Monday, January 31, 2011

The first five minutes of Buried with Ryan Reynolds is grunting. Grunting and darkness. Normally, I am all for movies with grunting and Ryan Reynolds and some darkness, but when the lights finally came on nobody was naked. And it wasn’t even a light insomuch as it was a lighter. When you are stuck in a coffin where oxygen is limited, continuously having your butane lighter on is probably not the smartest survival idea. I mean, sure, have an initial look around. Survey your surroundings. Four walls, check. No means of escape, check. Lighter off. Now, go ahead and pound away on the wood like being buried under whatevermany feet of sand pressure is going to make it easy for the walls of the coffin to just sort of break so you can escape. Actually, keep trying to break the wood cuz, yeah, SAND STARTS TO FALL IN. And you are tired of all that free space and oxygen and would rather become trapped inside a human hour glass. Grunt some more, Ryan Reynolds. Turn on your lighter some more. Look around. Nothing’s changed. Continue pounding and grunting. Make some phone calls. Die. This movie was retarded. I was glad he spoiler alert died. Him and his stupid lighter.

I have a hematoma on the side of my thigh that is the shape of Australia, the size of small mango and the color of a blueberry. The surface of it is sort of raised, like a baby’s head emerging from the birth canal. When I went running today, it hurt as my thigh jiggled with each stride. It hurts when I pull my jeans up. It hurts when I push my jeans down. The color has changed since yesterday when it was a sort of magenta color. It’s a morphing. I’m too old to play one-on-one basketball. I will stick to shooting free throws and knitting with my slippers on.

Friday, January 28, 2011

42 minus 25 is seventeen. I did that calculation on my calculator. Seventeen is one hundred years ago.  It's barely there.  Unfolded.

Sometimes words made out of just music is perfect. A scratchy voice hyperventilating down its own throat while choking on birthday cake made out of rats and raisins swimming between guitar chords and drum solos can pick you up and lay you down better than the best mother could ever do.

Sometimes.

What I mean to say is, when you are looking for something to make you feel better it can come from an unexpected place. Turn shit over. Even small shit. Tea cups, crumpled panty hose, shoe boxes. Take whatever you find there as long as it is surrounded in God’s white light. Eat that shit. Swallow it up. Let it fill you and feeeeel.

The above, equal sign, very strong coffee.

For the past three months, not so much lately, there was a story they’d report on all the time. I’d have the ayem radio on and the news person would always start the story the same way. The way they’d present the story would make me sad. I mean, they are probably presenting the story the way the facts made themselves available, but the facts, themselves, were sad. The way the story started was always like this, “A five-year-old boy was shot in the head while showing off his Spiderman costume to his family in his backyard.” It always started this way. Always.

It was the ‘showing off’ part that always got me. That is the part that crushes. I always see him. A tiny Spiderman. A tiny blue and red boy. Did he have them gather round? Was he doing his best Spiderman moves? Were they clapping and laughing and praising? Taking pictures?  He was so excited about his Halloween costume he was ‘showing off’ his costume in his backyard. He wasn’t playing in his backyard. He wasn’t writing in chalk or bouncing a ball or playing with trucks. This boy was showing off his costume. He was making sure his family saw him. How great he was at being Spiderman. He was flexing his Spiderman muscles. His biggest care was probably how much candy he could carry home. And then he got shot in the head. He was five.

It’s been a while now. I don’t hear the story anymore.  But it's still there.  I mean, here.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Hello. I have a story about naked fighting at Smokelong.



I AM EFFING STOKED THAT I HAVE A STORY IN SMOKELONG! OMG! HOT CHOCOLATES FOR EVERYBODY!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Hello. I am writing to you from the trauma center of my brain that is still freshly scarred by the freakishly long black pubic hair I found in the ladies restroom toilet today at work AFTER I SAW A DUDE WALK OUT OF IT!
OMG.
First of all, WHY IS THERE A RANDOM DUDE USING THE WOMEN’S RESTROOM?!?!  Even if he was unable to read, there is the universal symbol for VAGINAS ONLY on a big sign on the door.  Second of all, I FOUND IT IMPOSSIBLE TO USE THE BATHROOM AFTER I SAW HIM WALK OUT OF IT AND ALMOST PEED MYSELF BECAUSE OF IT.  I figured that he had to take a dump and I wanted no part of whatever was floating around in there immediately after he used it.  My imagination ran wild. Gross!
So, when I couldn’t take it any longer, I cautiously went inside hoping some women had already used it..and maybe they had…but I HAVE NEVER FOUND A FOUR INCH BLACK PUBE IN THE LADIES ROOM BEFORE TODAY so I am thinking it was the dude’s pube.

“dude’s pube”

Gross.

Who let’s their pubes grow so long anyway?  Trim it back or SOMETHING!  Won’t it get caught in your zipper or whatnot?  Freakusingtheladiesroomwierdoguy.



Friday, January 14, 2011

Color Me Once” by Violent Femmes is good.

Making dip is good.

Eating dip is good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Eating dip is good.

Cold white wine in a rounded bottom glass while sitting on a brown couch is good.

Socks are good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Socks are good.

Hot showers are good.

Shaving part of your body is good. Having smooth body parts is something we can all 'gather round.'

Eating candy is good.

Running at the beach is good.

Petting dogs is good.

Lying down to go to sleep is good.

Bruce Springsteen is good.

Singing in your car is good.

Winning a contest is good.

Watching movies is good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Watching movies is good.

Reading books is good.

Eating cereal is good.

Wearing jeans is good.

Coffee is good. But not tea. Tea is dumb. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Tea is dumb.

Going to the bathroom is good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Going to the bathroom is good.

Rainbows are good. But not because they are rainbows. They are good because they are awesome in the sky.

Finding a dollar is good.

Finding twenty dollars is gooder.

Hugs are good.

Video games are good.

People that love you are good.

Pizza is good.

There is a lot of good if you just stop and think about it. It doesn’t matter what race you are. There is a lot of good if you just stop and think about it.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

I am writing this because it is easier than writing. I look forward all day to writing, like, I get ideas, I get phrases, I get excited. I want to lunge for my keyboard. And then life gets in the way and then I finally can sit down to make my dreams come true and the excitement is nowhere to be found and my fingers are dead like fish, dead like red-winged blackbirds and dead like nine year old girls who went to watch a congresswoman speak. (too soon, i'm sorry)  I dig deep, trying to find the spark again. And I can’t find it even though I know it’s there. I hate this. I will walk away now. I will do other things like make brussell sprouts or fold laundry or lament the greasy state of my windows and maybe find the spark within those things. (Sometimes I can find it there.) But in the meantime, I’m wasting time on writing what is easy—this—instead of what is hard: that. I want to drink red wine right now. I want to pull a blanket over my head and sleep for a while. In a hot room. In the daytime. Okay, bye.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

It’s not fair I have to drink this coffee so fast. Morning coffee is not Yagermeister. And it sucks that the cup I just made is so unbelievably good. SIPPING good.  And i can't leisurely enjoy it.  But, noooooo... because of certain schedule constraints, I have to drink this coffee and leave the house in 20 effing minutes so I can do a 78 minute workout and come back in time to get ready and leave the house on time. I am not happy about this because I am not a morning person. So, it already sucks that I have to work out in the morning but now my morning slothliness (made up word) that I love to luxuriate in; laptop on lap, writing, listening to Iron & Wine, sipping coffee, has been taken away from me. IT’S A SATURDAY! Fml.

Plus, coffee makes you have to pee or poo and I really shouldn’t be drinking it before I go exercise because that just exacerbates the entire situation and I really don’t want to pull off the road while running in order to evacuate my innards.

Ugh. Unhappy. SUPER unhappy.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

I have the prettiest dentist in America.  It's true. I forget, but then I go see her and she comes over me while I'm lying in the chair and I'm like, "You are so pretty." But I do not say this aloud because that is weird.

Anyway.  My teeth are mostly good.  She says I grind my teeth because the edges are all flat.  She basically told my my canines are not pointy anymore and it made me feel like a failure at being a carnivore.  Like, now, if i try to hunt and kill prey, I will have to ask them nicely to lie down while i gum them to death or something. 

No cavities!

Then she had the old lady hygenist come over and do the cleaning and she starts off by flossing my teeth.  Now, I have a problem with this.  First of all, it makes me feel like I am a toddler.  Secondly, shouldn't we have some social foreplay first, before you just start putting your hands and string into my mouth?  Like, it just seems like someone just walked up to me and went right to third base or something.  It was super odd and uncomfortable. I sat there and took it.   What else could i do?  I mean, it wasn't 'rape shower' bad, but it was maybe two steps up from that. 

They are referring me to someone for my wisdom tooth that is in the process of escaping from my gums.  I hope they tell me he can stay there. 

Next up...VAGINA DOCTOR!

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Anybody else besides me fascinated/freaked out with all this ‘thousands of birds falling dead out of the sky’ stuff going on lately? Dead fish, dead birds, dead birds and fish. It reminds me of end times stuff and it reminds me of Stephen King novel stuff and it reminds me of government cover up and X-files stuff. More reported today but in other countries so I’m not sure how well this theory holds up. Either which way, it was nice knowing you and also, red winged black birds are really pretty.

In non-apocalypse related news, I have to go to the dentist today. I am afeared for they will tell me they have to rip one of my wisdom teefs out. I can feel it poking out from my gums. I feel like a first grader.

Well, If they have to rip the tooth out of my head I am going to ask to keep it because a) I need to hold on to as much wisdom as I can and b) the Tooth Fairy is bound to reward me greatly for such a wise tooth!

And, oh, happy new year.