life is a party

Mom always said, you have to make your own good time.

I was thinking about that 80% happy that i'm supposed to have now that i'm left hand heavy and i realized, it's not his responsibility. it's mine. it's only taken me more than 29 years. How slow am i?? funny how people can beat you over the head with something but unless you figure it out on your own, it doesn't mean a thing.

i have another eye-opener to reveal. One person cannot be everything for another. i'm not even sure one can be everything for oneself. But i see nothing wrong with filling what i perceive to be gaps, with others strong suits. Now, the challenge is how to reconcile this with that infernal thing called morals. I best figure out a definition for those but quick.

Wandering Star

Earlier this week i found myself, shall we say, intimately (i really dislike that word; seems like such an impersonal way to say such a very personal thing) interacting with my hubby. While this is lovely, the soundtrack in my head was inappropriate to say the very least.


sigh.

God of Mercy, thy name be Distraction

So i had this distraction. A fun little thing. Something to waste away the minutes between conference calls and meetings. It was relatively harmless -all things considered. A little imagination and a lot of memory can go a long way in improving a given situation.

Then this other distraction, having lain dorment for over two years, rears his attractive head. Since i really do think my brain works best when NOT left to it's own devices, this diversion works out well. Phone call, CDs, email, meeting, CDs, email, phone calls, CA.. Wake up dreaming... Much more gray matter intensive than the previous distraction, this one seemed promising.

that's right, seemed. That's past tense kiddies. Something is over.

Sigh. There is so much to write. The beer is sort of tangling things up, and there's more than a mouse awake in this house.

I'm feeling slighted. Receive absolutely lovely email one morning -we're talking the kind of email one rereads when one is feeling down, the sort one can't bear to delete, and a few short hours later receive another email of striking contrast, essentially saying 'eh, too risky'. I disagree. And so I return to the ennui to which i am so accustomed. (I apologize for overuse of this word but it's so damn accurate.)

I'm not a fan of games. I excell at them however. Go to a tiny New England private school, then attend a well regarded tiny New England private university, and try not to learn how to play social games. Here's where i sound as obnoxious as i hopefully ever get. I got to the point where if i wanted a.. distraction, I got it. That's not to say i tasted the fruit in every garden (;) ) but the gate was opened to me, and opened wide. And so, i felt it only fair to warn this latest preoccupation of mine; i am good at these games. What is this game of which you speak? Why, it's the who's-less-interested game of course. Certainly, the game is substantially tougher when one, at times, wants not much more than to grab ones opponent and shag them, but i feel sure i can withstand the temptation. I do have 8 years of practice under my belt. And 8 years of practicing anything are sure to have a positive effect on any skillset, as a fine young man once told me.

As one of my most favorite fictional characters was wont to say - the game is afoot.

Peppermint Icecream for the Soul

Welcome back.

Here I sit, at 10:45ish, on a Wednesday night, alone. J is mad at me and therefore not talking to me. Again. I'm listening to Guaraldi, Bing and Cole, typing away, and thinking far too much for my own good. It's the usual run of things i suppose.

Let's start with the basics. Here's my christmas list.

I want excitement. I want that 'Oh my dear sweet lord above is he going to kiss me' feeling. I want butterflies and a mouth full of words that won't come out right. I want refinement and the appreciation of real art and good beer.

It's funny that for a while i was ready to give up all that i have for a set of beautiful blue eyes, wonderfully laid artwork and some serious passion. Now i find it tedious. Sigh, the above-mentioned excitement has ruined me for all other imaginary suitors.

I suppose i ask for too much. But this depresses me. Where is that line? That illusive line betwixt the man who does not exist, and the the one who isn't close enough to the man who cannot exist. The waiting for the impossible and the settling for the inevitable?

I only get one go 'round in this bod with this brain, but i ain't getting any younger. And that's not hurry up and do something -that's if you do something wrong, you'll not just be stuck, you'll beold and stuck. In a few short months i'll be significantly older. Words cannot adequately describe how much i dread that day.

Back at square one. How many times have i said i need to do something? What is it that i need to do? Something meaningful? Exciting? Fulfilling? Hedonistic? Anything to relieve this terrible boredom i think will do the trick.

So - shall i apologize? I always say, one should not apologize for anything for which one is not truly sorry. Why must i apologize for working late? I never require such a thing. It's worth apologizing for liking where i work and my cohorts i suppose. I need to apologize for such a thing it seems.

So this entry wasn't exactly the Peppermint stick icecream i'd hoped it'd be, but i feel a teensy bit better. Perhaps it's time to lay down next to the man who yet again won't speak to me, and see if i can sleep this ennui off for another day.

In what i believe

I believe in red toenails.
I believe in watching Sesame Street just because.
I believe in holding hands. A lot.
I believe in treating animals with more respect than people.
I believe in looking deep into his/her eyes, then long deep kisses.
I believe a kiss on the forehead means something utterly different than a kiss on the neck.
I believe in black and white art, film and clothes, but not life.
I believe in the healing power of icecream.
I believe in lingerie when no men are around.
I believe poetry can be sexy.


(08.02.03)

safe

i've been trying to suss some things out.

i think i had a real break through today doc.

i liked being with Guy S. i think part of the reason was i felt safe. like he could and would beat the ever lovin' tar out of anyone who spoke to me the wrong way. kinda nice, in a cavemanish way maybe, appeals to the reptilian brain. or maybe just appeals to my damaged self.

but it annoyed me when Guy D told me that i made him feel safe. like it's too much pressure for me to keep a full grown man safe.

give me a break.

Scars

this may sound absurd -especially if you know that i've actually made a bit of money off photographs of my almost scarless bod- but i sometimes wish i had more.

source: i just saw Padma Lakshi (sp?) hosting one of my favorite shows. She has the mother of all scars down her right arm. I'm entrigued. Enthralled. Not only is it a contrast to her otherwise smooth flawlessness, but it speaks of some life event. something so out of the ordinary, that it left its mark, indelibly. there is no substitute for an event like that. a scar cannot be made without sacrifice. Even if you are the cause of your own scar, you did not gain it painlessly.

i know i'm weird, but i really do like them. i have one or two, and i cherish them. J has some and i love them. Scars intrigue me.

Maybe that's why i like tattoos so much.

welcome back to VA

ok, so we're home -just before midnight. Let me explain. It's not because we're fresh from our flight from simply beautiful St. Lucia. That was last night. This chapter in the saga of wedded bliss began at roughly 18:20 this evening.
we went to see the latest in the Harry Potter franchise hit the big screen.
well, upon exiting the megaplex (or metropolis or whatever you call that neon lit monstrosity) we notice that our gleaming white beacon of a truck is listing shamelessly like a drunken sailor.
some bored freshly out of class kid has slashed our passenger side tires. Both of them.
Thank god for our awesomely great neighbor Jacky who brought us her spare from her big momma GMC. J and Pop limped the Tacoma home on a spare that didn't fit and a spare from the truck.
Anyway, dinner wasn't yet on the table as The Order of the Phoenix was supposed to end when Potter and friends climb aboard the Hogwarts express -NOT when Covati and friends climb aboard the neighbors Silverado. So we just ordered a pizza.
Tomorrow morning i bring mom to her dentist apt. THEN i get in to work -and btw, i have almost 130 emails waiting for me -i checked. And those are work emails, it's not like Yahoo where 1/3 of all the emails are asking me if my partner thinks my penile member is lengthy enough...

Let the games begin....

I love this time of year. The weather turns, BBQs are a standard driveway accessory, and fake tans rule the offices. I love this time of year possibly more than your average beach goin' boat ridin' bear. I love that not only can i roll with my windows down, and maybe even catch a little sun because it might still be up when i get away from my desk, but because the nice cars come out. And by nice i don't mean the BMWs. i mean the Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Loti, etc.

There is only one small problem with this glorious season. And it is that because this weather is amenable to slightly more upscale vehicles, other things come out of their caves as well. Yes my little ankle biters, pull the covers up over your heads and close your eyes tight. The HOA wench is trolling the neigborhoods in her white Mercedes.

That's right kiddies.

It's letter writin' time.

Those of you who know me know of my personal vendetta against he HOA. Aside from the fact that i find the whole concept of an HOA intrusive, Big Brotherly, and downright wrong, we also happen to have a real mummyf*cker of a management wench.

You may not be familiar with this ancient faerie tale -i believe it started in Germany or perhaps somewhere in deep eastern europe, the Black Forest maybe. Anyway, there was this evil creature, shaped vaguely like a woman, who would lure little angels, such as yourself, into her domocile. She would then fatten you up a bit, and proceed to skin you a like a freshly caught carp.

I'm about 99% sure this creature is closely related to Lily Lombardo.

You know what this means. Yes my darlings, we have received our first letter of the season!

No children, it was not our tomatoes -those are not yet red, i'm sure that letter is just around the proverbial corner. No no, this time, it's something even smaller than cherry tomotoes.

You know those little clear plastic clips that hold your christmas lights up? Yeah, the ones that are so small that you're gauranteed to hammer your finger trying to install the little f*ers? Yeah those. Well my buddy Lily pulled her magnifying glass from our of her wide a$$, and decided those little clips were unacceptable.

Ahhhhhh.. let the games begin...

the LAST Harry Potter

yep. i mean it.

i just finished, i dunno, #5? whichever one has preceeded the movie that's about to be released to throngs of drooling movie goers who'll be shelling out $20 a ticket to sit in crowded theaters where their feet will stick to the floor and soda may very well be poured down their collective backs. Yeeeees i might join those poor slobs. but i digress. Order of the Phoenix! That's it. And i've decided who will die at the very endiddly-end.

Potter bites it.

That's right. He croaks. Swims with the proverbial fishes. Takes a dirt nap.

I don't want to spoil this for you -though if you're one of the few who peruse my blog, the chances that you're poring over these 6th grade summer reading books is slim to none- so i won't tell you the end of the OotP. Lets just say Rowlings giveth and she taketh away. That's her favorite plot device. Poor poor Harry, how can things get any worse? Take that for 300 pages. Blah blah blah, 800 pages and 9 hours of my life i'll never get back later, and little Harry is on top of the world.

So i'm predicting his demise. By dying, our little glassy-eyed protagonist will get back everything he's lost.

Agree? Disagree? i don't care. To be honest, the books are just 3 inch thick, hard covered nuggets of mental masturbation. No real redeeming literary value, (hi, a wolfman named Lupin? I think i was more clever than that in 5th grade under the tutelage of Mr. Hamilton) but definitely useful in taking ones weary little mind off the real world.

So what's next after Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows?


Harry Potter and the Great Hereafter.

too much

in response to a dear friends comment...

it appears there is just too darn much going on in my skull to get it out on this blog.

i have les pieds frois as maybe les frrench say.
my dog is sick again.
said sick dog has already cost me close to $2500 and will likely cost lots more.
someone might have reappeared in my life which might cause me huge issues and might alter the course of my otherwise dull life.
what was to be a wooden spoon wedding with paperplate reception has turned into a professional kitchenaid with all the attachments and a catered ordeal complete with butlers.
my career bores me -i find no greater purpose or good in it.
i very much dislike where i exist(town/county/state/country).
my car needs serious repair/maintenance work sure to cost nothing less than several hundred dollors, quite possibly lots more.
i frequently feel that i'm single-handedly planning and executing this kitchenaid with all of its attachments.
my future inlaws are flying in on friday.
i have a dentist appointment looming for that same friday that the inlaws arrive.

so as you can see, my brain is an f*ing mess. i can't seem to keep focused on much of anything for any significant period of time.

yeeee haw

it has begun! Time for to piss off my new HOA. It's really a chance to buck the system, in my small way.

And grow a few tomatoes, some basil, etc.


OK, so it looks a little pathetic. but last year it looked sad this time of year too. but how cool is it -we plant the tomatoes -gasp -upside down!

well anyway, while it's nice to grow your own stuff, it's more fun to piss off the HOA. :)

my baby

Diesel is at the hospital. The doggie hospital but he doesn't know the difference and i'm sure it smells as sweet and the neighbors are just as pleasant as at the people hospital so lets not spoil it for him.

Little tyke's been there since monday night. Looks like he is taking after his mom. Per my usual medical run of things, the docs are clueless. Could be pneumonia. Could be a birth defect. We really can't say for sure. But what we can say is thus far it'll cost you $350. After that, we're going to have to check our records and our vacation homes in Puerto Vallarta.

Can't put a price on my little boys head of course. Though i think at times J could.

I'd just like him home, bouncing off the walls and following me around like a shadow. Until then i'm trying to keep busy -what else can i do? I pester the vets for the latest test results, make healthful, complicated, yet tasty dinners (homemade chinese anyone?) and i've started painting the kitchen red. Yep, deep dark Colgate red -so really more of a coppery burgundy?

anyway i'm off like a prom dress to try to rejuvi my brain for 8 hours. -who am i kidding, maybe 6 or 7?

**I will be accepting mental donations of happy furry thoughts through the end of this week at least. Thank you for your support**

reading = listening

it appears people may actually be reading this.

it's a funny thought since as i write [and watch The Transporter -chic weilding two large semi-automatic weapons while wearing naught more than a pair of stilettos and lingerie -bad lingerie at that] i can't really imagine anyone else sitting at their monitor, reading these words.

[Ohhh sweet jesus above, a lamborghini....]

Might be some gal in oregon with a shock of pink hair and a bijon frise named Paul. Perhaps an architect in Boston taking a break from studies. Maybe some skater punk in PA who thought i had forgotten about him.
[a ferrari now...]

Anyway, i kinda like it. it's a connection. to who knows who. and who knows where

[now the end of the Fast & the Furious -tell me Paul Walker isn't hot. can't act his way out of a paper bag but really -who cares].

So for now it's a one way, tenuous connection. who's gonna break that?

architects -don't i love 'em

ahh architects. A species all their own.

check 'em out on tv or film. romanticized - they look like intelligent otherworldly types, their speech issuing forth in well-formed, eloquent quips about the deeper meaning of the shape of a steel girter, or the true feelings hidden deep within the .25 ga metal stud. Apparently even Keanu Reeves is permitted to spew such crap as long as he's playing an architect.

It's one of those career choices readily available to the public, and yet so foreign. Everyone knows what they do -vaguely- little ones run around telling their first grade teachers that they will grow up to be big and strong and doctors or architects or spacemen or the like. Yet it's not a profession i think highschoolers profess to their college counselors with quite as much frequency. there must be a real passion running through their veins for this pursuit to be realized.

So while architects such as Frank Ghery or Corbusier (or Corbu as we, his inner circle call him), are well known for their sculptural masterpieces, there is more to this story. The true genius of architects lies in their little known skill as defiers of all the known laws of physics. It's true. They bend time. Don't ask me how this is accomplished for i've never actually witnessedthis phenomenon myself. I simply know the unshakable faith they have in their kind to achieve this mystery.

Take for example my schedule of the past few weeks. These masterminds have determined it's entirely feasable to fit 92 hours into 40.

I'm telling you -they're brilliant.

Damaged Goods

we may be damaged but we're still good. s.

he's baaaack

... or is he?

can't recall a time when this has happened to me before. someone who was so huge in my life/growth/development/whatever who disappears comes back.

i invited it sure, but i completely expected total, utter and thorough failure.

so shame on me when my plan backfired -and succeeded.

So now he's back. or, he was yesterday.

and who is this mystery caller?

bring the white stuff. bring it!

is it snowing there?


um -NO. and thank the lawd or allah or whomever b/c the folks down here are what i've heard termed SnowStupid. It's depressing. An inch? Head for the hills! Ohhh neighbor, have you stocked up on toiletpaper and milk? Better get your move on!
so -YES i hated digging my car out each morning -not to use it but only so that when the roads had less than 6 inches of packed ice/ripped up road/snow i'd have a car left and not a car shaped glacier.

Sigh. It's not a battle i can win. I shall miss it from afar, and enjoy the fact that in early december i still wasn't wearing a jacket and i'm sure come march i'll be back to pissed off that i can't wear flip flops to work.

time to get back to work. bah.

such a day

this was my friday.

a friends mother passed

a friend has HIV

a mother miscarried

at least it's not friday right now.