Tuesday, December 28, 2004

I Drink Alone

(BTW, I fucking hate George Thorogood. And the Destroyers.)
(Why the hell did I think he was dead? Turns out he isn't.)
Anyway, I do drink alone. But every time I tell someone that, they gasp to themselves and think it's something horrible. I also drive my car alone, try on ridiculous bras alone, do breast self-examinations alone, clean my garage alone.... when you live with only your roommate and your dog, you do lots of things alone. So if I come home and feel like having wine with dinner, guess what I do? I have some. I don't call 15 friends to see if someone can come over to keep me from falling into an alcoholic abyss.
Besides, I'm not REALLY alone... my pug's always home and he could run for help if needed. Long as he didn't drink too much of the beer that spilled on the floor when I keeled over (that last bit was of course, a fictional account).
Crap, I have a bigger problem with eating cookies than I do drinking, and I do that alone LOTS. Sometimes even in the car on the way home from the store. :0
Come to think of it, I guess that IS pretty pathetic. :)

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Naked in Public

And no, I don't mean the Freudian dream.
I mean standing in the geographic middle of Wal-Mart trying on panties over your panties in case the last test driver had post-coital drip. We've all done it, sometime. And it's weird.
I always have this fear that the fire alarm's going to go off and the shantytown of dressing stalls will fill up with smoke and collapse, sending me running for my car with only one boob half tucked into a hot pink and black bra and panty set I have no business buying.
Either that or the security guys take turns laughing at the fat woman's ass hanging out of a cheap 2X thong.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Viva 1000

OK, I admit it. I'm a tired-of-being-so-damn-single computer geek, so to meet men, I have a personal ad up. (Once you finish laughing, I can go on.)
The ad's served its purpose on several occasions, but nothing's stuck yet.
Anyway, on this ad, there's a counter to tell you how many times your ad has been viewed.
And this weekend,
* ~~~ ``` ~ ~~ * * *
** ^^ ~~~ I HIT 1000!!! *** ~~~ ``
* ~~~ ``` ~ ~~ * * *
Oddly, instead of being depressed about this scientific quantification of my rejection by the opposite sex, I kind of feel like dancing a little dance or having some cake or something. Maybe cause it means I am absolutely, undeniably unique and without parallel. ;)

Or not.
In any case, for now, arriba spinsterhood!

Friday, December 03, 2004

Birthday Maturity Milestone

For the past several years, I've taken it upon myself to plan my own birthday celebration, because I'm not that fond of surprises and figured that way I wouldn't be disappointed. And I've had some fun ones.
But this year, I didn't plan anything... went to a work Christmas party on the day of, actually.
The milestone is that I wasn't secretly whiny that no one else did anything either. :)
I'm getting old (34) or cynical, or both. But I am more content. And this is good.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

Wanna screw?


It never happens that I go on an amazing, fun date. But today I did. With a funny, gentlemanly cuddly bear of a fellow with a smartass sense of humor.
We were walking along downtown, he picks something up off the ground, and hands it to me. "Wanna screw?" he says. In my hand, was in fact, a screw. :)
Just a testament to the interesting nature of the universe...

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Of Spongy Pucks, Bedraggled Dolls and Mud Puddles

Journeying to work and back today brought a whole crop of odd sights.
This morning I pulled through the ol' fast food drive-thru (spelling that correctly, as drive-through? seems wrong) for a couple of greasy-but-cheap croissanwiches. In the interest of time I didn't request that the spongy puck of egg be removed from each sandwich. So, after pulling away, I partly unmade the 'sanwiches, DIY style, and got to witness the flight trajectory of an eggy disc when flung from a car window.
At a speed of perhaps 7 mph, the disc angled up, making a slight "woosh" sound as it began to cut through the air. However, the disc soon lost speed and momentum, angling back down to its point of departure and flabbily flopping into the wet, muddy gutter.
After work, the odd sights continued. Passing the fairgrounds, I spied a 40ish man wearing a dingy white ski jacket and carrying a yellow, rectangular pack on his back with a DART logo. Peering out the top of the pack was a china doll, her whole head visible to anyone behind her master, blue eyes staring in that disconcerting way that only doll eyes do and long chestnut hair bedraggled. As I continued looking, he noticed me, and smiled. I very nearly pulled up beside him to ask, "What gives with the doll?" but of course I didn't.
And finally, as I kept driving, I passed a large puddle on the right side of the road. As we'd just had a gully washer, that was no surprise. However, there was an orange street cone right in the middle of the puddle, and on the side was a man who appeared to be standing guard over it. The funniest thing was his shirt. It read, "Coast Guard."

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Rather be a Ma'am

Frisco's an exurb of Dallas and there's a mall there. In it's a somewhat posh, wanna-be-chi-chi eatery. Which it might be, if they didn't hire bumpkins.
Yesterday, I went there for lunch, along with some other womenfolk. Got waited on by a hazel-eyed charmer of 18 or 19, whose aggressive brand of "charm" involved trying to use his amateurish high-school-football-player-style flirting on us in an attempt to get a better tip (think dumb jokes, and loud, fake laughter). He kept addressing my friend and I (we're over 30) as "girls," which irritated. When my friend complained, he, in a smarmy-sarcastic, angry tone said, "Oh, I could easily change that to LADY or MA'AM!" wielding the word "ma'am" as some kind of noxious weapon. Suffice it to say we asked for someone else to wait on us, whom we also proceeded to school in not attacking a table of innocent diners with what you find to be undeniable hotness or an awesome comedic performance.
Someday, when he's of legal drinking age or even later, he might understand why being called a "girl" when you're clearly a "ma'am" by a wet-behind-the-ears whelp is annoying.
Misanthropic is anti-humanity, and misogynistic is anti-women. What's the word for anti-boorish waitstaff?
Oh, and what's the word for "uses way too many hyphenated adjectives"?

Saturday, November 13, 2004

Couple of Unrelated Thoughts on Peterson

Unrelated to the last post, that is.
1. How fucked up must it be to see your face all over everywhere, when you know you murdered someone and you tried to play it off?
and
2. Seems to me humanity has changed little since the screaming of the crowds at the Salem witch trials, or the Spanish Inquisition. Guilty or innocent, we delight in judging others and watching as they burn.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled nonsense posts about nothing.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Keep Hope Alive, Casino Workers

Near-busted a gut this morning in traffic after hearing that dear Jesse Jackson was traveling up to NJ to pray with some displaced casino workers... and truly, bless him, because I was unaware that God was cool with people finding their life's work in a gamblin' den.
He should open an Employment Hotline for Out-of-Work Whores, Bookies, Highwaymen and Drunks, just to make sure no one's left out. I mean, think about it: if we don't care for our unemployed vice workers in this country, who will?

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Gaping Maw Punkin Fu

I am AOL Expressions crazy. Meaning I jack with the font/wallpaper/sound/icon of my IM on a regular basis. Much to the dismay of my less fontabulous friends. However, there is now a pumpkin smiley available which, while cute, suffers from Gaping Maw Punkin Fu (i.e. it sits in the window, grinning as its toothless mouth lurches open repeatedly until you type it off the window). Maybe it's just an attempt to be cute/scary at once. If so, it succeeds.

Man, I miss reading Joe Bob Briggs in the newspaper. Fortunately, he has a website. If you miss him too, or if you know not of whence I speak, avail yourself of the glory of Joe Bob (aka John Bloom): www.joebobbriggs.com. Oh, and I stole the tacked-on "Fu" from him as well. And Gaping Maw Punkin Fu is fun to say. Try it a time or three.

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

French Rice

As a monument to the weariness of the working class, I give you the following: After work today, I went to a lovely eating place with a lovely pal o' mine and ordered a steak which had an accompanying choice of potato. To my ears, the description of the potato options sounded like, "Baked, mashed or French Rice." "French Rice," I replied. Seconds went by as I still didn't notice my IQ points slipping out one ear and pooling onto the floor. My friend pointed out, "I think he said French Fries." On later examination, the thought occurred to me that maybe when servers are taking your order, they're not writing down what you're asking for, but rather their opinion of you. In my case, the clean cut, helpful young man must've been scribbling "reTARDed" across his green and white lined pad. In any case, terminally exhausted of the world, you are my kin. I feel you.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

More Traffic/Fat Related Nonsense

Oddly, today I had an incident on the road which makes me wonder if I am just being told by the universe to get over the whole being called fat thing. I'm driving along, this woman is behind me, not paying attention so she doesn't slow down until the last second, meanwhile leaning on the horn (blaming me for traffic?) even though everyone else on the entire highway is slowing down.

She gets way too close to my tail, swerves over to the left onto the shoulder, then cuts back in front of me, flips me off and makes a gesture with both arms like she's saying how fat I am.

So remember kids, as long as the driver you're blaming is fat, all your actions are excused on the road. It's carte fucking blanche, fat folk!

Burst Out Laughin' Quote of the Day

"Why do people ruin perfectly good haunted house stories with fucking?" -- Anony the Mous (reacting to some bad erotica)

Monday, September 06, 2004

Violent Fantasy Vengeance

Ever envision yourself just punching some cutoff driver in the head at a stoplight? Or, slamming rude grocery store women with a can of baked beans after they force you aside in the canned foods aisle? Yes, this is unbecoming and hardly appropriate in our age of fretting over a wrongly turned breath at one of another cultural persuasion. But the images flagrantly present themselves in my head, nonetheless.

The first time I recall it happening, I was maybe 16. Being a large mammal, I was walking down some street in Washington D.C. on a trip and some guy shouted something out about how I'd better move my fat ass out of the road, cause he didn't know how he was gonna miss it, or something. Anyway, I like rocks and I just happened to have a nice, smooth round granite rock in my hand, that probably weighed 5 pounds. Enough to brain someone with through the back window of a pickup truck, surely. As the truck slowly pulled past, I envisioned myself hurling it with Olympic precision through the back window of the truck. And the only thing that kept me from doing it is that I was far away from home, and it occurred to me: "I don't want to go to jail today." Oh, the wide crevasse between thought and action. It saves me daily.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Song Cravings

Maybe it's a subtle form of OCD, but from time to time I get this INTENSE need to listen to particular songs or albums over and over and over and over and over and over... and sometimes I remember old songs or hear them and I MUST go out and buy them so that I can practice this obsessive behaviour with them. It's like the world is not going to be quite right until I hear the song. And hear it again. And again. And again. It's a hunger. A need. It's weird, I know. But it is there nonetheless. Always has been.

Right now, the need manifests itself for the song "Beautiful Night" by the Burden Brothers. I think it kind of just expresses my views on the Universe right now at this moment in time. It's a positive, yet not naive, song. Read the lyrics below or check out a sound snippet here: http://www.theburdenbrothers.com/music.html

Beautiful Night
by The Burden Brothers

It's a beautiful night for being lonely
A beautiful night for being afraid
So raise your hands, you one and only's
You one-of-a-kinds who feel this way

I don't want to talk, don't want to explain it
I don't want to fuck and I don't want to fight
It's only a feeling, it's fleet and fading
It's all over the world, and it's only tonight

Cause it's a beautiful night, beautiful night, yeah
Beautiful night, beautiful night to be here

It's a perfect time for being wasted
A perfect time to watch the stars
So throw back your head
Come on, embrace it
It's a beautiful night, wherever you are

It's a beautiful night
Beautiful night, yeah
Beautiful night
Beautiful night to be here

All good things will come to you
Maybe tonight, maybe tonight it's the truth
I don't know

All good things to those who dream
Maybe tonight, maybe tonight we'll find peace
God I hope so

So raise your hands, raise your hands...

All good friends, they stood by you
And one at a time, one at a time they fell down
They fall down

All your fears are coming true and
This is the time, this is the time of your life
That defines you

So raise your hands, raise your hands...

Under the stars I'm alone among strangers
Confused, connected, diffused and alive
Maybe the future will smile on us
Maybe the future is here tonight
Cause it's a beautiful night, beautiful night, yeah
Beautiful night, beautiful night to be here

Beautiful night (8x)


Friday, August 13, 2004

Show Me Your Hooters

Driving in traffic today, I got behind an 18-wheeler semi truck with a sign on the back that stated simply, in red, capital letters: SHOW ME YOUR HOOTERS. This poses a few queries in my mind, even if in no one else's: 1. Does that work? Are there women out there who'll strip off their tank tops and let boobies flap in the wind just free for the asking? 2. If one was going to entertain such a notion, how do you maintain control of your own vehicle whilst freeing said hooters? Philosophical questions such as these boggle the mind, and will likely puzzle scientists and theologians for millenia to come.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Perseidian Beauty

If you haven't yet, catch the Perseids, an annual meteor shower happening for the next couple of weeks and visible from almost anywhere in the U.S. Round about 20 minutes ago, I saw the biggest falling star I've EVER seen just sitting out back waiting for the pup to poo.... clear, distinct, lengthy for a meteor streak, gorgeous. The stuff from which wishes are made.

Thus, in an indirect way, a very earthbound experience led me to one of the more memorable stargazing experiences I have yet had. What a mingling of opposites.

So I charge you: go forth, see comet tail, and make wishes! :)

Sunday, August 08, 2004

Bada Bing



Yep, that's a picture of cherries. Something summery I've been driven to consume, of late. Take in its scarlet, juicy, lush, ripe goodness nestled right there in the glass bowl,
beautiful to almost all the senses we possess. Something clearly symbolic about it.
Forget apples. These may have been eaten in Eden.
Puts me in mind of that William Carlos Williams poem about
being sorry to have eaten all the plums. Oops, I've gone derivative. :)

Potato Chip Focus Group

About six days ago, I participated in a market research study on potato chips. Well, of COURSE for money. $65, to be exact.

On the way in, I and some of my fellow professional consumers became addled as to how to get into the building where the group was held, as after striding about the glass-walled canyon along the Tollway, we found 4 beautiful revolving doors and one side entrance, all locked.

"Try to hustle, they're starting," the cell-phoned lady said.

"But! but! Never mind," my mental antagonist railed. But hustle we all did, through the parking garage and up to the 8th floor of the glinting building to make our $32.50 per hour.

There were 18 participants, all with numbered nametags. "Stay in number order!" they insisted as we filed into the room, complete with TV/VCR, board meeting chart paper, 2-way mirrors, three-pronged receiving antenna setup on a nearby table, and keypads below our seats. I and my fellow latefolk comprised the back row of this quasi-random assemblage of educated, literate youngish people, all with cars and access to ways of making enough scratch to supply a night's drinking or three full gastanks or so.

By this time, the other 4 latefolk and I had bonded over being equally sweaty, breathless and in possession of a sense of humor (not to mention the fear of losing $65 of nearly workless cash), and we were all kind of sniggering at random things. I, in particular, have a problem with undue sniggering just at life in general, especially when it's inappropriate. And there was a silly little man running the show, who's life work was, among other things, the successful marketing of fried bits of sliced potato.

Now at the end, my feeling on the whole 2 hours of viewing and discussion of 22 snippets of possible future potato chip commercials was this: "Sweet. I'll mouth off my opinion without anyone even asking, and I just made $65 for basically having a 'Who Can Be Wittiest About How The Chips Fell Into The Bowl' contest." (Although, I did strive to bring a philosophical angle into the discussion by noticing in particular the role of Light used as a leitmotif throughout the presentation.)

However, there was one moment, right there at the beginning, where an unspoken terror crept into my mind: "Oh my God, what trusting sheep we are. This could be a terrorist plot. Or just plain criminal action. Or a secret machination of the CIA. We all walked in here, showed our IDs to prove who we were, and marched right into a room, with listening, observation and recording devices, under the control of a group of people none of us know personally, all for the promise of $65. Now here we sit, awaiting whatever images they want to show us, which could be ANYthing at all. And me without so much as even a weapon-like object. Well, I certainly hope that I'm just being paranoid."

Was I?




Friday, August 06, 2004

The Naming

Man, if The Naming wasn't the very essence of this endeavor...
For probably two hours, I obsessed and very pointedly overthought the title of this blog. If it wasn't for Overthunk coming along, I'd still be digging myself deeper into a chasmic hole of overanalysis and indecision.
However, Namings are very important. And I didn't want to count myself among Those Who Have Named Poorly. And in the end, It named Itself.
Overthunk: short, sledgehammer, and possibly ignorant.
Welcome. :)


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