sorry

i say this a lot.


i can't possibly be wrong as often as i say it.

good day

i'm so sad that you weren't here with me.

I got to have one of those tough 'you're royally screwing this up' conversations with an engineer. I even got the boss' permission to threaten firing the guy.

For a non-confrontational gal such as myself, these conversations are more than a bit trying.

But you would be proud. I gave him a polite what-for. I didn't back down, i didn't do anything that would make me feel like i needed a shower afterward. I presented my points, sternly but professionally. And his reply - silence. As MB said, you can't defend an argument when there's no argument for your defense.

So there, i had a nice big professional how-do-you-do and i won.

tuesdays

i was told to go drinking tomorrow night.


so i will.

saving me

tonight writing about dead kids and raining in baltimore are saving me. i think i could do this all night.


i might need to

- -

i was trying to sort something out today. something i've been thinking about for quite a while now. often the answer begins with a more well defined query. today i realized something that might just help.

i have been trying to suss out why i get so bored.

i've been bitching and moaning about this terrible ennui which has afflicted every fiber of my being. i like to think i'm a happy person but often i find, not so much. that's not fun. it's not the way to go through life. what if i only get one? i don't want to spend it bored. i want to spend it creative, drunk, in love and crazy. a previous post states my 'make your own happy' motto, if you will. i really do believe this. and of course all that bitching means i'm owning up to the fact that i hadn't sorted that bit out.

still, recognizing what i must do does not explain why i take such issue with boredom. it's should be a non-issue should it not?

but it's not the boredom that i can't bear. it's nothing. it's feeling nothing. it's like feeling pain is preferable to nothing. does that sound like a problem?

and i have an addiction. that first moment. that moment right before the first kiss. the first touch. unknowing hands. butterflies everywhere. just thinking about that... that's all i need. some folks need to jump off a bridge on a bunji, some folks need porn. all i need is that new moment.

maybe it's the butterflies that i am so in love with.

refrigerator poetry

smooth the bitter whisper of death
with the easy language of skin and sweat

morals: friend or foe?

in an effort to prepare for an impending debate, lets discuss society's innate, unspoken, unenforcable (mostly) rules: morals.

Issue #1: Defense for cowardice. This one is fact. but is it the dominant pro argument?

Issue #2: Do unto others. i think this is the one i buy into most. it does make one massive assumption: that others feel the same as i do. If wouldn't want my ass grabbed by some guy, i shouldn't grab some guys ass. Wrong. What is said guy doesn't mind? In fact, he might dig it. hm. at a basic level, this one is true 99% of the time isn't it? i wouldn't like to be stabbed in the back, therefore...

Issue #3: The hereafter. i'm not sure i'm qualified to tackle this one. lots of those same people who dig this item also think that child molester down the street can repent in his last minute and go hang out with my grandma and St. Peter.

Issue #4: Protection. Let me clarify. by that i mean morals are maybe meant to protect you from yourself. quite often, doing whatever one likes, can put one in unfortunate positions

Issue #5: ya hurt the ones you love. morals are supposed to stop that. right?

i'm sure there are more. lemme think about it. anyone else?

you know what's not fun?

it's not fun when you know you're not good at your job.

it's more not fun when you don't particuarly like your job.

luckily for me the better i get at my job, the less i have to do it.

whew.

Track 12, Special Reserve

makes me want to turn up the bass, turn down the lights and light up a joint. And of course, dance real slow.

A sure sign of good tunage is that you can't keep your head/hips still when listening.

My friend Stella

She's keeping me company for now, but disappearing fast.

What's that you say? you don't know Stella? She and i go way back. A dear friend in Boston introduced me to her. At a tiny little bar called Bukowskis. Truly.

Annnnnyway. I had a fucking monday.


Thank goodness for Tuesday. Tuesday might make up for this shitastic Monday. And actually, via email, i just discovered that Tuesday might be outstanding in that capacity.

i have something exciting & new to read, so off i go.

The Selfish Giant

Shockingly, J cannot abide this film.

Off topic: i had suuuuuuuch a stupid day today. One of those days where you turn away from a conversation and on the walking away think 'good lord, i AM such a twit'.

Ugh.

So, the more i watch Stephen Fry the more i'm convinced that i have known several hetero- or bi-sexual incarnations of Mr. Wilde, over the years. Every one of them insanely tempting, madly intrigueing. So what does that make me?

Yoga - let's discuss

Hop in cold car.
Sit in traffic.
Drool over dark blue Cayman S.
Sit in traffic.
Park in lot several miles from home so hubby can have nice front door parking spot for monster truck.
Walk dogs until hands freeze and nose falls off -and still dogs aren't 'finished'.
Turn on giant television size of, well, me, intending to flick on yoga dvd. when -gasp- what to my wondering eyes does appear? Why it's Food Network in HD.

So i sit here thinking, gotta go get on the yoga gear and pull out the mat -and pull down the shades, STAT. Then i thought, uuuug, yoga pants, what the f* was wrong with the person or persons behind yoga pants? Synapses misfired in a fairly severe way my friends.

"I know! I know! If these twits are going to be turning themselves into human crazy straws in an effort to lengthen and strengthen, I say we complete the scene."

That's when yoga pants were invented. Sewiously. [in my best Homestar voice which isn't very good at all]. If you're doing yoga, it's most assuredly NOT because you already look like Heidi Klum. So why oh why would you make pants out of SPANDEX? I don't care if it's disguised with cotton so it looks all soft and fuzzy. Or like mine where they added flared legs like trendy jeans. You can't fool me. It still grabs your ass like a misbehavin' prom date. Ug.

Damn. Now Good Eats is on. And i have to go don spandex pants and a tiny tank?? You have got to be kidding me.

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...