My eye has started twitching
And I have no idea what that means.
mr. husband is finally home.
and not a moment too soon.
He smoothly slide into the picture and lightened my load just before the breaking point.
I can't believe I have so much going on over the next 5 days.
Some of it work, some of it play.
And then, one more day of English class, and another day my English final, and
Next semester I'm taking a Grammar class...
yes, that thought makes me all warm and tingly...
I can't wait!!
black tie Christmas party thing.
The deciding factor in our choice to attend?
You guessed it: the black dress!!!
I will continue seeking places to wear that dress until I get sick of it.
I have never had a more flattering, more sexy dress and that makes the evil shoes worth every painful step.
The world is shimmering with new possibilites and crisply frozen snow.
I have snuck up on the sun twice this week--
once as it set, and once as it rose.
It wasn't expecting me, but I caught it showing off its best colors, washing over white mountains.
This week I have been a bit of a bi-polar bear.
I hope to mellow out soon.
And commit myself to the gym again with the fury of a thousand hurricanes.
I hope you each have a happy weekend.
A repost of a repast of a post...
(because I think I'm funny, and I happen to be in a huge hurry this morning)
april 28, 2004
i am all limbered up and ready to knock your socks off.
(cue fighting kids...)
well, there goes that little burst of creative energy.
in the time it took me to log in, and write those first two hope-filled lines...
suck is my life.
nice fucking typo--that should have read, "such is my life", but frankly...
i really felt ready to write something rock n' roll, though.
something shiny and bright.
something pretty, something soft core.
the UPS man swung by today with a package...
he was hot.
inside the package were 100 burnable DVD's.
all fresh and shiny and waiting for me....
ready and willing.
full of possibilities, in their complete blankness.
and i smiled at the memory of their dirt-cheap-ness.
37 cents each, mother fuckers.
...just to back up my own personal DVD library of course.
but I don't have to coach you--we've been over this.
so that is exciting for me.
i'm waiting for a CD to arrive, too.
a special one.
a friend's demo...
i could just close my eyes and got lost, so i better not blink.
I will astound, I will perform.
I will abate, I will perplex.
I will end, I will begin.
I will cough, I will sneeze.
I will never say never.
I will always say never.
I will run and not be weary, I will walk and not faint.
(I will not freak out over the hole in my subconcious which let that through.)
I will get my freak on.
I will tweak this, and shuffle that.
I will never let you go.
I will hunt you down.
I will hide from you
I will shelter you.
I will take your breath away.
I will fuck you like an animal.
I will never be the same.
I will never change.
I will open my mouth and pour my soul out into the wind.
I will not piss into the wind.
I will probably forget, and piss into the wind.
I will cry for you, Argentina.
I will leap over a rainbow and fly away on corduroy wings.
I will discover the secrets of Brigadoon, Victoria and you.
I will clean the bathroom.
I will put on my pj's.
I will snuggle into my large and luscioius bed.
I will watch last night's 24.
I will snort the coke of American Idol.
I will wait.
I will wait.
A-a-a-and we're manic!
But I did wake up happy today.
It was truly startling; I hate mornings.
Classes were good, phone call with long-lost Eskimo was good,
having house cleaned by someone else was good,
getting to go to bed at 11:00 (ish) is going to be GOOOOOD.
It snowed all day.
Slippery sidewalks on my foothill located campus were fun to navigate.
I wouldn't say that I'm better than Ezra, but...You are.
I am the captain of my destiny, the master of my soul.
OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
Fuckin' right, William Ernest Henley!
And...I feel like I could grabthat fate by the balls and make it my bitch.
...besides, I just love balls...
I remember the first time I heard that AC/DC song
Cold and rainy spring morning.
So early it was still night when we got in that shitty car.
Grey and cold.
She smoked, and kept rolling down the window for ventilation--
alternating between freezing New England air and the blasting hot air from the vents.
And she wouldn't stop bitching.
Quite possibly the worst road trip I've ever been on.
That song was truly the highlight.
I swear I'm not thinking about him lately, but that roadtrip was to see the college graduation of my virginity-recipient.
Stupid Mormon Lisa wouldn't go to the after party with him...
I hated that he was a drinker; I never understood it until I did it.
I was so afraid to acknowledge the normalcy of it, afraid I would want to do it.
Didn't even do IT because I had already repented of my sins and reinserted my head in the Church's ass.
What a waste.
That was quite a trip.
Being loved is not nearly as satisfying as loving back, but I was grateful for his devotion.Take me to fly with you,
He smiled and in his eyes was an eternity of wisdom--
sparkly and fresh, newly acquired.Oh
, she said quietly.I won't want to come back, will I?
That familiar look passed over his face--
that reluctant, almost apologetic "No" look.
He hated that word.
I could fly with him, but I wouldn't be able to come back.
Good night, dears!
There is something in the air...
and it's thick like pollution,
rancid like fly-peppered gobs of lard on the back shelf of a rusted-out warehouse.
Depression is crushing everyone around me.
Or something like it.
Maybe it's just a marked lack of elation.
Maybe it's just a sudden shift in temperature
Maybe it's just a new way to be:
Depression is the new black.
But I find myself feeling scared.
Scared that Camelot is drawing to a close.
Afraid of all that lies ahead.
The heaviness of all my thoughts crashing against each other in the crowded interior of this delicate bone-colored skull of mine...
It's not terribly pleasant, that's what.
36 hours til therapy.
(notice the lack of exclamation point)
It snowed today.
I drove a lot, and talked even more.
It was really a great day...despite all that gloom and doom crap at the beginning of the post.
I helped a friend and nothing makes me happier.
no matter how much goodness there is, it can't fill the emptiness.
The brother-in-law's birthday is on Friday.
It feels so fucking strange to call it that--
can people still have birthdays if they're dead?
And I just remembered last year...
how I wanted to bake him a cake, but it just felt too intimate.
There was always such a carefully placed, carefully guarded boundary between us.
We were more alike than I realized.
Friday we're having a memorial thingy at our house.
And I feel it coming like a big black tidal wave.
I keep talking about it in casual conversation and not letting myself think about it.
I don't know if I can handle it.
I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this...
convinced that it was preventable, and I was the Preventer.
I don't want to hear "but it was his time."
I don't care if it WAS--he would not have died at that particular moment in time if I had gone upstairs
stood up from this very computer
to go and talk to him.
He nipped into the house to open the garage and was gone again in a flash,
not grabbing his helmet, not closing the garage door
oh, I ache.
I want to hear his long strides crossing my kitchen.
I want to tell him how much he was loved by so many people.
I want to tell him how grateful I was to have his presence in my home--
and how great it was to know that he was not The Asshole of the family.
Not even a little.
I remember that time hubby and I were heading out on a date and I was wearing that long, full skirt and I stopped in the foyer to twirl around in a circle. As I tilted my head back to fully enjoy the twirl, he was at the top of the stairs coming down. I felt exposed, caught in a moment of solitary bliss and it was a connection.
I remember on my birthday...my horrible awful birthday in June, when he walked through the kitchen on his way to work, and saw in my face how miserable I was (if you've never seen me in person, you may not know that I wear my emotions splashed across my face in intricate design) and the kindness in his face just about brought on the tears as he said, softly, "C.'s gone again?" In that moment I knew he loved me. (Not like that
I guess what I'm stuck on is that no matter how much I wish it, he won't be back.
For every other crazy dream of mine, there is hope.
Will I sprout wings and fly one day?
Maybe so! (you never know...)
Will I meet Eddie Vedder and convince him to leave his supermodel wife for me?
There is a possibility--an enormously minute one, but a possibility does exist.
This...there is no wishing him back.
Ok, there is wishing happening, but you get the point.
There is not even the tiniest chance that the wish will be granted.
Not by a thousand leprechauns,
not by an entire desert full of genie-filled lamps,
not by every birthday cake in every house from now until the end of time.
No way no how.
I've been cruising by, letting my subconcious believe that he had just moved out of our house--an easy thing to believe because he didn't live here for the first 7 years that I knew him.
This is the worst feeling on the planet.
Look out therapist!!! You better be ready to work.
Well that was a happy phone call.
Just got interupted in my MOPING by a friend with some great news.
And she thanked me for getting so many balls rolling...
which made me chuckle in the little corner of my mind that is reserved for making everything into a dirty joke.
I didn't do much, but one of my best talents is being a good friend...
I think that's why I have such anxiety over not reading your blogs enough.
I love you all and want to give to you the way that I give to my "real" friends...
I'm just an all-around, general purpose BASKET CASE lately, so whatever.
There is healing on its way.
And maybe I just needed a good cry.
Thanks for sitting here with me while I had it.
I can now go to bed smiling.
Scribbles from the sky
Racing the Sunset to St. Louis
The sun is being swallowed up by the edge of the earth.
It is reaching out with all its best colors
in an effort to keep its grip on this day.
and clouds outlined sharply in pink.
Orange radiating down from the upper layer of clouds.
The earth is hungrily pulling the sun down.
As the minutes and miles pass,
the orange growls and the purple angers.
They unleash across the sky,
clawing their way to the corners.
as night swells up to engulf the last of the sun's efforts,
the oranges and purples grow softer, grayer.
Gray becomes indigo and indigo is
the perfect home for sparkling stars.Regrets are for fools...
I wish I could hunt down Frank
(like a lion on the savanah)
and steal back from him my virginity.
I would carve it out of his thigh
(where it has inexplicably but indisputably taken residence)
with a scalpel and hold it tremulously between my fingers.
It would shimmer dazzlingly even through the gore.
I wish I could wash it gently in warm water, allowing its brilliance to overpower my shade-weakened eyes before laying it gently into a velvet-lined mahogany box.
I (a midieval princess) would fall to one knee before you, head bowed, arms raised with my offering.
You would take the box and open it with shaking hands.
It would leap into you with a flash, a breath of wind the only hint of its hasty passing.
Home sweat home
Yes, I spelled that wrong on purpose.
because something about rental cars and airports and airplanes and returns to houses left a jumbled "don't forget anything"/"let's go!" mess
makes me feel more sweaty than sweet.
But I'm not technically sweaty.
It's a bit chilly in this house.
The trip was really great.
I never thought I would like Disney World so much.
I never wanted to go to Florida.
...although I suspect that my distaste for it stemmed from the way it was put on a pedastal by the people I knew as a child.
I have always disdained things that are coveted by others.
Which probably originates with my dislike for competition.
But I digress.
The Disney experience was rather a marvel.
The lines were as long as I had heard;
the "Fast Pass" system was as cool as I had heard;
the sheer brilliance of the efficiency of those Mouse-eared bastards is worthy of some sort of Nobel Prize;
we will definitely go back sometime.
Husband says he will research.
He will find the week with the lowest revenue and we will go then:
the number of other patrons is inversely proportional to the amount of fun we would have.
Considering it was one of the busiest weeks of the year, everything went well.
I never really felt like I was in Floriday, by the way.
We never saw the ocean,
never tripped over an alligator,
didn't visit an orange grove,
and the weather was playing dirty tricks on us the first 3 days.
AT least we weren't in UTAH!
And I got to see my parents,
my sister/her husbad/their little boy
and my closest cousin/her husband.
Yes, it was practically a family reunion.
The kids were even good for...a lot of the time...
eh, what can you expect?
Travel is stressful.
Anyway, it was fun, and I'm glad to be home--
which is the best possible outcome for a vacation.
Two weeks until finals.
Because He was having a hell of a sale!
Because He was having a hell of a sale!
Just a graphic to go with the story below. p.s. happy Thanksgiving!
Just a graphic to go with the story below. p.s. happy Thanksgiving!
To Infinity and beyond!
That's just a description of the distnace of the lines at Disney World...
The first couple of days were what I like to call "The Kink-Working-Out Days";
I know...I'm insanely clever.
We sort of figured out that we should rent a stroller
(even though our kids are 6, and haven't used a stroller in YEARS),
And that we need to feed the Oliver Monster every hour on the hour or bear his wrath.
We learned that some of us have more patience than others...
and that all of the rides are worth the wait (ok, not "all").
The trip had a rough start, though.
Southwest airlines, as you all know, does not issue seat assignments.
We were travelling with 3 children.
Boarding a 5 1/2 hour flight (with a stopover, but not a plane change).
There was a small line for boarding, and only people with children under 4 were invited to pre-board.
We didn't try to pre-board,
stupidly thinking that a short line meant the plane would be less than full.
There were, as it turned out, TONS of people still on the plane from the previous leg of the flight...
There were only single seats available.
No one was willing to switch seats so that we could sit by our 6 year olds.
The 10 year old we were comfortable with sending off on his own, but the twinners???
Child molesters and weirdos have to fly places, too--no way I'm leaving my 6 year olds out of my sight for 5.5 hours!
So, my husband told me to take a seat and went off to solve the problem.
yes, I cried.
I was totally freaked out and felt helpless.
Then he came and told me that he had sorted it out and had a row for himself and the two littles.
And then, as my blood pressure returned to normal,
I realized with a wicked smile, "I will get to ENJOY this part of the flight!!"
I read my book and listened to some tunes.
there was a spazzy teenager next to me.
He acted like he owned the plane;
it was fucking weird.
He bossed the flight attendents around and used the bathroom before the seatbelt light went off at least 3 different times, AND got himself a Coke before the plane took off.
The flight attendents--oldish and crustyish--were putty in his hands.
They put handfuls of pretzel packages on his lap with a suspicious bit of familiarity.
Anyway, in St. Louis I went and joined the children, relieving hubby.
Who then used the DVD player we had rented to entertain himself for the remaining 3 hours...
Florida is colder than I was expecting.
Out of the Office
Well, technically I'm out of the state, but it sounded cuter that way.
Ok, so you guys know the drill:
1. Be Good
2. Have Fun
3. Don't stain the carpet (or my sheets!)
4. Be careful of #s 1 & 2 contradicting each other
5. Take pictures--or, even better, video
6. leave m lots of comments telling me how much you miss me...
7. Or even better--enjoy the hell out of your Thanksgiving week (if you're American) and forget all about blogging!
As usual, I will probably still do some compulsive updating.
On second thought...I really might not have time for once.
In any case, know that i am missing you guys like the desert misses the rain--
see, I don't like the whole "desert needs the rain" thing, because if the desert got rain, it wouldn't be a desert anymore and that's just so deep...
I will miss you as much as someone who never had ya.
Oh, so you want a post, do ya?
And what makes you think I might be the kinda girl who would be willing to
such a thing to just anyone??
Well, in that case...
you already know how postful I can be and that's why you're asking--
me to post.
How do you guys feel when I go off on those bizarre little tangents where I'm acting like a total FREAK?
Maybe it doesn't seem as freaky when you're reading it as it does to me when I'm writing it, but...
you should be raising an eyebrow or a white flag or something.
raise your white flag to my heart
raise your red flag to my...
(now I'm drowning in the symbolic possibilities of a cock represented by a red flag, which is the symbol for enticing a bull onward, but a bull is more like a cock...cock'n'bull...and then the poem has flown swiftly out the window, laughing at me as it sits unwritten and urges itself to fly further away; it seeks a better home than my head.)
Today I am organizing and packing for
And if I'm a good little girl, who gets all her chores done, then I may make the 60 mile drive to my other-brother's house for
Has there ever been a better invention than PIE NIGHT?
Could there ever be a better invention than Pie Night?
Pies of every flavor, every texture, every thickness, thinness...
Pies with whipped cream, and pies with ice cream.
Cooked pies, chilled pies, warm pies, cold pies.
Oh, dear sweet Christified baby Jesus, I love pie!!!
I am nearly drooling...
It is a tradition that was first introduced to my family by this one family at our church.
I can't remember their names right now...
They had a son and a daughter (named Lisa!) who were much older than my sister and I, but not quite as old as our brothers.
And it was the grandparents of that family who were involved with our church, so we didn't know the rest of them as well.
The night before Thanksgiving was Pie Night.
And we went a few times, I partook of the glory that was the pie buffet.
My dear, sweet, angelic sister-in-law has reinvented this tradition in recent years.
It's a neighborhood event, mostly, but our other brother and myself always go, too.
Everyone takes a pie to share, and my sister-in-law makes anywhere from 5-10 herself, depending on the year.
There are not enough words to express my giddiness at the prospect of attending this event.
...although...I probably just jinxed myself by saying that.
Hubby will decide I ought not to go.
Pray with me, wouldja?
Fuck praying for world peace.
To Hell and its hounds with praying for sick children.
PRAY FOR PIE, GODDAMMIT!!!
that was a rather unattractive display, wasn't it?
Ok, well, my son just asked me if he could have some ice cream because he's playing restaurant.
Do you dare me to discover the state of my kitchen?
And don't let me forget to write my article!!!
I have 4 hours left to get shit done.
Including shower, pack for everyone, write article, and...make lists of stuff to not forget.
Are we really going on this trip???
It hasn't actually hit me yet.
Someone's been using MY computer...
said Mama Bear.
Rather than Goldilocks, however, I think it was Papa Bear.
All I know is, my icons and applications are all squished up, tiny-like.
My keyboard is lagging, too.
He'll fix it for me.
And I won't even have to throw a bowl of too-hot/too-cold poridge at him!
...which begs the question: how in the bloody fucking hell do you spell "poridge"??
I was going to make pancakes for breakfast, since the kids don't have school today.
(My district loves having 4-day weeks)
but one of the boys decided to smash crackers all over the counter/floor.
This is a bizarre habit he has.
I don't have much to say today.
It is almost time to go on our trip, though!!!
The kids haven't been on an airplane since they were 3, and they don't remember it.
So they are more excited about that part than they are about some obscure place called Disney World.
I am excited to see my parents and my sister--
and her 3 year old, who I haven't seen since he was 2, and who happens to be the cutest kid on the PLANET.
It'll be pretty cool to be somewhere warm and sunshiney, too.
But mostly I just hope we can make it through all the lines without temper tantrums from anyone...including me...
I have a play to see tonight...
I think it's going to be really well done, but the subject matter is SUPER depressing.
I hope it isn't as sad as it sounds.
Ok, time to go face the cracker mess in the kitchen.
Pancakes it is!
Thanks for the reminder, BigDon!
The hair, oh the hair!
It looks fine, mostly.
it was dark enough that the new color didn't do much to the old color...
on the new growth, it's a bit bluish.
So apparently, this color turns blondish hair bluish.
It's not as bad as the time that chick dyed it purple without telling me.
"Something dark, with a little red" was my request.
Purple was what I got.
There's a picture around here somewhere.
The pancakes got made, the crackers got swept.
Now it's time for the gym.
That would solve my depression, by the way.
If I was exercising regularly again, I would be way more cheerful.
Somebody find me the time, wouldja??
Does this hair make me look OLD?
Ok, let me back up.
A friend suggested I dye my hair blue.
And when I took out the hair dye I had already bought (pre-suggestion),
it never occurred to me to double-check the color.
It was black, but not the same shade as usual.
When I started applying it, the stuff I got on my skin didn't show up right away,
which caught my attention.
when it did show up...
Now, dye is not the same color as the end product, so I wasn't freaking out, but...
I knew it wasn't the same shade I usually use and I knew it was at least bluISH.
I let a mild worry drift over me as I finished the job,
but it has turned out just fine.
I am as black as night.
"Starry night" is the color, I believe.
I'll take the Van Gogh nod any day.
Speaking of being blue...
I decided that it's time to get a therapist!!!
I'm only like 15 years behind the rest of the world.
What can I say?
I'm a stubborn fuck.
(and a good one, too, but that's another subject entirely)
I'm only telling you guys this because there has often been discussion over the degree of my craziness, and now we're about to find out.
No, I really just want to talk through some stuff, including the whole grief thing.
I had a dream about the brother-in-law last night.
I was driving his truck and he was falling asleep on my shoulder.
Odd, but nice.
I made the mistake of watching a show so shitty I won't admit what it was.
But in this show, the main character had to tell his sister that her husband had been killed in a car crash.
I got a little emotional, as you can imagine.
I mean...3 months ago (3 months and 3 days, actually) I had to tell people I love that their brother was gone, and I had to tell someone that the love of her life was gone.
Stupid fucking show.
How can people just write scripts about stuff like that??
And throw it onto some second--no fourth
--rate show about idiotic people and their stupid decisions??
The writing on that show sucks, by the way.
The people don't act like real people would.
The acting is good, but the lines are LAME.
I want to just have someone professional to talk to about all the crap in my head.
It couldn't hurt.
I even took their online assessment.
It says I appear to be clinically depressed.
They don't know me--I refuse to be depressed!!!
Life is far too grand to waste time with that.
But I could use some help sorting out the contents of my over-full head.
Somehow this post was much funnier in my head.
Grey thoughts for a grey day
The day is made of greyness
Its belly is full of grey--
From the outside of my window
To the outside of
It is settling over the tops of the mountains in thick swaths of gathered humidity.
It is pressing outward from the thoughts I cultivate and coddle.
The greyness of my heart beating has pressed out into the world and filled it with this color.
The sky tries to give light
The world won’t let it in.
And my soul is winning this battle for the canvas of the world.
My soul is expanding and will not always be grey.
There aren’t any more questions
The answers have already been given
Is too far.
Will never be again.
Letting go is impossible,
I wrote that yesterday and decided it could be posted.
There are changes on the horizon.
I wish I could swallow a rainbow--
an anitdote for this greyness which has permeated me.
Instead, I stand like a deer in headlights.
Afraid of this, afraid of that.
I am a lucky star, though.
Desperately seeking beauty sleep... HNT
One would think...
that eventually I would either stop blogging or start being more organized.
One would be oh so very
And if one would, then two definitely would.
And if two would...then you can imagine the complications that might arise from three, despite how Hot it sounds.
Why is it that when I put the children to bed they are not IN BED???
This is so highly against the norm of our lives that I am about to lose my mind.
I really hate the disruption that the step son's presence causes on his weekends.
The little ones idolize him and really have a lot of fun, but...
the entropy factor is raised to the 14th power when he's here,
and two 6 year olds plus one 10 year old somehow equates 10 times as many minor injuries inflicted upon each other.
Little footsteps pounding down sets of stairs have the most profoundly searing effect on my meditative state.
God couldn't be bothered to give me even one daughter, oh no, he had better shit to do, like let Dubya fix a couple of elections.
kids back in bed,
mom feeling better.
I am fairly certain that I will sprout wings at some point.
Flying and being winged have been two themes of great recurrence in my writing.
Here are the lyrics to my new favorite song:The way I'm on your mind, like a ball and chain
Like a destiny to run from
Division in your soul (in your soul), keepin' you from whole
I can bare to see you crying
The weight that lays on your shoulders
Could be the wings that carry you home
Sometimes you've got to die to be born again
Sometimes you've got to fight
Sometimes you've got to learn
Sometimes you've got to burn
The old brush out so the new can grow
The weight that lays on your shoulders
Could be the wings that carry you home
Yeah, come on
Could be the wings
Could be the wings (carry you home)
Could be the wings (oh)
Could be the wings (carry you home)
Like to long, lost friend?
Like to love, lost friend?
Like it too long, lost friend?
The weight that lays on your shoulders
Could be the wings that carry you home (carry you home)
Come on, come on
It's a strange time of year.
Or a strange phase of the moon, or something.
Everything's topsy turvey,
the chaos makes it all so clear.
What? I need something to do while that paper writes itself!
What? I need something to do while that paper writes itself!
So this picture was taken and sent on Wednesday, but for some reason it chose not to show its...face...until now.
It's no Fantasy Friday, but it'll do.
I must, however, point out the fact that my chin does not look great from underneath while I'm scrunching my neck all up in order to look down.
...I'm the only one who saw anything but boobs, aren't I?
Click here: 25peeps.com
Because I still have that paper to finish up...
You're getting Vintage Housewife, something from last MarchBest laid plans
of mice and men--
or even just of those who plan to get laid...
Anywho, our plans to ski were usurped by,
but I won't say a word.
Instead we went to a movie and did a little shopping.
It was nice, but my lingering hangover and the lingering snow from last night's storm, have me feeling a little grouchy.
And fighting to keep my eyes open.
-framed pictures from france trip
-organized junk drawer
-got new towels
i can see the sky reflected in the upper corner of the on-but-unwatched tv.
there are piles of cumulus against blue, with light pushing through, making the edges of those clouds shine.
if I turn my head and look out that dome-shaped window above the large, shuttered rectangle windows, I see only crisp blue sky.
I love that I can see something else in its reflection...
Aren't we all more than just what's on the surface?
mmm...some of us are.
I am so sleepy.
My eyes are heavy.
I had lobster last night.
one whole Maine lobster.
it was deeeeeeee
now I must blink my way back to this page.
it was a wonderful dinner--
can't beat the company, and the food of course was marvelicous.
Yes, I'm into "-licious" today.
and I wouldn't mind a little licious in me. wink wink.
Ok, so anyway.
The evening was groovy.
I had raw oysters for the first time.
No crazy sex ensued, so I think I'll assume it's a myth, a legend, a tale-o-wives.
A blatant lie, or a harmless exaggeration.
It certainly did remind me of the final move in giving head.
my ankle twisted today while I was standing in line.
stupid fucking shoes.
it aches, dully.
not unlike my heart does sometimes when I think certain thoughts.
Should I post when I feel like sleeping?
but now I have a whining child.
I juuust sat down.
we've been painting and snacking and hanging out in the kitchen,
but now that I'm up here trying not to sleep, I am being attacked by the killer whine.
ok, it's over.
He thought I should come find a game for him on the internet.
I though I should lay here and do nothing.
a bit of a conflict, eh?
please tell me I'm a lazy selfish bitch.
I dare you.
I'll unhinge my jaw and shove you into my mouth, feet first, and gnaw at you with my 12 rows of razor-sharp teeth.
I'm no bitch.
I'm a baracuda-python-black widow.
I remember watching pool championships with my last set of roommates before I got married.
Zeke said something about the black widow,
and I asked if she was from africa and her husband had died.
isn't it grea tto know that I've always been a smart ass?
some things never change.
I am actually not as grumpy as all that.
I haven't started reading that book yet, either.
I know I should probably blog right now...
but I don't have anything to say.
I will not promise to write later.
I will not promise to write a better post next time.
I will not promise anything, today.
I am happy, but busy.
Go forth and be the same.
I just read the poem I'm going write my paper on...
My heart is still stuttering.When You are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
-William Butler Yeats
Holy Shit, people.
This paper's gonna write itself!
After the above proclamation,
I felt I had earned some more free time...
since I've spent the entire day just fucking around.
What an idiot I am!!
I sent a braless picture from my phone, but it hasn't come through yet, so watch for that.
I'm showing up on25peeps.com
So go view me.
"I woke up this morning with a poem on my lips--
but then I blinked, and it was gone."
it's still whispering through me.
I think this poem will be with me for a very long time.
My heart is full with the words of it,
such a long poem, with all its letters jammed into the chambers of my heart.
It's a long, lean poem.
It's a more-beautiful-than-the-sunset poem.
I want it to be written in braille across my entire body...
so we can be read together, my poem and I.
I want to make love to my poem...
I want it to rearrange its letters so that it shouts out my name,
and then lands in puddles of bent and bruised syllables all over my flushed and glistening skin.
I want this poem to be tattooed in a spiral wrapping around my arm, ending at my collarbone; the perfect spot for lips to graze.
My poem is full of love--
love...but made of love.
My poem is my muse, and I am its.
I have to finish some homework and an article...
this grasshopper played away the summer and is now feeling the sharp bite of winter gnawing at her heels.
Happy Tuesday to you--
The power of a song selection
how some songs can bring you to your knees.
And others can drain the blood from your face.
Some songs make your heart race, or your skin warm.
Some of us are moved by songs, and by moved I mean--
I mean lit on fire and burned down to the embers.
I am talking about the way the notes scuttle through the narrow passages of your nervous system or march across your chest with heavy feet.
Not everyone has these visceral, tangible--
encounters with aural pleasure.
Or pain, as the case may be.
And it is fucking cool to discover someone who does.
On a related subject...
I remember once
(Yes, I've been tumbling down the hilly part of memory lane lately, so what?)
when a boy shared a song with me, and it made me feel special, but then I learned he shared it with the other girl he was dating, too.
I was reportedly more special to him than she was.
But, then, that was just what his friends said, not what he said.
He wisely kept quiet on the matter.
(I had another boyfriend, too...it was a sticky situation, and I believe I've mentioned it before, but who really cares??)
Sometimes I think I miss the dating scene for all its fun and excitement--
Then I rembember the deeply piercing sting of situations like that and I praise every jesus mentioned on Talladega Nights for blessing me with a good marriage.
I don't think I am as fragile now as I was when I was single, but if it's all the same to you, I don't think I'm going to bother finding out!!!
Fuuuuuck, but that would just suck a sweaty ballsack.
I guess the moral of that story is: men are pigs.
Amen and pass the potatoes!
It's been a great weekend.
Lots of fun and stuff.
That was pretty fucking vague, wasn't it??
I dare say that's all you're getting, so deal with it.
I am finding my brain numb from the degree of hardness with which I partied,
and I'll not be bothered to sort through the files to determine what really happened and what I hallucinated.
I did not, however, hallucinate the double rainbow, captured by my stupid phone (see below).
I was thrilled to discover my resolution settings could be raised a bit,
so we go from "tiny, shitty cell phone picture" to "small, shitty cell phone picture" which is truly celebration-deserving.
The point is...
my life is too busy to go on vacation, and yet I am.
Two weeks from today we will have arrived in Florida for our fabulous Disney World thanksgiving trip.
I am excited...
it's going to be exhausting.
Which is ok by me.
The kids have no idea what they're in for!
I can't wait to see them react to the wonder of it all...
They are such little marvelers.
(I might have made that word up (Word up!), but it is the logical form for a word meaning, "one who marvels" so bite me. And you can bite me again if you're snickering at my cheesy, 90s hiphop reference.)
A play Tuesday
Book Group WednesdayGodsmack
...and let's not forget a paper and an article due by Tuesday,
some writing stuff for a friend's business due...last Wednesday...
and then there's that pesky History Independent Study class for which I bought 2 months of extension time...one month ago...and I still haven't started it!
Yes, moan my name and call me the goddess of your genitals.
I totally deserve that.
Oh...speaking of deserving things...
I was unnecessarily rude to some of my "neighbors" today.
Mormons, collecting "fast offerings".
I did it with a smile, but a "Hell no" and a door closed while they're still speaking (For the record, he wasn't being pushy, just saying, "Oh, you're not a member?"; dude was super polite. And kind of cute...) is still unequivocally rude.
as I said before, unnecessary.
But I've just sorta had it up to here
with all that crap.
I was in BED for chrissakes!
True, it was 1pm, and I'd been awake for at least 4 hours, and had already fed people and smiled lovingly at my husband as he conducted the boys through helping him with the dishes--
I had to get out of my most lurvely snuggle with hubby in our most delectably comfortable bed and walk all the way downstairs to be greeted with, "Hey, would ya like to give some money to one of the most lucrative and judgmental corporations on the planet?"
Fuck that shit.
Besides, mama gots a hangover.
What's in a blog?
...a whole lotta nothin'
Today is the second day of November.
And I would like to urge you all to remember, remember the--
5th of November.
It's a Sunday.
Keep the sabbath holy, etc.
OR blow up Parliament, if you want to.
I'm pretty sure that falls within the guidelines of sabbath-y holiness.
Do you ever wonder what I would be like on 'shrooms, or acid or something??
I should just be thankful that I don't have to pay for drugs,
or give handjobs for them.
I just naturally create them in my own body.
Yeah, that's it.
Either that or I'm so fucking loony that the toons wouldn't even hang out with me.
Ok, clearing my head...
I don't want to jinx myself, but it's that month again.
The one where people try to do something cool.
I'm going to try, too.
I can't say what it is, but you can check my bored housewife november 1st posts and figure it out, I imagine.
Don't say a word...
I'm hoping that if I don't say anything to anyone I will actually follow through.
Me and my stupid-ass superstitions.
So, how'd ya like all that cryptic crap??
yeah, me too.
clearing of head...
I took the boys out around the neighborhood,
and we had so much fun.
The weather was perfect,
the kids were good (and very, very excited),
and right before we got back to our house Oliver pointed to the sky and said, "Mom! What's THAT?"
It was a shooting star.
It was beautiful, and we both made a wish.
I forgot mine already, so maybe it'll come true...