stream of unconsciousness

I HAVE MOVED!

2010-12-28T15:52:00.000-08:00

Come check out my new digs.

I am here.

And be sure to bookmark the new URL. Or better yet, just subscribe so you don't miss a moment of my rambling. Click above or go to www.GlitterandCombatBoots.com and click on "subscribe".

I'm lazy. I get it. Happy Holidays.

2010-12-24T14:29:00.000-08:00

Thanks for coming back. If you don't want to sit through me talking, below that is a video of a goat that sounds like Jerry Lewis.

American Beauty

2009-03-31T21:19:00.000-07:00

Things happen exactly as they are supposed to.

I often forget that.

I tried to watch American Beauty years ago, getting to the almost-end, just as Mena Suvari tells Kevin Spacey that this would be her first time, and he wraps her in a blanket.

I can't remember why, but at the time, the movie was turned off and I never got to see the end. And I knew Kevin Spacey would die, I just didn't know why. Or how.

Several years back, I dated a guy that listed this among his favorite movies. But, despite my asking, we never watched it together, and we broke up a short time later.

It would never have occurred to me that I wasn't supposed to see the end. Not either of those times, anyway.

I tried to watch it twice today, once this morning, the second this afternoon. However, the DVD on my computer wasn't playing along with me. So I went about my day, and finally cozied up with a martini and a leather chair this evening in front of the flat screen in my house and watched it in its entirety.

And now, I'm sitting here with tear-stained cheeks and vodka and olive juice on my tongue, and I understand why the universe didn't let me see the end until now. I don't think I was ready.

Its impact was significant, and I think that has a lot to do with where I am in my life right now.

I've never been married, I don't have kids. I don't have a house of my own, or a well-paying job. Most of the relationships I've had in the last 5 years have been an absolute disaster, because I can't seem to find myself attracted to the ones that matter. I'm almost 35, and I have no real social life to speak of - partly due to the fact that I prefer to be solitary, but also because I forgot how to be how other people think I should be.

I should be lonely, I should be lost. And for a long time, I was. But I don't feel any of those things now. I love that I'm here, and I love what I've become. It certainly isn't where I expected to be at this age, but I admit that I don't envy the things I don't have. I'm working on myself now, and I can't say that I've loved myself as much as I have these last weeks. I've found that surrounding yourself with people and things often distract you from feeling things and discovering yourself. And, though I didn't ask for it, that's where I've been for the last years. And it feels really, really nice.

I don't know if martinis replenish tears, but I'm having another anyway.

Thank you for reading, and I hope there is happiness for you to uncover as well...

My Plot to Marry Seth MacFarlane

2009-03-22T11:30:00.000-07:00

I pretty much knew it was love, oh so many years ago while I was watching Adult Swim. It was late at night, I may or may not have been drinking, and this beautiful gem of a man was channeling Masterpiece Theatre. He was seated in a home library, surrounded by shelves of old books on mahogany shelves, fireplace cracking behind him. His rumbly voice a sweet, soft growl as he sat in a high backed leather chair, tucked in a silk smoking jacket and a pipe resting between his soft lips.

The connection I felt was instant. Pure and primal, and went way beyond the previous one-sided, childish sexual feelings I felt for Zach Braff and Chuck D. This time, the feelings tore through my body and fractured my foundation. I vowed to have him.

Up until recently, I didn't have much of a plan. Honestly, I still don't have a plan, but I'm more hoping that I'll get lucky and fall into spending eternity with him without having to do much work to get there.

The other idea is to find out if he's already married, in which case I can just abandon the whole thing.

I actually had my chance to ensnare him across a crowded ComiCon. He was sitting at the Adult Swim table signing an autograph for a woman twice his age. I stood idly watching from about 30 feet away, silently breathing in his magnificence. I considered my plan of attack. Would I continually walk past his table until he asked me if I was lost? Perhaps. But that would run the risk of him finding me retarded. Would I ask to borrow a pen. Or maybe his cell phone? That way I could dial my own number on it, having his number show up on mine, and cementing my number into his call history? Better still, I could accidentally pour a bottle of water on my shirt and ask if he had a clothes dryer. Or maybe he would let me borrow the shirt he was wearing, and I could absorb his smell in its fabric, admiring his soft, pale skin as we stood alone, right in the middle of the convention center.

As I pondered my options and gazed longingly at him, he looked over at me. And I froze, paralyzed that I had been caught drinking him in with every ounce of my being.

Unable to look away, I waited for a glimmer of secret understanding between us. And moments later, he gently raised his palms and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Okay, dumbass, don't stand there like a mongoloid. I'm sitting right here, so just come over and say hi. You're obviously smitten with me."

I did what any reasonable woman in my position would do: I ran away.

I look back now and realize I should have pulled the wet shirt stunt. But I can't turn back time, and I can't deny that my chance may never come again. But this post is a vow to myself, and all of you reading, that I can overcome fate. If my destiny won't put him in my path again, I will put myself in his. I will seek out that which was meant for me and only me. And I will not let any obstacle get in my way. And I will also bring a smoking jacket with me in case he doesn't own one, because having him wear nothing but that would be super hot.

I don't know how, or when, but he will be mine. And if I should fail, I can always try and marry Todd McFarlane - he would be a decent runner up due to his similar last name and that he also has ties to the animation community.

If anyone can help me with my charge, please reach out to me. I accept paypal for those who wish to donate to the cause, and I would welcome any contacts that may be childhood friends or babysitters or anyone who might have spare keys to his apartment. And my law enforcement connections (*coughjenniferaaronandbeccacough*), if you guys could run a clear and list, a criminal history, and check counties in Los Angeles for locals on him, I would appreciate it.

Until then, I am going to brush up on stalker How-Tos and dream of that honey-voiced demigod, his silk covered arm reaching out to me from across a geek-filled ocean of comic book collectors.

I am at least 18 years of age (CLICK TO ENTER)

2009-03-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

So, I got a new job. Few of you know, most of you don't. I was going to say not to read this if you are worried about thinking of me differently. But truly, if this post changes you, I'm shocked we were friends in the first place.

I got hired a few weeks ago at an online adult DVD rental company. It's X-Rated Netflix, if you want to look at it that way.

I had a lot of reservations about working here, mostly because, like many people, I had preconceived notions about what working with adult DVDs would be like. After that, I got worried about how it might look to have this job on my resume if it didn't end up working out here. I started to worry about what people might think, and then realized I really shouldn't give a shit. If I'm okay with it (and I found out that I am) then everyone can be happy for me or piss the hell off.

I'm sorry to say (mostly for Aaron's sake) that it's very much like any normal office. Unless you stopped to look at DVD covers, paperwork, or boxes of promotional material, you might think you were working in an insurance office. A very laid back, fun insurance office, maybe. But nothing that slaps you in the face with porn every time you look around.

I handle customer service, and creating multiple shipments every day. It's a routine, and has more to do with order and timing than anything else. If someone in shipping gets held up, it holds me up, and then everything's off for the rest of the day. Likewise, I can hold them up if I'm not careful.

But it's pretty low stress, and a comfortable place to be. The people that work here are fun, the boss is very cool, and the two guys I work closely with are pretty fab. In a way, it's a very normal job in an abnormal environment.

When I told a friend I got hired, his response was, "Oh yeah. That fits you." Naturally, I needed clarification. He pointed out that throughout my adult work life, I'd had nothing but unique jobs: radio, auto parts, 911 dispatcher, prizing and marketing website. I hadn't really noticed that before, but I have to admit he has a point.

It's not like I go looking for strange jobs.

The one thing that has been a little weird for me is dealing with people who have worked in this environment for a long time, and aren't fazed by much anymore. I'm sure at some point, I won't giggle at DVD titles, or be shocked by photos and video scenes. But at the moment, I'm in a bit over my head.

For example, my boss was across the room the other day asking me about a particular shipment to a customer.

"Which shipment was it?" he asks me.

It took some great courage and a few moments to get the words out, but my answer was, "Anal School Tryouts and Ass Intruders Volume 17."

Since then, I have seen some titles that put the above to shame, and I suppose I will get used to it eventually. For now, I try to keep the snickering to a minimum. It isn't easy.

Those of you who know Aaron can imagine how elated he was to find out where I got employed. He was the first one I told. I don't think I have ever heard Aaron so happy. As he put it, he felt like "a fat kid in a candy store." And it is because of Aaron, and in his honor, that each day I take a photo of a different DVD cover and sent it to him from my phone - Aaron's DVD Cover of The Day. If anyone wants to be part of the mailing list, send me an essay of any length on why Aaron should let you be part of ADCD and he can approve or decline based on his own criteria.

I know Aaron was hoping for multiple blog posts about my job, and I'm sure they will be forthcoming. I don't know how much is too much at this point. I could do a giant post about all the things I learned the first week I was here, but I'm still in shock from most of it.

Now please excuse me while I get back to work and locate Horny Ragin' Asians.

Evidence

2009-03-14T19:57:00.000-07:00

As promised, photos that go with this blog:

The Package

2009-03-12T22:11:00.000-07:00

I stopped by my post office box today to find out I had a package waiting for me. I wasn't expecting anything, but I was hoping that it might be addressed from The North Face. And it was.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the beginning of this story, you can read it here.

Immediately, I grew very excited. After all, they sent me something apart from a letter telling me to piss off.

Minding the warning that I shouldn't open the box with a knife or box cutter, I gently sliced the seam and wondered what color my replacement garment would be. Black, maybe? That's a safe bet, a neutral color that everyone likes. Or maybe it could be orange - I love orange.

It was cornflower blue, the very same color as my beloved yet deceased predecessor. In fact, it was the exact material. My old jacket sent back to me.

My excitement flatlined, and I knew, walking out to my car, that I would find a note inside from North Face telling me that I could keep what was left of my jacket and go directly to hell. At that point, I would have preferred them to keep the jacket and send me nothing.

Upon further inspection, I pulled out a sheet of paper explaining that they had sent me a bottle of Revivex from Gore Tex to re-waterproof the outer lining. And, to my utter amazement, the inside of the jacket had been entirely re-seamed.

Honestly, the condition it left me in was laughable. My dad got to see it, actually, and it truly looked like a wild animal had gotten to it. The inside was gutted, and the part of the lining that wasn't torn from the jacket and pooled into a ball in the bottom of the washer was clinging lifelessly to the inner hems, taping glue cracked and powdery hanging on every edge.

From a business perspective, I imagine it took more labor and money to bring this jacket back to life than it would have to send me something else they had in stock. I never really considered that they would take the time or effort to do it, but they did, without explanation or confirmation that anyone read my story that I was so very proud of.

In a way, having a brand new inside is like placing an 80-year-old's skin on a 17-year-old's body. By the time it wears out for good, the outside will have been around tenfold longer than is probably appropriate.

I've taken the steps to reproof the outside of my brand new, ancient pullover (did I mention that it's a pullover? They don't make them like that anymore.) Now I just have to wait for it to rain.

Guerrero Negro Part 6: Liquor and Produce

2009-02-27T11:18:00.000-08:00

Our last two days of the trip were the long stretch back home. We drove 40 miles down an shabby, dirt, out-of-the-way road to a town called San Luis Gonzaga to find a radio transmitter on a bird captured by Bridget that had stopped 'migrating' some time ago. There were some speculations between her and my father (read: a long standing bet) about why the transmitter never migrated. Was the bird dead? Did the transmitter fall off? Was the bird still alive and didn't leave the area for whatever reason? Something else?

Bridget had an aerial map with coordinates that the transmitter had been at frequently, and we searched the area for either the bird itself, a bird carcass, or a lost transmitter. It amounted, if not on a living animal, to a needle in a haystack in a way. Until I found out what transmitters cost. And I imagined looking for a bundle of bills amounting to $4000. I would hunt around for that much money in a wetland.

We didn't end up finding it, but not for a lack of looking. The mystery, and the bet, still stands.

After heading back on the same road we came in on (the only road out of the town), we headed back north towards the border. We stopped at a cheap motel, with water hot enough that it could flay the skin off of your body. I couldn't figure out how to turn the lights on or work the outlets in the morning, only to find out that the generator was turned off during the day. Trying to wrap my brain around that one, Bridget's voice chimed, "Yeah, why would anyone need electricity during the day?"

We stopped at a neat breakfast spot with a cozy, inside chiminea that we circled around with our morning caffeine.

Once we found the Otay Mesa border crossing, we found it much faster than the normally three hour long wait at the main crossing. We were tired, dirty, and ready for an early night and the sight of our own beds.

Bridget is a biologist that has worked with my dad previously. Working with my dad was lots of fun, but it was very nice to have some additional estrogen around. Bridget is a riot, and she added a rad dimension to the trip for me.

She was talking about a store (owned by a friend, relative, or stranger, I can't remember) called Liquor and Produce. We couldn't determine which came first in the store. Perhaps a produce store needed more clientele, or, because the store was in Utah, that it needed to add something more wholesome to the product list. Either way, once we discussed the random nature of those two items being sold together, we noticed lots of places and things that went together but probably shouldn't. And now back in the US, I'm still finding amusement in the odd things that are sometimes paired together.

This last post contains more than a pair - a smattering of the random bits of the trip that I wanted to share that didn't fit anywhere else. It's my liquor, produce, spaghetti, and blankets (bonus points for those who got the Mitch Hedberg reference).

First, a few more photos of The Hotel California, including the dreaded room 13 that Bridget and I shared, and some photos of the hotel in San Quintin that I had kite surfed at with my dad that we revisited:

A snack I found on the trip up but was too grossed out to try:

A giant cactus (notice the two, itsy, bitsy humans standing at the base - it's that freaking tall):

Some random birds (the one of the quail was taken by Roberto Carmona):

Salt, salt, everywhere. No wonder I felt all fat and swollen the week I was there. Plus, I added salt to my food - out of respect for the company, of course. Here is salt that we saw in its many forms, and a little bit of its effect on the environment:

Tonito, one of the resident coyotes, caused quite a havoc finding his daily meals. Here are a few of the gifts he left in his wake:

We got to hang out with some very friendly Pronghorns that were bred as part of a repopulation program. Though they had alfalfa to last for a millennia, they clearly had the taste for human blood. And my sweatshirt:

An example of liquor and produce - The Ecology and Workplace Safety Office. Because nothing goes quite as well together as shorebirds and wetland ecology, and paramedics and firetrucks:

There are very strict rules at the bunkhouse. My personal favorite is rule 2d - No drinking liquor in the rooms - uh, wish I would have read that at the outset. Oh, secondly, no scandals. Scandalous behavior is only allowed off the premises, please and thank you!

Diligently working:

This one lacks a bit of the actual weirdness of a beak's true flexibility. Still, nature rocks:

I really loved the people I met. Definitely changed the whole tone of the adventure:

Ending out lineup is a video of one of my favorite people from the trip, Martin. He works at the Exportadora, and was the one who allowed us to go out on the whale count. His spanish was nearly impossible to understand, but what I did understand was hysterical.

I had heard that Martin was the security manager at the Salt Company, but evidently there was another Martin, a Martin Garcia who was Martin's boss. Martin commented (and this had to be translated for me) that his boss looked amazingly like Squidward from SpongeBob Squarepants. I never got to confirm or deny that, but I did get a sampling of Martin's impression of him. And Martin, if you're reading this, I know you asked me not to put this on YouTube. You didn't say anything about Blogspot, mi palomilla:

The only proper way to end this post is to go eat a freshly made salad and three fingers of whiskey. Oh, and make sure not to do it in your rooms, or cause a scandal doing so.

Guerrero Negro Part 5: The Process

2009-02-26T11:54:00.000-08:00

We woke up early, had breakfast, and geared up to head to our last capture site of the trip. Everyone had been happy, well-fed, upbeat, and the entire trip went off without a hitch thus far. Which, of course, means that we were due for a snag. And that came in the form of an untimely flat tire.

The Isuzu Trooper that we spent most of the journey in, the same vehicle that Roberto and Victor broke down in on the way from La Paz, had held up fairly well since the breakdown. Despite Roberto's ballsy driving, not shying away from the nastiest of dirt roads or tight corners, we had yet to experience any issues once the car actually made it to Guerrero Negro. It was a miracle that a flat tire was all that was to come. Although "flat" wasn't terribly accurate.

More like shredded.

The sight of what once was our tire was fairly disconcerting, until I realized what our 'new' tire looked like. I envisioned driving on tacks with an inner tube, and feared plunging into a ravine somewhere, mounds of salt preserving my rotting corpse. To my delight, it held up nicely, and I didn't have to worry about seagulls picking at my remains.

After changing the flat with the bare minimum tools to do so (I took the lug nuts off, thank you very much) we hopped in our cars and back down the road.

On the day of the last capture, I decided to remain out of the fray to at least try and capture some of the process on video. While it doesn't convey the true chaos and adrenaline, it gives you an idea of what happens right before the net fires, through the events of the data circle.

This particular day didn't quite go as planned (I found that is usually the case.) We had barely decided on a spot for capture, and were merely hoping for success rather than expecting it.

We had all rounded up and were put in three groups. One group was to walk across the net area to the other side of the dike we were on, one group was to stay close behind the detonation point, and one would remain on the near side of the dike's edge.

I was placed in the first group, and we were all headed out to cross the net area when birds started pouring in unexpectedly. Everyone dropped to the ground where they were at and waited, nobody even close to their intended positions. Victor, chief net detonator, actually had to crawl military style to get to the detonator. Very covert. It was a stroke of luck, but one that came before we were ready.

The videos (two of them, due to photobucket restrictions) begin from there, and they sum up the few hours to follow, from the birds arriving, the net being fired on through the end of the capture day:

Once we got back to the bunkhouse and washed up, Bridget and I went out shopping. We ended up buying some delicious snacks and some Oso Negro vodka (which came with a set of bonus Stanley screwdrivers, which I hope Bridget has put to good use around her house) and we proceeded to drink it with mango and pineapple juice. That lead to the bigger expedition of late night pool playing. Those of us who were still standing headed out to karaoke until, if I recall correctly, close to 4am. And yes, I sang. And also yes, it was in spanish.

Needless to say, it was difficult to wake up the next morning. We all had a final breakfast together in the bunkhouse dining room and said our goodbyes. It was so great to meet and work with all of those people, and sad to say goodbye.

We headed out on our 2-day drive home, stopping in a town on the other side of the Baja coast to look for a lost bird transmitter. More on that, and the last installment of Guerrero Negro, entitled Liquor and Produce (courtesy of Bridget), to follow soon.

Guerrero Negro Part 4: The Capture

2009-02-16T13:16:00.000-08:00

Our second bird capture was one I would be present during. Due to the logistics and the location of the first capture, my team was herding birds south and ended up too far away from the net's location to see what we had caught until we hiked back down shore. Or, in my case, hiked back north returned to get the deathtrap of a truck we were driving that our team left and then drove it back down the beach.

The area of the second capture was a fairly wide beach that the biologists had scouted the day earlier. Around high tide, the birds would fly in and be pushed to shore towards the net, and compressed further by the two teams on the shore. We would get there while the tide was low to set the next, back off while the tide came in, and wait for the birds.

I was partnered up with Lupillo, a 22-year old student from La Paz. We were placed far back from the beach, barely able to see the net without binoculars.

Lupillo and I got along really well, standing by the deal we made that he was to only speak english and I was to only speak spanish. He behaved as most of the other students did - as though his english was much worse that it actually was. He needed a little prodding, and my refusal to speak to him unless he spoke in english helped (more accurately, I put my cupped hand up beside my ear and yelled that I couldn't understand him if he was speaking spanish. Obnoxious, but effective.)

Each of the pairs had a radio, and I was relieved to find out that Lupillo was in charge of ours. I was learning that my spanish comprehension left a little to be desired, even without lots of static, cursing, and ancient motorola 2-way radios with spotty batteries.

Walking to our post, Lupillo picked up an object on the ground that I would have never identified as something interesting, and handed it to me. The discussion that followed, each in our second languages, was fraught with details I missed. But I did understand the most important part - that the seemingly boring object was a shark's egg casing.

My first question was painfully strung together in spanish, telling Lupillo that I thought sharks had live births. He explained (most of it was in spanish - we gave each other mulligans, occasionally, when we were too frustrated to go any further and had to resort to our native tongue) that certain sharks do lay eggs, and others have eggs that hatch inside of them and the birth is then live. I suppose I could look on animal planet to get full details if I really wanted to. Aside from being certain that it was a shark's egg sac, I was pretty happy with being uneducated.

We got to our position, slugging through the mud with our rubber boots. Most of the biologists had boots that came all the way up their legs, like chaps, and the rest of us had knee-high galoshes. At first, I wasn't sure I needed them, but was extremely thankful for one of the employees of the salt company for forcing me to take them with me to the site.

Lupillo threw his backpack down in the muddy marsh and plopped himself down after it. Looking up at me, and wondering if I was going to stand and wait until the tide came in, he motioned for me to sit.

The muddy slop, when walking, fully covered my feet and was at least a few inches deep. I did a quick mental play-by-play and noted that I was wearing my last semi-clean pair of jeans, as well as pondered their absorbency level. Realizing there was no other choice, and regardless of what patch of land I sat in, or how gently I sat, that I would be wet, cold, covered in mud, and crawling in bog-critters. So I closed my eyes and sat. And the mud and water oozed up around my legs, butt, and back, and started soaking into my clothes.

After a few minutes of adjusting to muck-sitting, we started our "language lessons" we had begun the day before. They included regional and uncommon words and phrases, especially those that were never taught in english/spanish classes. For instance, a giant derogatory remark against women in Mexico is to refer to her with the spanish word for 'fox'. It can also be used between friends as a joke, sort of like 'bitch' or something similar. Of course, I tried to explain that calling someone a 'fox' in english is quite a compliment, although somewhat outdated. By the look on his face, my explanation was hazy at best.

Lupillo, out of either nervousness or boredom began nibbling on little nubs of this succulent plant that was growing all around us. He handed one to me, and i bit into it. It was the consistency of a grape, and very salty. I found myself unconsciously grabbing them while we talked, biting into them, and throwing them aside. Sort of like swamp sunflower seeds.

After a few hours, the tide was coming in, and coming in fast. I had to go to the bathroom at this point, and knew I needed to go quick before the net was detonated and we all had to run and help. Feeling embarassed, I mentioned that I had to pee, and was at a loss for where to go. A fleeting thought was to just GO since I was already sitting in a puddle of mud. But Lupillo told me not to worry, to walk about 15 feet behind us. I stood up to ask how that was going to help, since we were in a flat marsh field with a highway on one side and a beach of people on the other. Lupillo smiled and waved me on and announced, in spanish, into his 2-way radio:

"Sharon is going to pee, everyone, so all of you look at the ocean."

I had to wonder what was worse: having a few people spot you peeing from far away, or a whole entire team of biologists getting an announcement outloud on their 2-ways that you're peeing and that they should look away.

About five minutes after, we got a fuzzy radio transmission, that many birds were in range of the net but some were too small a species and would be killed or injured if the net was set off. So again, we're left to wait.

After a long silence, Lupillo grabs my hand and his backpack with the other, and pulls me up and towards the direction of the net. I walk cautiously behind him, crouching as he does. We get to a dry, sandy patch close to the beach when he slowly sets his backpack on the ground. I do the same. Then over the radio comes "tres, dos.."

I didn't hear an 'uno' over the sound of the net detonating and the resulting chaos of people running towards the net to get the birds. I started running as Lupillo did, but even with bare feet, he was to the net long before I was.

Once there, half the people pick up the edge of the net that's in the water and slowly walk it into land, herding the birds underneath inward, so as not to lose any of them. The other half of people grab modified laundry baskets covered with fabric flaps and began filling them with birds.

I realized I was little help at this point, since I couldn't tell the difference between the species of birds to know which ones to keep and which to release. I make sure that everyone had a basket near them to put birds in, but mostly I just stood there trying to not be in the way.

To make matters worse, my dad told me to grab the few dead or injured birds and bring them to him. I looked to see where he was pointing and noticed one, bleeding and missing a wing, that was hopping sadly on the sand. Being the sappy, uber-sensitive girl that I am, I walked over and gently cupped it in my hands and handed it to him, my eyes welling with tears. Noticing my slow pace despite everyone else's speed to finish the task, my dad looked up at me, took the bird from me and dispatched it, and realizing he had made a mistake, quickly assigned me another job.

Once the birds were in baskets, they were carried to the car and a circle of chairs was set up. Two of us had clipboards, to transcribe weights and lengths, one person weighed, two people measured the beaks, legs and head, a pair collected and organized blood samples, and two more placed colored bands on each bird before letting them go.

The circle itself was a weird assembly line. Numbers were shouted out in spanish, and birds were passed from person to person. It was a constant flurry of talking, counting and joking, measuring birds and then eating the occasional ham sandwich, ceviche or carne asada burrito, plus apples and fresca, all packed in a freshly prepared cooler each day. We ate, we counted, we scribbled.

The weirdest thing to me was the bird-weighing, which was my job the first day. The logistics of weighing a bird didn't really occur to me other than: a) put bird on scale and b) read weight.

What you don't realize when you don't work with birds at all is, how do you keep a bird on a scale long enough to weigh it without it jumping/hopping/flying away? You do so by placing said bird in a juice container, modified to place a bird inside. Do they like the juice container is another question, which after a few hours and 80 birds, I am certain I have the answer to. They don't.

Once we did our counting, and I got a few awesome rides out of the 4-wheeler that we had, we headed back to the bunkhouse. Nallely rode on the back of the ATV with me on the way home, and if she was afraid, she didn't show it - apart from warning me about upcoming speedbumps, yelling, "Topo! Topo!

We have one more day to catch birds, and then a 2-day ride home. The chefs at the bunkhouse are starting to warm up to me, and they know by now to give me a chocolate milk after dinner along with the students from La Paz. Then comes billiards followed by sleep and a 6:30 wake up call.

dominance

2009-02-10T14:26:00.000-08:00

mexico continues tomorrow (sorry for the loss of continuity..)

in the meanwhile, i was sunning the savage today, and thought he might like to see himself in the mirror. instead of seeing the handsome thing that he is, he displayed dominance over the male in his reflection. i was delighted to see that he can hold his territory when necessary:

Christian Bale Out - best video evah

2009-02-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

my friend mike black made this. watch it, or he'll kill you in your sleep:

intermission

2009-02-09T14:06:00.001-08:00

taking a break from the Mexico adventures, here's a letter i sent to The North Face today, along with one of my favorite items of clothing:

Dear Esteemed North Face Warranty Employee:

The following story is true. If you don’t have a love of non-fiction, please pass this epic tale onto a coworker, or someone else who might enjoy such a short, but exciting read. However, don’t overlook the fact that destiny has placed this manuscript into your hands for a reason.

My Super Rad North Face Jacket and Its Untimely Demise by Sharon Farmer

Back in the 80’s, my dad, an avid outdoorsman who liked to take his family camping, purchased a super rad pullover shell from The North Face. It was sky blue, fit perfectly, and was made of a somewhat new (at the time) magical material called “Gore Tex.” He didn’t know this at the time, but that jacket would keep him warm, dry, and happy.

Until his daughter grew up. That’s where the trouble would begin.

His youngest daughter was also fond of the outdoors (growing up in Colorado, one has to be.) She liked to camp, and ski, and often stand in front of her house just for the sake of being outdoors. She recalled this super rad pullover jacket that her dad used to wear, and she called him.

“Hey, Dad. Do you remember that incredibly awesome blue North Face shell that you have? The pullover one?”

“Yup. I still have it.”

“Can I have it?”

“No. I’ve had that jacket forever. Why do you want it anyway?”

“Because, Dad! I super love it, and will wear it way more than you will. Plus, I’m super poor, and you can go buy yourself a new one if you want. In fact I think you should. Just give that one to me and get a brand new one!”

“I don’t want a brand new one, Sharon. I like that one.”

“But Dad, it’s a PULLOVER. They don’t make them like that anymore, I checked. Please, dude? I never ask you for anything. Well, I RARELY ask you for anything.”

The back and forth, dad and daughter arguing went on for a few years to the same result. The stubborn father would not relent, and kept the jacket to his selfish self, super selfish father that he was.

She didn’t know it at the time, but the nagging would slowly wear him down, and he would eventually give up, as he had like, a crapload of other North Face jackets and other outdoorsy stuff, because he spends way too much time at REI.

She asked him again, as she periodically did, despite her feeling that she would never win (she had moved to Vail, and although she was fairly equipped for mountain weather, still was in need of outerwear suitable for the rain.) This time, he gave in to her wishes, though not very agreeably. And she drove 2 hours home to get the coveted blue jacket. And her mom made her lunch.

Years later, she had moved to San Diego and took the jacket with her. They say it never rains in Southern California, but it does. It SOO does. Matter of fact, it’s raining in San Diego as this story is being typed.

She put the jacket on a week ago and noticed that the taping on the inner hood was coming undone. In a panic, she called her friendly neighborhood REI store to ask what they would use to retape the lining. They directed her to North Face’s customer service center.

She called North Face’s customer service number and spoke to a shy, but friendly man who told her to send the jacket in to their warranty address and perhaps they could retape it or send her something comparable (even though it was a PULLOVER, and they don’t make them like that anymore. Maybe I already said that. Damn shame, though. Pullovers are awesome.) She explained that it was close to, if not more than, 20 years old, so although they say there’s a lifetime warranty (she is totally aware that it’s not the buyer’s lifetime, but the standard lifetime for a super rad pullover) that she was concerned about how it would be receieved. He tried to console her and convinced her to send it anyway.

So she got it ready to send, and figured she wouldn’t want to send it dirty, since that was no way for a package to be opened, with unclean contents. SHE wouldn’t want to receive a dirty jacket from anyone. Or dirty any-clothes for that matter. So she figured she would wash it first, and then send it, as that was a way more polite thing to do.

She checked the washer after a regular wash cycle, and was shocked (and a bit devastated) when she opened the lid. Two questions rushed to her mind:

“How the hell did a cougar get into my laundry room, and why would he do this to my favorite jacket??”

Her questions would go unanswered as she stood there surveying the one piece of clothing she had fought half a lifetime to obtain. And with a sad farewell, she packaged the jacket up to send it anyway, knowing she would probably never see it again. Moreover, she expected that upon receipt of the jacket, the recipient might laugh at her, or worse, pity her misfortune. But maybe, she thought, that same someone might be awed that a super rad jacket like this still existed, and love the sight of seeing it and its cool, vintage Gore Tex tag in the hood. Or that same someone might send her another one sort of like it, as she still buys North Face gear despite the fact that she’ll still pretty poor years later. She certainly wouldn’t refuse a new jacket, she thought. Nor would she refuse a short note from the recipient of the package, even if it was only to tell her that she would never make money as a writer, nor do they think she should get a new jacket because she doesn’t deserve one. Or because lifetime warranty doesn’t cover a wild cougar/laundry room situation, and she might have more luck nagging her dad for another one, which he might only give her after another 10 years of asking.

The End*

*This story is entirely true, as the writer of the story is also the lead character, and is also ME, who is writing this side note. I can vouch for every one of the events above, except maybe for the cougar part. I didn’t see any evidence of a cougar, in particular, aside from just general speculation. In fact, I’m not even sure that cougars are native to Southern California. Despite my lack of evidence, I have labeled the contents of the inside of my jacket as “Cougar Evidence A.”

Most Sincerely Yours,

Sharon Farmer

Guerrero Negro Part 3: The Whale Count

2009-02-05T13:32:00.000-08:00

We woke up to go whale counting with census people from the reserve. I was overwhelmingly tired, and more so knowing there was no bathroom on the boat – so no caffeine with breakfast. To boot, I had these black circles under my eyes that until today, I have never seen in the mirror. I don’t believe you’re supposed to get those on vacation.

We were picked up outside of the bunkhouse by a vanload of people, some of whom were employees of the reserve. Bridget and I occupied the last two seats in the packed vehicle and headed off to the boat dock, deep inside the salt company.

We arrived, and hopped out of the van next to a giant mountain of salt. Subconsciously expecting it to be cold, I put on a few extra layers before getting out of the van. It didn't occur to me immediately that I had to shake the feeling of the landscape being covered in white, there was no snow to be found. Snow or not, it wasn't as warm as you'd hope the southern Baja would be this time of year.

We began to load ourselves into one of the two boats the census was using that morning. Each boat would start on a different area of the reserve, meet in the middle where each of our areas transected, and head our separate ways to finish the count. As we were preparing to climb aboard, one of the salt company’s employees approached us and handed us a hefty sized rock, about the size of a grapefruit. He explained it was a whale’s eardrum they had found as they were trying to find a transmitter that had fallen off another animal, somewhere else in the reserve.

The boat was started up, and we headed off into the lagoon called, “The Rabbit’s Eye”. It was brisk, and the chilly water made it more so. We were rosy cheeked, bundled up in layers, and ready to spot some grey whales.

For the first few hours of the trip, the whales were sparse and fairly far from the boat. We could see them surface, sometimes with their calves, and blow water into a fine mist that hung in the air. Many of the whales were merely floating at the surface asleep, only a portion of their backs showing as they slept.

Once we headed out of the lagoon and into the mouth of the ocean, we could see and hear whales in the distance, spouting water, poking their snouts to the sky, breeching, and often behaving playfully – jumping as high out of the water as the length of their massive bodies.

We saw over 60 whales, some quite close to the boat. The prize for me, however, was a pair of dolphins that caught up to us and rode along with our boat for quite a while, staying right under the bow and then plunging forward, leaving me with a tail splash of water in my face, and smattering my camera lens with salt water droplets.

Back in town, we had a nap and did some market shopping for batteries, hot sauce, and more pork rinds. We ate a late dinner with the other biologists, as we always do, and opted for an early night. Tomorrow, we head to another lagoon in the salt works to catch Dowitchers and Red Knots with our cannon nets. It’s going to be another long, dirty, Spanish profanity-filled day of trapping birds in the sun. I need more rest than I can ever recall.

Guerrero Negro Part 2: The Start of It All

2009-02-04T14:33:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Guerrero Negro, unable to contact or find Victor, a biology student that was organizing this project. Unsure as to where to go or what to do, we went to the salt company security office to explain who we were looking for and find out where to go.

Unable to get anything informative, we left the office and went in search of food and beer. We found Pizzeria Lizardo, in the heart of Guerrero Negro.
As are most places that we have frequented, nobody was in Pizza Lizardo. I wasn’t altogether sure that it was open. Even after entering and hearing voices from the kitchen, I was shocked to find that they were serving, despite their obvious lack of clientele, and odd and garish décor that looked as though they were just moving in. In fact, they still had a Christmas tree – no evidence of lights, tinsel, or ornaments – just dry, sad branches that erupted dead needles to the floor when touched.

We ordered Tecate Light (which is as good as it sounds) and a pizza “suprema” which included carne asada, pepperoni, mushrooms, and onions. Shortly after ordering, a woman and a child that were in the kitchen left. We chatted for a while, stomachs starting to growl, until ten minutes later when both mom and child returned with a grocery bag and headed back into the kitchen. Shortly thereafter, we heard the grinding of a dough press, and realized that they had gone to the market for some, if not all, of the items we ordered. Fresh from the grocery. Friends, THAT is customer service.

The pizza was amazing, and we finished up and headed back to the security office. Once we got there, we were able to talk to Victor, only to find that he and his professor Roberto had broken down on the highway on the way from La Paz, and wouldn’t make it until long past midnight. We made arrangements to stay at a local motel – no Hotel California, of course, but soft beds and a warm shower.

The following morning, we met everyone from breakfast. The group included several biology students from La Paz, and a few employees of the salt company that owns the land the bird captures would take place on.

The company, Exportadora de Sal, is the second largest salt company in the world, next to one in Australia. They harvest about seven million tons of salt per year. The process is complicated, and includes thousands of acres of dikes and reservoirs that have different salinity levels. The salt water goes through 2 years of stages before it’s ready to harvest as salt, and eventually it’s loaded onto trucks, and hauled to large ships to be exported. The reservoirs and the surrounding area attract a lot of wildlife, including many species of birds, antelope, and coyotes, and are a prime location for the bird studies these students conduct each month. In fact, the land Exportadora de Sal is on is part of a much larger wildlife refuge that spans to both coasts of the Baja.

After an hour of introductions, mingling, and coordination, we congregated at the salt company’s security offices (which are also home to the ecology department) and we were split into three groups to do a bird count census. My Dad went by boat, his colleague Bridget, who had been traveling with us, went with the second group, and I went with the third.

We spent the day driving to different areas of the salt fields, scouting out different birds. A student named Nallely would look through a telescope and count birds while her professor, Roberto, scrawled in a notebook. I stood by and found interesting wildlife and things to photograph, as well as search the fields for interesting things. I watched as the pumps, with their deafening roar, churned hundreds of gallons of sea water into the first segment of the salt fields. Ospreys and gulls circled above, and the employees chatted in Spanish about their neighborhood coyote, Tonito, as I found remnants of his dinner scattered throughout the parcel.

We drove, and stopped, looked through binoculars, took photos, counted, and drove some more. Both Roberto and Nallely spoke no English, so although I tried to keep up with most of what was going on, I missed more and more of the details as the day went on and I grew tired. We saw Scaups, Egrets, Ibis, Osprey, Burrowing and Barn Owls, Dowitchers, Godwits, Grebes – too many birds for me to identify or name. We also saw a handful of coyotes, and played with a penned group of pronghorns that were all too willing to nibble on my sweatshirt and fingers.

At the end of a long, windy day, we all met back up at the bunkhouse and ate dinner. I don’t recall what I ate, but after a beer and a game of pool, I was content and asleep at an earlier than respectable time.

The next morning, we dragged ourselves out of our dorm rooms and met in the cozy, wooden bunkhouse dining room for breakfast. We ate eggs with bacon, juice, and toast, and after everyone had their fair serving of coffee, we jumped into the trucks and headed to a location we had scouted Marble Godwits at the day before. After a flurry of packing, organizing, and planning, we broke into groups and discussed the plan for the bird capture.

The idea was fairly simple – we found out where the birds were, keeping the activity and the noise on the beach to a minimum so as not to scare them off. A “cannon” net was set up near the water, and while someone waited at the net’s “detonator”, the rest of us would drive to either ends of the site and walk inward to herd the birds into the net area.

After some walking, lots of radio transmission, translations, and some Spanish profanity, the birds were gradually pushed into the net area by groups of us walking in towards them, and the net was fired.

From up the beach, we heard the cannon net and saw a flock of birds leave, but from so far away, it was hard to know whether we’d been successful. After returning to the site, we found our catch to be well over the hundred mark – more birds that we needed.

For the next few hours, we circled chairs in the sand, taking birds and passing them down the line, one person weighing, one person measuring wings and beaks, one person taking blood and one person recording data.

Once we reached 84 birds, we ended our count and passed the time watching seagulls and brant geese, and eating ham sandwiches until the truck arrived to load the gear.

Dusted in sand, salt, and bird shit (and some feathers and a dot or two of injured bird blood) we returned to the dorm to shower, rest, and relax before dinner. I opted to shower, and then drive the rental car through town. Knee-deep in a Mexican pork rind obsession, I picked some up along with some Tecate and some time at the terminal at an internet café.

Back at the bunkhouse, we met and talked about the day’s success, ate a plate of steak, beans and spinach, and chilaquiles, and finished up with more billiards, and a plan for tomorrow.

Bridget and I will be accompanying Martin, a local biologist, and the census that are conducting a gray whale count early in the morning, while my dad stays behind to help the birders. We expect to see several hundred if not a thousand whales, and a crisp, windy day on the ocean. My mind and body are tired, but I don’t expect to fall asleep easily.

Guerrero Negro Part 1: The Long Drive

2009-02-03T15:43:00.001-08:00

Due to my recent increase in free time, my dad, a retired wildlife biologist, asked me to accompany him and a colleague to a town 10 hours south of the border of Mexico to capture birds with some biology students from La Paz. They had helped him in the past and were exercising their due by inviting my dad down south to help with a species he had previously worked on. Because I have no job, and not too many uncancelable social engagements, I packed some clothes, hiking boots, and a book for the long drive.

The drive itself wasn’t too bad, mostly because it was broken up between two days. The first day was spent chatting, shuffling the iPod, and storytelling until we reached a town before the halfway point called Camalu.

Once we arrived at Camalu, it was evident that the day of flying (for them) and driving (for all of us) had taken its toll and it was time to stop and sleep. We weren’t sure that it was the town to stop in, but we were worried that if we didn’t stop there, we might be stuck with driving through the night. A random guy at the first gas station we stopped at recommended a motel one block further down the road called Hotel California. That seemed decent enough for my companions, however I wasn’t convinced.

“Hey, guys? Does this seem like an ominous idea to anyone else?”

Nobody expressed any real concern, and turning down the dirt road following the signs, I couldn’t help but try to shake Don Henley’s voice out of my consciousness.

About 300 meters down a dusty road littered with palms, there began a string of Christmas lights. They lead to a small, tight entrance of the miniscule but inviting motel. Driving into the small compound, more lights pierced the awnings, strung on the brightly lit courtyard. A neon “open” sign shone above a hand painted scrawl of “Oficina.” Nobody, however, was in the office.

After we got out of the car and looked around, a man named Rodolfo rounded the corner with a case of beer and said he could be right with us. Asking if we needed rooms, we were informed that there were only doubles left. And only two rooms at that, exactly the number we needed. Rooms twelve and thirteen.

Being the adventurer I am, I called room 13 before anyone else could answer. I figured if I was going down, it was going to be all the way. Go big or go home.

Our room smelled like the pink powder soap they used to have in elementary school bathrooms, and the bathroom was awash in the scent of blue toilet disks. The sheets were so bare, you could see the mattress stitching underneath, and the wooly comforters had been washed, at some point, and been placed somewhere wet long enough to gain that smell of fabric mildew that never washes out.

The walls were thin, the water wasn’t terribly warm, and it was a cold night, but the Hotel California was great, complete with chatty proprietor, Martiniano. I loved the keychains that the hotel keys were attached to, and he immediately went and fetched me one to take with me.

Back on the road with a hearty wave to the hotel, we stopped at a breakfast joint in the next town called “La Mision.” Relatively new, and extremely out of place, the building shined with new rock pillars and bright, sherbet colored walls. Camereros in jackets and ties stood at all areas of the restaurant with arms clasped at their backs waiting to serve us.

I ordered a glass of orange juice, so freshly squeezed that it hadn’t been refrigerated. The crab omelet with chipotle cream sauce that followed was amazing, and I was certain I wouldn’t eat that good again for some time.

Down the road we stopped for off-road photo sessions and market wandering. In addition to cactus photos, a trip to the beach in San Quintin where my father and I went kiteboarding last summer, and a coyote sighting, we picked up some snackies and headed down the road. Several hours and many hundreds of kilometers later, my belly had been filled yet again, this time with Mexican pork rinds, Coke Light, and some Choco Rolls. To date, I have eaten more pork rinds (or chicharrones, as they are called) on this particular trip than my entire life combined. No regrets.

We arrive in Guerrero Negro later this evening, and not sure who we’re meeting or where we’re staying. The plan is to meet up with a guy named Victor, who will give us entry to the “bunkhouse”, which is a sort of dormitory on the grounds of a salt company. We don't know where to find him, how to get in touch with him, or what time he will be getting to town. But despite the unknowns, we are all pretty happy to be absorbed in new scenery and a new culture.

We’re on a long, warm road, behind overloaded pickups and reckless semi trucks. Tall cacti flank both sides of the highway, lizards dart across the pavement, and large birds keep a close traffic watch, perched on roadside fence posts.

the big sleep

2009-01-23T21:47:00.000-08:00

i am tired. so tired.

the weeks following christmas were blurry, washed in a nyquil coma and too much and not enough happening.

i'm finally free of the cold and trying to assemble 2009 into a workable year. i still don't have a job, a home, or any certainty that things are going to go right. but i am calmer, more organized, and a bit more optimistic than i was at the end of last year.

i have had so many little things transpire, but nothing coherent to write about. it's something like looking through your fridge and cabinets, and having lots of little items that go with certain things - too much, actually - but not enough to make a single decent meal. or blog, in my case.

and i don't necessarily have one today either. but the last few nights, sleep hasn't come very easily despite how exhausted i am. i just lay there and think of what i have, what i don't, what i want, what i need, etc. i figured putting something down here might steal the last breath out of me so that i can sleep immediately when my head hits the pillow.

i'm traveling to guerrero negro tomorrow. if you're looking at a map of the baja peninsula, it's about halfway down the pacific coast where the the shore makes a backward "c" shape. my dad, the bird biologist, has requested my help (which isn't entirely accurate - there will be other biologists there from different countries) finding a certain species of bird he tracks and help put those fancy little bracelets on (though nowadays, they get neat little radio transmitters attached to them. such a great fashion accessory!)

i don't know that there's much down there, aside from salt pools and mexican beer. but i will take photos and blog some if we actually get internet service (i'm crossing nothing at this point.) it's a good 10 hour drive over the border, so i'll be elated if we make it, much less have amenities.

i've let go of a lot of things the last weeks, and i plan to continue the release for the next 10 days. i have packed a journal, hiking boots, and some sunscreen. i'm sure they'll have bottle openers down there..

winter

2009-01-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

this one sounded different this morning.

"..your name is the splinter inside me.."

a bad idea

2008-12-24T06:06:00.000-08:00

i'm all for taking shortcuts if it's going to get a task completed faster and just as effectively as doing it the long way.

but even i have my limits.

don't be an idiot, like this guy.

happy holidays, all!

stop the breeding!

2008-12-19T11:52:00.000-08:00

overpopulating the earth on your own is obnoxious and annoying. it makes me want to send people to places where they take your children away if you have more than one - this family is my first, second and third choice for such a measure.

knock that shit off already! it's not like you're creating more carl sagans or niels bohrs or marie curies, for fuck's sake.

whoopsie poopsie

2008-12-18T23:01:00.001-08:00

i got so excited earlier in the week about my 100th blog post. well, yeah.

evidently i never got around to reposting all my original blogs here. there are A LOT that didn't make the changeover. i will transfer them over, with original time and date. so if you're in need of retarded ol' stories from days of yore, they will be up soon. and there's lots of good stuff in there.

as for the celebration, i'm way over the 100 mark. not sure how far over. oh well. happy unbirthday to me, i guess.

check archives later for lots of hysterical fun entertainment.. edness.

are they kidding?

2008-12-18T20:24:00.001-08:00

i've never been a big fan of burger king to begin with, but they ain't doing much to win me over with meat-scented body spray.

meat-FLAVORED? totally different. i'd dig that.

louis wain

2008-12-17T20:49:00.001-08:00

restaurante Only Bass

2008-12-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

i've wanted to blog this for a long time, but i found i never had the energy. i still lack the energy and ability to make it as real as it was, or as good as it should be.

this post is my 100th post, and is a big milestone for me, i wanted to make it special. i was hoping to tell a story that was ridiculous, amusing, uncomfortably funny as some of my experiences are. but i keep coming back to this one, and i doubt it will stop circling around until i type it.

i can say with all sincerity that 11 years ago, there was a night i expected to die.

i traveled with my folks to honduras. we had been to costa rica previously, and would go again years afterward - we had already gotten rid of our central american training wheels and were pretty comfortable being in a third world country. even honduras, which i was hesitant to travel to based on my knowledge of the county's unrest during my childhood.

honduras turned out to be a wonderful country, not too unlike costa rica. the food was similar, the landscape and climate the same, and friendly folks for the most part. the possible advantage honduras has to its neighboring country is far fewer tourists, but otherwise you might never have noticed you crossed the border.

even though i speak a decent amount of spanish, it was always intimidating for the first few days traveling. it took time to get the language into your head, and there are some associations you have to rearrange.

the first time i got off of the plane in costa rica, we walked into a dilapidated airport with boxes and trash, and a whirlwind of people all yelling in spanish too fast for me to comprehend. men in street clothes would grab your bags from you and take off with them, and it took a while for me to realize that cab and bus drivers don't always wear uniforms, and they aren't ambassadors of kindness. they have a job to do, and they do it expeditiously. it doesn't really occur to them to take the time to introduce themselves or tell you what's going on. you have to keep up.

i quickly realized that my brain associated run-down buildings, poverty, and general uncleanliness with crime. i don't imagine i would be the only one who might do this unconsciously. but once i was aware of my fear and what was causing it, and then realized the economic climate of the country, it was easier to relax. it didn't erase the shame i felt for even bridging thoughts akin to affluence together with safety, and the converse however.

my dad was very good about taking us to places that were less traveled. we would scoff at luxury resorts that we drove past, with their huge stone walls to keep the golfers and housewives safe from the common folk. i never understood why you would go to a fascinating new country and hide in a fortress of day spas and eggs benedict. you might as well save money and go to the same resort in myrtle beach, i figured.

we would stop at the scariest of "convenience" stores, called pulperias. they consisted of a tiki hut-ish shack with an array of snacks, glass-bottled fanta, and cigarettes of every shape and kind. i would plunder through the racks looking for ridiculous foreign candy to try and load up on pineapple soda and galletas.

i was 23 when we took our trip to honduras. we spent the first week driving around, shopping at local artisan fairs, eating fish and gallo pinto, and trekking through the rainforest (sidenote: my mission was to find a poisonous snake, as central america has three of the world's five most deadly. with my indestructable hiking boots, i would purposefully veer off the dirt path into the dense foliage - i knew i wouldn't find an eyelash viper right on the trail. my mom would be 15 feet away but not visible though the tropical plants and trees, but you could hear her say, "sharon, why can't you walk on the trail like a normal person? if you get bitten by something deadly, i'm not coming in after you." unfortunately, despite my aggressive searches, a giant boa in a tree 20 yards away was all i saw. poisonous snakes, my ass.)

we arrived at a place called lago yojoa. i had to use the phone (i can't remember why, but it seemed important at the time) and the cabins we were staying in didn't have phone service. the main house had a phone, but it wasn't working. it wasn't out of the ordinary, since we might as well have been in the middle of nowhere, far from paved roads and technology. the only luxury we had was electricity, and that was only for porch lights and boiling water.

we stayed there a few days, and during our travels, we kept seeing a restaurant called "restaurante only bass", as though that's all they served. however, the sign posted outside boasted at least 10 other items they sold, like hamburgesas, pollo, jamon, and many other non-bass items. the contradictory sign was a great source of amusement for me.

our last night at the cabins, we decided to eat at only bass. the novelty had turned into a curiosity, and we couldn't resist checking it out. it was down a series of winding dirt roads without streetlights about 3 kilometers from our cabin. we started out at dusk with a flashlight and walked to dinner.

one strange thing about central america was a fairly constant reminder of how out of place i looked. my mom was nervous and defensive at least once a day with people staring at me. at the time, my hair was halfway down my back and a bit more vivid orange than it is today. i had some kids come up and touch it and hear their teacher tell a group of other kids, "mira la peliroja!" she noticed i overheard her and she said, "sorry, we have just never seen a redhead before."

the most common occurrence was being hissed at on the street. it wasn't a hiss as much as a catcall of sorts. we would walk down the streets of the capital city, and every 20 feet or so hear "tss tss tss" come from three or four men at a bus stop or pulperia. at first, i thought it was because we were american, but as my mom pointed out, they never heard that when my they went out without me. i got leered at on a regular basis. i didn't think too much of it, and i got used to the stares eventually. i'm sure lots of other american girls, namely blonde and tan ones, got the same treatment.

we walked up the long road to the restaurant, and arrived as it was getting dark. from the road, the place seemed inviting, with levity, music and light erupting from the inside. as we walked up, however, it felt less and less welcoming. and as we mounted the porch, the entire place silenced and people got up to stare.

the noise level rose again, but it didn't return to normal. i couldn't help but feel that it was a locals only joint and nobody was excited to see us. the place was packed to the gills, and whispers and laughs started to seep out to us, still standing on the porch.

my first (and second and third) instinct was to leave. i wanted to turn around, walk back to the cabin and go without dinner. it wasn't that important to me, and i was satisfied with only the evening walk. looking at my mom's expression, she felt the same. our exchanged glances said, "let's get the hell out of here," but my dad was resolute.

he was always the one to tell us we were being silly or stupid if there was unfounded fear or trepidation about something. and to his very logical thought process, unless there was hard evidence to back something up, feelings or emotions were misleading. they could poison you from experiencing something because you were too girly, overthinking things and jumping at shadows.

without consulting either of us, he announced that we would stay, and the waitress shoved her way outside the screen door to us, seating us on the front porch - as though we weren't welcome inside. which was fine with me, as there were only two tables outside, one on either side of the front door about 15 feet apart. i wanted to be as far away from the people inside as possible.

i ordered a gin to calm myself and perused the menu. i made a few half-hearted jokes about all the not-bass items they had, trying to replace the original curious and jovial nature of this adventure.

i hadn't previously noticed because of my self-consciousness upon arrival, but there was a guy sitting at the other porch table. i was facing into the porch, directly at this stranger and he to me. my mom was seated at my side, facing out into the front yard, and my dad faced me as well, his back to this man at the other table. i was the only one with a direct view of him, and began to notice him staring at me.

he was probably in his 50's, certainly a local. he was drinking beer and reading a paper. everything about him seemed unkind. his gaze was something between evil and lecherous. my dad's voice in my head told me to blow him off, ignore him, and enjoy my (damn) dinner. but as the minutes passed, i grew less comfortable. even after quickly polishing off my gin and ordering a second.

my thoughts were racing increasingly faster and i realized i wasn't concentrating on the menu. i don't think i had read much, except a serious absence of anything even fish related. our waitress was none to kind and even less attentive. she had us wait an extremely long time, and not in a take-your-time, leisurely kind of way. and i figured i'd best know what to order when she came as she wouldn't came back for a long time. and that meant our dinner would take an eternal amount of time - something i wasn't willing to sacrifice.

i don't remember what i ordered, but i knew i wasn't going to be able to eat it. my stomach started to ache and i felt vaguely nauseous. the liquor wasn't doing anything for my nerves, and eventually i stopped drinking that too. the place just felt bad. every cell in my body was aching not to be there anymore.

we started chatting about the day and what we had seen, and talked about our plans for the next day. i was only in the conversation sporadically. i heard my dad talking but all i could do was glance at this man over my dad's shoulder. every time i looked up, we was looking at me. shortly after we sat down, he changed seats to be able to face me more directly, which i didn't really pay too much mind to at first. the most unsettling thing, perhaps, was that he would never avert his eyes when i looked at him. and his gaze wasn't warm, or born of curiosity. it was dirty. it made me feel unclean.

the battle in my mind between my intuition and my father telling me to stop being a baby waged on while my parents idly chatted. my mom noted my silence and i replied that i was merely tired - and that the cocktail had made me more so. i was trying to do everything possible to not look this guy in the eye and go about dinner. my dad's rational voice in my ear told me there was no earthly evidence to suggest that this guy was a danger or threat, so i shouldn't let him get to me. it felt odd, to have my dad's voice talking to me, coaxing me into reality while he was seated across from me, totally oblivious to my situation. the last thing i wanted to do was make him aware of it, as the ridicule from him in my head was quite enough.

as my fear started to unravel me, the waitress came and brought dinner. though i wasn't hungry, it gave me something to do with my hands and eyes, it was a timely diversion.

i had a bite or two, trying to convince my body that it was being silly and it was time to eat. i mastered the art of doing what i never needed to as a kid, look like i was eating when i actually wasn't. and what a ridiculous thing to do at over 20 years old.

realizing how childish the entire situation was, i shrugged off as much as i could and readjusted my chair. how stupid to not be enjoying a jungle-enveloped outing on a perfectly warm night in an exotic place.

as though it was some non-fatherly force confirming my fears, a young boy ran up the path to the restaurant, in only khaki shorts - no shirt, no shoes. his calves and feet were dotted with dirt and mud. he couldn't have been more than 8 or 9, and ran up the porch to the man at the other table, giving me a stare as he hopped the steps.

i watched this man grab the boy by the shoulders and pull him down to whisper to him. the whole time this man was talking to the boy, his eyes were on me. and he was smiling.

i couldn't read his lips, and it make me glad in a way. and after a few sentences, the man pulled something from his pocket and gave it to the boy, shoving him off the side of the porch, where the boy leapt into the plants and, running, disappeared into the forest behind the restaurant - with the shiny silver handgun the man had given him.

i vaguely remember putting my fork down on the table in a slow motion blur. on one hand, this man gave this boy a gun - and knew i had seen it. but on the other hand, who does this? it's the sort of ridiculous shit that only happens in romancing the stone movies. i couldn't decide whether i had witnessed something that was either too stupidly outlandish or too frightening to justify.

i sat staring at my plate, now absolutely unable to ingest another bite. worst case scenario, i thought, we walk home down the dark dirt road and get held up at gunpoint. we get robbed, raped, and maybe shot in the head. because really, it was a perfect place for it. nobody knew we were there, there were no other tourists even close to us in this nowhere town, and the locals (and probably the policia) wouldn't give a shit if we disappeared. it didn't seem like there would be repercussions for anyone who wanted our money, our body, or our lives bad enough. it would be way too easy.

i tried to place myself into reality and not into the absurd movies i had seen, but it was hard to ignore the fact that i was an obvious witness to this guy giving a child a weapon and shoving him off into the rainforest instead of the marked path the kid came in from. but my thoughts were severed abruptly with my mom complaining that i hadn't eaten. shaking my head, i tried to sound exasperated so she'd let it go, "mom, i'm just not hungry. okay?" never looking at her, but just my uneaten swirl of beans and rice.

my dad clanked his beer down on the table, and i knew that i was about to get a lecture. he was clearly displeased.

"i know what's wrong with you, sharon."

oh fuck, i thought. here it comes. let 'er rip, dad. take over where your voice in my head left off.

"i know what he's doing to you," he said, in a voice just above a whisper.

"dad, c'mon. it's totally cool. i'm just tired and i'm not hungry. nobody's doing anything. i don't even know what you're talking about."

my mom looks at both of us as though aliens sat down at our table: total non-comprehension.

he sighs and continues.

"i'm not stupid."

"dad, you can't even see him!"

"i don't need to. i've been watching your face this whole dinner."

and suddenly our roles were reversed. and i sat there, quietly reciting to him that there was nothing wrong, i was being a baby, and there was no factual reason for me to be freaking out. that i was just tired and sensitive, and it was no biggie.

needless to say, i didn't mention the gun part.

in probably the weirdest moment in my life, my dad abandoned his life's stronghold on evidence and his analytical side. as i sat there dumbfounded:

"look, one of the strongest gifts you have is intuition. sometimes, you don't need to have a reason to feel like you do. you just KNOW. and for the last half hour, i've seen what happened to you, and neither of us need a reason. it is what it is. and you should trust it. now what do you want to do?"

part of me wanted to be brave, thinking it was the right answer - the one he wanted to hear. but the bigger part of me knew that i wouldn't be chastised for leaving - even if only this once.

my mom was still very lost and bewildered, and after a, "what's going on?" she looked at our faces and decided it wasn't the time to ask.

i took a deep breath and, earnestly looking my dad in the face, said, "let's go."

not having eaten their meals, and certainly not having our check, my dad didn't hesitate. to clue my mom in, he told her in the "don't argue, don't ask" voice, "we're leaving."

she shrugged and downed her glass of wine as my dad threw a random amount of money on the table. i stood up to leave and my dad motioned for me to stay in my chair.

very calmly and quietly, he instructed me to sit and wait. that my mom would go first, him following, and me last - which seemed so backwards. he'd never let be bring up the rear at any time. i guess that was the point.

he told me to stand and walk slowly and confidently off the porch, looking at the man the entire time.

"sharon, look at him until he looks away first, got it?"

it sounded like an impossibility, but as this point, i felt like it would be my last act of courage before i was sexually assaulted and killed in front of my dad a half mile down the road by the light of my own flashlight.

my ears were thundering with the sound of my heart, and i was resigned to the fact that the next half hour would be my last. the adrenaline was coursing through my entire body, and i watched my dad direct my mom up and off the porch, and he following.

it took every bit of energy and courage, but i got up, walked as slowly as i could. too slow, almost, to the point of swaying. and i watched him. as much as i wanted to tear away my gaze, i kept steady. and just as i approached him to turn down the stairs, he looked away. i walked off the porch and down the dirt path to the road where my dad was waiting.

he nodded at me, and we all turned down the road, snapping our beam of light onto the dirt we were kicking up. my mom started to ask, and my dad grabbed her arm. and we walked 3 kilometers in absolute silence.

with every sound, every snapping twig or rustle of movement in the forest, i flinched. every step, i expected to see a pre-teen boy jumping in front of me, pistol in my face. and it never happened.

nobody in my family ever mentioned the incident, and my dad and i both knew that it was the only time he would ever mention the validity or importance or emotion or intuition in decision making again. and though he'd never praise it after that, he didn't really need to.

skin deep

2008-12-11T21:28:00.000-08:00

the most ridiculous things, for me, come from tv these days.

i fear that eventually, tv will become reality ONLY. no more sitcoms, dramas, actors, scripts. everything will be reality tv. and i hate that.

mtv introduced their first game show, remote control, after years of music videos and music news. now, music isn't played on mtv or mtv2. remote control was the beginning of the death of music on mtv, as the real world will be known as the beginning of the death of traditional shows on tv.

that depresses me. a lot.

i was watching the show that comes on prior to nancy grace (which is basically the same show with a different angry woman host) shortly after the announcement of a child's remains found near casey anthony's home this morning. and the resulting charges against anthony for first degree murder.

one of the panelists mentioned that casey anthony would likely get an easier sentence, if found guilty, because she was "pretty."

i was a bit stunned and slightly outraged (as was the host) until the woman said, "i don't think it's fair either. but a jury is hard to convince."

and it makes sense to me, that a jury of americans would be more lenient on a murderer based on someone's level of attractiveness. and that's horrific and sad.

luckily, judges typically don't operate that way.

between small children killing their parents, people getting laid off in droves, the economy crumpling, and general increase of ridiculous, scary, chaotic events in recent years, it's easy for someone like me who knows nothing about the bible or its teachings to imagine what the whisper of eminent armageddon might feel like.

i feel like i'm a tsunami or earthquake away from abandoning all my belongings and buying a one way ticket to bali. unless that's where the tsunami's headed.

and if i ever make it home after the mass destruction, i'm sure in the rubble the only thing standing will likely be my tv.

pure comedy gold

2008-12-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

five of the best minutes you'll spend all day:

the big questions

2008-12-08T11:56:00.000-08:00

coke vs. pepsi

red vines vs. twizzlers

deniro vs. pacino

dogs vs. cats

coors lite vs. bud lite

moore vs. connery

elvis vs. beatles

ford vs. chevy

there's really no way to be on the fence on any of these. you're either one or the other, no halfway. the other choice is apathy for both, which, in my case, is celtics vs. lakers. i truly have no opinion.

but most of the above are very passionate decisions which, when combined, are very telling about the kind of people we are.

in my case:

i like coke. pepsi tastes like mule piss. when some waitress says, "is pepsi okay?" i'll drink it, but i won't be happy. luckily, most restaurants know better and serve coke - probably just to please me.

i realize most people think twizzlers are a wax flavored licorice, but fuck those people. twizzlers rock.

hands down, deniro. pacino never had a chance.

i'm a dog person. always have been. cats are all about their terms and it pisses me off. if i'm gonna pet you, you best be ready to let me and enjoy it. i don't have time to argue with cats.

maybe it's the colorado, john denver, rocky mountain spring water girl in me, but i'm coors lite all the way. i've tasted them side by side, and bud is awful. in all honesty, miller high life is magnificent, but between coors and bud, bud can eat it.

roger moore may not be as sexy as sean connery, but he's the true bond to me. that really, really pisses people off. but i can't help it.

i think this has a lot to do with who your parents grew up listening to. and though my mom listened to motown, there was not an elvis record in the house. there may not have been a beatles one in the house either, but i was raised a beatles girl. in fact, i had a fisher price record player with two 45s: tony orlando and dawn (tie a yellow ribbon on the a-side, and sweet gyspy rose on the b-side) and a beatles 45. not sure why a 6 year old got a 45 of helter skelter, but that's what i listened to.

i'm borderline apathetic about this, but if i had to make a choice, it would be ford. i have no evidence to back up my choice. but that's the joy of this blog. i don't have to. like a rock, people.

the cusp of change..

2008-12-05T18:26:00.000-08:00

the hourglass is emptying pretty rapidly at this point.

i have to find a new job and a new house in the next 3 weeks. oh, and a major holiday to travel out of town for.

the house (the location of, mostly) is contingent on a job i don't have yet. the waiting is the worst.

i have had a few great things happen over the last four days. something pretty broken in me got mended, and that has radically improved me in a lot of ways. and everything else seems in the realm of possibility.

i don't know how things will go, or when they will start going, but this new year will be the most significant "new" year i may have ever had. tangible changes.

more than anything, i've had a lot of kind words from a lot of people.

i've expected things to change for about 2 months now, and i think i'm finally ready.

prop 8 the musical

2008-12-04T15:20:00.000-08:00

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

timing

2008-12-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

at what point do you remain positive? when do you abandon trying to turn challenges into opportunities?

every time i turn around the last few days, i get another phone call or email of bad news. it just keeps coming. someone told me once that we never get given more than we can handle, but i'm realizing that's not true.

i'm more overwhelmed than i've ever been. and i concede, finally. i fold.

house arrest

2008-11-30T21:07:00.001-08:00

i have a few things to talk about, but not tonight. i'm weary, tired, sad, thoughtful. i enjoyed my time away, but i'm not ready to go home. i don't want to stay here either. i don't know what the alternative is.

i think it's fitting to follow up my 'hatred for the holidays' sentiment with a video.

the first night i was at my parents' house, i woke up hearing something that sounded oddly like the ice cream man - at 2 in the morning. it was not the ice cream man.

it was my neighbors xmas display. why i can hear it in my bedroom, on the second floor, on the complete opposite side of the house is infinitely puzzling. i'm guessing so that people driving by can hear it over their stereo, motor and closed car windows.

moreover, i think there is some city ordinance against just about everything they have done. the only thing they don't have is a fucking nativity scene, which i assume will go up eventually, since it's not even december yet.

these people didn't make me hate christmas. but they sure aren't helping (please make sure your volume is on for full, almost-like-you're-there effect):

thanksgiving - the most unholiday holiday

2008-11-25T17:11:00.000-08:00

i hate this time of year. if i had a dollar for every time i bitched in a blog about how the holidays suck, i'd have an extra five spot. but thanksgiving, though it starts off the holiday season, is the least holiday holiday.

and by that, i mean the most tolerable.

new year's is annoying for too many reasons to list in this post, valentine's day is a holiday ever-hated by me, and xmas is the worst. i hate ornaments, xmas songs, christmasy smells - my hell is walking through a craft store in december.

i think much of it is because i had a roommate who fancied herself martha stewart, back when martha barely had a magazine out. my roommate would start all these ultra crafty christmas ideas and then never finish them or clean them up until about april. it was like a xmas big lots puked in our living room.

i disliked christmas before then, but i can't recall when it began or why. at this point, the commercialism surrounding that holiday is wretched, and i get freaked out going out in public during the end of the year.

mostly, i just hate how grouchy people are. the most mean-spirited bastards come out near christmas, and they spew their hate all over everything. and these are the people who hang lights and claim to love christmas!

if all christmas was had me and a bunch of family or friends sitting around enjoying ourselves, i would be in - hook, line, sinker.

which is i guess why i like thanksgiving. it is a xmas dress-rehearsal, with food and family, and doesn't involve trees, or shopping, or garland.

my mom bought me a ticket home this year, and i wish i could say that i was vacationing free spirited. going anywhere since the layoff sort of stresses me out, like i should be home looking harder for work. so i hate to admit that i won't be as free mentally to celebrate as i could. but by jesus, i am going to try.

the departure time is creeping ever-closer, and i could tell if only by the frequency of my mom's phone calls. i've talked to her probably three times today. once was to find out what i would like to eat for dinner wednesday night, the second was to let me know she washed all my sheets, and both dogs, and found a few toys from my childhood that i should take home. i don't even remember why the third call happened, but i doubt that's the last one. oh, and during one of the calls, she told me that she picked me up a box of lo carb rockstar - yay mom!

if nothing else, i will come home fat. between her turkey and stuffing, my wednesday night crab leg dinner, cocktails and desserts at the neighbors, and the night out for sushi that my dad will insist on, i'm storing up for hibernation. oh, and the best thing about xmas dinner? the one thing my sister and i fight over (or used to, at least) there not being enough of? rice and gravy.

and yes, those go together. nobody i ever knew had gravy with their rice. it's usually mashed potatoes, from what i hear. i think it's a southern thing. but rice and gravy is so effing good, i can hardly wait. and, just for the record, if you make mashies right, no gravy needed.

i have some social events in the works as well, which reminds me of how few friends i have in san diego. between the extra weight and the social interaction, i'm going into mental overload. and yes, rita, i am up for whatever you want to do. just as long as we don't go to the starlight again. and if we DO, i am much older and wiser and won't get that drunk ever again. promise.

i'm sure a mid-holiday blog will be in order, as my family finally upgraded recently from dialup, to cable DSL, to wireless (which stupefies me - my mom just barely upgraded her cell from from a motorola startac.) so my computer will go with me, and send out some turkey day greetings. and, sadly, some resumes as well.

time travel

2008-11-20T23:11:00.000-08:00

i visited an army/navy surplus store in a part of town that nobody would ever drive to. unless, of course, it was the only place in town that had something you were desperately searching for, or if you lived there. there's nothing wrong with being there, it just - doesn't have much.

or so i thought, until i patronized one of san diego's only surplus stores. and i'm wishing there were some other reason to take me to that side of town, so i could find more excuses to meander amongst their goods.

in the town i grew up in, there was a really neat, dark, dirty, chaotic army surplus store on the north part of town called Jax. my dad would go there for fishing or hunting supplies, and i would always beg to go to see what neat things i could find buried in boxes under layers of dust that nobody had laid eyes on for decades. i loved previously owned military clothing, that had a mysterious life before i laid my hands on it, the only evidence of which (aside from the obvious wear) was a last name, rank, or number scrawled on the inside tag. i loved imagining the person who owned it and what they must have done, where they might have gone or what they saw while they were there, or if they were even still alive. in fact, many times you could buy any of these items new - but they never had as much personality as the used stuff. it wasn't soft, worn in, loved (or hated, i suppose).

over the last three decades, i'm sorry to say that Jax, while still an amazing store in its own way, doesn't resemble what it used to be. it's now a bright, inviting, yuppie catering, overpriced, mountain gear store, chocked to the brim with hundred dollar north face backpacks and snowboarding jackets into the $400 range. they have odd flavored trail mix and gourmet coffee beans. they may even have an espresso cart to satiate the caffeine deprived shoppers.

but if you look hard enough, way back in the rear of the store, you can find remnants of what the store used to look like. this is the area of the store where you won't find young, keen-clad moms with their babies in hip little backpacks. in fact, you will rarely find employees. but back there lay military issue laundry bags and canteens, snow camo and stuff sacks, worn out fatigues and nearly mangled combat boots. and its worth college avenue traffic and the 15 minute drive to get there, even if it is quarantined into a small, rarely populated room at the back of the store.

the place i went to today was everything Jax used to be, but about 100 times larger, and even less apologetic. so much gear was in that store that much of it was crammed together uncomfortably, and some things were impossible to reach. medals of every shape and size adorned the walls, and treasures ranging from dried pumpkin fish bait to those metal utensils that clipped together neatly, spoon over fork over knife.

but the true magic of the store laid in the never-ending basement. a giant, dark warehouse of clothes, mystery boxes, metal cases, netting, nylon rope, wool blankets of every shape and size, and many more items that i couldn't identify. it was awesome.

nobody worked in the basement, and in the two hours i was there playing, trying things on, investigating, i only saw two other people. and they both quickly scanned a few racks, and shortly thereafter sought the bright, safe retail space upstairs.

steel shelves a block long and 15 feet high stretched the length of the basement, six deep and both sides crammed with clothing, two items high. they were overturned monoliths of fabric and crossbracing. suits, jackets, and pants were packed so tightly that they could not be shifted sideways, only pulled off their hangers and down, never to fit back alongside their military issued counterparts. and it was comforting somehow, to see rows of exact duplicates, differing only in condition of wear, size, and name etched inside.

among the items were black navy issue wool peacoats. at a guess, i'd say there were close to 1,000, peacoats alone. multiply that by the fatigues, dress uniforms, and branches of the us military, and you end up with more clothes than you could hang in a lifetime. i was awed at the magnitude of their stock. it was overwhelming.

i was in search of a coat for my upcoming trip home. after 3 years in california, i don't have any cold weather clothes left. i figured i would canvas the surplus circuit before opting for a too-expensive columbia jacket from REI, as my budget is a little tight. i considered the peacoat route, as i had once owned a coast guard coat which i bought for 10 bucks at a salvation army. though it's arms were much too short, it kept me warmer than anything EMS carries on their shelves at the height of ski season.

after rummaging, climbing, unmounting from hangers, replacing, and re-rummaging, trying on jackets of every color, shape, size and fabric, i found a blue, canvas parka with a fuzzy removable lining. it donned buttoned straps on the shoulders and small flags on each arm. every button, snap, and buckle was accounted for - a rarity after years of hard wear and tear.

it was too big on me, so i set it aside and searched for more. the one i found appeared to have been separated from the rest. but after an hour of exasperated scouring, i gave up and hoofed back up the concrete stairs into the light of the store, jacket in hand.

"um, excuse me. this doesn't have a tag on it, and i couldn't find where the rest are."

the somewhat ambivalent clerk explained that it was most likely the only one. it was an east german coat, and they didn't really see much of them anymore.

i explained to him that was hardly possible, since they had at least 300 of anything down there. but he remained firm, assuring me that the one i found was most likely the only existing one they had.

despite it being too large, i couldn't ignore the fact that in a packed dungeon full of decades-old forgotten items, i managed to find the only coat of its kind. a true needle in a haystack. how do you leave that behind?

it's not pretty by any stretch. and i don't know much about it, aside from that if it kept some guy in east germany warm, it would certainly carry me through any conditions colorado has to dole out this xmas. if it could only get me to DIA and back..

home security

2008-11-20T11:47:00.000-08:00

check out my new aftermarket, passive home security device:

eye candy

2008-11-17T12:13:00.000-08:00

a few hot women for your monday.

JENNIFER

ESTELLE

JENNA

JULIANNE

disarmed

2008-11-15T22:33:00.000-08:00

people who know you have a certain power. the ones who know things about you that you would rather erase. those people make a dent in your armor. regardless of how close you remain, or despite what has transpired in your lives, they still have the power to get to a part of you, for good or for bad.

they are the kind of people that ask innocent questions and aren't dumbfounded when your answer doesn't have anything to do with what they asked. and they sit silently anyway, watching whatever is inside you let loose its grip while hot, sticky tears stream down your cheeks and you forget what sentence you started.

at it's then that self awareness becomes pointless. as pointless as anything else. and everything that seemed important ten minutes before dissolves out of frame. you just sit, conscious only of your posture and that it's too late to wipe tears away, because you don't have much to hide from them anyway.

things are supposed to get easier with time. but time often does little more than give you new things to think and worry about. it just makes the older stuff seem tired - less relevant.

sleep is a great neutrality, however. gives the brain and the heart time to level the playing field before the next round of play. which is why i will take two helpings tonight, please and thank you.

the benadryl rant

2008-11-14T20:07:00.000-08:00

why have i never rambled on benadryl before now? brilliant idea. fucking diabolical.

"i was allergic when i wrote this, forgive me if.." well, you know.

i can't stand one more commercial about infants that can miraculously read through some fantastic breakthrough method that costs three easy payments. great, your kid is a genius. nobody cares but you. keep it the fuck away from me and stop it from crying in target.

debra messing is not hot. in fact, she's a man. how is it that she always has this perfect onscreen romance, and yet she probably has a cock? why is she so lucky? i don't have a penis. and my hair is naturally red. oh, and i can act. i have a degree that says so.

and fuck, all the goddamn hanson boys are married now. yet i remain single. and i ran into a guy the other day who, after after having chatted me up while i had a beer at my neighborhood sushi bar said, "if i would have thought you were straight, i would have asked you out." so i'm an obvious lesbian now? how do i correct that? the attitude ain't going anywhere, nor are the tattoos. my hair can only grow so fast, and i'm sorry i live in the gay 'hood. and hey, guy? if i thought you were straight, i would laugh and point about how you'll never know the joy of sleeping with someone half as hot as i am.

NOBODY CARES what new tattoos angelina jolie has and what they mean. NOBODY CARES about posh's new haircut or who got ousted on dancing with the stars. and NOBODY CARES who is on the OC, or the HILLS, or who will be paris' new BFF. well, wait - somebody cares. but i will punch anyone i know who falls into that category.

speaking of vacant trash, has anyone actually watched the pick up artist on mtv? my life is pathetic and rotten at times, but i don't need some sleazy jackass with long hair who wears a velour tophat to tell me so through an earpiece. that show is proof that the end is near.

and now, for the upside.. wait, do i have one?

i spent some time with a boy who lives in a frostier clime recently. he gave me a cd that was in his freezer (still not sure why). but on my journey north to my first post-layoff interview today, i put it in my cd player and track one made me cry. not because of him, or because of it, but just because. well maybe it was due to both. or neither. or everything in my life altogether right now. and i guess if you're having one of those moments, i say pull kings of leon out of your freezer, insert into cd player and drive somewhere..

i want my mac back. and i want an iphone. i mean, i don't even want a pony for christ's sake. really. i just want a job, or at least to know that money will come at some point before i get evicted.

better, i want to know that things will be okay.

to be fair, the benadryl is helping there..

dietary guideline #27

2008-11-04T04:49:00.001-08:00

if you could touch her at all

2008-11-01T11:05:00.000-07:00

Funny a woman can come on so wild and free
Yet insist I don't watch her undress or watch her watch me
And stand by my bed and shiver as if she were cold
Just to lie down beside me and touch me as if I were gold

One night of love can't make up for six nights alone
But I'd rather have one than none Lord cause I'm flesh and bone
And sometimes it seems that she ain't worth the trouble at all
But she could be worth the world if somehow you can touch her at all

Right or wrong a woman can own any man
She can take him inside her and hold his soul in her hand
Then leave him as weak and weary as a newborn child
Fighting to get his first breath and open his eyes

One night of love can't make up for six nights alone
But I'd rather have one than none Lord cause I'm flesh and bone
And sometimes it seems that she ain't worth the trouble at all
But she could be worth the world if somehow you could touch her at all

the things we do for money

2008-10-31T09:12:00.000-07:00

i was invited out last night to 'wet underwear night' at a local gay club.

at first, i was too tired, too broke, too 'blah' to attend. i had a drink with friends at a restaurant and went home, politely declining. i got home, relaxed, and realized that i was totally and utterly bored.

i buckled, as you might imagine, and showed up. jovial and content, i sipped a cocktail and admired all the attractive gay men filtering through the place.

not long after we found a great location with which to watch the show, an adorable man with a clipboard came bouncing up to us. he was recruiting wet underwear participants and had only one name on his list.

my companions implored me to participate. and the lure of a $500 prize was indeed tempting. but could i bare myself in all my curvy, voluptuousness to complete strangers? a crowd of them?

after some cajoling, i relented.

as showtime approached, they gathered all of us at the back bar for a bit of liquid courage and a few rules. our name would be called and we would take the stage. we could take our time stripping down to our skivvies and then step into the onstage shower. after that, the crowd would be asked to decide the winner.

if i had thought thoroughly about it before i agreed to do it, i probably wouldn't have done it. granted, gay men don't really care how tan or thin you are or that you aren't a statuesque blonde with huge tits, but they are fairly picky and can be downright mean. but none of this went through my head at the time.

i was third in the lineup. i was one of two women in the competition, the rest of the contestants being young, gay, and toned.

as my name was called, it became a blur. i recall stepping up to the stage and peering through the lights to see a much larger audience than expected - mostly men. i stalked up the stairs to pink's SO WHAT and flirted with the crowd under an array of bright lights and cheering onlookers. piece by piece, my clothes came off until i was left with bra, underwear and skin.

the time came to step under the shower of warm water, and i did so without hesitation. fear and trepidation never entered my mind, and i found that standing there, soaking wet and singing along with pink, i felt oddly serene. it was catharsis erupting in the oddest of circumstances.

i won second to a ripped young kid in tight, white briefs. it was the best loss i could imagine. and it didn't feel like failure for the remainder of the evening as i was approached by strange, gay men who commended my performance as "hot". i had more drinks than i knew what to do with, and a gift bag with a dvd of gay porn, gift certificates, and assorted prizes.

the part of me that was wishing she won a much-needed $500 quieted this morning as my friend karisse, who was there with me all the way, called to check in on me. when asked if she and her friend, an adorable gay boy who i had met an hour before the event, had a good time.

"yeah, it was fun. i took michael home last night and he said, 'this is the most fun i've had since i've been in san diego. that girl made my night.'"

moments like that transcend money. well, almost.

dog's death, john updike

2008-10-29T23:31:00.000-07:00

duplicate post, amazing poem.

Dog's Death

She must have been kicked unseen or brushed by a car.
Too young to know much, she was beginning to learn
To use the newspapers spread on the kitchen floor
And to win, wetting there, the words, "Good dog! Good dog!"

We thought her shy malaise was a shot reaction.
The autopsy disclosed a rupture in her liver.
As we teased her with play, blood was filling her skin
And her heart was learning to lie down forever.

Monday morning, as the children were noisily fed
And sent to school, she crawled beneath the youngest's bed.
We found her twisted and limp but still alive.
In the car to the vet's, on my lap, she tried

To bite my hand and died. I stroked her warm fur
And my wife called in a voice imperious with tears.
Though surrounded by love that would have upheld her,
Nevertheless she sank and, stiffening, disappeared.

Back home, we found that in the night her frame,
Drawing near to dissolution, had endured the shame
Of diarrhea and had dragged across the floor
To a newspaper carelessly left there. Good dog.

eBay

2008-10-29T14:06:00.001-07:00

d'you know those things you find on eBay and bid for, never really expecting to win them.. particularly if you bid on them before you lose your job and you're not too worried about income?

"my name is.. shake zula, the mic rulah.."

non-events

2008-10-27T20:42:00.000-07:00

i went to sunset cliffs last night. i sat in the cold and listened to how menacing and deafening the waves sound at night. the ocean seems more of a monster when all you can see are the frothy, white crests of the waves.

today was productive, but not exciting. a few moments ago, i sat and watched lost in translation and had a few fat tires in homage to my hometown. the movie, and the last week of my life, swelled all into a few disjointed thoughts. and i thought back to earlier today when i heard from a previous coworker that i'd be moving out of state. and i remind myself of why i'm solitary. nobody knows what i am, how i feel, or what i'm doing. and it makes me want to shove anyone who gets near me.

i'm angry, and apathetic. everybody seems to know what's in store for me but me. judgment, assumption, idle gossip. and all i really want to do is walk up to a stranger on the street and find out about them, hoping there are people in the world that still have something. and another part of me wants to wade out into the water and float there, falling asleep, dissolving into the water.

i got a nice text message. the air through my open door is crisp and cool. and the alcohol in my bloodstream has my cheeks warm and wet. fighting the urge to do anything else, i'll sit here in the dark and enjoy my own silence.

my first job offer so far

2008-10-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

thank you, myspace:

"If you've read my profile you know that I have a thing for seeing beautiful, dominant women like you puffing seductively on a cigar or cigarette, especially while topless. If you are into dominating weak men like me, I would love to do this scene with you in a private modeling session for which I would offer a $500 tribute for the hour. Note that this is for modeling, and there's no contact or any other illegal activity involved, and this would be very discreet."

emptiness

2008-10-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

as dispatchers, we dealt with a lot of emotions. we heard the worst in people, realized there were far too many awful things going on in the world that never made the papers. we walked and talked people through the most awful, scary, terrifying moments that they may only have once in their lives, and we did it over and over, ten or twelve hours at a time.

at first, parts of the job were difficult to get used to. you hear people's children stop breathing, feel the terror in a woman's voice as she whispers for help while her abusive husband sits unaware in the next room. you hear detailed accounts of sex abuse against someone's own child. you, through a phone line, sit in a room with someone who recounts as they are alone and a prowler is trying to get through their front door, or try to talk someone out of suicide knowing that you could say the right, or wrong, thing at any moment and change people's lives in a word.

after a while, each of us learned to cope in our own ways. we used laughter (as odd as that sounds) and each other. we couldn't think too much or dwell on anything, because it would slowly erode us as people. we did our best to keep people safe while they were in our care, often feeling like we were right there with them, experiencing things as they did. and often, when the responders took over and our part of the job was done, we didn't want to know how things turned out. sometimes, it was easier to disconnect emotionally when that phone line did and move on to the next call.

still, there were calls that each of us took occasionally that we couldn't shake, either because we had been there before, or that subconsciously the subject hit a nerve we would never be able to identify. for some, it was unbearable to listen to the sound of a parent's voice as their child clung to life. for others, a friend warning us of a suicide attempt from someone they loved was too emotionally staggering. and during those times for each of us, we turned off our thoughts and pulled out everything in our bag of tricks we could think of to save people, in often unusual and creative ways. and once it was over, we tried not to let the surge of emotion swallow us. because if we did get immersed in every situation, none of us could return to work for hours, days, or years at a time. we became the masters of being emotional people that could turn it off when needed. but it didn't always work.

late one night, a dispatcher of mine, and good friend besides, and i took a medical call. it was nearing the end of our graveyard shift, and we were the only two working until 7am. when a major event happened with two of us there, one would take the call as the other dispatched law, fire, and ambulance (as well as handling any other 911 calls that came in as a result, unrelated radio traffic, and any other 911 calls or holdup/burglary/fire alarms that happened simultaneously - coincidence, and poor timing, reigned at that job more than one might imagine.)

a woman called about her husband. they had been on a 40th anniversary vacation in vail and she woke to find him not breathing. as my friend walked her through giving him CPR, i alerted everyone in the area from police to paramedics and updated them on the caller and the victim's progress as they responded.

continuing to dispatch, i listened closely to the call and read the call-takers notes as she typed to get an idea of what was happening on the other end of the phone. the woman was continuing to administer rescue breaths under the direction of my friend, and excitedly exclaimed, "i think he's breathing - he's making noise!" to which the dispatcher on the phone said, "you're doing great, just keep giving rescue breaths," as she looked at me and shook her head.

there's a sound that a person makes in that situation that sounds like a lot like life, but it's not. it's an indescribable noise, often called a 'rattle' or 'gurgle', and for those who have heard it, know exactly what it means. my friend kept this woman's spirits up and commended her efforts as she continued CPR until the paramedics arrived and took over.

not too long after, one of the officers who met the woman and the ambulance at the hospital came into dispatch to catch up with us, as her shift would be ending as ours did. she looked ragged and tired, and had spent the last hour talking to the 60-something woman on an anniversary trip who had just become a widow.

the woman was as you might imagine. inconsolable, lost, bewildered. she was in a strange town that she had spent the last few days in with the love of, and the only person left in, her life. they had gone out to dinner, seen the summer beauty of vail mountain, spent two days enjoying life as any happily married duo should. and now, this lovely vacation town turned into a city where she was a stranger, knew no one, and felt utterly alien and alone.

i couldn't help but imagine what the next week of this woman's life would be like. she would return to the hotel they shared as she left it, with items belonging to her husband scattered through the bathroom, folded in the drawers, hanging in closets, items set neatly before bed on the nightstand. she would have to pack all of these items up and load them in into the car that belonged to her and her husband (and that most likely he probably drove while she sat in the passenger seat) and drive back to their home. and even there, returning to it as they left it for a wonderful journey away, all items put into their places - books hugging the bookmark at the bedside where he left off reading, sweater draped over a chair, coffee mug still in the sink.

and more than anything, i could imagine the feeling she must have had leaving town to return home, a feeling that many of us get while traveling - the sinking feeling like we had forgotten something or left something behind. and how the feeling she may have had was similar but magnified a thousand times, like she was leaving vacation and leaving the most important thing to her behind but not being able to do anything about it or erase the feeling away.

it's all part of the grief process, i suppose. but it's something you want to save people from, to help them fast forward through. because without those necessary awful moments, people might never make it through - those parts of life that feel unbearable at the time and that never seem to get easier. and through them somehow we hope that on the other side, no matter how far away that seems, things will eventually be okay.

i hate to say this..

2008-10-23T14:48:00.000-07:00

but i miss the cold.

it has been too damn hot here lately. too hot to do anything - take a walk, complain.. i'd go far as to say that it's too hot to think. certainly too hot to type.

this is the first time since i've lived in california that i remember wanting to be cold. to bundle up with a cup of something hot and snuggle in not too far from an icy window pane. to walk outside and feel cold on my nose, to see my breath. granted, i wasn't a fan of the snow - hence my decision to move to sunny southern california. but truly i don't mind seeing it, and i don't mind being in it as long as i don't have to shovel my car out of it daily. vail was a bit of overkill for me. delicate snow is nice. blizzarding over vail pass and having the roads impassible is not.

but i do wish it were cold here. rain would be nice too. anything but this 88 degree in late October crap that is happening. even my desert-dwelling reptile isn't happy. he knows he's supposed to be brumating and can't figure out why his house feels like July.

on a completely different note, i bought a turkey today, complete with stuffing, rice and gravy, and all those other yummy things that used to be on my mom's southern-cookin' thanksgiving table. i figured turkey would feed me for a while, and it sounded like a fun project (i learned how to cook one not too many years ago, so having it turn out well is still a bit of a novelty for me.) i just have to wait to start until later tonight or tomorrow morning so my house won't evaporate.

in the meanwhile, i have to get this laptop off of my lap. i'm already uncomfortable in jeans and having a heat-emitting electronic device on my lap is just not making me happy. i feel like filling up my tub with champagne, aloe and icecubes, though it would be easier and more cost effective to pull my shades, turn on both fans, and pretend i was in a vegas hotel room.

a few words about sex, and daylight

2008-10-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

my blog isn't cohesive at all, i get that. none of it has any underlying theme or purpose, and the only thing that remotely connects them all is because they were all going through my head at the time i wrote them. and while i think that's enough, the rules of being a serious blogger prohibit pretty much anything i do on any of my blogs. what's the harm in the occasional caveat? i'm not getting paid to do this. i'm certainly not gaining fame or accolades. i write in this blog because it's amazingly cathartic for me. regardless of what i write, i feel better. it's therapy. i'm sure, in fact, that if i wrote about something the world cared about, made my blog a little more professional and regular, and made it relevant and grammatically correct, i might get paid for it. that's for another blog and another subject, i suppose. in the meantime, sex..

talking about sex is so interesting to me, mainly because i'm not afraid to ask people about it and enjoy hearing what they have to say. i have some friends that get embarrassed or change the subject, and it's weird to have so many people that are really incapable of being open about it. i should note that, to my knowledge, i didn't engage in sex at all last night, or have any racy dreams. so i could ask myself why this came to mind, but like many things i think of, i have no idea. they just appear.

but for whatever reason i woke up today and started thinking about how the time of day is just as much a factor to sex as location and, this one could be debated, who you're having sex with.

having sex during the day is wholly different than any other time. for one, it's light out. there's more physical exposure, of course. the light ends up changing the level of intimacy - either more so because you're letting more of your flaws out there, or less so.. for oddly that same reason.

but daytime has an altogether different feel too, in that there's usually no alcohol, no dinner, no prelude.

even still, i'd say that having sex first thing in the morning is different than during the day - because of circumstance, past life (is that what they called it in theatre school? the 'what previously happened'? i can't remember.) all those things make such a giant difference. and having sex waking up in the middle of the night adds an even stranger facet to something that would at another time feel completely different.

so many people have this idea that nighttime is appropriate. but why? does it have something to do with some deeply instilled guilt that our parents taught us? would we be more apt to do something at night because it's darker? or 'safer'?

or we feel like we're less likely to get caught. surely crime is higher at night.

maybe it has nothing to do with subconscious guilt. maybe the darkness adds a mystery that we like. maybe it's more convenient, since everyone's shutting down for the day, decompressing. maybe it's something else altogether.

it could have nothing to do with sex. maybe it's just the intimacy. certainly any emotion would be handled differently at midnight as opposed to 3pm, good or bad.

i was in the northwest territories a few years ago at a time when it was daylight 23 hours out of the day. and that last hour wasn't even really dark. but when it's 1am out and you're having a cocktail when the sun might as well be blazing overhead just felt..weird. it's like we expect that light and dark, and are used to expressing feelings accordingly.

i have no idea where this is going. can you imagine what my therapist has to listen to? that woman doesn't have nearly enough paper.

daytime does make me feel more exposed in every way. i'm less reluctant to 'feel' things, i find myself more vulnerable. during the day i keep busy and try to keep the mind occupied on routine things. but somehow the night isn't all that much of a safety blaknet in comparison. i express myself more at night, i allow myself to really consider how i'm feeling. but at night, all bets aren't off. nights end, after all, and more more abruptly than days do - if you've even noticed.

since i have the time and the inclination, i should start doing things at the opposite point of the day they would normally get done in. i'm going to wake up and get a steak, maybe go dancing, sleep while the rest of the world is busy being productive, and then wake up at 4:30am to vacuum and make a bank deposit.

instruction manual not included

2008-10-21T10:03:00.000-07:00

this last week marked my first anniversary hired on at my job. i was a temp at the time. it was my first and only anniversary.

i knew it was coming, despite people's reassurances. i felt it. i didn't know what magnitude, or what the circumstances would be, but i did know.

it's hard to know what to do now. that was the only thing keeping me in this town. all my other ties have slowly unravelled over the course of years, and my job was what felt like the stake in the ground. so once that gets pulled up, what do you do?

i feel empty. directionless. sad. but there are moments i realize that the possibility of good is significant. i just need that feeling to be more prevalent than it currently is.

do i stay here? do i choose a random city on a map and head that way? do i take this opportunity to uproot completely or just make a series of small, beneficial changes?

it's hard to know what to do. and my outlook changes with the positioning of the sun. and i can't get this ridiculous quote from fight club out of my head, about being free to do anything once you've lost everything.

and while it's not everything, it sure felt like it.

fuck the sleep number bed!

2008-10-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

word of mouth about the magic comforting properties of my bed is increasing exponentially.

week at a glance

2008-10-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

i found out the hard way this week that this new medicine i'm taking, while amazing and life-changing, is not a miracle pill. sure, it keeps me awake enough to have a normal human length day. but as i discovered the last few days, just because i'm alert and awake, does not mean i am capable of doing whatever it is i want all the time. i still have to be careful of over fatiguing my body, and rest sometimes even when i'd rather be doing other things.

every inch of my body hurts today to an unbelievable degree. i feel like a parapalegic on marionette strings. i'm moving, but i shouldn't be.

well, for a while i felt immortal anyway.

i sent my mom an email letting her know when i could come home for xmas. instead of her excitement, she asked, "you can't stay any longer than that?" i thought 5 or 6 days would be sufficient, but evidently not. i tried to explain to her that i wasn't going on summer camp.

i got an email from my favorite politically incorrect law enforcement representative today, and here's an excerpt:

We had a guy kidnap his girlfriend over the weekend. Well, to prove he loved her, he smashed her twice in the face with a small sledge hammer. Apparently she didn't belive him after the love smacks so he stabbed her twice with a carpet knife. After that she realized that she really did love him....until she was able to get away.

i had this weird moment of nostalgia and longed to have dispatched any of that. seems that when i sat down in my chair and faced my wall of flat screens and donned my headset, people started stabbing each other. it was like a gift. i do miss it sometimes. and then i come to my senses.

as hard as it is for my to give myself credit for things, i was a good waitress. but i was a great law dispatcher.

i have a potential date to go on, but i'm rather apathetic about it. not him, specifically, but just the date itself. i will seize an opportunity to be social, but i just don't want to put the energy in.

and speaking of social, there's quite a large party in LA this weekend. it involves a bunch of guys i went to school with, a few of whom i haven't seen in over a decade. the rumblings of said party are exciting, daunting, and frightening. if i know nothing else, it's that these boys know how to make an event legendary. and that's the only reason i'm going to make the 2 1/2 hour trek to participate. well, also dependent on the likelihood of me having a couch to sleep on.

oh, and today is teef-clean day. i love the dentist.

today's post on my fantasy football league page

2008-10-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

Sharon shows Zoot what it's like..

ColdBlooded 117, Zootsuiter 93

The Chinese have a word for limp dicks, that word is Zoot.
Now Scott didn’t set his lineup this week, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway as Sharon rolls over him with strong performances from A. Rodgers, M. Barber and M. Harrison. Both A. Rodgers and M. Barber have been consistent for Sharon, ranking 3rd and 2nd in points at their positions. Sharon now sits on the top of the BC division with a 3-3 record. I posted this week’s picture thinking I could get a few laughs at her expense, but it seems that she has a bigger dick than Scott, Blake or me.

performance art

2008-10-13T15:03:00.000-07:00

shortly after i was hired as a 911 dispatcher, i came into work at 5pm. we worked in the heart of Vail, Colorado and our windows faced the ski resort.

upon getting into dispatch, i said hello to everyone and asked what had gone on that day (more than conversation, it was an important dialogue between shifts - to find out if there had been a fatality, domestic in progress, structure fire, etc.. something that happened in their day that would be crucial information for me to know before i started my shift.)

one of the senior dispatchers told me to look out the east window. i did, and saw the normal flow of traffic through the main vail roundabout. expecting to see some sort of accident, i looked back and her and said, "what am i supposed to see?" "keep looking," she said.

i stood and watched, and noticed that while most of the traffic was passing in, though, and then out of the main roundabout, there was a budget rental truck that continued around the circle without exiting. once, twice, three times. it made me think of european vacation, "big ben! parliament!" except this guy wasn't trapped in traffic.

"so, are you talking about the budget van? how long has he been driving around the roundabout?"

"since shortly before 2pm," she said.

to be sure, i checked my watch. had i come into work early?

but no, this guy had been doing constant circles in traffic for close to 3 hours.

"has anyone pulled him over?"

evidently, he had been. one of the officers had noticed him and pulled him over after watching him for 5 or 10 minutes. he had no warrants, a valid license, and current registration. technically, he wasn't impeding the flow of traffic or breaking any traffic laws. so the officer couldn't really make him stop driving in circles and had to let him go about his business.

probably the most interesting thing about this guy were the details that we, as dispatchers, would never know about until the officer came back to the police department and into dispatch to divulge the rest of the story - a cherished moment in our stationary, ten to twelve hour shifts.

this driver had rented a budget van and then rigged up, incredibly poorly and primitively, a camcorder over the passenger seat facing the dash board. the camcorder was pointed at a fishbowl there, complete with water and goldfish.

the driver's explanation for this strange centrifical fish videotaping was performance art. and at three plus hours and the price of gas, it must have been something he was completely passionate about. and it makes me wish i had a hobby that took that much forethought and planning.

poor fishy, though. son of a bitch was probably seasick as hell. or would that be carsick?

the big empty

2008-10-12T18:09:00.000-07:00

i've been sitting in front of an empty screen for about about 20 minutes. my head is so full right now, it should be easy to write about something. anything. but some things are too good to write about. sometimes putting things into tangible sentences wears the shine off of them.

i slept for a lot of the day, which was much needed - i haven't been sleeping well lately, and find myself up at 4:30 every morning, and then again at 6 and 6:30. Makes a too-early start to a saturday.

i am trying to come back to colorado for xmas. it's been a few years since i've seen my family all in one place, so i think it's overdue. all of you know i'm not a giant fan of the holidays, but i'm oddly looking forward to finding a jacket in the depths of my closet that is warm enough to get me through 5 days on the front range. it's not set in stone yet, but a good possibility..

in the meantime, i'm trying to value myself more, overthink things less, and just enjoy what comes at me without asking the whys or the what-ifs.

Take On Me (The Literal Version)

2008-10-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

my inbox got sad

2008-10-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

google has a new feature they will implement late at night called 'mail goggles' in an attempt for people to avoid sending drunk emails to people they otherwise shouldn't. if a user has it active on their google account, they must answer a series of math questions that if answered incorrectly will prevent emails from being sent. which means the mathematically illiterate will never be able to late night mail anyone.

in my opinion, they could have made it easier on everyone and just skipped the math problems and stuck to the plain ol' captcha, which i can't do at the height of sobriety.

so you know i'm not completely making this up, read about it here.

i'm going to have to start getting my friends drunk earlier in the day, or my mailbox is going to get boring. at least i'll still get drunk voicemails. though it's only a matter of time before they rig up cell phones with breathalyzers.

postscript

2008-10-07T07:49:00.000-07:00

it's disheartening to discover that, when push comes to shove, the people you have given too much of yourself to over the years are unwilling, or unable, to give back to you when you need it.

to be fair, the blame gets transferred at some point - and no longer is it their problem that they give too little or not at all that it becomes your problem for allowing it to continuously happen.

i try to remember that i'm not losing time, but losing only what i got in return. and it calms me in a way to know that from that perspective, i'm not losing much.

still, there's a decent amount of disbelief that occurs when you sit down with someone you've known for too long to ask for their help and they don't even give you the decency of an honest "no". you sit through a few lies and an excuse and wonder why you're even still sitting there. how can you ever trust anyone that can't look you in the eye?

i think overall i'm learning to let go of things that don't bring me joy or value. still have a journey ahead in that regard, but i'm heading in the right direction, one overdue goodbye at a time.

inventory

2008-10-06T15:25:00.000-07:00

if you devalue yourself enough, the people you surround yourself with will appear much more worthwhile than they are. like looking into a stuffed-full closet only to realize everything is moth eaten. costumey garments that look dazzling under bright stage lights, but are cheap, tacky, and poorly made when you pull them off their hanger.

my closet is full of the self-serving. i was foolish enough to think i could lead by example - at a much greater cost.

if you prove to someone that you can do anything, you will end up doing everything.

for nutritional information, call 800.242.6200

2008-10-03T12:48:00.000-07:00

i just ate a slim jim. the small size. and i have some stuck in my teeth. so i decided to eat another slim jim to assist in removing the meat sliver from my teeth. you know, kinda like using an iron and a sheet of wax paper to remove candle wax out of carpet? same idea. like sticks to like.

it didn't work. and now i'm on my fourth slim jim cause i brought a few backups to my desk in case. i didn't really think you could eat too many at a time, but it seems four is too many. the sodium is eroding my salivary glands. my tummy is mad too. let's see how mad he gets when 3 and 4 make it down there.

i've ceased working for the day. don't get me wrong, i'm still here. at my desk. acting as though i'm working. i type a little, i read slim jim ingredients. i type some more, i get a corona. wait, let me get a corona..

(time passes)

i had some cocktails last night, and evidently i'm drinking a beer right now. that makes alcohol two days in a row. i never do that. i always take a day off. usually several, but at the very least one. been drinking more lately. bad influences, i guess. internal and external.

i still have slim jim in my teeth. i have dental floss at my desk, but mint floss goes neither with fake meat nor beer. you know, they should make beef jerky flavored dental floss. mashed potato toothpaste. red wine mouthwash.

i feel like if i'm not productive at work, everyone else shouldn't be either. so i bother them. and i try to rally them away from their tasks at hand. sometimes it works. today? not so much.

i could take the leftover falafels from lunch. and the slim jims. and make an edible tinker toy sculpture.

no, better.

the air show is right across the interstate. perfectly visible from the third floor office. i'm taking my beer and going to watch the blue angels.

disappointment

2008-10-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

late yesterday evening, i made a trip to fashion valley mall and found myself overwhelmed with thirst.

perhaps it was because san diego was about the same temperature as the epicenter of towering inferno yesterday.

regardless, i considered what i might be needing to drink as i neared the food court on the way to the parking garage. diet coke crossed my mind, as rubios has the most delicious lemons at their soda fountain that, when mixed with diet coke, create an amazing taste sensation that my tongue really, really likes. and just when i had almost made up my mind, i saw it:

hot dog on a stick.

oh dear jesus, yes! i thought. that amazingly tempting plastic vat of lemonade with it's delectable floating lemon wedges just whispering my name on a crisp, velvet wind of citrus.

i walked up to the counter with undeniable excitement. but wait - would i order regular lemonade? or cherry? or limeade?

no. regular. just look at that beaming, yellow solution that would be made only more delightful with a cup full of ice. best not to confuse it with more flavors. regular.

NO. sugar free. hooray! all the deliciousness and none of the calories. how great! i won't be too amped up on sugar to go to sleep. man, what a brilliant idea. i'm diabolical!

"large sugar free lemonade," and in his striped shirt and ridiculous hat, he began creating what would become a beverage i would savor for a half hour - maybe more!

i couldn't help but notice that behind the counter were a row of mirrors, making it possible to watch my lemonade trickling from it's magical spout, as though i were standing in both places at once - in front of the counter and behind.

but he didn't head towards the dispenser with my giant, soon-to-be-not-empty cup.

he walked to the far counter from me, almost out of sight if not for my mirror discovery. and i watched. while he pulled a measuring cup from beneath the counter filled with pale yellow powder, and poured the entire contents into my cup.

of course! artificial sweetener.

but no. the splenda came next. and then my cup was filled not from any dispenser, but with regular water. from the sink.

stunned to silence, i watched as he stirred it, placed the lid on, and walked back to where i was. he placed it on the counter with a wrapped straw, and with a smile, handed me my receipt.

i didn't bother to look behind him at my face in the mirror, but from what i could feel, i imagine i had the same expression i would have had if he pissed in the cup and handed it to me. utter. complete. sadness.

i shuffled to my car in the dark, the sad charlie brown song echoing far away in my head. honestly, i think i took it harder than finding out about santa claus.

i can't bring myself to look at the cup. it's still in its holder in my car, ice long since melted. i halfway expect it to be leaking from the seams when i get back into my car this afternoon, mocking me with its lukewarm, artificial sweetness.

when life gives you lemons, go to rubios.

a few things, all unrelated

2008-10-01T10:06:00.000-07:00

the good: this day is starting off better than any of the last five days. while this is good news, it isn't that much of a feat considering..

the bad: i am slowly learning that you can destroy nearly anything if you think about it too much.

the awful: phish is reuniting.

the encouraging: a friend was having a business meeting with an older, wealthy man discussing planning for his estate. this man's explanation for the longevity of his wonderful marriage was that he and his wife love to talk to one another.

the reality: i am in control of nothing. and if everyone comes to me when they need something, who the hell am i supposed to go to?

misguided meditation

2008-09-29T14:37:00.000-07:00

i'm convinced that hormones are the spawn of satan.

i stopped taking birth control a few months ago because the current setup i have involves too many hoops to pick up refills, and i haven't had the energy to get a good recommendation. you can't just choose a gyno out of the yellow pages, you know?

anyway, i went back for refills last week and didn't really think much about what the surge of hormones back into my body would do. i've gone months without birth control and it's always a bit of a shock going back on.

needless to say today, i almost started crying at work for close to no reason (no reason would actually be better than the REAL reason, so we'll stick with that) and decided to venture out into the car and get some fresh air.

for whatever reason, i found myself at longs drugs. my reasons for this were twofold: air conditioning as found in drugstores can be mighty soothing for the soul, and i also needed to pick up some things while i was out. seemed a logical enough choice.

after about 10 minutes of wandering the place enjoying the crisp air, trying to get in touch with my center and breathe, i couldn't help but notice the caliber of people who shop at drugstores during the weekday.

as an example: a couple, both seemingly hard of hearing, were arguing at an uncomfortable decibel with each other about trivial details regarding what purchases they should or should not make, like mouthwash and aspirin. The problem was, neither was listening to the other (if they could hear one another at all) and they were two aisles apart. luckily, what i needed weren't in either of their aisles.

maroon 5 faded off the overhead and was replaced by a too upbeat michael mcdonald, and it was clear i needed to wrap this already short visit up if i wanted to leave without incident.

i waited at the counter with my basket while the girl in front of me finished her transaction, and then emptied out the contents of her purse onto the conveyor belt trying to locate her ID. trying to repeat my mantra, i calmly placed all four of the items i needed on the checkout. the identification-challenged baglady continued to scrounge and a woman much too old and tan to be wearing what she chose as an ensemble for the day bolted in the door, stopping abruptly about eight inches from me.

her complete lack of concern for my personal space was dwarfed by her erratic huffing, and every-three-second change in posture. after looking around the place as though panicked, in a deep accent she barked at the checkout girl, "are joo dee only one vurking?"

evidently the answer was not the one our foreign friend wanted, and with every nervous sway, she crept irritatingly closer to me, like i was a star point guard in the final game of the sweet 16. as she got close enough to breathe on me, i closed my eyes in hopes that she might vanish if i hoped hard enough. and then, in a voice that sounded like a cross between a ridiculously fake gypsy palm reader and a female version of sesame street's The Count, she bellowed, "Joo heffgot too bekeedme!"

i realized then, much too late, that longs drugs is not my happy place.

douchebags love me

2008-09-25T10:25:00.000-07:00

so, i get a text message this morning.

recently i had a guy who wanted to take me out (sidenote: his potential dealbreaker - he was on the reality show millionaire matchmaker and he is, as it turns out, a millionaire. he doesn't know i know either of these things. many things are mildly alarming about him, the least of which being that he's very wealthy. there are too many other red flags to list. but i've always said that i would go on any date if asked unless i felt concerned for my safety, which was not the case here. and i'm not perfect by a long shot. weirder connections have been made, i guess. plus, i was oddly excited to go out somewhere and pay our tab myself - i can't explain why.)

at any rate, he asked for my number a few weeks ago, and i gave it to him. and his text to me this morning was, "so who is this again?"

did i mention HE ASKED for my number?

my ability to attract the malfunctioning, bizarre, mentally and emotionally inept men of the earth is increasingly alarming to me. i can only assume that, instead of being amazingly unlucky, there is some characteristic i exude, either consciously or subconsciously, that leads these men my way. or, and i'm hoping this is the case, that this happens to many other women - they're just not dumb enough to admit it to people, like i do freely. i mean, really. why highlight your flaws like that? like i do?

i'm going to have to start charging admission to my disaster blogs. to pay for the therapy.

departure

2008-09-24T09:05:00.000-07:00

i had to let the toads go last night. some girl came and took them home with her. it created this distant but familiar feeling - much more diluted because this time, the only human involved was me.

i knew i had to give them up - for the good of all involved. and after i made the decision, i became increasingly more agitated that they were still there - once you're resigned to living without something, it's unsettling waiting for it to happen. you just want it over already, and go into a kind of avoidance mode.

and then, when they're finally gone, there's this emptiness. you spend too much time wondering if you did the right thing. and you know deep down, regardless of everyone else's perspective, that you did what you had to in the end, and that there are some things that you shouldn't compromise away - some things are too important to go without. still, it's hard to be without something that you were sure was going to be with you forever.

it's easier with toads. emotional attachment only goes one way, and they are simple creatures after all. then again, so are we sometimes.

isn't that shit illegal?

2008-09-18T13:03:00.003-07:00

isn’t that shit illegal?

i went on my date last night and was hoping for something either terrifying or amazing to regale you with, because i know you take pleasure in my happiness as well as my pain. but i'm afraid there's no story there. he was polite, attentive, attractive, funny. he remembered things i had told him previously (major point scorer, guys. oh wait - almost all my male readers are married or have been at some point. well, good advice anyway..)

in short, there was nothing wrong with him. but nothing particularly right either.

it was nice to play pool and socialize with strangers, threaten the bartender (who had the most amazing array of novelty tattoos i have ever seen) and play pinball.

i drank absinthe, which i have wanted to do since the dawn of time. there was some debate about its recent change in legal status which never manifested itself with any reliable proof. i do know that the bartender made it the way it was intended, complete with ice water contraption and sugar cube drip. and it looked heavenly. and could be one of the most foul drinks i have ever ingested in my entire life. i don't like black licorice anyway, but absinthe tastes like a severe version of liquefied good n plenties. fucking terrible, and worse as it got warmer.

needless to say, i grinned happily while trying to swallow it as i was lectured by a far-too-intoxicated girl who was trying to give me tips on being more demure. it was a sweet intervention, and i know she had my best interest at heart. i didn't have the heart to joust her with my pool cue. i told her i appreciated her perspective and i would take it under advisement.

it's difficult to not be the person that people think you should be. i've been told that i would only be (this) if i did (that) more times than i would like. but if i wasn't all of those things, sarcastically over-confident, feisty, good-humouredly verbally agreesive, i just wouldn't be living as me. and i like me. and i think it's been a while since i said that and actually believed it.

the last several weeks have been nice. the hormones not-withstanding, i spent some time with old friends. i spent some time with some delightful new ones, and it feels nice to have people that get you. especially those who get you even though they don't know you well enough to. quite a refreshing change..

the michael douglas moments

2008-09-15T13:03:00.000-07:00

i should have stayed in bed today.

when i have bad days, i wonder whether it's just a matter of hormonal changes or circumstantial. i bet if you tracked my grouchy blogs, they would occur at similar tidal intervals.

between the skunk situation on monday night and a slew of nightmares last night, i feel like i haven't slept in years. and i look like it.

the reoccurring theme about my place in san diego has surfaced again over the last two months, manifesting itself in doubts. truly, i have never felt at home here. san diego feels like i imagine it would if i were being transported around inside an aquarium - lots of stuff to see and hear, but a major sense of detachment. there's so much i love about this city, but i feel like i don't belong. which begs the question, would i feel like i belong anywhere else? is this feeling external or internal?

my lack of socialization is a symptom of my withdrawing every once in a while. my friends are deeply involved in their own lives/families that most of the time, i'm alone. which is great. until those times that i start feeling alone.

it's this perpetual cycle that i create for myself, that i'm perfectly happy with until days like this. hanging out with people all the time is often overrated, and just distracts me from how i really feel. and my time alone over the last few years has allowed me to grow in ways that i wouldn't be able to otherwise.

but deep down, i'm tethered here by a job. and that's really about it. so is that enough?

i guess it's more than i have drawing me anywhere else.

it's weird, wondering whether you're at a crossroads or just second guessing whether the path, which is not as well worn as the you're on, branching off from your current location is just a little devoid of grass and nothing more.

i don't know what i'm looking for. and the things i want sound a lot better than they would be in actuality. and maybe the dissatisfaction just keeps me from being apathetic.

still, i feel like i'm about to relive a scene from 'falling down'.

my date from last week (who canceled on me) texted last night wanting to go get a drink, but my obstinate mood caused me to suggest another day - i don't want to be an afterthought. i was kind, though. more on that later.

my toad has not surfaced, and i'm not sure how long one has to wait before an animal at that stage of the food chain should be declared legally dead.

estrogen is toxic sometimes. and even a feeling you know is temporary feels as rotten as it would were it indefinite. and those are the days you should stay in bed, watch PIR and eat ravioli out of a can.

i just had a coworker hand me a rockstar, and yet another coworker a pair of paul frank bedroom slippers with skulls on them. just putting them on at work makes me feel like mr rogers.

i'm lucky, and i forget that. to be surrounded by so much and not feel a part of it.

and now, a twist on "a conversation i actually had":

sharon's vault of 911 calls, vol 1

male (answering phone in a whisper): uh.. hello?

me: hi, this is the 911 center in eagle county. i'm calling you back because we got a 911 call from your cell phone. is everything okay?

male: oh god.. uh, yeah. my phone was in my pocket. i'm driving.

me: we get a lot of misdials. some phones automatically call 911 if a certain button is held down, like '9'. so if you have your phone in your pocket, you might want to put the keypad lock on.

male: i'm so sorry. everything is fine, i promise.

me: i had a feeling. it was an open line with you singing 'heart of glass' at the top of your lungs along with the radio.

male: (silence)

me: so, good. i'm glad everything is okay. you sounded good, actually.

male: .. you heard that?

me: yes i did.

male: is it recorded?

me: yes, it is.

male: you won't play it back and listen to it, will you?

me: no sir.

male: (pause) you're going to, aren't you?

me: no more than twice, i promise.

fighting the good fight

2008-09-10T22:16:00.000-07:00

our lord jesus took away one of my soldiers today.

i have three retarded toads. had. i had three.

darryl, houdini, and peewee. for those who were around for the first toad situation, there were originally only two. no wait. let's back up.

amanda brought me home a california tree frog she found hiding in some plants at the flower shop. i named him larry.

larry was fabulous, but i worried that he might get lonely. so i went to the petstore and bought him two friends, asian fire-bellied toads: darryl and darryl.

during the first few weeks of their cohabitation, i wondered if maybe i was doing larry a disservice by pairing him with two toads. they weren't as smart as he was, they were twice his size, and he didn't really have anything in common with them, aside from a love for crickets and a knack for making weird noises.

so now, my frog larry, had gone from being lonely to being outnumbered, and paired with two toads that had no idea what it was like to live free. his mental strain was evident.

so i swore to myself that i would set larry free, back into the wild where the wind could blow through his hair and he might have the chance of befriending a tarty lady frog whom he could have adult relations with. however, the day before this was to take place, darryl escaped.

it was a horrible day. i woke up to find him in the hallway, mangled but barely alive. i had to kill him with a log in my backyard so he wouldn't suffer. i was crying, so i missed him the first swing. as the second blow made contact, darryl made this horrible little squeak sound that i won't soon forget. and there's me standing in my bra and underwear, having a small, teary ceremony in the flower bed shortly before i called in late to work. later, i found out that though seemingly injured, darryl had displayed his 'defensive' stance in response to the cats in the house, and was in all likelihood in perfect health. right before i killed him. on purpose. for no good reason.

so with larry back in the wild, and only the other brother darryl left, i had to get at least get one more. and because i can be talked into a lot of things, brought the other brother darryl home two new pals, houdini and peewee. they have lived simply and happily until yesterday, when i left their screen propped open and they escaped into the night as i was drinking wine on the phone, doing my best chatty kathy impersonation.

so this morning, panic set in when i noticed their tank and nobody in it.

i scoured the house as much as i could before work, and found little peewee in the kitchen inside a container that was inside a container with other containers. he was like that fucking wood, russian doll that is under like 18 layers of an always bigger doll. i have no idea how he made it as far as he did (and my father, the doctorate of biology that he is, was as completely astounded as i was).

my roommate scott called a few hours later, having found 2 of 3 in his bedroom. i wasn't sure who he found, but i figured that i would look further when i got home from work today and figure out who was still missing.

what i didn't realize was is that the only way i can identify darryl is seeing him near houdini, as darryl is an exact replica of houdini only larger. but when i only had one, how the hell do you tell who is who? without tom, jerry's just a fucking mouse nobody cares about.

anyway, we've got an MIA situation on our hands, and after more thorough scouring, i am no closer to finding hou-darryl. in fact, looking for something that is potentially mobile is awful. at least if you lose a cell phone, you can stop looking in the same place after about 4 or 5 times. but something that moves? you have to keep looking in all the places every time you look. it's exhausting.

i would rather know he was dead and know where he was. in all likelihood, he's somewhere stuck, dying, hungry, miserable, injured, scared, and covered in dog hair.

i hate caring about retarded ass toads. what is wrong with me? i am so weak, i nauseate myself.

anyway, i notice that peewee and his other half are spending time in the waterbowl together, no doubt regaling one another with stories about what their precious hours of freedom on the outside were like. and maybe they will elevate hou-darryl to some lofty, outlaw status. and they will always remember him when they are older and think, "man, what do you think ever happened to that guy? he was so brave."

we all fought the good fight today. i did what i had to do. and there will be no mother of the year patch for my sash. and neither of those two dumb toads left will ever appreciate the care i put into feeding them and making their tank the most fun toad amusement park that i can. i am not their god, or their mother. i am their warden, and they don't understand that their highly controlled life inside is only to protect them from a world that they are not ready for. not yet. not on my watch.

ten truths

2008-09-09T18:55:00.000-07:00

Ten Truths

1. I hate heights and bees. And also clowns. And cinnamon rolls. Well, I guess I'm just nauseated by cinnamon rolls. And also clowns.

2. One of my favorites things said to someone else about me was, after I dispatched officers to a call the previous night of an assault in progress with shots fired, one of the deputies said I was, "as cool as the other side of the pillow." Of course, this from a man who violently maced two cats that were fighting outside his bedroom window.

3. I think mispronounced words can be adorable when spoken by adults, like 'punkin', as in the big orange fruit. However, saying things like 'jagwire' and 'nu-cue-lur' will get your punched in the mouth.

4. I think jared from the subway commercials is a pedophile. Or is the most amazing dom in history, with a giant prince albert and a studded collection of devices that make a sex swing look like it belongs on a playground.

5. An important trait in a potential partner is genital alignment. It's the beauty of standing next to someone and feeling their hips against yours (or even better, them being slightly taller, so that you align perfectly when you're on the step above them.) When debating this point, a boyfriend pointed out that everyone is genitally aligned when laying down – clearly an idiot. (sidenote: peter, this is why we would have made an awful couple in college. I mean, I thought you were hot, as did all the other girls in my class. And naturally you thought I was hot because my ridiculously en fuegoness is impossible not to become intoxicated by. But you being 6'8" makes you a poor alignment candidate. Your waist aligns with my chin, which while being beneficial to you, always hurt my neck to look at your face.)

6. Despite the fact that Clay Aiken just fathered a child, he is gay. Absolutely gay. Queer as a three dollar bill. Am I the only one who sees this?

7. I am typically always right – I think that's pretty obvious. Except for when I used to think Steve Perry was hot. And the time I substituted corn oil in a recipe with corn syrup. (syrup, oil? Same difference.)

8. Jerry Seinfeld is not funny. And Scarlett Johansen is not cute.

9. Miller High Life truly is the champagne of beers.

10. I ate steak-umm and Vienna sausages as a kid. And I believe this is why I eat non-meat meat products to this day. Do you know what the first ingredient of Slim Jims are? Mechanically separated chicken. Go to 7-11 and tell me I'm wrong.

(Bonus truth: I don't know my right from my left. I carry around a sharpie in case I need to scrawl an L or a R on my hands.)

So, back to genital alignment. I have a date tomorrow. He's cute, sweet. He's not a perfect speller, but he does have a degree in biology. Who cares if you can't spell when you passed o-chem, right? Anyway, he's in the range of being aligned, though pushing it a little since he's my same height. Could be a deal-breaker. If he looks anything like Clay Aiken, I'm out.

sexy moments in music

2008-09-08T21:43:00.000-07:00

i couldn't imagine life without music. i have a soundtrack in my brain that follows me around daily. it has the ability to change my mood in the span of 4 minutes, and it reminds me of times in my life i would otherwise forget about.

i have a lot to blog about - first dates, genital alignment, root canals - lots and lots of things. and we'll get there. but today, the sexiest moments in music.

1. the cars, moving in stereo. a perfect soundtrack to a dripping wet, slow motion phoebe cates.

2. todd lewis (of the toadies. for reference, note his growly scream at 1:48 of quitter off the rubberneck album.) undeniably sexy. makes a first-person song about a rapist/stalker into a turn on. reowr.

3. the voice of shawn smith of brad/pigeonhed/satchel. angelic and beautiful. sexy in the cleanest of ways.

4. gavin rossdale and his circa 1995 live performance of glycerin in the pouring rain. he was drenched as they get. it's nkotb gay, i know. but hot nonetheless.

5. tori amos, crucify, at high volume. 'nuf said.

6. the first seconds of spoon's jonathon fisk. that groan? dear god.

7. danny carey's drum solo on tool's opiate.

8. mike patton in the small victory video. he looks like a post-wedding groomsman who wandered onto a trent reznor video shoot. even after watching the man come onstage (ejaculate, to the layman), eyes rolled back and drooling on himself, i still find that video to be hotter than light bulb filament.

9. tito & tarantula's after dark (from dusk til dawn), expertly paired with a mostly nude salma hayek, feeding tarantino whiskey via a perfectly toned lower leg.

10. that barely audible part of pearl jam's once, a breathy afterthought to end the bridge. i'm not going to spoil it for you if you haven't found it. it's worth finding. completely delicious.

11. m. doughty. choose anything. in fact, i've always said that if i were a stripper, st louise is listening would be my song, hands down.

12. the annoying guitar crunch in radiohead's creep. if you want the origin of that sound, i have a story. it must be told over a beer, but very factual and entirely sexy.

13. prince's alphabet street. really, who isn't a fan of a song about oral sex?

14. night shift, the commodores. don't ask why, i don't have an answer other than, "just because."

15. the deftones cover of the chauffer. come to think of it, every cover on that album is sexy as hell. and i don't even like the deftones.

16. ringfinger, nine inch nails.

17. i can't tell you what a whiny bitch i think billy corgan is, but damned if gish isn't one of the best albums to have sex to of all time.

18. the sunday's wild horses, and the roller coaster scene from fear (also gay, i know. but at least i'm honest.)

19. the knack's my sharona. how did they ever let that song hit the air? so dirty.

20. luna's 23 minutes in brussels.

feel free to add your own. we could get a multi-disc sex compilation going.

the death of television

2008-09-07T17:44:00.000-07:00

i've never been a big fan of tv. but over the last few years, i've loved it. mostly because i didn't watch it, and my memory of it was awesome. but, after a week or so of really watching tv, i realize how much it sucks.

i'm eloquent, i know.

nothing good is ever on tv. i don't know what i expected to watch. maybe a late night episode of aqua teen, or some cool discovery show about serial killers. but all i found were awful infomercials with inventive ways to make quick and easy meals. my earlier claims about reality tv being worthless has been undeniably confirmed.

it's also not a good idea to have television be the mirror of your success or failure. i figured that moving to california, i would end up with a new group of friends, sitting around a couch in a cafe, dinking coffee, talking about our wacky adventures.

but i don't have any of that.

i've also discovered that it's impossible to judge the course of your life against the people you know. it's not fair to you, them, and it harbors bitterness. it's also completely inaccurate to judge another person's life on what you know about them. it's never as easy or as great as you think it is for anyone. and often, they are envious of your life, the one you spend too much time bitching about.

i freaked out at my doctor's office a few months ago. 12 years of aggression in one moment of tears. and he finally listened and said, "yeah, you're right. sleeping that much isn't normal. i'm going to find something to fix it."

they gave me some medicine normally given to people with narcolepsy, and i can't remember a time when i've felt this good, this normal. i sleep 9 or 10 hours a night. it's like if someone changed life to 32 hours in a day. i can't explain how i feel - mad that they didn't figure it out sooner, overjoyed that i have my life back, afraid that it won't last. i'm happy. and a little numb.

i've decided to date online again. i don't know what the hell my problem is. there's a very slim chance of actually finding that weird, unique, jewel of a man online whose magic value has gone largely unnoticed by most women, and who is tired of the simple, boring, beautiful girl that i am not and ready for someone to keep him on his toes.

but, at the very least, i know you, my faithful reader, will benefit from my ridiculous love life tales. they seem to be the ones that get you guys talking. and if i spend an painful evening with a total stranger and will never get that time or lipgloss back, you know that i'm taking you down with me, every one of you.

it feels like things are changing. for the better. i feel like i've macheted-out at least a visible path for myself. i can only see the few meters ahead of me, but i sense something else. good or bad, it will be exciting.

in the meantime, i can't figure out why the oxyclean guy has to yell about everything he endorses. i get tired thinking that love life is somewhere between a hollywood movie and an episode of big brother. i can't even decide which is worse or why i would even want a life like that.

i want my life. and i have it back, at least partially. the rest, i get to invent as i go. and even if it's on my own for a while, it won't be in a coffee shop.

returns

2008-03-31T12:26:00.000-07:00

returns

i made a small return to my friendly neighborhood albertsons store today. i was hesitant to try and return something to a grocery store, as i’ve never done it before. i would never try to return food, unless there was a damn good reason, but this was a non-food item and it happened to be in my car when i went in for my daily caffeine fix.

the following cements my theory about chatting it up with people who have "ordinary" jobs - they have stories you’d never know about otherwise, so take every opportunity to ask. like the time i asked the girl at the in-and-out drive through if she’d ever had work nightmares and she told me about her hitler dream.

the lady who was helping me was awfully cheery for that early in the morning. and i asked if they got returns often at the grocery store. of course they did, she said.

"lots of people return things. the only weird one was the time a lady brought the remains of a turkey back after thanksgiving and asked for her money back."

"and her reasoning was?" i asked.

"she said it had to many bones in it."

i stared at her for a moment with a look of utter stupefication on my face. she smiled at me and wished me a good day.

what do you say to that?

texas flood fridays

2008-03-28T14:48:00.000-07:00

i work at a startup, which for those of you who never have, can be a very amusing, laid back environment.

it’s also a little dangerous - the boss caters in lunch for us every single day. i, for one, do not need a banquet of food around me every single day.

our engineering department is tucked away in the back of the office. generally, it’s extremely quiet and is daunting to even walk into because all occupants can hear a pin drop in addition to anything you say to anyone else. they are enclosed in a glass-walled room, affectionately the "fish bowl" (’look, mommy! that one’s writing code!!’)

they get visitors from other parts of the office throughout the day, but non-engineers do their business and don’t linger. i have my suspicions that oompah loompahs come out of the server room periodically to work their magic.

i can tell when the week is coming to an end, when one or two of the engineers pass my desk and pantomime air guitar. in the fishbowl, we have beer and guitar hero fridays.

so later today, just at that point where i’m starting to daydream and get into that post-lunch nap stage, the buzz begins. and then, the playstation 2 gets fired up - and it’s gametime.

one of my top engineer rivals has an ongoing vendetta to best me. i’d say that we’re pretty comparable skill-wise. however, he isn’t aware that i know, but he relies heavily on his cognitive powers to try and defeat me.

it starts out benign enough. i will don the guitar and search the song list. he’ll push his chair away from his desk and get in position to see the screen. and, depending on his mood, he’ll make either complimentary or disparaging comments about my song choice.

he’ll stay quiet for a bit, and then slowly sneak in a supportive word here and there. and as his comments become more frequent, they also become more combative, until he’s fully mocking my skills to the entire department.

i know this will happen, as it does every friday. and i mentally prepare myself. but despite my efforts to fall into his psychological cheat efforts, i miss a note here and there trying to verbally defend myself against his taunts, until i get distracted enough to botch the rest of the song.

every time, i swear to myself that i’ll ignore him, or at the very least not let his comments agitate me enough to argue back. and every time, he changes his MO just slightly to get me fired up enough to sabotage my turn.

today, i feel fantastic. the day has been all but perfect so far, and the red bull is going down nicely. the murmurings of guitar hero have begun in the corners of the office and will increase gradually until about 3pm.

but today, i will not let him beat me, either musically or mentally. my lead guitar stance will be strong, and i will not direct my focus elsewhere. i will rock. i will drink beer. and i will tear that department to pieces one note at a time.

hillbilly trail mix

2008-03-25T20:55:00.000-07:00

yesterday at work, while i was being berated by nick, our resident new yorker, i had a fantastic brainchild: hillbilly trailmix.

i haven’t really narrowed the ingredient list, and i think it’s going to take some tinkering with. however, it will potentially contain the following redneck delicacies:

- slim jim bits
- fritos
- beer nuts
- funyons
- pork rinds
- cheez-its

i will be accepting suggestions, recipes ideas, and naming rights. whatever it is, it should go well with hamm’s, mickey’s, and low grade moonshine.

appointments and a few other irritations

2008-03-19T19:08:00.000-07:00

i hate making appointments. specifically anything involving a doctor.

it’s not like it used to be, where you call, make an appointment, and go see the doctor. things have become a little more, let’s say, complex.

say i have a sinus infection. i call the doctor. he can see you wednesday at 9am, fantastic, arrive 15 mins early, done, hooray.

ah, if only it were that easy.

you show up on wednesday and you fill out paperwork, most all of the fields duplicated in 18 of the previous pages. and you wait for another 45 minutes until the lady comes out and calls you back.

she weighs you, checks your height (yeah, okay. since i haven’t been five six since i was like 15 years old) and directs you into this room with 80 colored flags above the door that nobody knows what they’re for. she talks to you about what’s wrong, and you tell her. and THEN she tells you that you need to schedule another appointment to see the doctor *for the reason you called about*. little did you know, this first appointment was only a PREappointment, the appointment where they verify in person that you actually need what you called about needing. they prescreen, you see. and then you go and make the "real" appointment and you’re on your merry way until next thursday.

then thursday rolls around, and you’re almost dying of sinus issues, and you go in, sign some more shit (that hasn’t changed in the last 5 years, much less in the week since you’ve been in) and wait another 45 mins.

if you’re lucky, you get to see the doctor for 7 minutes of the hour and a half you spend there, but usually this appoinment is the one where you get to talk in depth to the nurse about your symptoms so that she can alert the doctor and he can figure out what course of action to take for your upcoming tertiary appointment, which hopefully will be your last and actually happen before you succumb to the sweet release of death. which may be the better option after the receptionist tells you they are scheduling out into may - hello!? it’s october!!

seriously, what happened to walking in, getting treated and leaving? do doctors really need this much planning? it’s not like their solutions are definitive anyway. they pretty much read your chart as they’re sitting down and shaking your hand without actually ever looking you in the face, and you’re freezing your ass off in a backless drape, despite that you came in for a swollen wrist.

i got my degree in theater, and aside from pretending like i could be a doctor, all i have to do is suggest antibiotics and chastise my patient about exercise, before signing a name that’s illegible to everyone including the signer:

"Your honor, I’d like to introduce exhibit C into evidence. These are chart notes from Ms. Anderson’s visit to Dr. Kearns’ office on the 5th of July. Dr Kearns? Please take a look at this chart for me. Do you recognize the signature at the bottom of the page?"

"No."

"Objection! How can the doctor not recognize his own signature?"

"Overruled, counselor. The doctor’s handwriting sucks."

the medical profession makes me want to have an aneurysm. at this point, i’d sooner go to a mechanic for routine medical procedures, depending on his level of cleanliness. gojo orange or anti-microbial soap? it’s a serious toss up. plus, at a mechanic you can get your entire car rebuilt the same day instead of waiting three months with abdominal pains for "take some ibuprofen and come back to see me in 6 weeks."

blah.

on another health related note, msnbc reported earlier this week that vitamins may cause cancer.

see people? i will continue drinking my rockstar and eating twinkies and your warnings of slow death will go unheeded.

go take your one-a-day. i’m making myself a bourbon and some pizza rolls.

plaque and car accidents

2008-03-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

i went to the dentist yesterday. i hadn’t been in about 4 years, because it’s been about that long since i’ve had dental insurance.

i came away with two barely visible cavities and a few upcoming solutions for a few of my dental gripes. all in all, painless.

the last time i visited the dentist, however, was very much the same as all previous dental visits - the scraping of the teefs with a sharp metal hook. and this time, there was none of that.

technology has breached the dental field in my absence it seems, and they now use ultrasonic vibrations to vibrate off the plaque that they would normally spend 15 minutes scraping. i had my doubts, but it worked. i felt like i was away in the peace corps for a decade.

on a lesserly happy note, i have spend the last week admitting to myself what i really am (and more accurately, what i am not.) i’ve read lots of medical material in the last few months that has taught me a lot and in ways taken away hope of things, but given me support in others. saying it aloud to amanda solidified it for me. the years of doctor visits and medication changes, the candy coated explanations about my medical status, the waiting to recover the "me" i once was - all of that put into focus by one simple statement which i was reluctant to admit for years. i feared skepticism, alienation, pity, judgement. i worried that admitting something was wrong with my brain would make me defective, damaged, less of a person, that i would appear less attractive, less sane, more the person to be avoided and not to be trusted.

i hoped it would get better - the sadness, the guilt, the worry, the physical side effects. and now, a decade later, they are all still there most of the time - now coupled with isolation, indifference, and cognitive problems. and far from better, i feel like i’m worse off than i was. but i know that a few parts of me are healed, and more parts of me are healing. and my doctor promises she won’t give up and there are lots of options left.

still, i spend much of my time in solitude, interacting only with my housemembers and calls to my mom, but shutting out all other contact. i can’t think clearly, i can’t spell some of the time (or type), i can’t remember things, i can’t think in the correct sequences, and i have trouble remembering basic words. and all that has created this cavity in my self confidence that has further pushed me away from feeling comfortable with other people regardless of who they are.

as amanda, the brilliant, pointed out, just because the old me isn’t coming back like i thought it should, that doesn’t mean the new me will be bad. that it’s okay to let the old sharon die and invite the new one in and see what she’s all about. and in many ways, she’ll be the same, but in others she won’t. and that’s okay.

and that’s what i have to learn.

i could blame heredity, i could blame a car full of drunk teenagers who made a lousy traffic decision and changed strangers lives, i could blame doctors for discounting my symptoms as laziness because they were too busy to consider anything else, i could blame friends or family for not understanding, not believing, and not having any compassion, i could blame a medical friend who preached to my family at a holiday meal about how he was convinced that it was all in my head and there was nothing wrong with me - but blame is pointless.

i have my sight, my hearing, my heart, my limbs, my brain (though part of it doesn’t function the same) - and i have a loving family, a small circle of people who love me and a mom that understands on a different level than anyone else i know. i have a lot. and i forget to focus on what i have instead of what i don’t have.

and like the cathartic emptying of the house and subsequent garage sale, i have to find a way to drag out the guilt, the pointless worry, the bad memories, the items in my life, my room that remind me of bad events, all the negativity in my body and the mold i made of who i think i should be and put it by the curb with a "free" sign. and it should leave me plenty of room to rebuild the me that has a vague blueprint and a lot of potential.

just because things don’t always go your way, doesn’t mean they will go badly. maybe the unknown has more potential than our imaginations?

post-yardsale thoughts

2008-03-08T17:34:00.000-08:00

post-yard sale thoughts

we had our annual yard sale today. it was a success, and raised more than enough money to fund our weenie roast to follow.

it was a nice, sunny day as we pulled lounge chairs out to the sidewalk, listened to Frank Sinatra, and met lots of new neighborhood people.

i think the quote of the day came from Amanda.

i was sipping a rockstar and had just finished a transaction when Amanda looked at me sideways, and said, "you just sold that lady a pair of pants for a quarter." I looked at her as if to say, "yeah, garage sale. hello?" her response? "she just drove off in a beemer."

yeah.

at the end of our sale, we put the remaining, unsold items out in front with "free" signs (there's still stuff, if you need some shit.) i even posted an ad on craigslist saying, "post garage sale miscellany, come take it home - it's free." and i got a response from a girl with "kittykat" in her email address asking, "could you deliver?"

now, you have *got* to be fucking kidding me right now. that could be the most inane thing i've heard all day. something tells me, however, that it won't be the stupidest for long.

hope you're having a fantastic saturday.

going through 'the change'

2008-02-25T18:40:00.000-08:00

no, not menopause. and not like jeff goldblum in "the fly", although let's face it - nothing 'changes' about his characters at all from movie to movie.

i'm talking about another change, that doesn't seem to be precipitated by anything.

i noticed it when i was driving to work last week. no stereo.

i can't remember a time when i drove anywhere with the music off. it's mandatory in my car. but not lately. and it happened without my consciously realizing it.

i thought about the other things in my daily life, and there are a few other differences:

i don't really drink anymore. a beer on special occasions, maybe.
i crave chocolate.
i watch TLC (okay, i did that before.)
i am comfortable spending an evening alone.
i sit on the porch and read with the blind cat.

does this mean i'm old? insane? reclusive? depressed? mature? none of the above?

whatever. i'm rolling with it. even if i am the single, pink-haired chick on the block with the cats who talks to herself. being that girl ain't so bad.

advice from the girls

2007-11-18T01:18:00.000-08:00

lately, i can't even wake up for work on time. yet on saturday and sunday, when i should be sleeping in, i'm awake at 6. or 8.

so i ate a donut and am drinking a coke zero, and i figured i'd sit down and type.

i've been thinking a lot lately about choices. particularly the bad choices i've made, and oddly, i'm really okay with a lot of them.

i have brilliant girlfriends. i don't like girls very much. but the few girls i do have at my side (if only figuratively) are incredibly amazing, and i wouldn't give them up for anything. well, i might consider it if steph and becca keep not reading my blogs. okay, no. jokes. only jokes.

probably a little over a year ago, i spoke to my guru and success coach sunny. and i was freaked out about getting older while everyone i knew was married or with kids, and i was regretting all the idiot men i had dated. i was wasting time when i could have been out searching for the man of my dreams. what if i missed him? what if he was there, but i didn't know because i was too devoid of self esteem that i let myself date some arrogant prick with a guitar, who was the only one that thought the world of himself? i missed my destiny, and now i'll never be happy. i'll spend the rest of my life alone, muttering to myself, drinking redbull and rocking back and forth maniacally on my bedroom floor.

i was then lectured on the error in my thoughts, and it's one of the many things i think of when i feel like i've wasted something - time, love, energy (that sunny, she's rad. she should start an advice column for crazy tattooed women with emotional problems.)

she explained to me that by dating the liar, the idiot, the pushover - those events allow me to get to the good stuff. they are stepping stones, and without going through them and learning from my mistakes, i will never get to where i'm supposed to be. they are chapters necessary to the story, and if i skipped them, that is when i would be missing something.

it's like the less pleasant things in our lives are the dress rehearsals for the big show. that way, when the curtain opens, we've been through it before and can avoid the pitfalls that we know from experience. we have practice boyfriends, practice jobs, practice experiences. and without practicing, we would never reach the real thing.

i have a piece of paper that i carry around that is a portion from an email written by another of my precious girlfriends, heidi (it should be noted that most of the girls in my life that have provided me with guidance, support, and words of wisdom are all virgos like me: heidi, sunny, amanda, nicole..) and heidi has this to say:

'sometimes letting go of something kinda good allows up to find something really spectacular. whatever you do, don't settle. if he can never put you on top of his list, or devote more of his time and energy to you, and that's a non-negotiable item for you, then you have to let him go. if it's something you can live with without it being disruptive to your self esteem and self confidence, then try and give it a shot. just please don't sell yourself short. you are way too amazing and incredible for that.'

this doesn't apply to just me. and if you find something in it that you can be guided by, print it out and put it somewhere where you can see it. i'll talk with heidi about copyright infringement issues, but i imagine she'll be okay with it.

the point is this: as long as you are following your heart, your head, your intuition (i'll blog the most terrifying moment of my life later, and we can revisit intuition) then you're not wasting time. you're taking the necessary steps to get to the next phase of your life. then again, if you think you're wasting time because deep down you know you're not doing what you feel like you should be doing, then reassess. even better, let me know and i'll give you my girls' phone numbers. heidi's on the east coast so there's a time-zone issue, steph doesn't like to be called when she's sleeping (and for that matter will bitch at you if you get her an "admiral nelson" and coke instead of captain even if it is cheaper), becca works at night, rita is always available when she's not in class, amanda rarely answers her phone, nicole has little time between her fantastic hairdressing prowess and her own blogs, and sunny has to fit you in somewhere between her husband dave, who gets a lot of lecture time, and her adorable kid. but i promise if you need something, at least one of them will be around. i think if they were all available at once, the planets would align and we would never have any problems ever again. but this is not a perfect world, and let's face it, my beautiful girls have things to do, people to see, crimes to solve, and their own lives to run. and they aren't wasting any time either.

tavalaccio

2007-11-10T16:25:00.000-08:00

when i lived in vail, there was this dark, cool little (expensive) restaurant about 10 miles away called Tavolaccio.

the first time i went there with my boyfriend, i loved how romantic it was. it wasn't one of those red and white tablecloth with baskets holding bottles of chianti type of italian restaurants. it was open, simple, had delicate drop down lights, and comfortable chairs tucked around glass tables. i don't know much about italy, but i know that there is the spaghetti italian, and then the OTHER italian (northern italian, maybe) with dishes like vegetables with shrimp in white wine sauces, and chicken with mushrooms, and lots of words i can't pronounce. this restaurant was the latter.

i loved how warm and fuzzy this place made me feel. it was dark, loud with the combined murmur of voices, and delicate italian music in the background. the wine may have added to the fuzziness, but the sparkling water they served was just as good - even though it was 8 bucks. it sparkled, though.

whenever i suggested to have a meal there, i got shot down. my boyfriend's reasoning was that it was, "too expensive" even though i offered to pay, "too loud" which was part of the reason i loved it, and he didn't like the food (i think in a way, he was as overwhelmed with the exotic menu, but not in the good overwhelmed way i was.

he was out of town one week, and i decided, on a tuesday night, to go by myself. i often like to eat dinner by myself, and hadn't really had a chance to do so once i started living with someone.

the place was extremely busy for a tuesday, abuzz with voices and the sharp sound of wine glasses clinking. i had dressed myself up (and looked pretty good, i thought) and was excited at the possibility of a long, romantic dinner with myself. and at this restaurant, dinner took time. you'd be there for 2 hours easy.

at the time of this story, there were only italians working there - the family who owned the place, i believe (ie lots of accents and language barriers. before they closed a few years back, they had a more "american" staff, which kind of bummed me out.) the host at the door asked if i was meeting someone, and i said, "it's only me tonight." he looked at me strangely and a bit condescendingly, which i experienced a lot eating out alone, and he walked me back to the back corner of the room next to the kitchen. the table he sat me at was oddly placed, as though they had pulled it out of the back to accommodate people on the fly on a previously busy night. this night was busy, but not busy enough for me to sit me at this table stuck in an awkward space facing a closet. i assume he did so because i was by myself, and just figured it didn't matter where i sat (that is, it didn't matter to HIM.) anybody who has eaten out with me frequently knows that i'm extremely uncomfortable with my back to an entire restaurant and/or facing the corner. i like to see the whole room, or if not just the front door. don't ask me why, it just is. and this could have possibly been the most worrysome table i had ever sat at. however, i was a waitress, and got frequently annoyed when people asked to move tables, so i decided i would stick it out, have some wine and a good meal, and enjoy my evening in solitude. i wasn't going to let my night plummet simply due to seating. after all, i was wearing my favorite perfume, and my then long hair was pulled up just right - as we long haired women know, it's not often we get the hair right when it goes up. but when it does, boy, watch out.

about 20 minutes went by, with waiters back and forth, foreign and heated discussions in the kitchen, and the constant bustle of a tuesday that was perhaps busier than they expected it would have been. and still, nobody acknowledged me.

i half thought about leaving, or simply going up to the bar to get a glass of wine - i could wait patiently if i had wine. the more i contemplated what i should do, the more subconscious i get about being alone, being in the most awkward table in restaurant history, and being ignored despite that i was so close to the waiters' entrance to the kitchen that i could feel air rush by as they passed me every few seconds.

in my last ditch effort to maintain the pleasantness that was supposed to be my night, i got the attention of a guy in a suit, who seemed to have some sort of upper tier position in the place.

"excuse me, may i have a glass of wine?"

he spoke in an incredibly thick accent. "no one has come for you?"

"no."

"how long have you been waiting here, senorina?"

"um, maybe 15 minutes."

i saw a change come over his face, as though someone working in the restaurant would later get an earful of italian for ignoring guests.

"senorina, this is unacceptable! please, let me get you whatever you like. please, let me bring you a glass of italian wine, yes?"

and before i could answer, he whisked himself away and came back in what seemed like seconds with a gigantic glass one quarter full of wine so cold, the glass had condensation up to the line the wine was poured to.

"senorina, i am very sorry about this. what else can i do for the senorina?"

i loved that he called me that. and that he talked about me in the third person.

"well, actually, i feel silly at this table. would it be okay if i sat somewhere else?"

"whatever the senorina wants! pick a table, beautiful lady."

and he walked behind me gently, encouraging me to pick my favorite table in the place. i was half tempted to choose a table with occupants just to see how far i could go with him, but i thought against it, and picked a table at the window.

he explained to me that he would have his best waiter (obviously this guy was the manager, or more likely i thought at that point, after surveying how well dressed he was, the owner) vincenzo take care of me and get me anything i needed.

i sat and looked out the window, which was frosted over around the edges because of the snow outside. the glass emitted a coldness down the side of my body that was next to it, and i sat there, satisfied and feeling good.

vincenzo came over shortly thereafter, and by his demeanor had heard about my shitty service (or lack thereof) since i had been there. his english was by leaps and bounds worse than the previous guy, and he also used 'senorina' like it was going out of style. he, too, often referred to me as though i were someone else altogether. i totally loved that part.

i had begun my second glass of icy-cold italian white wine when my salad came (dinner was very much supposed to be drawn out at this place, and i had probably been there an hour by this point. and i was relaxed and happy.) my pre-dinner salad was something i had come knowing that i wanted. it was a small bed of dark leaves that i couldn't pronouce, with an even more exotic sounding cheese, some dressing i couldn't identify, and artichoke hearts. and it was all situated so beautifully and artfully on this tiny plate - most of the guys i know would have bitched about the portion, but i figured that it was never a good idea to have too much of a good thing. i started thinking about that salad before i even got to the restaurant. i felt guilty ordering it, as i should have been more frugal considering the price of this place. but i told myself i wanted to do something nice and allowed myself to have whatever i wanted. my salad was $18.

at the bottom of that glass of wine, i felt myself getting a bit tipsy. i felt like i wanted to always feel like i did just then, like i had no money problems, no relationship issues, and nowhere in particular to be but right there.

vincenzo, who had been doing a damn good job of making sure i always had what i wanted, came by to ask what "the senorina" wanted to eat for dinner. i started to open up my menu and then said, "well, what do you like?"

he seemed perplexed by this, but after some coaxing, i got him trying to explain some of the items on the menu. i handed it to him and told him to bring me the best thing there. he stood there hesitantly, as though it were unheard of for someone to go to dinner without knowing what they would end up eating. i assured him that i wasn't picky, i trusted his judgement, and that i wasn't allergic to anything. whether he understood or not, i don't know. but it seemed to convince him enough to go on about his business.

not far from me was a table of about 15 people. they weren't speaking english, and since i sat down i had tried to determine what language it was and had long given up. they were obviously family, had finished dinner before i came and had progressed to coffee and after dinner drinks, and were the loudest of anyone in there. the table was cram packed with half empty, or completely empty wine glasses. bottles of wine scattered the table, as did martini glasses and other assorted spirits. i did a quick survey of how many drinks they must have each had based on the amount of glasses in front of each person, and it staggered the mind. man, foreigners can drink, can't they?

everybody at this table was at least 40 years old, and some up into their 60's. they were jovial, and behaved as though they were at their own house - it was like eavesdropping at a party in some stranger's living room.

there was a girl at the table - the only child there, and she couldn't have been more than 10. she was absolutely gorgeous, which again made me try to determine where they were from. her hair was thick and long, and she was as fidgety as you'd expect she would be after hours in a restaurant, bored out of her mind with nothing but adults telling stories and laughing, who showed no sign of leaving.

i caught her looking at me several times, but she looked away when i try to catch her eyes.

vincenzo brought my dinner, which i noted immediately was something i would have never ordered on my own due to the ingredients, but i was excited to try it. he left to get me another glass of wine with a, "buon appetito!"

as i was eating, this girl kept watching me. at first i thought it was boredom, and then as it increased, wondered what it was about me that interested her. my guess was she thought it was odd that i was alone.

her mother caught her staring at me, and said something to the girl. the girl sort of shrunk in her chair, embarrassed, and if her mother had asked her a question, she declined to answer it.

her mother turned to me, as if to apologize for her curious child, and smiled at me gently.

"she like the hair, that she saw on the TV, with the movie stars," and made a sort of swirling motion at the top of her head, indicating the sticks i had in my hair.

growing up, particularly as i got into high school, i got into a habit of pulling my hair up onto my head and fastening it with a pencil (there weren't any fancy, bejeweled hair sticks like they have now.) i had gone shopping in a chinese import store in the "old town" section of the town i grew up in, and was delighted to find that they carried sticks for my hair. i had looked everywhere for something exactly like that for years so i could separate myself from the pencils.

the woman explained to me, mostly by pantomime, that they weren't for hair - that they were chopsticks for kids, as they were smaller and shorter than regular chopsticks. they were ornate, and the perfect size and texture. at $1.25 each, i bought about 10. over the course of time, i would lose pairs and have to go back to buy another handful.

after a moment of sadness for destroying my perfect hair for the evening, i pulled the sticks out of my hair, and motioned for the girl to come to my table. she shrunk into her mother's side but kept her eyes locked on me. her mom looked at me, and with a few words, encouraged her to come over to me, which she did with a sense of trepidation and excitement.

as she walked up, i held her shoulders and turned her around, with her back to me. it was weird doing it on someone else, but i twisted her hair up as i had done my own, and pushed the sticks in to secure it. i turned her around to face me, and it looked really good - better than i had anticipated it would due to the amount of thick, heavy hair she had.

i motioned for her to go back to her mother, and her mother gasped, arms outstretched when she saw her. there came a flurry of excited voices from the entire table as they all took time from their own discussions to give this poor, bored, beautiful girl attention that she hadn't gotten all night. there was some oohing and oohing, each of them either kissing her, or holding her face and turning her around to see. i smiled at myself and kept on eating my dinner, which could have been the best thing i've eaten before or since.

she made her way around the entire table back around to mom, and as i looked up, the entire table was waving and calling out to me. most of it was words of appreciation, or what sounded like it, and several "buon appetitos" to which i returned the sentiment and realized by the sound of my voice that i was indeed a bit intoxicated.

the girl whispered in her mother's ear, and they both got up and came over to me.

"can it be okay that i take her to the mirror? to see?"

i nodded, and noticed i was still getting waves from these strangers, who no doubt were highly inebriated by this point.

they returned from the bathroom, mom thanked me very sincerely, and gently pushed her daughter toward me and made a motion to her to take the hair sticks out and give them back to me. i stopped the girl and told the girl it was okay, though i'm not sure she understood, and directed her back to the table. "are you sure? that if the keep it, is okay?" i was tempted to say, lady, that's like a dollar. really. but i smiled and nodded, feeling a little lightheaded and content.

she said thank you again, and asked if i could come show her how to do it. i walked to her side, undid her daughter's hair, twirled it up, and secured the sticks fairly well for my state, and perhaps a bit too tight as she winced a little bit. i went back to my chair, and sat down to finish my dinner. the entire rest of my meal, this girl, who didn't understand a word of english, just smiled and waved at me every little bit, beaming at her new transformation.

i was finishing my entree when they all got up to leave. each and every single person at that table came over to me, in a single file line, and shook my hand and wished me well and thanked me in an attempted form of english. i felt overwhelmed when they left, and sort of awed that such a small thing turned into what it had.

vincenzo came over and offered me dessert. i was full, but i wanted to have a taste of something decadent to end my night. i asked him whether he thought the chocolate mousse pie or the tiramisu was better, to which he answered only a "yes" and whirled around to the kitchen. halfway there, he turned and came back.

"i'm sorry, i think it's my english not too good. which?"

after some further discussion, he understood and told me the tiramisu was the better choice, and went off to get it.

at this point, there were few patrons in the restaurant. the temperature outside had chilled considerably, and i was one of perhaps 5 people left.

minutes later, vincenzo came back with both desserts and presented them in front of me, like i was a food critic. he told me to enjoy both and asked if i needed anything else.

"no, thank you. just the check."

"the senorina doesn't have a check."

although somewhat drunk, i was certain i had a bill, and without really knowing how much my entree or any of the wine cost, i knew that said bill was well over a hundred dollars.

"vincenzo, yes, i do."

"no, the senora already took the check," he said, sounding as though i should have already known. "did the senora not say?"

"no, she didn't," i smiled, and realized that they all knew what she had done as they walked by my table on the way out with their goodbyes. quite sneaky to leave before i found out, too.

vincenzo insisted he buy me a limoncello, which more or less was pure grain alcohol with some sugar and lemon in it, all rolled up into a shot-type glass that was meant to be sipped. needless to say, i had to sit there for quite some time before i was able to make my way home.

it was so cold as i walked outside, and the snow crunched under my feet. i silently wished i could magically be home in bed already, but enjoyed the quiet ride home and the snow falling in front of my headlights.

i called my mom before bed and retold her the story.

"mom, seriously, i gave that girl two dollars worth of hair sticks, how on earth does that equal a couple hundred bucks?"

"it wasn't the sticks, sharon. it was the effort, and the attention. i'm sure that was worth more than money to them."

i wasn't convinced, but i was happy. and in no time at all, i was warm and sound asleep in my bed, dreaming limoncello dreams.

revenge - like candy, but tastier

2007-10-28T15:45:00.000-07:00

i don't think of myself as reactive. or retaliatory. or intentionally mean. but, when someone deserves it, i can't help but fantasize about getting even.

at least the things i wish to do are mere fractions of the original offense. i'm not malicious, after all.

i had an 'friend' who recently did the wrong things, in the wrong order, on a day when i felt great.

now i wouldn't normally coerce friends into my plans (who am i kidding? i don't usually follow through out of all-consuming kindness.) but fortunately sunny is highly coercible. in fact, she usually takes my idea and makes is 80 times cooler than i could ever make it.

lesson for today: never do a redhead wrong. two separate times. with the same tactic. okay, once? i can look past it. twice? your ass is mine. and i will tear it into a thousand pieces and hand it back to you in a box. with a pink bow.

happy birthday, mutha fucka.

what the eff

2007-10-22T09:34:00.000-07:00

what the eff?

i woke up this morning, grabbed my rockstar, and left the house to my car for my morning commute. as soon as i walked outside, i could smell the smoke from the fires north of san diego.

i got to work, and nobody was there, which was very odd. my boss showed up about five minutes later and said, "good morning! thanks for coming. now go ahead and go home."

evidenltly, the fires have spread, and there are 7 fires burning in san diego county currently. many of the execs at work were evacuated from their homes.

i get home, and i'm watching the news with the roommates. tv is freaking me out. i'm getting texts from friends in the area, and i'm having flashbacks to the flood in 1997. i have my laptop, ipod, and black doc's ready to go if they kick us out of our house. shit, i hope they have wifi wherever i get sent to when they evacuate. unless, of course, i get emphysema before then (which is odd, because as i was typing that, my mailman walked by with a face mask on for the smoke..)

i'm making light of this, but i'm freaking out a little. the beer i'm about to drink will help (is pre-10am too early to start drinking in the midst of a natural disaster?)

anbesol and other diversions

2007-10-17T13:17:00.000-07:00

anbesol and other diversions..

i got myself a bachelor's degree in theater years ago in colorado. i hated theater school, and loved it, and saw some shit at parties that you guys have never even HEARD of (except of course my readers that were there with me.. the keep - just makes you wistful thinking of it, right?)

i showed up my first day, and somehow formed a crazy, tight bond of friendship with two guys, josh and brock. josh was this cute, airheaded, curly-blonde, ultimate frisbee challenge kind of guy, and brock was the asshole that wore ripped up jeans and a leather jacket, said things that made you feel dirty, and that you'd never EVER take home to meet mum. we were an unlikely bunch.

i don't know how we came together the first day, or how we stayed together after that. but for a year or so, we went everywhere together. EVERYWHERE. we were sort of like the three stooges, now that i think of it.

most of our classes were in this horrid, cement, basement area-cum-classroom (it's a real word, people. no snickering.)

this dungeon had some of those awful desk chairs that folded up into themselves and that were never ever comfortable no matter who you were. but for some reason, this classroom also had a couch at the back. it was shitty, ripped up, and comfy as all hell. it fit the three of us perfectly. nobody would ever dare sit there when we were coming to class, so there was no problem getting to class late - it would be waiting there for us.

we would sit on that couch, and talk shit, sometimes listen to lectures (at least *I* did), and we'd explore new ways to entertain ourselves. for instance one day, brock brought some anbesol out of boredom - i don't think he needed it for any medical purpose. and we spent most of class spreading it on our lips like lipgloss. after about an hour, most of the lower half of my face was asleep, and i think brock was drooling (though maybe that was unrelated.)

i have a shitload of brock stories. he was a fucking fantastic writer, and an even better storyteller. his stories were so good, he had a way of making believers out of skeptics listening to an absolutely unbelievable tale.

some of you may have heard the story (not the long version, mind you, which the first time i heard it lasted about 40 minutes) about brock's one night stand with a paraplegic girl who had a rich family and an overly protective father. it's one of my favorites.

another story about brock i like to tell involves a redheaded girl in our theater school named sasha. she had a horrible fake french last name that i can't spell, and she drove us fucking crazy. brock would always go on about what a dumb whore she was (his words, not mine - but she was). brock was even adept enough to be the first to notice that she had a third breast, which wasn't much good to her because all three put together couldn't have filled a b-cup.

she was a disaster in all ways. and worst of all, everyone confused the two of us, simply because we were in the same year in theater school, both our names started with an 's', and we both had long red hair (don't even go there about the breasts thing. i have TWO. promise. and NO, i won't prove it.)

i hated having people call me sasha, because everything about her was everything i never wanted to be. i loathed it more than anything in the world, and brock took advantage of this whenever he could. of course, he loved every second.

i was in the costume shop one day, busily mending some circa 1880's dress, when sasha and her faithful companion susan came in.

susan was the girl that would be fantastic on her own if she had courage enough to do so, but instead sheepishly followed someone she worshipped around and adopted all their opinions.

i wasn't able to get up and leave the shop, so i tried to fill my mind with thoughts or music so that their conversation wouldn't seep its way into my conscious mind. but, as we all know, in a quiet room, you can't ignore those annoying people and their obnoxiously loud conversations.

i didn't hear the beginning of the story she was telling, but i got the gist of things. sasha was regaling susan with the story of some absolutely gorgeous guy that adored sasha but that she was only passively interested in. she didn't really have time for him, she said, but she figured she'd give him a chance anyway to be nice.

she continued on to explain that, during sex the previous night, she was bored and had to resort to watching the muted episode of "leave it to beaver" that was on this uber-hunk's television. she was trying to keep interested, she told susan, but this adonis couldn't elevate her mood past apathetic.

susan hung on every loud, irritating word sasha said like she would remember to do the same thing if she ever had sex. which was ridiculous to me because anyone with half a brain except susan KNEW there was NO WAY IN HELL that sasha had ever had sex before. no way. absolutely fucking none.

anyway, sasha had started feeling guilty because she ended up having to fake her orgasm. apparently dreamboy wasn't doing it for her. which, as sasha explained, was pretty standard for her. she always had to fake her orgasms because no man she had ever been with, and believe us susan, it was a LOT, had ever been able to pleasure her. she faked orgasms every single time, and was quite bored with sex in general because of it.

i made the mistake of retelling the whole thing to brock, which was never a good idea but i always did it anyway and then regretted it afterward. i made him swear he would never repeat it or say anything to her, and he agreed that he wouldn't.

the following week, brock and i were in our monologues class (along with sasha and susan, of course) and for whatever reason, we were actually seated in desks in the second row (i believe due to our professor's skepticism about our productivity level if we stayed on the couch for the day's lesson.) he was explaining our homework for the following day, and how we needed to take a 2-minute monologue and transcribe it into the phonetic alphabet (which more or less meant we had to write out several paragraphs in dictionary-pronunciation symbols, which was long and arduous.)

as he continued in detail, sasha, who was sitting directly in front of me and clearly exasperated, thrust her hand into the air and whined, "do we really have to translate the WHOLE monologue into the phonetic alphabet?" to which brock grinned proudly at me and loudly announced, "no, sasha. just do the first half. you can fake the rest."

what an asshole.

and now, 14 years later, i have happily reunited with him by the power of myspace. in fact brock, back when i knew him, liked vagina. but he is still, well, himself. he showed my myspace page to the guys he worked with, and evidently i got high marks because i got a few cross-continental sex offers. of course, in true brock fashion, he then weaved an amazing story about how he and i used to constantly sleep together in college until i contracted chlamydia. neither of which is true, by the way. which could be said for pretty much anything that man says. except for the paraplegic chick. that was real.

advances in technology

2007-10-02T20:48:00.000-07:00

i upgraded my mac journalling software a few weeks ago (as it automatically uploads my blog) and it has a handy little neat-o feature- i am able to audioblog. in other words, all of my blogs, or even a portion, can be presented with the sound of my voice. i can also create podcasts, for that matter. so, for those of you who are suffering from that empty chasm in your life that is my absence, i may be able to fill that a little. it will give a new meaning to that nickname i acquired in dispatch. perhaps i’ll earn it back.

in other news, it was kind of a shitty week. between my mom having some health problems, and a few medical emergencies of my own, it was a week to forget. onward and upward..

a few random thoughts, however.

what happened to those coin/snap purses that were made especially to hold your cigarettes and lighter? man, those were awesome. it was an essential whiskey tango accessory that you just don’t see anymore. and i am mourning its absence.

and i was talking to sunny about a guy that i crushed on a little bit a few years ago. eerily, he reminds me of they guy from The Pick-Up Artist, but without the furry hats. i asked her if she could see what i was talking about, and she said, “well, all i remember is that he was cute, but the only night i talked to him i was seeing double.” which leads me to wonder, shouldn’t drunkenness actually enhance your visual abilities in judging another’s looks? granted, there’s all the fuzziness that comes with excessive drinking, but you’d think you’d be more likely detect someone’s undesirable physical qualities if you were seeing two copies of their face all night.

my blog should be more entertaining, but it’s about all i can muster. i still feel like shit, and i’m hoping that a three day weekend will be what i need to feel great by tuesday.

perhaps on my day off, i’ll experiment with the audio blog features. you can decide whether it’s better to hear me, or not.

enjoy your holiday..

regrets

2007-09-30T18:12:00.000-07:00

if you think about it, there is a girl out there somewhere that watches the verizon commercials, and thinks to herself, “i actually slept with the ‘can you hear me now’ guy.” i imagine more than one woman, actually. how do you think she feels?

does she have nightmares about having sex with him again and hearing him repeat, “can you feel me now? how ‘bout now?” does she drown herself in shame, or experience nausea thinking about it?

i don’t know about guys, but us girls think back on many of our sex partners (or boyfriends) and feel queasy. men may do this, but i’m tempted to think it’s far less common for a man to have those sort of regrets. i could be wrong. it wouldn’t be the first time.

just so you know, i have never had sex with the verizon guy. or the “dude, you’re getting a dell” guy. although often i break into, “i love it, you love it, I GOT IT AT ROSS!“ song. i think it’s hereditary.

my sister and i can sing most any jingle from the 80’s: several mcdonalds songs, the crave cat food song, oscar meyer and armour hot dogs songs, albertsons, red lobster. we knew them all. and sadly we still do. test me.

my mom is the worst.

i clearly recall us standing in mervyns on a visit home a few years ago. it was a busy saturday, and the line behind us was fifteen deep (not to mention the surrounding checkout lines.) despite the amount of people, it was fairly quiet. no overhead music, nobody in line saying anything, silent checkers. and then, clearly and loudly, as she was making out her check, my mom belted, ”COME SEE THE SOFTER SIDE OF SEEEEEEARS!“

very quietly, i leaned into her, ignoring the stares, and said, ”mom, we’re in mervyns.“ to which she bellowed, ”well i don’t KNOW the mervyns song!“

i enjoy it now, but growing up was hard. we were embarrassed to be with our folks anyway, but mine had to sing all the way through the store. and not what was on the overhead speakers, no way. something awkward and lame, and usually something that followed a phrase somebody else had just said.

for example, a simple ”oh“ from a bystander would prompt my mom to sing (as though she were trying out for her own personal american idol), ”OH-OH what a feelin’! when we’re dancing on the ceiling!“ stop in the name of love was another of her favorites. any thing you said that could be a lyrics of a song was off limits, or you wouldn’t hear the end of it until she got tired of the song.

my sister picked up this habit also, but made it all the more annoying by singing while you were trying to talk to her. my mom would yell at her, and she would protest, ”mom, i can sing and listen at the same time!“

i don’t know whether scientists involved in the human genome project have pinpointed this portion of the dna yet, but i’m sure they’re getting close.

if you leave this blog with an awful jingle stuck in your head, whether mine or your own, i have done my job here. however, don’t blame me if you end up having a one-night stand with somebody who stayed in a holiday inn express last night. SO not my fault.

downtown.. not all Petula Clark thought it would be

2007-09-29T11:00:00.000-07:00

so, i have this new job. it's in the bustling center of downtown san diego. because of the parking situation (and me being a new employee) i've been forced to take the bus. or pay $20 a day to park SOMEWHERE in the area.

the bus sucks, but it's amazing what an iPod can do for your anxiety level. listening to spoon, and the garden state soundtrack in the morning, and soul coughing and white stripes in the afternoon. it works out. unless you get strange people poking at you trying to get your attention.

i got annoyed my first week because of the variety of smells on the bus. most are not pleasant, but tolerable. most of the time it's the overwhelming stench of liquor, even at 7:30 in the morning. that annoyed me at first, and kind of made me think condescendingly at these people. until i realized, hey! they're riding the BUS. they aren't driving around crashing into shit. who cares how early it is? i might have a VSOP on the bus if i could. as long as i don't get vomited or fallen on, i'm gravy.

i was wandering around for lunch on wednesday, which lets you see all sorts of interesting people of every walk of life. it's like a crazy, in-motion, hurried melting pot. it's great for people watching. it's like the bus, without the claustrophobia or the odors.

i was walking back to my office (which requires a magnetic security card to get into) and my cell phone was up to my ear. often when i see people i know are going to engage me in conversation and i don't want to, i'll feign a phone call to avoid it. i'm lame, i know. you do it too, though. or you will now that you realize how brilliant it is.

i was calling my mom in the hospital, and i was on the second ring, so i was ready to say hello at any time. it's that point in a phone call where a friend trying to talk to you gets that "wait a minute" pointy finger. and as my mom picked up the phone, i walked by a transient in a wheelchair, panhandling. in the instant of silence between the click of her picking up, to her saying "hello", i heard him say, "spare some change? HEY! you're hot!"

my mom had to say "hello" a few times and almost hung up thinking i was a prank call. i was, at once, shocked, amused, and flattered. and then it occurred to me.

that is the first time in a long time that a stranger has complimented me.

perhaps it was a ploy to get me more willing to loosen my pockets (which are empty save for lip gloss and a credit card). or maybe it was sincere. i'll never know. but i'm taking it as genuine. and you can't stop me.

not much else happened this week of much excitement. i was about 100 yards from going to jail when the upstairs neighbor boys decided to have drunken wrestling at 2am (when i had to wake up at 6). their inebriated, stoned, idiot brains would had found their way out of their ears - had i had a bit more energy, and maybe a louisville slugger.

you know? i've never owned an aluminum bat. but i want to go buy one, just so i can threaten people with it.

i cut most of my hair off again yesterday. i sort of look like a cross between cyndi lauper and one of the taylor brothers from duran duran. which reminds me, PLEASE go look up the banned video of girls on film on youtube. i would find the link for you, but if you've been sitting here wasting time for 5 minutes reading my blog (which isn't nearly as entertaining as the ones from days of yore) then surely you can go google it your damnselves. holy lord, it's hot. for the 80's. i mean, it's no "smack my bitch up" kind of banned. but not much is.

my beloved girl aislinn is leaving for ireland very soon. tonight is probably the last time i get to see her for awhile, if i even can tonight. it's funny how someone can be on the fringes of your life for years, drifting in and out on the surface of your life. and just when you are beginning to get to know them, and find your commonalities, and really enjoy looking forward to hanging out with them, it's time for someone to leave. she religiously reads my blogs, and is actually entertained by them (even the sucky ones.) she is beautiful, and kind, and complicated, and i adore her. she's been a big part of my life the last month, and it's refreshing to know that you're not alone in your inner battles. there's always someone out there who knows what you're going through, or what you've been through, or what you're going to go through. and it's incredible stroke of luck if we are able to find them.

i've always thought that a person is the sum of everyone they've ever let into their lives. people meet friends, and lovers, and all those in-betweens, and we take a part of each of them - their personalities, habits, idiosyncrasies - and they take a part of us. so in meeting new people, it changes you forever, if only slightly. and in that way i am changed by her. but also in a way that not many people have ever changed me. and i don't know if i could tell you why, or when the change happened. but i know i can count on one hand when it's happened to me before.

so, i feel good. and lousy. and tired. overworked, ambivalent, nostalgic. mostly good, though.

have a fantastic weekend. eat a twinkie. you can't go wrong with hostess..

disillusionment

2007-09-23T19:17:00.000-07:00

you know those couples that are made for each other? the ones who are so adorable together that you want to strangle them? they have been together forever, and you see them and think, why the hell can't i have that?

and then you find out they aren't so perfect. one's been cheating on the other with someone close to both people involved, and they have issues and sadness just like the rest of us.

guess nobody's perfect. except zach braff. (i changed my atm pin, fyi..)

speaking of, go out and buy the garden state soundtrack. NOW. DO IT NOW. it's so good. especially when you have a new job downtown that you can't afford to buy parking for, so you have to ride the city bus (which scares the bejeesus out of you). it's a perfect, scary public transport ipod cd. joshua radin's winter - are you effing kidding me right now? and zero seven? holy god, i freaking love it.

anyway, it's sunday and i've been up for a while. i was sitting awake in bed thinking, you know, i should really get up. it's got to be like 11:30.

it was 8am.

i'm off to do something. i'll start with a shower and see how it goes from there. i may get crazy and go back to bed, or go eat lunch by myself at a fancy restaurant. or maybe i'll fill up my car with gas and not stop at the "click". i live on the edge, i know.

a conversation i actually had:

me: so, who's the team with the lightning bolts?
dg: ..uh, that's the chargers, sharon. that's us.
me: oh. really? i thought we were the C's.
dg: uh, no... no, that's chicago.
me: oh.... hey dave? don't tell anybody, kay?

reinvention

2007-09-10T19:18:00.000-07:00

i am continuing to undo the in-shapeness i worked on before colorado. that ends today. also ending today are the poor choices of men i choose to hang out with, being intoxicated to the point of losing two of my most (emotionally) valued items, and the general shabbiness in which i have run my life.

it doesn't take einstein to make me realize that the former of the previous three is a direct cause of the second, and number three logically follows. it's a mess. i'm a mess. i spent the last few days with no drinking (save for two drinks during football with dave) and alone self time. i also watched blake snake moan, which wasn't what i was expecting, but was oddly parallel to my life. not nearly as dramatic or severe, but similar.

i feel different. better too, but mostly just different. i realized yesterday that going through things in my mind is a lot like the method of cleaning my room.

when i make up my mind to clean, i see the big picture. i look at my room, and i generalize tasks. i have to do laundry, vacuum, pick up things and put them back where they go, etc etc. the problem is that i get sidetracked into mini-tasks, which then turn into micro-tasks.

an example in my head is this: i find a book on the floor. i pick it up to put the book on the bookshelf, and then notice the books are out of order or disorganized for whatever reason. so i put aside the larger task of cleaning my room for the moment, and pull things off the bookshelf to reorganize that - mini project. once most of the books are in a pile on my lap and the floor and i'm just about to get started, i find a box of photos on one of the shelves. i look inside and see that they are all haphazard and in no order whatsoever. i decide that i need to organize the photos according to subject, and then maybe make little name tabs for them to keep them neat and in place. of course, i can't set this aside to do later, because i'm in the moment and the only way it will get done is to do it now. that's how i operate.

now, not only have i abandoned my original task of cleaning my room to the ultra-micro task of ordering pictures, my room is more of a disaster than it was due to the contents of the bookshelf being strewn about the now catastrophic living space .

i do this every single time. and cleaning takes way longer than it should because of the side projects i create for myself. but in the end, i feel like i've simplified my life, and my brain feels a little less cluttered. in fact, i clean when i'm grouchy or sad or emotional, and the brain clutter goes away, but it also gives me time to think. not that i need more of that, but bleh.

i noticed yesterday that my emotional healing process is handled much the same way. but it's on a way larger scale, and there's clutter going back more than three decades. in other words, this cleanup job is not handled in an afternoon, or even a weekend. it's not even confined to the spring cleaning season.

i will think about something that's bothering me. i will typically associate this thing with something else in my life from the past that's similar, and also bothering me somewhere in the back of my mind. and that will usually take me back through a chain of events that are deep in my brain. and each of them takes a long time to sort, if they can be sorted at all. if my brain cleanup was represented on a linear scale, it would probably look like a globe sized leaf, with lines branching off tens of thousands of times so that i can't remember where to backtrack to once i get done with something.

i'm a bright girl, but i somehow fall into the same hole too much. i realize that i do it. i know the hole is there, and as i walk up to it, i want to step over it, but i can't stop myself. one foot goes down and doesn't connect to earth, and i'm back where i was, at the bottom and cursing myself as i did the times before that.

so i've stopped walking. i can't resist the hole, and something tells me if i start out walking a different direction, they'll be holes that way also. so for now, i intend to lay down where i'm standing and look at things from that perspective for a while. the things i thought were important to me aren't. if they were, they would make me feel better. and they don't. so until i figure out a way to step over, or walk around those holes, i won't go anywhere. i'm not sure where i was headed to begin with. what makes me think that over there is better than here? i guess there looks cool from here, but things tend to look better the farther you are away from them.

one thing i did this week that was a nice catalyst for this needed change was watch 'the prestige.' i enjoy my thoughts a lot when i get wrapped up in a movie that i'm moved by and think about for days afterward. my mind gets to toss around another flavor for a change instead of what it's used to. i should watch good movies more often. or read good books. i like being in my own head when something moves me. it reminds me there's more to think about.

i realize you guys enjoyed the internet date stories, but those are gone. they were depressing, and didn't make me feel any better or any more social. i think most of those people are stuck in the same place in their heads, and in life, and from experience, it's not a fun place to play.

shortly after making my exit from the cyber date world (which was a few weeks ago, actually) i second-thought it. and when i was in colorado, i was reading the news. evidently 35% of people on dating sites are actually married. i run into enough people who masquerade as single, or kind, i don't need to mine for more.

anyway, this change is good. pleasant things are coming my way. it's the perfect time of year for change on a number of different levels. the weather changes, my age officially changes - autumn cleaning doesn't have quite the same ring to it. but i'm okay with that.

and now, back to the show

2007-09-02T19:19:00.000-07:00

i'm back, and it feels really really good. i spent the day unpacking and cleaning, followed by evening swimming and dinner with friends. i'm exhausted, and when people have asked me how i am, i can't come up with an answer. i feel good, but something else too that i can't quite place.

job hunting starts tomorrow.

colorado was nice, but i'm glad to be here. for the first time, san diego feels like home.

thank you to the sarge for acting as my personal driver, entertainer, and concierge. and thank you to aaron, frosty, and jennifer for the entertainment. i have totally undone the last three weeks of working out in one weeklong vacation, thanks to my mom's love of red losbter and ore house filet at the mustang. it was worth every second. and superparty (not that he reads my blog) for the whodunnit, which i am still dreaming of, thank you very much.

anyway, time to wind down. i am going to bed early and sleeping really late.

who’s cheatin’ who?

2007-08-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

there was a bit of an odd scenario that started this discussion into fidelity. these events are true.

recently, a girl went out with friends. at the beginning of the night, the girls met a group of guys (who outnumbered the girls by double) and they all ended up talking and drinking and flirting.

pretty early on, this girl was approached by the most confident man of the bunch. this guy boxed out any of the other men, and more or less "verbally pissed on" our heroine (thanks to sunny for that phrase, which usually entails someone claiming someone else in a social situation either verbally, physically, or both.)

over the course of the evening, the guy made graphic suggestions aloud to the girl about what he was going to do to her, in no uncertain terms. the flirting continued. he bought her drinks. the night progressed, and it was time to leave. she got into his car and they drove back to his place.

he reminded her in detail, in case she forgot, exactly what was going to happen once they got back to the house. the subject of safety came up, and the guy admitted there weren't any condoms at his house. she let him know that if he was expecting anything, that he had better stop and make a convenience store purchase, which he was more than happy to do, and went out of his way to do it. she knew from the beginning of the night where things were going, and she was okay with it.

the flirting got a little more involved, and they arrived home. he made sure to check with her, and let her know that what was to follow was only that and would be nothing more, which she was aware of. and over the course of the next hour or two, things progressed as you might imagine. there was a decent amount of foreplay, including oral sex, and sex followed.

just as things were reaching finality, he stopped. his face became grave. she asked him if everything was okay. after a few moments of constructing his thoughts, he told her that there was someone special in his life. he couldn't "do this".

caught very off guard, she asked him if he was serious, and indeed he was. her first thought was, "you can't do this? you've already DONE this."

respecting his wishes, she dressed and gathered her things and left.

when the story was retold a few days later among girlfriends, many questions arose (after the amusement died down, that is.) did this guy consider having sex with another woman completion? he wasn't around to interview, but we had to try and guess what he had been thinking. we all agreed that it would have been appropriate to put a halt to things before leaving the bar, right before condoms were purchased, once they got home and started kissing, or even right before or after oral sex . it may have even been appropriate at the outset of sex, but none of that happened. in fact, she had no idea there was another woman in the picture or that there was any apprehension at all. in fact, the whole night was a prelude to this event that she invited and went along with, but she certainly was never in the driver's seat for.

my question to you is, did this guy really think that it made a difference whether he came or not? on what planet does that solidify that sex occurred? he was only hurting himself to not take the final minute or two to complete the act, but for whatever reason, that minute made all the difference to him.

we debated a little further, and found that, according to one of the girls, that some men didn't consider it sex if there was no completion (in which case, many of the women i know could say they never had sex with most of their previous boyfriends.) also, some men thought that oral sex, either the gift or receipt, was not considered sex.

clearly, cheating on someone without involving sex is significant. but when sex is involved in infidelity, the stakes increase tenfold.

is oral sex considered sex? have you engaged in the act of sex after penetration occurs? if not then, when?

these and many other questions surfaced throughout the afternoon. all girls present pretty much agreed that cheating encompasses anything you would hide from a boyfriend/girlfriend, regardless of whether there is any physical contact. but obviously not everyone in the universe agrees with that.

so what actually consitutues cheating? for that matter, what constitutes sex?

prelude to a blog..

2007-08-19T19:21:00.000-07:00

before i write my next blog, i want you all to be thinking about something. don't respond with your thoughts now, just let it roll around your brain for a few days:

what constitutes cheating?

i realize the jury will be out for a while on this one, as people vary. genders vary also.

some people also have standards of cheating that are different from their partner's, which creates a tough spot. what have people you've dated/married think cheating is? do you agree? look back at events in your life that involve fidelity. where is the line drawn?

several years back, there was an awful movie with tom cruise and nicole kidman called, "eyes wide shut." it was unanimous the world over that this movie sucked. i, however, liked it quite a bit. i believe the reason for this is that i got something out of it that many people who just wanted to see a celebrity husband and wife have passionate sex didn't get (which, by the way, didn't happen.)

my take on the movie was the exact debate we are about to embark on. the movie touches on a couple, one of whom fantasizes about someone else they deeply want, and the other has sex with a hooker out of spite even though they didn't ever consider it before. it presented the question, "is it cheating if you want to sleep with someone, even if you don't do it?"

this is interesting to me. if i'm dating someone, and i constantly have sexual thoughts about somebody else, and picture myself with them often, is that being unfaithful? or if i spent a lot of time with this somebody else and developed feelings for them but never acted on them, can you call that cheating?

some would say yes. but then someone might say having fantasies about killing someone is okay as long as you don't act on it, right? can you even make a comparison between the two?

so, get to thinking and we'll talk about this in a few days. think about what you would consider a rift in fidelity, and what other people you know or have known thought. does that line vary based on the person who does it? or are those standards the same for whomever you date?

on a not completely different note, i emailed a new friend earlier today, and viagra came up. i had an epiphany. i have a brilliant idea to make a great product out of an existing very good product. much like heated lubricant, say. or silent velcro. i'm patenting this here and now, so don't any of you bitches try to steal it:

"Viagra, now available with caffeine! Just because you're "up", doesn't mean you're awake!"

i'm going to make a jillion billion dollars.

..to be continued..

god bless PB

2007-08-01T19:21:00.000-07:00

amanda dragged me out drinking last night. well, not dragged, exactly. she asked if i would accompany her to a bar to meet a friend of hers from work and his friend (i'm the single, rowdy girlfriend that my girls are like, "i can't go alone. will you go with me?" and i do.)

the rub was that we had to go to PB. *shudder*

neither of us were fans of PB. however, from the first bar we walked into, with a beefy doorman reading a novel, to the late-night ride home, it was a success.

one of the bars that we went to had "go postal" night.

everyone was issued a number on the way in that they were to wear around, business mixer-style. if you liked someone that you saw (and you happen to be devoid of any social skills and are incapable of starting a conversation with a stranger on your own), you would scope out their number, and proceed to the number board at the front of the bar. you'd put their number on a notecard, followed by whatever message you wanted to relay. it would then be placed in a small envelope with their number on the outside and hung up on the board for the recipient to claim.

i thought this idea was super gay. until i had a few cocktails and decided to leave a note for some guy gently explaining that turning up your collar was no longer in fashion, and he was never going to get laid down the road he was currently on (leave it to me to use the system for alternate purposes.) the game got infinitely more amusing proportionate to alcohol consumption.

fun was had by all, i think. i'm almost considering going back to PB, which clearly means that i'm either suffering from dementia or still drunk. either is possible.

how difficult is it?

2007-07-31T19:22:00.000-07:00

there is an overall lack of a few things in my world: a genuine "sorry" and "thank you."

sorry is WAAY overused, and rarely genuine. i am the first to apologize or admit screwing up. it isn't that hard. it is so true that crow is much easier to eat warm. why can't people understand this? if you fuck up, cop to it. people are more likely to forget you messed up if you apologize afterward, and extremely likely to remember if you pretend it wasn't your fault and go on behaving that way.

also, i make a point of listening for "thank you." it's used sarcastically, for god's sake. why can't people use it when the situation calls for it?

one of my cosmetology professors talked to me after i went home for christmas vacation a year and a half ago. i told her that i ended up doing 4 haircuts and a color. her next question: how much did you make? of course, i didn't make anything. i didn't charge anything because they were family, i said. how can you charge family? i didn't pay for anything except for color, so i didn't lose money.

she got very serious, even angry, and sat me down.

she explained that even a haircut is valuable. granted, nothing is used aside from water and minimal product. it dulls scissors a bit, and sharpening isn't cheap. but her stance was that my time is valuable. my time is worth money. everyone should be charged something, she said. once i don't charge people the first time, they expect free services from then on. and next thing you know, i'm taking hours of my time each month giving people free services. she said that she has NEVER given family free service, with one exception: her mom. she doesn't charge her family or friends full price, but she does charge them. she didn't spend years in school and pay lots in tuition to offer everyone she knows lifetime beauty service for nothing. she said, "it's fine while you're in school. but after you graduate, you will charge people. i don't care who they are."

this is tough for me. i'm the first to want to do nice things for people, and i have a hard time explaining how valuable an hour out of my day is to provide someone with something they would be paying for otherwise.

and then when i end up giving a close friend a free haircut, or facial, pedicure, ANYTHING, i rarely get a "thank you." or even an "i owe you one." the things i get told i will get in return are never given. and these people will come back to me and expect my services again.

how do i put a stop to this? how do i jeopardize friendships by explaining that i no longer provide free services without payment or something comparable?

if i use her rule for free service, the only people i owe service to are my parents, and sunny and dave, for housing me for two years while i went to school. ironically, those four people would offer, and often insist, to give me money.

money is nice, since i'm in the negative every month. but appreciation and/or recognition is paramount to me. yet people can't find the courtesy to do even that.

maybe i'll offer people free haircuts.. of my choice. mullet anyone?

the big yellow envelope

2007-07-27T19:23:00.000-07:00

yesterday sucked.

i left work and i was so ready to go home and sleep (which i did.) but when i got home, i had a yellow envelope sitting in front of my door.

shortly after writing my energy drink trials, i was persuing the glaceau website (as you'll recall, vitamin energy was the clear winner. vitamin water rules also.) anyway, as i was surfing through their site and saw a comments form. naturally, i left them some.

i briefly told them about my blog post, and how i thought monster tasted like mule piss. and i wrote some other stuff i wish i would've written down or remembered. and i never thought another thing about it.

in this yellow envelope was a letter from jamie at glaceau, which thanked me for taking time to comment on their products. and also explained that monthly, their ceo darius takes a few of the letters received and reads them to the employees aloud in the parking lot during a company luau. they enjoyed my letter, they said, and they sent me a vitamin water ballcap for my feedback.

now, this goes to prove my point, people: i am awesome. and i'm funny. and people appreciate me.

oh, and it also proves that glaceau is a fantastic beverage - i cannot do without it (i'm drinking a multi-v right now.) i'm going to see if i can get my landlord to alter my kitchen tap to see if it will dispense a different flavor each month. i'm not counting on it. he hasn't replaced our carpets since 1968.

gay pride

2007-07-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

in other news, the bar across the street from my house is hosting gay pride weekend, which happens to be THIS weekend, as in, the one we're in. there's no parking, so if you leave the house, you can't come back for two days. and when you're there, you have to contend with the "super gay" and their fag hag friends (no offense to either, i was a total fag hag in college) walking by your window drunk at all hours. jealous?

needless to say i'm not at home.

oh, and i'm not at sunny's house. i'm actually at some penthouse in downtown with three of san diego's hottest most eligible billionaire bachelors. truth be told, their neediness is really getting on my nerves. i'm headed back home soon. wish me luck. blog to follow later today. (two blogs in one day? nuh-uh!!)

lately..

2007-07-21T19:25:00.000-07:00

my interaction with humankind lately has completely ruined my faith in people.

it seems every time i turn around, i meet people who don't follow through with promises, who lie about who and what they are, and who spend immense amounts of time trying to fool others into believing they are kind, and just, and good.

it makes it hard to trust anyone. i'm not perfect. not even close. sometimes i try to keep people from seeing facets of my personality because of how they might react or what they might think of me, though i certainly don't masquerade as someone i am not. and sometimes i don't do what i tell people (or myself) that i will do, but it's typically met with good reason, and those moments are few and far between.

but i'm not a liar, or a cheat, or hateful. and while i'm as faulted as the next guy, i'm not afraid of who i am, even though i don't always like myself. i wouldn't be false, or evasive. and i would certainly never do anything to intentionally hurt anyone.

am i wrong for expecting most of the rest of the world to be this way too?

i'm extremely blessed with wonderful friends, and they have all the qualities of people i trust, and truly admire. they wouldn't be my friends otherwise. but it's lead me to expect most other people in the world will be just as good. and, sadly, i'm finding that not to be the case.

i don't want to be skeptical of people's intergrity or motivations. i don't want to constantly wonder if i'm being lied to or deceived. i don't want to question my trust in people (which i give out far too frequently). and i worry that the more people i meet, the less good i will find in the universe.

am i naive? probably. am i too easily disappointed because i want people to be really, truly good and selfless? for certain. will i continue to behave this way, despite the ugliness i find? unfortunately, yes.

i have more than expected to become callus and bitter (a big part of me wants to, actually), but i don't think i'm capable of that.

the worst part seems to be that i often blame myself for the way people treat me. if i would have done this better, or said this, or been this, or thought of this, it would have turned out differently. i would have been treated better if i didn't do whatever it was i fucked up. if only i could think of what it was! let's give it a few more hours of thought!

what a ridiculous task it is to dissect past actions and pretend that if you scour it over enough, that somehow history would be altered, or you'd find this huge epiphany about what it was you must have done wrong, and then get that part of you fixed. or better yet, amputated.

i'm fucked up, nobody with a high-ranking degree needs to tell me that. i'm guilt ridden, trusting to a fault, filled with self-loathing, and i criticize myself into pieces. i think with my heart and not my head (though i would probably try to convince you otherwise) and i am too damned sensitive for my own good.

fortunately, i'm wickedly funny and charming, and easily distracted enough to forget all of those things, if only temporarily.

speaking of which, i'm going to watch that dance revolution video again..

blogettes

2007-07-18T19:26:00.000-07:00

sorry. i owe like a gagillion long blogs. and what the hell ever happened to "conversations i actually had?" i'm an ass.

one note for today.

with strides in technology, it's almost impossible to identify crazy people on the street anymore. are they talking to themselves, or are they on their bluetooth micro-headset ranting to coworkers? crazy people should be tattooed so they are easily identifiable. oh wait, we already are.

felines..

2007-07-17T19:27:00.000-07:00

amanda and i are co-authoring a book about animals. we gathered research today, and came up with some really good information. it's going to be called:

"how to shave a cat in 43 easy steps."

anyway, now not only do we have a 20-year-old blind ass cat, we have a 20-year-old blind ass cat with a mohawk. incidentally, we are available for mobile pet grooming. rates vary upon size, time spent, and temperment (the animal's and ours).

i'm filthy, sweaty, tired, and i have fur in my bra. i am now going to sit back, relax, and fantasize about not washing my dishes..

call me a bitch..

2007-07-03T19:27:00.000-07:00

BUT..

i was driving home today, and i saw a disheveled looking man standing on the offramp from the 5 to washington st. he held up a tattered cardboard sign that read, "disabled vet, wife pregnant, need help."

now, i could be wrong, but you're not very fucking disabled if you managed to get your spouse knocked up. quit panhandling and get a goddamn job already..

some more random thoughts

2007-06-26T19:28:00.000-07:00

i've seen some people that i went to high school with on the internet lately, and i don't get it. they look about 43 years old. what did they do that i didn't? I can say with certainty that i don't look like i'm in my 30's, much less like i'm a dinosaur. can it be that ben and jerry's creme brulee and zero-carb rockstar are the fountain of youth? is it because i've always had to wear 80spf at the beach for my fair little redhead skin? it is because, since i still play xbox, my body thinks it's still 13?

i got a new blackberry yesterday. it cost me -$75 dollars. evidently amazon gives you money back if you buy new cell contracts through them. i got the pearl, and i can't stop playing with it. but you know why i REALLY wanted it? because when i lived in vail, i was behind trista rehn in the post office, and she had one. in fact, her inner volume was set to deafening, which i'm guessing is pretty standard for her. i long to be like her.

lastly, i would like to apologize profusely to my dear friend kevin from philly. he took my critique of AMP to be a personal attack. i just want to say, for the record, that kevin is quite possibly the single most patient man on the earth. and he's hot. and he has a sexy voice. and he has this cute little giggle when he's being crafty that women everywhere can't resist. and i'd sooner stab a loved one in the face than do anything whatsoever to tarnish our relationship. that notwithstanding, AMP still remains an absolutely wretched beverage directly created my satan and his minions. the measure of a man is not by the drink he chooses, but how much he thinks i am super extra primo rad fantastico. which of course, i am. so he gets 365 million pts.

Official Energy Drink Trial Results

2007-06-23T19:28:00.000-07:00

as some of you know, i weaned myself off of caffeine for about 3 months, only to fall off the wagon HARD by attempting to drink every energy drink made on earth.

i've been criticized by many of you for not being strong enough to keep myself off of the hard stuff, as well as for using these "trials" as an excuse to continue my addiction. furthermore a few of you *coughsunnycough* tried to sit me down for an "intervention."

i want you to know that i didn't want to do this. i was against it from the beginning. i underwent these trials not for my own benefit, but for the benefit of YOU, my reader. how could i live with myself if i knew that somewhere, in the cooler section of a 7-11, that the selection of beverages was so overwhelming that many of you might walk out without buying anything. and subsequently not be as productive as you could have been if only you had enough energy. and then, you look at your life of ill-productivity and get violently depressed and, in a late-night tragedy, your car careens off a cliff because your body lacked the essential nutrient of caffeine to keep you on the road.

and really, i cannot in good conscience, do that to you, your family and your friends. so be fucking grateful, already, you selfish sons o' bitches:

****
first off, the losers (sounds like my love life, but i digress)-

MONSTER -- this drink is god-awful. i don't give a shit how many colors of cans they have, green, blue.. they ALL suck. the m-80 and all the other "versions" they have are all about as consumable as creamed corn that has been sitting in a marathon runner's adidas. i'd sooner drink my own urine. if you want to drink a shitty energy drink in a big-ass can, you'd be better off drinking a rockstar. that company should pay YOU to drink their product. i give this a -20pts

RED BULL -- the first energy drink on the market, so that gets it points automatically (jolt does not count, people.) it took an acquired taste, and still tastes like some medicine they had when we were kids that i can't put my finger on. the sugar-free version isn't bad, but the original isn't much better. still, it's the company that started everything. they've even started selling them in the bigger cans. big points for being the pioneer in their field. score of +6pts

ROCKSTAR (the black and white cans) -- when rockstar came out, the black can was their first product. the white can followed shortly thereafter as their sugar free version. when i said before that i would rather drink rockstar before monster, that was a total lie. this beverage sucks equally as bad as monster if not worse. mix up some olive oil with cologne and put it on ice before even thinking about having a rockstar. i don't give a shit if you're dying of thirst in the desert. i take death first. they get negative points for stealing and defiling the brand name of a kick-ass video game company, not to mention hard-rockers everywhere. -40pts

UNBOUND -- this low-carb drink was new to me, so i gave it a whirl. it has that same acrid, artificial energy drink taste as most of the others, but also has a tangy-ness to it that i couldn't quite describe. i gave it to my friend stacey, whose comments were, "this shit tastes like cough syrup, a couple of fruits, and some pine sol." as of this publication, i have no idea how well this drink can clean and disinfect. -12pts

ACE -- this one has pretty rad packaging, with a WWII, pinup chick on the can. not bad. at least it comes with eye candy. 0pts

AMP -- this product of the mtn dew company (pepsi, inc) was recommended to me by a friend Kevin, who insisted i add it into my trials as it was his personal favorite. until this point, i was incredibly trusting of him and happily shelled out a dollar seventy to try it. to try and put it into perspective, go to 7-11 and buy a big gulp of mtn dew with lots of ice, let it sit in your hot car for 4 days, open it up, throw a handful of gravel in there, and drink away. they took all the amazing qualities of mtn dew and threw them the fuck out the window. no carbonation, extremely watered down (or "wooahtered" down if you're kevin and from philly), and tastes worse than the bongwater in the carpet of my upstairs neigbors. studies have shown amp also causes bowel obstruction and impotence. thanks, kev, you're a true pal. -378,012pts

WHO'S YOUR DADDY -- there are two flavors of this one, sugar free cranberry/pineapple and not sugar free something else. i haven't even tried the second one yet because the first one RULES. it's super awesome, and people i have turned on to it agree. it's in a red white and blue can, so toby keith would even feel pride drinking it while driving around in his ford grumbling about the dixie chicks. +350pts

ENVIGA -- made by nestea, this one was the winner for a long time. it comes in berry, peach and green tea (though they all have green tea in them.) the first two are very good, the plain green tea not so much. also they do not have a sugar free version, and after you drink about 30, all you can taste is the green tea because it eats away your tastes buds ability to pick up any or the peach and berry flavors after a while. on the upside, this gives you energy AND burns calories. green tea lovers, unite. +12pts

SOBE "no fear" -- the sugar free version tastes exactly like the sugared version, and they are both absolutely forgettable. skip this and just have a regular sobe, for christ's sake. that's what they do best. -15pts

ROCKSTAR (the other ones) -- rockstar carries a few other flavors since their first attempt, energy * juice, energy * guava, and pomegranate (i'm drinking the latter as we speak.) they come in an orange, purple, and red can respectively. much MUCH better than it's predecessor. all the kick-ass energy of rockstar without the taste that makes you want to hold a lighter to your tongue. +450pts

****

Runner up

ROCKSTAR, zero-carb -- this drink is super-awesome, fantastic, rad. it's better than a night of wine, pizza rolls, twinkies, a candlelit bath and incredible sex. it tastes like raspberry (and looks like it, as it's this dark pink color.) it's in a big, blue can that you can't miss, and comes in the MEGA MEGA can of like 84 ounces that has a heavy duty aluminum lid that looks like it should have STP inside. i had one the other night (the wee 16 oz one) at about 3pm, and I was up until 1am (for reference, i have taken a three hour nap shortly after finishing a red bull.) this drink will make your friends think you're a cokehead and will caress your taste buds at the same time. don't plan on sleeping for 21 hours afterward. actually, toss back a zero-carb, and you could probably handle a date with me, complete with wine, pizza rolls, twinkies, a candlelit bath and a night of incredible sex. +2,531.7pts

****

WINNAH

GLACEAU VITAMIN ENERGY -- comes in three flavors, fruit punch, dragonfruit and citrus. super amazingly tasty, and they each have a neat little story on the side of each can. in fact, if you're winding down and not in the caffeine mood, tip back a glaceau vitamin water -- also very tasty in multiple flavors and with the same amusing stories. i'm not a fan of the fruit punch, but the other two are rad. you don't have to take your one-a-day while drinking this beverage as, like the name, the vitamins are already inside. it gives you pretty long-lasting energy, though not a severe a rush as the others, which is it's con (also, no sugar free.) best tasting, and it comes with entertainment. plus, shaq, kelly clarkson and 50-cent drink them, so there's that. i'm not altogether sure that shaq doesn't drink urine, though. someone should give him a monster. +3,015,000pts

***

okay, there you go. if i get any follow up stats, i will pass them along. in the meantime, get the hell up from your computer, go get something to drink, and do something fucking productive already.

a quickie

2007-06-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

first of all, thank you for viewing my blog NINE THOUSAND TIMES. was it like a month and a half ago that i was at eight thousand? you guys RULE. i'm going to have a party at 10,000, so you know.

i have a lot of stuff to blog about, like this being my last week of school, and me having to take my boards next week, and my experience at the beach yesterday, and of course my energy drink trials. and i will. I PROMISE. as soon as school ends, i will be a much more devoted blogger.

in the meantime, i was driving to work today and noticed a restaurant that i pass at least 7 times a week. i've never really thought about it before, but would you eat at a place called "the tickled trout?" i think not.

four more days of school, four more days of school...