scalded fingers than any styling tool. Right on the heels of this is the pop of the toast.
OH! Jesus…
My father is always taken aback by this sound
The scraping of the buttering of the toast
Ahhhhhh, ya fuck…
He pierced the toast or used the end piece by accident
Then the flip. The flip that both lola and I wait for. The flip that even if successful, is always a close call
"COCCCCK" (usually pronounced "CAKC") followed by a muttered and barely audible "….sssssssssucker"
I always know my fathers cooking when I hear the word cock yelled in my house.
Now this is what prompted me to share this little glimpse into my day to day family life… because the other day, there was a slight deviant in the usually methodical procession. Greatly in part because I introduced daddy to egg beaters
"Emily, I think the dog is sick"
"why"
"shes usually right here waiting at my feet"
"she hasn't heard her cue yet"
"oh you mean COCCCK?"
And with that we hear the tell tale jingle belling of my dog scampering into the kitchen, and right on cue, sits at my fathers feet looking straight up either in hopes that the omelette is for her, or that hell drop something.
Its funny how we learn our own little social cues, and what we see as a signifier of certain events to come.
Its been a long time since ive delved back into my semiotic theories. And I either thank you or pity you for sticking with me for this long on a ridiculous diatribe of breakfast memories, clutter, yet another pointless story involving my dog, and the slight bouts of voluntary tourettes that seem to go on in the kitchen with Dinah, wherever he may be.
My family is, well, to put it mildly… vocal to say the least (which we can never seem to bring ourselves to do) although there are a few members who are comparatively men/women of few words, when they talk, brace yourselves, because they'll probably be talking over you or will be pretty trashed by that time.
My household however, which consists of my father and I, is actually fairly quiet as far as conversation goes. We tend to go about our own way and what not. We talk, but its never the flutter of conversations that one would probably expect from the both or either of us. What we do however do is talk to objects, the dog, and ourselves. Well sing fragments of songs usually unintentionally turning it into something of a parody half way through. Then I usually try to guess what song my father thought he was singing.
This will tie in, I swear. Or it least it should.
Many fond memories of our families usually include food. Which isn't surprising since scent is the sense that can most strongly evoke memories of the past, and holidays all have their rightful and respectful dishes - families tend to gather on holidays. Food is always around and recipes are shared, or in some cases sabotaged or hidden. turkeys get burnt, somebody forgets or drops the pie, the person least skilled with a grill will some how end up at that station. there is birthday cake, Halloween candy, Christmas cookies, valentines day candy, easter eggs, 4th of july BBQ and apple pie, thanks giving, new years day black eyed peas, wedding cake, and in some families there is a traditional dish of fish served after a funeral. You get my point.
Yet there are other - almost more intimate memories that tether family and food to one another. Breakfast is always one that I remember always have really. Breakfast is probably the one meal that I could tell you the most about from the memories Ive held on to.
Back to my house, in the here and now. Mind you, the breakfast experiences that I still hold fondly are currently vastly different than the memories of days past. But memorable all the same. We don't really cook that much. There is no family dinner, the breakfast table is cluttered with a mountain of shit including me typing this right now. But a few times a week my father will make eggs. sometimes a fried egg sandwich, sometimes scrambled eggs and toast, others who the fuck knows. I always know when this is because even without my sense of smell taken into account, I can hear the symphony begin. The refrigerator door opens, the rummaging through the shelves, the squeak of the Styrofoam, that is the last of the strings warming up, as if clearing their voice before speaking. the two eggs set on the counter. This is the maestro tapping the stand to signal the begin of the culinary opus.
The tub of smart balance hit's the countertop, the muffled whispering of the twist tie and cellophane that houses the bread, and the click of the toaster lever locking into place.
Then the shell crack.
This is when I know that the crescendo is about to begin the prelude is the microwave door slamming, the hum of the coffee being reheated -for entirely too long, the ding, and then the sharp guttural intake and sigh of coffee and cruel joke of a ceramic mug that that is still too hot and has caused more scalded fingers than any styling tool. Right on the heels of this is the pop of the toast.
OH! Jesus…
My father is always taken aback by this sound
The scraping of the buttering of the toast
Ahhhhhh, ya fuck…
He pierced the toast or used the end piece by accident
Then the flip. The flip that both lola and I wait for. The flip that even if successful, is always a close call
"COCCCCK" (usually pronounced "CAKC") followed by a muttered and barely audible "….sssssssssucker"
I always know my fathers cooking when I hear the word cock yelled in my house.
Now this is what prompted me to share this little glimpse into my day to day family life… because the other day, there was a slight deviant in the usually methodical procession. Greatly in part because I introduced daddy to egg beaters
"Emily, I think the dog is sick"
"why"
"shes usually right here waiting at my feet"
"she hasn't heard her cue yet"
"oh you mean COCCCK?"
And with that we hear the tell tale jingle belling of my dog scampering into the kitchen, and right on cue, sits at my fathers feet looking straight up either in hopes that the omelette is for her, or that hell drop something.
Its funny how we learn our own little social cues, and what we see as a signifier of certain events to come.
Its been a long time since ive delved back into my semiotic theories. And I either thank you or pity you for sticking with me for this long on a ridiculous diatribe of breakfast memories, clutter, yet another pointless story involving my dog, and the slight bouts of voluntary tourettes that seem to go on in the kitchen with Dinah, wherever he may be.
enchantment vs entrapment
Its hard not to get caught up in the glory of what is the age of technology, isn't it? Answers and the winners of bets are merely a google away, or even just a text message. We don't even have to be at a computer to find out, most phones will do it for us. We can talk shit to people were playing video games with across the world, and theres the ever popular notion of bringing love letters back into style.
This however, does walk a fine line of fantasy and felony.
I wont deny it, ive been known to watch the 'to catch a predator' marathons, we all have. We get bitch slapped with it during any prime time slot. Not to mention that its just culturally relevant now. If you have a daughter or a boyfriend/husband, there is always that fleeting shadow of doubt or fear.
Perverted justice… yes, the name is so ironic that it is indeed perverse. What has me slightly on edge about this is the fact that there are adults, who go to a certain length to stay on the cutting edge of teenage and tweenage slang in order to be convincing. Im under the impression that they are not allowed to initiate the conversation, but once the initial exchange is all said and done, how far can/will they go?
Of course we can all 'see' the appeal of a younger girl, there have been numerous studies, and also just the plain asthetics of it all, but that is best saved for a later stream of thought. However… really, there is a point to where it can no longer be really desirable. I can almost even see the 'treading new ground' desire as well. I don't advocate it, but some people want that power to be able to break their mate. it's a very common and basic trait of human nature. All in all, I think that yes, it probably HAS led to people who would pose a threat being removed from the situation. For a while
Correct me if im wrong, but doesn't the oveer saturtation of the coverage of such sting operations not negate the purpose? Not to mention that MSNBC does it. If you ever watch the show, you will notice almost instantly that every conversation is on MSN chat. Im all for product placement but c'mon. what about AIM? What it shows is that you need to not use MSN to fish for jailbait, and also, get the girl to vary her age. Common sense is also lacking to an obscene degree with the people who are caught. I can all but promise you that any underage girl who is out to talk dirty, go down on an anonymous man, or fuck his dog or whatever they are asking for, WILL NEVER, EVER, I REPEAT NEVER be straight up with her age at first. I actually will even promise you that.
She may not even lie about it, but she can dodge the question. Also, if perchance, one does go through the courting process of charming a girl trying to pretend to do her homework with grainy pictures of an unimpressive penis, or the other alternative, the picture that was pirated from a porn site, think about it: driving through a developing neighbourhood that consists ENTIRELY of model homes, well, that is another warning sign.
The whole thing just has me hesitant to believe it. The first year or two, sure, I get it - yet its years later now. How have they not caught on?
The other side of the coin isn't much different. I saw a news piece yesterday that told the tale of a ten year old girl who habitually was having pornographic conversations with men no younger than 25. I don't delude myself that a parent can keep a constant vigil on their child, and I don't think that they should either. Most of what a child from the age 8 and on will learn, they learn either on their own or behind their parents back. But, once you've found you child agreeing to fuck some perverts dogs, giving out the LAND LINE NUMBER, and what not, when do you allow her back online with out setting up some sort of firewall system? *yes, she was allowed back online* . Most parents, or any decent parent has my up most respect. Its hard living in todays world much less having a child grow up in it. Its hard to realize that the world is so much different than the one that even I grew up in. america is so different from any other country in the sense that we, as a society, and as a people have a sex addiction. We wont realize it because weve become desensitized to it. But really, when was the last time thre was a movie that everybody was dying to see that was rated G? when was the last time that headlines could go a week without a sex scandal? (david duchovny, you are in my thoughts, prayers and fantasies byt the way) the last time you could see three billboards with everybody wearing more than a bathing suit?
Think about that, yet at the same time, we still have sex and sexuality on this constant flux of taboo. You hear the words 'rape' and 'fuck' almost twice as often as you hear the words 'sex' or 'making love'. there was a point to this. I have since forgotten it. Ill fix it later
This however, does walk a fine line of fantasy and felony.
I wont deny it, ive been known to watch the 'to catch a predator' marathons, we all have. We get bitch slapped with it during any prime time slot. Not to mention that its just culturally relevant now. If you have a daughter or a boyfriend/husband, there is always that fleeting shadow of doubt or fear.
Perverted justice… yes, the name is so ironic that it is indeed perverse. What has me slightly on edge about this is the fact that there are adults, who go to a certain length to stay on the cutting edge of teenage and tweenage slang in order to be convincing. Im under the impression that they are not allowed to initiate the conversation, but once the initial exchange is all said and done, how far can/will they go?
Of course we can all 'see' the appeal of a younger girl, there have been numerous studies, and also just the plain asthetics of it all, but that is best saved for a later stream of thought. However… really, there is a point to where it can no longer be really desirable. I can almost even see the 'treading new ground' desire as well. I don't advocate it, but some people want that power to be able to break their mate. it's a very common and basic trait of human nature. All in all, I think that yes, it probably HAS led to people who would pose a threat being removed from the situation. For a while
Correct me if im wrong, but doesn't the oveer saturtation of the coverage of such sting operations not negate the purpose? Not to mention that MSNBC does it. If you ever watch the show, you will notice almost instantly that every conversation is on MSN chat. Im all for product placement but c'mon. what about AIM? What it shows is that you need to not use MSN to fish for jailbait, and also, get the girl to vary her age. Common sense is also lacking to an obscene degree with the people who are caught. I can all but promise you that any underage girl who is out to talk dirty, go down on an anonymous man, or fuck his dog or whatever they are asking for, WILL NEVER, EVER, I REPEAT NEVER be straight up with her age at first. I actually will even promise you that.
She may not even lie about it, but she can dodge the question. Also, if perchance, one does go through the courting process of charming a girl trying to pretend to do her homework with grainy pictures of an unimpressive penis, or the other alternative, the picture that was pirated from a porn site, think about it: driving through a developing neighbourhood that consists ENTIRELY of model homes, well, that is another warning sign.
The whole thing just has me hesitant to believe it. The first year or two, sure, I get it - yet its years later now. How have they not caught on?
The other side of the coin isn't much different. I saw a news piece yesterday that told the tale of a ten year old girl who habitually was having pornographic conversations with men no younger than 25. I don't delude myself that a parent can keep a constant vigil on their child, and I don't think that they should either. Most of what a child from the age 8 and on will learn, they learn either on their own or behind their parents back. But, once you've found you child agreeing to fuck some perverts dogs, giving out the LAND LINE NUMBER, and what not, when do you allow her back online with out setting up some sort of firewall system? *yes, she was allowed back online* . Most parents, or any decent parent has my up most respect. Its hard living in todays world much less having a child grow up in it. Its hard to realize that the world is so much different than the one that even I grew up in. america is so different from any other country in the sense that we, as a society, and as a people have a sex addiction. We wont realize it because weve become desensitized to it. But really, when was the last time thre was a movie that everybody was dying to see that was rated G? when was the last time that headlines could go a week without a sex scandal? (david duchovny, you are in my thoughts, prayers and fantasies byt the way) the last time you could see three billboards with everybody wearing more than a bathing suit?
Think about that, yet at the same time, we still have sex and sexuality on this constant flux of taboo. You hear the words 'rape' and 'fuck' almost twice as often as you hear the words 'sex' or 'making love'. there was a point to this. I have since forgotten it. Ill fix it later
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
unless its a limerick, dont wast my goddamn time
a little while ago i finally found somebody who shares this almost complete hatred of poetry that i do. im sorry, i just find it to be incredibly pretentious, and well... a lot of it sucks. it just does. we were joking about bad poetry and i finally found a few that i had toyed around with a long time ago to prove my point. i rarely write poetry and on the blue moon that i do, it is simply to prove a cringe worthy point: that while im making you sit through this shit, (aside from a very select few of you) this is how i feel and felt all through school when we had the poetry segment in class.
RECESS
No
You cant play
No
Not with us
Because
Youre
…not in the club
Well youre not anymore
No
That was yesterday
Besides, we made a mistake
Sorry
You wouldn't want to play with us
Anyway
Because we run a lot
…and youre fat
Well you are, its true
Youre lying if you say youre not
And we don't like liars
-they aren't allowed in the club
Youre not my best friend anymore
I guess you should find a new table
P.S.
Im not coming to your birthday party
CONVERSATION ON THE WAY HOME WITH A HOT FRIEND ON THE WAY TO HIS APT ABOVE A GRAGE FOR A ONE NIGHT STAND
Lets get married
Just ask me
Ask me to marry you
Im drunk
Ill say yes
don't worry
We'd have cute kids
You and I
Between the two of us
They'd probably
be normal height
Im your fall back
And I can count on you
To be mine
When youre drunk
And lonely
C'mon
It makes sense
Like it should have happened years ago
Everyone will say:
'Oh, I saw that one coming'
Lets get married
I'd make a good ex wife
TO THE OBNOXIOUS LOVERS IN THE CORNER…WITH LOVE
Just stop
Please
I get the point
Youre blissfully happy
Together
And
Probably
With yourselves
For that matter
you've made it quite clear
Tho the entire room
By now
I speak for the group
When I say
Congratulations
Were happy for you
Actually
No
Not really
Not at all
I need to vomit
And maybe I am
Just a little bit
Bitter
But I know that as well
Fuck you ~ go get a room
TO THAT PRETTY BITCH… WITH LOVE
Whats it like?
To look like you
To have so much confidence
And to be so good at what you do?
How do you do it?
Ive never been thin
You cant loose
And I just cant win
Standing next to you
I just don't compare
You have everyone talking
While all the men stare
Whats your secret?
Youre never alone
You beat them off with sticks
While I just wait by the phone
I FEEL LIKE IVE BEEN TAG TEAMED BY THE MARIO BROS.
So when did you forget?
All of those little promises that you made
Is it still too late now
For that little dream to be saved
'Double crossed the line
When did we stop or start having fun
Even if you two are together
I might not come undone
It takes a lot out of you
If I look happy, its because im working under cover
I feel so used up
Like ive been tag teamed…
… by the Mario brothers
1 up…
…mother-fucker
RECESS
No
You cant play
No
Not with us
Because
Youre
…not in the club
Well youre not anymore
No
That was yesterday
Besides, we made a mistake
Sorry
You wouldn't want to play with us
Anyway
Because we run a lot
…and youre fat
Well you are, its true
Youre lying if you say youre not
And we don't like liars
-they aren't allowed in the club
Youre not my best friend anymore
I guess you should find a new table
P.S.
Im not coming to your birthday party
CONVERSATION ON THE WAY HOME WITH A HOT FRIEND ON THE WAY TO HIS APT ABOVE A GRAGE FOR A ONE NIGHT STAND
Lets get married
Just ask me
Ask me to marry you
Im drunk
Ill say yes
don't worry
We'd have cute kids
You and I
Between the two of us
They'd probably
be normal height
Im your fall back
And I can count on you
To be mine
When youre drunk
And lonely
C'mon
It makes sense
Like it should have happened years ago
Everyone will say:
'Oh, I saw that one coming'
Lets get married
I'd make a good ex wife
TO THE OBNOXIOUS LOVERS IN THE CORNER…WITH LOVE
Just stop
Please
I get the point
Youre blissfully happy
Together
And
Probably
With yourselves
For that matter
you've made it quite clear
Tho the entire room
By now
I speak for the group
When I say
Congratulations
Were happy for you
Actually
No
Not really
Not at all
I need to vomit
And maybe I am
Just a little bit
Bitter
But I know that as well
Fuck you ~ go get a room
TO THAT PRETTY BITCH… WITH LOVE
Whats it like?
To look like you
To have so much confidence
And to be so good at what you do?
How do you do it?
Ive never been thin
You cant loose
And I just cant win
Standing next to you
I just don't compare
You have everyone talking
While all the men stare
Whats your secret?
Youre never alone
You beat them off with sticks
While I just wait by the phone
I FEEL LIKE IVE BEEN TAG TEAMED BY THE MARIO BROS.
So when did you forget?
All of those little promises that you made
Is it still too late now
For that little dream to be saved
'Double crossed the line
When did we stop or start having fun
Even if you two are together
I might not come undone
It takes a lot out of you
If I look happy, its because im working under cover
I feel so used up
Like ive been tag teamed…
… by the Mario brothers
1 up…
…mother-fucker
Serious Inquiries Only Plz.
BEFORE YOU GO ON…
I need you to know a few things about me, about who and what I am. What I really am, not what I have to be or should be but rather things you either have to or should really know before this goes any further.
I really am a bitch when all is said and done, j screen a good deal of my calls, hell I even set up doctors appointments with my therapist just so I can cancel them. Some times its just to let him think that I am trying and that I am making progress with my life, becoming busier and what not but really the majority of the time I don’t actually know why I do it; I almost think it’s just to be a pain in the ass.
There are weeks where I’ll wear the same outfit, and never leave the couch. Watching bad t.v. and not taking off my make up but just applying more over the darkened smudges. There are occasions born of boredom or impishness where I go too far and look dead, I usually plan on drinking heavily that night and maybe double up on the sleep aides, only half forgetting that I will inevitably scare the shit out of my father in the morning. I do this when I have some biological alarm clock that tells me that I’ll need to go out on a vodka and cigarette run the next day. His forceful shaking and half assed yelling ‘’OH SHIT WAKE THE FUCK UP’’ usually jarrs me into a lucid state and shocks me enough to know that I wont fall back into a nap, it usually works out that im noticed early enough in the day for it to not be entirely wasted.
I don’t drink coffee in the morning, but rather all through the day. My morning beverage is club soda. From when I wake up until 2 or 3pm I go through at least a liter or two of club soda, then progress to almost a full pot of coffee which I make lethally strong and add a dash of nutmeg and if im feeling frisky some allspice. Now there’s a teaspoon of chocolate syrup in it, and I mildly resent the fact that its not sugar free. Two packets of the blue shit that give you cancer as well. I remember a wrestler telling me that they always chewed the gum that used sorbatol in it, because it acts as a laxative and appetite suppressant. I think he’s full of shit. I prefer my coffee iced but this goddamn coffee maker we have always leaves the coffee with some oily substance on the top, which I am militant of ridding completely, thus it’s not quite a full pot of coffee that I go through, it actually ends up being closer to a half a pot. This substance on the surface terrifies me and, no, I don’t care to hear any explanation what so ever as to what it is or any hidden oils in coffee. If you even think about beginning to explain one aspect of this you will immediately be silenced with a sharp and stern “fuck you”.
It will be much easier for the both of us if there is something that I’m consistently better at than you are. It’s even better if you don’t let me know what it is for quite a while. The sad fact of the matter is that the amount of ’betterness’ is more than likely going to be in direct proportion of how much you like this activity. I wish it wasn’t the way such things work out but sadly, it seems to be the pattern it has followed through the years.
I not so secretly think myself, and my friends to be exponentially better than the rest of the population, and will usually comment on this. And yes, I will always assume that my friends are better and much more entertaining and impressive than yours. This I will usually not vocalize and keep to myself for the most part. Now mind you, while yes, I wont hesitate on pointing out the flaws and extreme dullness or the most asinine snippets of conversations I overhear - I do envy those simple souls. I don’t think theyre as afraid of not making some undefined cut as I am. This sounds conceited. And It probably is. I don’t know why I feel the need to divulge this.
If there is something wet that isn’t intended to be I will become incredibly squeamish. Soggy things do not go well with my demeanor. This is why I rarely do the dishes, and have been known to eat off of a paper towel rather than have to hand wash a dish. Even if a piece of bread is left in sauce long enough for the crumbs to slightly separate and become more than slightly enlarged, it will need to be removed from my sight, I also do not clean up nor gaze upon any vomit other than my own, even then it’s a vicious cycle.
I need you to know a few things about me, about who and what I am. What I really am, not what I have to be or should be but rather things you either have to or should really know before this goes any further.
I really am a bitch when all is said and done, j screen a good deal of my calls, hell I even set up doctors appointments with my therapist just so I can cancel them. Some times its just to let him think that I am trying and that I am making progress with my life, becoming busier and what not but really the majority of the time I don’t actually know why I do it; I almost think it’s just to be a pain in the ass.
There are weeks where I’ll wear the same outfit, and never leave the couch. Watching bad t.v. and not taking off my make up but just applying more over the darkened smudges. There are occasions born of boredom or impishness where I go too far and look dead, I usually plan on drinking heavily that night and maybe double up on the sleep aides, only half forgetting that I will inevitably scare the shit out of my father in the morning. I do this when I have some biological alarm clock that tells me that I’ll need to go out on a vodka and cigarette run the next day. His forceful shaking and half assed yelling ‘’OH SHIT WAKE THE FUCK UP’’ usually jarrs me into a lucid state and shocks me enough to know that I wont fall back into a nap, it usually works out that im noticed early enough in the day for it to not be entirely wasted.
I don’t drink coffee in the morning, but rather all through the day. My morning beverage is club soda. From when I wake up until 2 or 3pm I go through at least a liter or two of club soda, then progress to almost a full pot of coffee which I make lethally strong and add a dash of nutmeg and if im feeling frisky some allspice. Now there’s a teaspoon of chocolate syrup in it, and I mildly resent the fact that its not sugar free. Two packets of the blue shit that give you cancer as well. I remember a wrestler telling me that they always chewed the gum that used sorbatol in it, because it acts as a laxative and appetite suppressant. I think he’s full of shit. I prefer my coffee iced but this goddamn coffee maker we have always leaves the coffee with some oily substance on the top, which I am militant of ridding completely, thus it’s not quite a full pot of coffee that I go through, it actually ends up being closer to a half a pot. This substance on the surface terrifies me and, no, I don’t care to hear any explanation what so ever as to what it is or any hidden oils in coffee. If you even think about beginning to explain one aspect of this you will immediately be silenced with a sharp and stern “fuck you”.
It will be much easier for the both of us if there is something that I’m consistently better at than you are. It’s even better if you don’t let me know what it is for quite a while. The sad fact of the matter is that the amount of ’betterness’ is more than likely going to be in direct proportion of how much you like this activity. I wish it wasn’t the way such things work out but sadly, it seems to be the pattern it has followed through the years.
I not so secretly think myself, and my friends to be exponentially better than the rest of the population, and will usually comment on this. And yes, I will always assume that my friends are better and much more entertaining and impressive than yours. This I will usually not vocalize and keep to myself for the most part. Now mind you, while yes, I wont hesitate on pointing out the flaws and extreme dullness or the most asinine snippets of conversations I overhear - I do envy those simple souls. I don’t think theyre as afraid of not making some undefined cut as I am. This sounds conceited. And It probably is. I don’t know why I feel the need to divulge this.
If there is something wet that isn’t intended to be I will become incredibly squeamish. Soggy things do not go well with my demeanor. This is why I rarely do the dishes, and have been known to eat off of a paper towel rather than have to hand wash a dish. Even if a piece of bread is left in sauce long enough for the crumbs to slightly separate and become more than slightly enlarged, it will need to be removed from my sight, I also do not clean up nor gaze upon any vomit other than my own, even then it’s a vicious cycle.
you were right, its not me, its completely you...
"well its not like im asking you to fucking faith heal me or anything like that, but if you would just shut up about your boyfriend and listen to one of my problems for once; some of which at the moment happen to be quite big, it would help a whole helluva lot… no, y'know what? I don't care who that was you were talking to. Youre on the phone with me right now for the first time in weeks…ya, I know youre busy and my worthless ass doesn't do shit, ever, that im a waste of time and space and whatever other noun you want to throw in there but this worthless waste is your friend, or at least needs one right now and every time I call youre engaged in some other asinine small talk conversation with the cat, yourself or your stoner neighbours; and frankly im calling bullshit on it for once"
That was how our conversation started out. Probably not the best move on my part but after easing Lucy through two 'monumental potential break-ups' a year in france following said boyfriend around while he took a year abroad, an abortion, the two weeks when she was sleeping with his best friend, playing along when she tried to fix me up with the very same friend, and countless times of explaining what had happened the night before, back when she was not in AA, I feel that I was owed at least this much. My problem in question may very well be trivial, im still too close to it to judge, but Lucy was entirely too removed from it and wrapped up in her own world to judge either. Our friendship was found on the basis of never judging. There was no room for either of us to under the circumstances of which we met.
I heard a sigh, and lips smacking and then after a long pause
"that wasn't necessary… fag"
"well, it kinda was"
"im there for you, ive ALWAYS been there for you. Im offended that you would even think that"
" Oh for fuck sake get off your soap box. Im offended that it even had to come to this"
"well, its not like you really show much intrest. When was the last time you submitted anything to Steves website? Huh? Oh that's right, its been FOR-EV-ER."
I could tell she was getting kind of pissed now. " are you drinking?"
I was actually surprised that it took her this long to ask. I expected her to play this card right off the bat
"Its 1:00 Lucy. I don't drink at 1:00. I never have. But right now Im starting to think that I could use one. Want to know why I havent sent anything in? cause Steve told me not to. Remember that little incident? When he told me that he no longer had any use for my self absorbed and trite not to mention repative rants that nobody fucking cares about? Yeah, I don't think my material fit with the rest of that pretentious crowds 'dear diary, I hope all the republican fucks in the world die a slow and horrible death' blogs." which was true. Even myself, who has dated more bad musicians, artists, writers, photographers and actors than I would even want to count and couldn't on all my fingers and toes had a hard time stomaching the content of that website. Once the majority of the contributors are sporting liberty spikes, that's my cue to leave
"well maybe if you would stop writing about eating disorders, addictions, and social theory people wouldn't get so bored of all of it."
"youre right. You know, I should go dressed up as Sharon Tate, bloody baby dangling by an umbilical cord and all, hanging our of my nightgown with a big sign that says 'abort myself' in front of a clinic and make a cute little photo blog about it. Would that get me back in to that non paying, not to mention NO exposure job? Think that would score me some points? Earn my young republican ass some street cred?"
OK Ill admit, this was probably uncalled for; bringing this situation back up. In all fairness when Steves ex, (another contributor) did this, she was not dressed up as 'Sharon Tate'. unless at one point in time Tate had liberty spikes and a permanent scowl. I don't remember that phase though. The whole thing had pissed me off as well, due to the fact it was mere weeks after Lucy had had an abortion and the photo blog seemed to be Steves pride and joy for months on end.
"it would at least be something NEW. It would at least get you out of the HOUSE for once."
I know what youre thinking. 'no she didn't' well, yes. She indeed did
My jaw dropped. Un-fucking-believable. It was my turn to pause. It wasn't for effect, it was to steady myself and find my pills. I was no longer sorry for my previous statement, which was just about to be followed by an apology. Not any more. Not a chance. I hung up. And for the very first time in my co-dependant life, I had no intent of blaming it on my phone or the service connection.
Flash Forward three months
"hey, are you busy?"
It was lucy for the first time in ages. After countless attempts of calling her to inform her of news that pained me to no end to be the bearer of she finally does call, and she would call three days too late too.
"where the hell have you been? Ive been trying to get you non-stop for a week now. it was kind of important"
"well that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Um are you busy?"
"youre going to have to speak up, I cant hear a thing youre saying" christ, if shes calling from a movie I will FUCKING lose it.
"well, give me a minute. This isn't easy."
"Jesus luce, are you ok?"
"well im just calling to say that right now I don't think that it's the best idea if we stay friends right now. Just let me finish. I know you don't ask me to, you never have but I feel like I need to solve all of your problemes and im tired of it."
"what problems do you even know about?"
"I said to let me finish… you don't make this easy. You don't contribute anything to anybody anymore and youre just too unproductive. every time we talk I just cant wait to get off of the phone with you. You know that I love you sooo much…"
"that's a really shitty thing to say"
"I do love you"
"but youre saying that in your opinion that now is when I need a friend more than ever, a position you yourself were in not all too long ago, when I didn't really feel like sitting through months and months of your problems, a few of which really hurt me to hear, biting my tongue, holding back my very real problems to coax you through yours, that now, that youre in a good place you don't want to put up with the shit that's happening in my world? I mean, that's essentially what youre saying isn't it?"
"look, I just don't think its very healthy for either one of us to really be talking to each other right now. I mean, since ive moved Ive been through a lot of changes. ive changed a lot from the last time I saw you"
there is no FUCKING way shes talking to me about changes right now. No fucking way at all.
"well, I respect your decision. I cant say that I agree with the entire statement, but ill abide by it. But you're right on one thing. You have changed. a lot. Well, im glad that you found a place in your life where you're happy and im glad that I was able to help get you there. So, I wont keep you any longer, im sure you have some productive things to contribute to the rest of the world and I know that you''re just dying to get off the phone with me so ill let you go. Take care of yourself."
"what were you going to tell me?"
"Blake is dead. i just got back from the funeral; i wanted to tell you what happened before you heard about it on the news"
"i heard, he should have-"
"dont you dare"
and i hung up.
That was how our conversation started out. Probably not the best move on my part but after easing Lucy through two 'monumental potential break-ups' a year in france following said boyfriend around while he took a year abroad, an abortion, the two weeks when she was sleeping with his best friend, playing along when she tried to fix me up with the very same friend, and countless times of explaining what had happened the night before, back when she was not in AA, I feel that I was owed at least this much. My problem in question may very well be trivial, im still too close to it to judge, but Lucy was entirely too removed from it and wrapped up in her own world to judge either. Our friendship was found on the basis of never judging. There was no room for either of us to under the circumstances of which we met.
I heard a sigh, and lips smacking and then after a long pause
"that wasn't necessary… fag"
"well, it kinda was"
"im there for you, ive ALWAYS been there for you. Im offended that you would even think that"
" Oh for fuck sake get off your soap box. Im offended that it even had to come to this"
"well, its not like you really show much intrest. When was the last time you submitted anything to Steves website? Huh? Oh that's right, its been FOR-EV-ER."
I could tell she was getting kind of pissed now. " are you drinking?"
I was actually surprised that it took her this long to ask. I expected her to play this card right off the bat
"Its 1:00 Lucy. I don't drink at 1:00. I never have. But right now Im starting to think that I could use one. Want to know why I havent sent anything in? cause Steve told me not to. Remember that little incident? When he told me that he no longer had any use for my self absorbed and trite not to mention repative rants that nobody fucking cares about? Yeah, I don't think my material fit with the rest of that pretentious crowds 'dear diary, I hope all the republican fucks in the world die a slow and horrible death' blogs." which was true. Even myself, who has dated more bad musicians, artists, writers, photographers and actors than I would even want to count and couldn't on all my fingers and toes had a hard time stomaching the content of that website. Once the majority of the contributors are sporting liberty spikes, that's my cue to leave
"well maybe if you would stop writing about eating disorders, addictions, and social theory people wouldn't get so bored of all of it."
"youre right. You know, I should go dressed up as Sharon Tate, bloody baby dangling by an umbilical cord and all, hanging our of my nightgown with a big sign that says 'abort myself' in front of a clinic and make a cute little photo blog about it. Would that get me back in to that non paying, not to mention NO exposure job? Think that would score me some points? Earn my young republican ass some street cred?"
OK Ill admit, this was probably uncalled for; bringing this situation back up. In all fairness when Steves ex, (another contributor) did this, she was not dressed up as 'Sharon Tate'. unless at one point in time Tate had liberty spikes and a permanent scowl. I don't remember that phase though. The whole thing had pissed me off as well, due to the fact it was mere weeks after Lucy had had an abortion and the photo blog seemed to be Steves pride and joy for months on end.
"it would at least be something NEW. It would at least get you out of the HOUSE for once."
I know what youre thinking. 'no she didn't' well, yes. She indeed did
My jaw dropped. Un-fucking-believable. It was my turn to pause. It wasn't for effect, it was to steady myself and find my pills. I was no longer sorry for my previous statement, which was just about to be followed by an apology. Not any more. Not a chance. I hung up. And for the very first time in my co-dependant life, I had no intent of blaming it on my phone or the service connection.
Flash Forward three months
"hey, are you busy?"
It was lucy for the first time in ages. After countless attempts of calling her to inform her of news that pained me to no end to be the bearer of she finally does call, and she would call three days too late too.
"where the hell have you been? Ive been trying to get you non-stop for a week now. it was kind of important"
"well that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Um are you busy?"
"youre going to have to speak up, I cant hear a thing youre saying" christ, if shes calling from a movie I will FUCKING lose it.
"well, give me a minute. This isn't easy."
"Jesus luce, are you ok?"
"well im just calling to say that right now I don't think that it's the best idea if we stay friends right now. Just let me finish. I know you don't ask me to, you never have but I feel like I need to solve all of your problemes and im tired of it."
"what problems do you even know about?"
"I said to let me finish… you don't make this easy. You don't contribute anything to anybody anymore and youre just too unproductive. every time we talk I just cant wait to get off of the phone with you. You know that I love you sooo much…"
"that's a really shitty thing to say"
"I do love you"
"but youre saying that in your opinion that now is when I need a friend more than ever, a position you yourself were in not all too long ago, when I didn't really feel like sitting through months and months of your problems, a few of which really hurt me to hear, biting my tongue, holding back my very real problems to coax you through yours, that now, that youre in a good place you don't want to put up with the shit that's happening in my world? I mean, that's essentially what youre saying isn't it?"
"look, I just don't think its very healthy for either one of us to really be talking to each other right now. I mean, since ive moved Ive been through a lot of changes. ive changed a lot from the last time I saw you"
there is no FUCKING way shes talking to me about changes right now. No fucking way at all.
"well, I respect your decision. I cant say that I agree with the entire statement, but ill abide by it. But you're right on one thing. You have changed. a lot. Well, im glad that you found a place in your life where you're happy and im glad that I was able to help get you there. So, I wont keep you any longer, im sure you have some productive things to contribute to the rest of the world and I know that you''re just dying to get off the phone with me so ill let you go. Take care of yourself."
"what were you going to tell me?"
"Blake is dead. i just got back from the funeral; i wanted to tell you what happened before you heard about it on the news"
"i heard, he should have-"
"dont you dare"
and i hung up.
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