Some Blog

huh

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

I was going through my email in-box and realized that from November onward I had all my comments emailed to me. I being the person that I am, dumped them into a folder and never thought too much about it. Now, I am thinking there’s got to be a way to drop them into the posts when I finish uploading them all. I wish I had the comments from the month of October, but alas, that is not to be, that was a good month for comments.

But! The Haiku post was in November I believe! The Haiku comments (I was sad when I realized that I was deleting those)...this is going to be a testament towards my will.

And one day I will make this template pretty (a dearth of pink is a sad state of affairs).

Prime example as to why I think it will work

ETA: When you click on a link, if it’s all squiggly and weird, hover on the lower right hand corner, you should get the handy dandy viewer thingy that will expand the image to regular size…will post today about why all the weird and the handy dandy.

There is a program here at work that is called Be Fit. It’s some weight loss thingamajig where people have to agree to weekly weigh-ins, four days of cardio, three days of weights, and the tip of the penis off your first born son. They seem all nice in print, but several of my co-workers have told me the skinny (or rather the not so skinny).

The program has been going on for a year, and while I am not a member, I do enjoy the meals made in the food services and nutrition department. Generally they are full of yummy stuff and make me go YUUUUUUMMMMM. But…The Be Fit Lentil Spinach Cranberry Plate has a side of hummus that tastes like cack. I am the girl who will will make her own hummus just for the right mixture of garlic and lemon juice. These people have not only forgotten the garlic and lemon juice, they also forgot that it tastes like cack.

Here’s the thing, I got this plate the last time they served it. And the time before that. And the time before that. I think you see where I am going with this. I wonder when I will learn to stop eating the hummus. The cack hummus.

As a side note, I saw her tits (scroll down)and I almost went blind. I belong to the gym at work, which is were all the Be Fitters join for their Nazi training sessions. She is one of the trainers and is apparently not at all body conscious. I know this because I saw her tits. Laying there. Flatly. Limp. Looking at me. I mean if you have cock-eyed tits (um?) shouldn’t you not let them loose in public like that?

The next day I needed some help on a weight machine, just who do you think was the trainer on duty…yeah flattittywoman. I couldn’t look her in the eye because all I could think was: “Wow, if my tits ever do that I am selling my children and using the money to get them lifted back up.” (I hear the white slave trade is going like gang busters in the middle east).

I just took another bite of the cack hummus.

Being better than terrible

Sunday, February 26, 2006

In the 48 hours since I received the call on Friday after work, I spent a total of 21 of those hours on the phone with Bruce.

He and I talk. About stuff. For hours (clearly).

I’ve pushed him out of his comfort zone, which is approximately 3 square inches. He has a hard time answering questions about sex. It’s not the idea or the act of sex, it’s that he’s not okay with talking about sex. Which if you know me, or have ever read my blog, you know that I talk about sex (vaginal, anal, oral) and I use words that make sailors blush (pussy, cunt, whore), often all in the same conversation. Not hugely problematic, but still enough of a ding ding that makes me take notice of the lack of verbiage on the subject. He knows enough to know the pieces that he needs to know so there is a knowing that makes me at least reassured that it can be done, even if it can’t be discussed. And to be honest, the end of the weekend saw him being able to speak of the nether nethers without blushing (and I totally heard him blush over the phone)

He’s okay with a lot of the things that he knows, and as I am just about exposed as can be on my blog, he’s been informed of the to and fro that defined my last year. He’s not okay with a few things, but those are things that can be changed. I am not too worried. I can quit any time (spoken like a true user).

Ahhhh, but the talking, endless talking. Talking. Talking. Talking.

There is something to be said for talking.

He doesn’t live in Boston (what else is new?). Now the talk is about the visit. Time and money to collide in such a way as to converge on a date and place. Then the beyond because the time limit is 6 to 12 months. Thresholds being what they are, he and I will meet ours sooner or later (sooner) and it’s funny, because I think the decision has already been made. Certain certainties are such that we acknowledge the realities and what they mean.

So, being vague, as I am, things are looking…not terrible. In fact they are better than terrible.

Dining by candle light

Friday, February 24, 2006

Today, as I rode home on the T, I realized that it was still light. The sun hadn’t fully set, the clouds that hovered on the edges of roof tops were tinged with pink. Turning the corner in New England means the spring time rains. Spring time rains that come from every direction. Spring time rains that decimates umbrellas and soak through multiple layers. Spring time rains that herald in the summer. It’s so close, I can feel the summer, just…there.

And there, there is where fresh beginnings lie. There is where the plan comes together. The crush from afar, to be referred to as Bruce, is still really afar. He’s suppose to call tonight, as he did last night and the night previous. He says he has a question to ask, he wanted to ask in person, but the phone will have to do as he is afar. I am a little nervous, but only because he won’t give me a hint.

Bruce did, however, suggest (strongly) that I be sober when he asked the question. Uhoh. I mean it’s not a problem and I have refrained from being less than sober, but it worries me when someone says, “I want you to be sober for this.” It usually connotes some kind of driving or the operating of heavy machinery.

Bruce and I have mutual friends. He and I met in a convoluted way that I would share but I don’t want to so. Suffice it to say the following information is both true and worrying. I have been with an army of men. Maybe not an army, but at least enough to create a well armed squad of highly trained operatives who are skilled at eating pussy. Bruce is quite possible my polar opposite. Whereas I am all hey guys what’s up wanna do a line and have a good time ooooh I love dance music did you ever get to read that book on postmodern methodologies who wants to get breakfast in an hour since we’ve been up for 36 hours anyway who has to work because there’s this party oh hey didn’t I meet you last weekend at the Harp? He is all hi.

And that’s not to say that on some super weird level he and I don’t work in a million different ways. I just don’t want to fuck him up, and I see the great potential for me to do just that. I know that he’s fragile, not mentally, but relationshipally. Softly softly is the only way this will fly and even then I worry that I will have done some irrevocable damage. I don’t want to be the girl who fucks him up because I’ve been fucked up and I just think that my personality means that I bounce back (it’s what I do). I don’t know what he would do.

Is this a sign of my evolution? I don’t really enjoy it here on the other side of the sun.

PS. This is what happens when you do a google search on the name Bruce

It’s not what you think

So she says the topic du jour is warrant. Well, I�ve got something deep today.

(Oo it must be magic, How inside your eyes I see my destiny, Every time we kiss, I feel you breathe your love so deep inside of me, And if the moon and stars should fall, They’d be easy to replace, I would lift you up to heaven, And you would take their place, Then I saw red, When I opened up the door, I saw red, Heart just spilled on to the floor, And I didn’t need to see his face, I saw yours, I saw red then I closed the door, I don’t think I’m gonna love you anymore)

I was 11, maybe 12. Amanda (yes this is her real name) and I were best of friends. She was my first best friend. If I had known how things would go down, I don�t know that I would have made the effort. But I made the effort and there we were one day going through the junk in her room.

(Just for the record let’s get the story straight, Me and Uncle Tom were fishin’ it was gettin’, Pretty late, Out on a cypress limb above the wishin’ well, Where they say it got no, bottom say it take, You down to Hell, Over in the bushes and off to the right, Come two men talkin’ in the pale moonlight, Sheriff John Brady and Deputy Hedge, Haulin’ two limp bodies down to the water’s edge, I know a secret down at Uncle Tom’s Cabin oh yea, I know a secret that I just can’t tell)

The official parental mandate went something like: �If you don�t clean that fucking room of your I am going to kick your ass. And when your father gets home, he�s going to get you.� Clean her room we did.  We didn�t know enough to tell anyone else what was going on, her parents really did beat the shit out of her, but we thought if we cleaned, at least that night she would be safe.

(Well I heard mama late last night, She was talking to my father, Now it’s time that boy was shipping out, And I mean come hell or high water, Smokes and spits and drinks and fights, And his friends all look like trouble, Oh he sleeps all day and gone all night, Where’s that boy I used to cuddle, Ten good years and then, He must have gone insane, You’re the only hell, Your mama ever raised, She tried to tell you, But you got to do things your own way, Says you’re a good boy and, That you must be going through some phase, You’re the only hell your mama ever raised, Mama ever raised, Mama ever, Mama ever raised)

The tape was in a box with a bunch of other tapes. She didn�t even look up when I asked if I could have it. Without even thinking she said: �Sure, take whatever you want.�

(Well Suize, Oh Suzie, Come on and let me in, There’s love in the air, Love on my mind, Love in the pores of my skin, I worked real hard, all week long, Kept on singin’ the same damn song, It’s one for the money, Two for the show, Paid on Friday and I’m ready to go, And if I’m wrong or if I’m right, I don’t give a damn tonight, You bring out the worst in me, Huh, cuz you might be bad, But sure feels good to me, it sure feels good to me, Sure feels good, Sure feels good to me)

Sometime, maybe two years later, the entire family relocated to Missouri�Mound City, Missouri and my best friend�s life took a turn for the worse. She dropped out of school (the girls there would jump her in fields and then she would get in trouble for causing trouble), had three abortions, found a job at Denny�s, got pregnant again, got married, had another baby, and finally turned 18.

(Swingin’ on the front porch, Swingin’ on the lawn, Swingin’ where we want, ‘Cause there ain’t nobody home, Swingin’ to the left, And swingin’ to the right, If I think about baseball, I’ll swing all night yea, Swingin’ in the living room, Swingin’ in the kitchen, Most folks don’t ‘cause, They’re too busy bitchin’, Swingin’ in there ‘cause, She wanted me to feed her, So I mixed up the batter, And she licked the beater, I scream you scream, We all scream for her, Don’t even try ‘cause, You can’t ignore her, She’s my cherry pie, Cool drink of water, Such a sweet surprise, Tastes so good, Make a grown man cry, Sweet cherry pie oh yea, She’s my cherry pie)

The tape is long gone. I still know the words to every song, but I wouldn�t want to hear them.

(It could have rained for forty weeks dear, I’d have never known the difference, When your life is one long downpour, You don’t think you’ll go the distance, You come along with a patch of blue sky, Inside your arms I found a place that’s warm, And dry, Mister Rainmaker don’t waste your time, I found a girl who is permanent sunshine, She is the little queen of all my dreams, Carry on and find someone else to rain on)

Fault lines and Fissures

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

I’m the girl that laughs at funerals. I can’t help it. There is something so terrifying about death and all its surrounding aura that I start laughing. It’s not the I’m stoned and you just fell down laugh, it’s the hysterical oh god no someone save me laugh.

The other thing is that all big disease scare me. I mean if you’ve got something that could be bad, and you’re my best friend, I will do everything in my power to completely forget that it exists and that you are unwell. Like him. I always forget, and then I remember and it’s sad and terrifying and worrying. If you know me, you know I don’t do sad, terrifying or worrying. You want the truth? I just can’t handle the truth.

The problem is, and I’ve been skirting the issue, Deb. I like her, and I think that if I were in Houston I would drink with her and we would have a laugh and we would be all cracking jokes about what other people are wearing. We would be the funniest girls in the room. But she’s sick, everyone knows this by now. Whereas I use to read her blog multiple times a day, I now have to force myself to check only once a week or so. Not because I don’t like what she’s writing but because I can’t pretend that she’s not sick. It’s right there all the time. And I get a little teary eyed and I can’t cry because them I am sad, and we all know, I don’t do sad. Not functionally anyway. Some people are all good and deal and sad is just of their repertoire. Me, I get all confused and disorientated and strangers ask me if things are all right and I have to ask for directions home.

I suck, I know. I’ve sent books and pretty things (which are currently being stored elsewhere but the storer knows she has them and will be getting on it soon…right?), and I donated blood in her name when I was last in Houston. Giving blood is pretty easy (unless you’re her and then you get all cracked out and the lab tech starts calling you mama) * for some reason this link REFUSES to work, go here and check out Friday 20 January 2006* so that was a gimme. It’s just that every time I resolved to become a daily visitor and be supportive and part of the good will, I get freaked out and I am afraid I will say something like the time I was walking though a building at school and happened upon a blind man (as you do) and he was clearly trying to get out of the building. So I asked, “Are you looking for the door?” LOOKING…he’s fucking blind, he’s not looking for anything. Of course I immediately realized what I had just said and started giggling like a fucking hyena.

Please note, this is in my “Things to work on” Category. I’m totally going to work on it all. First I resolve to stop laughing at the handicapped. I am sure that will go a long way in sublimating my desire to laugh at all things that make me feel so completely uncomfortable.

The Ginormous post, you’ve been warned

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

So you know the movies where a group of kids go on a camping trip? And they come back with one less person than went out? There is always lots of ominous music and furtive glances, admonitions to stick to the story etc. And of course the mysterious accidental death ends up not so accidental but really an expression of pent up teenage hormonal repression.

That is how I felt coming back from Denver. No one died, but we are all glad to be home and away from each other (When I was invited out this weekend I claimed illness, really I was with my hookup getting hooked up).

The wedding itself, as already stated was just what everyone wishes their weddings to be. Close friends and family enjoying each others company and celebrating the happy couple. Of course there were the dramatic presentations that seem to accompany this specific group of friends where ever they go, Calamity and Jane (remember Calamity and Jane?) had sex in the gondola that ran from the base to the peak of the mountain on Thursday night, were thrown out of the apres ski on Friday night as he was allegedly drunk, and of course, they had a 6 minute delay on their flight home. Calamity left us in the terminal complaining about having to dig their car out of the longterm parking lot. We were totally sympathetic to his plight as we looked for comfortable places to sleep on the floors.

Of course, by now, you know that flight never happened and the crew spent another day in Denver.

(This is the email chain going between Jetblue and myself. I figure as long as they return my emails, I will continue to send them emails explaining all the levels of failure exhibited by their company. I have sent yet another. As far as I am concerned, as long as there are no restraining or cease and desist orders, I am going to keep emailing these people back. I am nothing if not persistent, which will be brought up later in the post.)

Hello Some Girl,

Thank you for your email regarding your disappointment with JetBlue and the way matters were handled with your flight. We have 628 inbound toll free lines and as you know, we still had our customers on hold.

At JetBlue, we are committed to conducting our business in an honest and ethical manner. In fact, since its inception, JetBlue designated integrity as one of the core JetBlue Values. Integrity is the foundation of positive, beneficial relationships with each other, our customers, our stockholders, our business partners and all others with whom we associate.

We sincerely regret that we were unable to operate your flight as scheduled. It may appear on the surface that weather conditions are satisfactory, but weather systems can change quickly, and inclement weather has a ripple effect in an airport where Air Traffic Control coordinates numerous flights for various airlines. As you can imagine, delayed and cancelled flights have a negative impact on our customers; consequently, decisions on flight cancellations and delays are made only after very careful consideration by staff who have the appropriate expertise and experience to do so.

We can understand your frustrations and disappointment and regret you felt the ground crew members were unhelpful and rude. Please accept our apology for the inconvenience the flight cancellation caused you. We value your patronage and hope you will reconsider to choose to fly JetBlue again at some time in the future. We would love the opportunity to offer you the excellent JetBlue experience we strive to provide all our customers.

Best regards,

Carolyn
Customer Commitment
JetBlue Airways
Crewmember 92321

Original Message Follows:
————————————

Dear Wendie, crew member 87876,

My complaint had nothing to do with the weather or the fact that JetBlue cancelled the flight, my complaint was entirely based on the fact that four hours before the flight was cancelled your organization was well aware that the flight crew would have exceeded the amount of hours they could be in the air. Instead of indicating the reality of the situation, the JetBlue ground staff continued to perpetuate the falsehood that the flight was going to take off. Even when faced with concrete facts, such as the flight, leaving from New York, that would have brought the passengers to Boston hadn’t taken off in New York and therefore the flight to Boston would be even further delayed, the JetBlue ground crew was completely unhelpful, rude, and unable to communicate a truthful and accurate image of the reality of the situation. Canceling the flight at 5AM was done after an hour of standing in front of a JetBlue staff member who continued to maintain that all was well.

This flight was not cancelled due to inclement weather, it was cancelled due to lack of staff and mismanagement of resources. To say that I wouldn’t fly JetBlue if it were the only option left in the entire United States, is actually a gross understatement. I will proceed to describe my experiences and the experiences of those around me, some of whom were treated extremely rudely by your staff, to absolutely anyone and everyone who will listen. I will not be flying with your company again as your organization did not value me and my patronage. This was the most frustrating and unacceptable experience I’ve ever had with any airline.

Consider me an unhappy JetBlue customer.

Some Girl

————————————————————————————————————————

From: Dear JetBlue

Dear JetBlue, Suck my dick.

Monday, February 20, 2006

I know I haven’t been all posting and shit. I’ve been finding my inner peace while sleeping like it’s going out of style. Yesterday I slept for 15 hours. 15 hours. Yeah. I woke up this morning at a reason able time, but I still need to find something.

I owe me an update. I have the weekend in Vail written, plus there’s the rant between JetBlue and myself that I am going to post, but get this, I’m busy. I have dates. Dates. Yeah. I got back in there with a vengeance. So tonight I am off to Providence to see the Free Spirit. Later in the week I am meeting the Lone Wolf for a drink. Also, I am trying to schedule a meeting with The Older Man 2.0 (He’s actually older than the last older man by 2 years, but not as old as Grandpa Pants).

So, um, maybe Tuesday afternoon, when I am done ruling Ikea with Gramcrackers, we (royally of course) we be back (and you’ll be sorry).

Until then, just remember, nobody likes a tattle tale.

Wanted Dead or Alive

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

I was wondering, does anyone have any version of photoshop they would be willing to let me borrow. I have been trying to do some prettying on my blog and I would really like the capabilities of the photo program. I learned on an old school version, let’s see, I was 17 so whatever was published in 1996, and I know that I would be able to get what I needed from pretty much any version that exists now. I just don’t want to splash the cash. I almost cried when I saw how much it cost when I was hanging out in the Apple store the other day.

Not that I just hang out in the Apple store, I was waiting for my Ipod to be fixed. Funny story about my Ipod. The first one I bought on ebay…I think it cost me about $300 clams. About 11 months later it had a suicide attempt when it jumped out of my bag. As it ran towards the tracks of an oncoming train I grabbed it and admonished it for being so selfish. I mean to take it’s own life just as I was about to get on the T, that is just plain rude. Alas, while the Ipod was saved in the corporeal sense, the soul had left and that was the day the music died, the Chevy was at the levy, but the levy was dry.

So off to the Apple store I went (people buy the extended warranty, it’s worth it) and they did a test here and a test there, they turned themselves around, and that’s what it’s all about. The battery was waning and as such I got me a new Ipod (like I said, get the extended warranty). Two weeks ago, a mere two months after the replacement, shortly before my trip to Denver, Rocky Mountain high, Rocky Mountain High, Ipod the second JUST STOPPED WORKING. Huh.

So off to the Apple store again. As they were able to determine on site that the little engine that could couldn’t anymore and they switched out as I stood there. As grateful as I am that they were all, you got your second one for free two months ago, here’s a third one for free today, I have to wonder. Has anyone else had such questionable luck with the Ipods? I’m glad the customer service is all about we do chicken right but really?

So yeah, anyone with info on photoshop, give me a shout.

Ta.

Oprah’s On

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

I was so happy to crawl into bed at 6 AM. I just woke up. I love my bed. I love my apartment. I love my stuff that is all within an arm’s length.

Where the deer and the antelope…

Monday, February 13, 2006

Still. In. Denver.

Damage Report

Sunday, February 12, 2006

After a long weekend in Colorado, the only thing I wish to do is go home and sleep. My home is blanketed in some white stuff that has delayed my reasonably timed red eye by four hours.

I will be arriving in Boston at 9:20 AM…

I will not be going to work tomorrow (today in Boston).

I’ve also had more than enough booze to last me at least a week…

but the wedding was awesome and I couldn’t wish an awesome wedding on a nicer couple.

No hook up information to share, I really was on my best behavior.

I literally look like I was hit by a truck

The wedding was last night. This entire weekend has really set the bar. From the 4 hour apres ski where we joined the band on stage to the ice luge that the martinis were poured through, the next wedding is going to have a hard time measuring up.

11 hours of drinking, 7 hours of sleep, and no way home.

I think the plan is to get a bunch of hotel rooms in Denver and doing it all again as the vast majority of us will be returning to Boston or New York.

I need to take a few days, weeks, months to recover for real.

Pray for me, remember me fondly

Friday, February 10, 2006

I went skiing today.

I didn’t die.

I was actually pretty good. The ski instructor, Claus (yeah!) took me on the first run down the itty bitty baby slope and then he said that I could ski on my own. Apparently that one time I went skiing in 8th grade really paid off. I got on the lift with Claus, he took me down once, and then he released me onto the general population.

I did take a couple of dives to avoid children and snowboarders (or as they like to be called boarders), but for the most part I was skiing.

I am going tomorrow morning before the wedding and then Sunday before we leave, we have a 6 PM shuttle back to Denver, so I can get a bit in. I am totally getting my money’s worth.

The Naked Truth

Thursday, February 09, 2006

I picked up the new Augusten Burroughs book, Dry. I started reading it while drinking a martini (Grey Goose Dirty Straight Up) as big as my head. As I giggle over his witty recollection of entering rehab, I get tipsy. I’ve left half my meal on the plate knowing that I have limited space in my stomach and I much rather fill that space with vodka.

What is wrong with me?

Flying into Denver yesterday evening, I worked through most of it, about 50 pages left, and there were moments that rang a little too true. Am I an alcoholic, probably not, do I abuse alcohol…um, yeah.

The depth of reasons are nowhere near Burroughs; and he had so many good reasons to drink as well as lots of bad ones. Me, I drink because it’s what I do. It’s what everyone does. It’s how time is passed and how time passes.

There is a point, and if you intend on reading this book stop now, that broke me. I had to put it down. His best friend is dying from AIDS and Burroughs steps up for the first time in his life. He becomes the responsible adult that he has avoided being for the last decade of his life. As the imminent death of his friend become far more imminent Burroughs starts drinking again. After nine months of sobriety he walks into a liquor store and buys a bottle.

It was so much more than the maudlin pieces of “poor drunk gets drunk again” it was the description of him doing a line of coke at the hospital before he goes into see his friend for the last time.

It just didn’t seem so wrong to me. I understood every word of that exchange. I got it. And that scared me.

Now I know that the smart person would take stock of life and why all of the above bladi blah. Tonight, I am going to drink my weight in vodka. And then tomorrow, I will sit by the fire, drinking. And then go to the wedding with the open bar and make use of the open barrage. And while the party continues I will continue to join the party. Having read the memoirs of a man who was smoking crack and living in squalor did nothing to deter me. Because, I have rationalized, I am not that bad. I’ve never blacked out. I’ve never gone to work still drunk. I’ve never drank a bottle of scotch in one night by myself.

And with all the truths that are pouring from my fingers at this very moment, with all the light that should be blinding to me at this very moment, with all of the higher understanding and knowledge that I have at this very moment, all I want is another drink.