Some Blog

Only time will tell

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

There has been an unexpected point of content(ion). I don’t even know how to work through this. I hate having to second guess my third guess. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Diversionary tactics

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

It’s not easy being green.

Party on Wayne

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Bruce and I are getting the alone time wished. There are things that go bump in the night, but it turns out to be one of us getting a drink of water.

Atizzle…I’ve got some super funny pictures I will upload soon, maybe this evening.

Nat…I know, you need a phone call, I’m working on it.

Sarah… About that thing we were discussing, all’s well that ends well and things are going well.

Why are you like this

Saturday, May 20, 2006

I forced her out of the room. To be fair, and why not because that seems so much nicer, we forced her out of the room. My roommate (to be) and I made the plan. There was nothing stealthy about our movements and we were unconcerned with her feelings. Because she was odd.

Understand, this was before, when I didn’t realize that odd was a show of strength of character. I had yet to join (and see the fleshy underside of) a sorority. I was new to college and my whole understanding of the world was shaped in the idealism that was rampant amongst suburban teenagers who never had anything to really test ideals. I (forgive me) was not unpopular in high school and for some reason; college was an inkblot mirror image. I picked up where I left off and the days blended and blurred. The essays that I started to form within my core were able to mature and the fledgling sarcasm and wit (that was very harsh in high school) were honed to a fine craft. I became more of what I was and less of what I wasn’t, but that was to come after we made the move.

She wore clothes that had faded from use and wash, but not in the cool vintage way. She spoke of architectural features with awe and wonder. She wore her hair long and loose with angry fly-aways that were always in her eyes. Oh, and she was so depressing. I don’t think it was so much what she said, more how she spoke. Tone, inflection, weight, all lost on her. The monotonous droning was like Eeyore on lithium.

I just remember when I decided that she had to go. We were unpacking and she put her CDs on the shelf. To this day I have never met anyone with a more extensive collection of the Cure. I know that seems like such small thing, but at that time I was all over Seattle grunge bands and even at that early age had a CD collection that was deeply surprising and well stocked for both parties and impressiveness. I suppose that today I would be less disdainful of her, but I think that I would still have forced her out of the room. After all, she was odd.

And then I find out

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Turns out I am a close second to an imaginary jet pack.

Put a lid on it

Just in case you’re wondering, it’s about 2 AM and I’m still awake. I totally did some hard sleeping this weekend, but then when Sunday night rolled around, guess who couldn’t sleep. Me, that’s who. So here I sit, naked blogging, terribly sober and not at all amused.

Tomorrow I go to somewhere else to spend some quality time with Bruce (who at this moment is ignoring me and doing work…boo) for a week. We’re going to do stuff (I can’t tell you because the anonymity thing) and some other stuff. It should be fun and I will be sure to not tell you all about it.

There are lots of little things that I think, “Oh, I should blog that,” like 2 hours ago I was laying in bed thinking that for once in my life I want to be first. I’ve never been first. I’ve been somewhere on the list, I mattered, but I never came first. Even with my parents, I came in tied with my siblings and as the middle child I was never first for a time like my sister was. I believe a few years ago she turned to me and stated that I ruined everything. She loved being an only child and I ruined it all for her. Mind you we’re a year and a half apart, so I don’t think she was all that cognizant of being first (and she was joking, it was funny in the context of the conversation, least you all think she tried to put me in the garbage compactor, fear not, we didn’t have one. She did, however, bite).

So there was that thing about being first, and there was a thing about the Sergeant (we broke up a year ago in April). The thing with him was that it all came and went and when it went it really went. I had had plans for a future wherein I would be a Mrs. Sergeant and then when the materialized life was something other than my immaterial dreams I stopped making plans. For the past year I didn’t plan on staying or going. I’ve made friends, but not bestfriendsever here. I didn’t join any club or society or class or group. Now I have plans with Bruce for things all the way in October. That’s a flippin’ 6 month plan. I have a 6 month plan. Will wonders never cease.

And there is the thing about confrontation. I still am so not that but I am getting better. Today I said something to someone at work (hence the vagueness) about some action that offended me. Who knows if the actions and the words will do anything, but at least I said something. And after all was said and done, I didn’t feel that gross swelling of unease in the pit of my stomach that tells me I should have been nicer and just eaten my ire. So that’s good.

I have gone ahead and purchased the Puerto Rican Pumpkin dress for my friend’s wedding. I am vexed over the idea of fitting into the thing so I am on food restriction for the next several months. I should be fine if I am careful. Bruce suggested that I just buy the same dress in a size bigger just in case. I hung up on him. As if. (PS. I know I am not Fat, Sarah told me I’m not, but those snooty women at the dress store really were so not nice and made me feel like a drunken slob. Thankfully, I was just a hung-over semi-slob.)

My grams is living in pain and she refuses to do anything about it. Rather, she refuses to get the simple operation that would solve her problems because she’s so busy that she can’t take a week off until September. She states that as long as she does nothing then she’s fine, I think if she’s doing nothing why doesn’t she just get the thing fixed and do nothing at the same time. She’s being old and stubborn. Unfortunately for her, I am young and obnoxious, and young and obnoxious always beats out old and stubborn.

And that’s it. I think I did the thing where I summarize the goings on and so-forth. See you on the flip side.

Wash away my sins

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

I know what it looks like. I get it. I understand your point, but I really need you to stop. Stop talking to me about the 2% that exists because, as the past few days of writing here shows, it’s fucking with me. I don’t think I can do this for much longer. And we can’t go forward and we can’t go back, and all you have is that tone in your voice that makes me think. I tell myself the things that we both know, how the reality is that you need time and patience, being new to the game, and me, being the veteran, with the scars to prove it, I have to be kind and understanding. I have to be the mature person here for both of us because you have no idea what you’re doing, but as I sit here, typing like a fiend, I can’t help but resent the fact that I have to assume the role of the responsible one, by default rather than design.

They laugh when they hear, and they know that I will be fine, land on my feet as always. It’s in my way, my nature, my core. It’s what attracts the others. I will be okay, going into the abyss, coming out with a tan and a story about the great beaches on the other side. The risks, as always, are the times of my life.

I resent the idea that I am the one who would be shallow. It pisses me off that you place that onto me, because it’s what people have always done. I hate that being pretty, or pretty enough to be attractive, or attractive enough in the dim light of bars, makes me automatically different, and not different in a good way. After all this time, why is it that I am the one who has to carry that burden? I thought you would have known me better than that, and in the early hours of this morning, I was unable to verbalize what I was really thinking. Perhaps that bottle of wine had something to do with it, or maybe I was just too tired of trying to justify my choices again.

Time and reflection accord me the ability to state with clarity and assurance that I am not nearly as simple as you think. I am so above that, I don’t even think about it, because as much as you would like to think otherwise, I was raised better than that. I can see past what you think I see and delve deep into who you are and make up my mind. And it fucking hurts that you think it, that you think it at all and that you think it about me. Say what you will about strategic planning or about my refusal to consider an option that is not my ideal result, but at least I’ve never thought of you that way.

Even your emotions had an echo, In so much space

Here at Laughing All the Way, I have a propensity for well-placed lyrics within the body of text. Synapse fire warms the memories of the mostly forgotten days of yore and with the pulse of a bass line I feel the time fall away.

The starting chords of certain songs create an apoplectic reaction within the depths and as I pull forward and flatten out, I remember (I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind) Oops; I did it again (see!). I have sentient bits of memory sliding in and out of my days, making me say: “Aha!” and shit. Others make me lean back and sigh while I fondly remember Sunday afternoons, cleaning my bedroom to the weekly top 40 Countdown. Cassey Cassum is the voice of my youth and instant good karma washes over my soul when I hear a throwback. 

These days, the music factor seems to be secondary layer of the dynamic, maybe because I am having a hard time sleeping. Four hours is just not enough for me to recover and greet my day bright eyed and bushy tailed and the side effect, besides me being exceptionally grumpy, sarcastic and living in a haze, is the landslide of long forgotten memories.

Todays and yesterdays are slamming into each other and every piece of remembered history is living anachronistically in a haphazard jigsaw puzzle. My thought process is illogically constructed with long forgotten mundane moments stacked in concentric rings supported by comparable social norms. The sparks of time dancing in my head, memories of sitting on the dog statue at the entrance of the park during weekend visitations with my dad and playing with Match-Box cars in the mud cities we would build after the heavy spring rains, rolling around during a meeting planning for the eventual invasion of the Avian Flu.

People plan for contingencies. Emergency backup generators and Plan B exist for when things go horribly wrong. I don’t. I can’t see through the now, even with the lessons well learned and recorded for all of posterity. Rattling around in my head are just strings of lyrics, great battles of wills, disappointment and tragedy book ended by My Little Ponies and Gem. I can’t run away to live to fight for another day, because I’ve not thought of the other days, the days to come, I’ve just thought about my imminent victory. Even with lessons of past failures, I lost the battles (here you should read: relationships, I feel like this is getting a touch esoteric) and with no direction home, like a rolling stone, I can’t change the behavior long learned and situated at my core, like the soft inner flesh of a tomato that has been left on the vine too long.

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that phase.
Even your emotions had an echo
In so much space

And when you’re out there
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn’t because I didn’t know enough
I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Probably

And I hope that you are having the time of your life
But think twice, that’s my only advice

Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are,
Ha ha ha bless your soul
You really think you’re in control

Well, I think you’re crazy
I think you’re crazy
I think you’re crazy
Just like me

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them
Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it’s no coincidence I’ve come
And I can die when I’m done

Maybe I’m crazy
Maybe you’re crazy
Maybe we’re crazy
Probably

Chug! Chug! Chug!

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Caw caw, motherfucker, I wish that he would leave her alone. But I wonder, wonder, wonder, what IS the word? I have a vested interest, and a selfish one at that…we all need to do the check and balance of where I fit in the bell curve. I hope that I fit somewhere in the peak, I love being the peak, but only if it is good news, if not, I would like to be part of the 2% that is above average. I also love being above average.

There are sheep that I can pet and Bruce is resistant. I wish he would bend to the will of Some Girl, because, we are going to spend some time in the closed quarters of his house and I worry that the bad parts are going to be all up in the joint (but not made of marijuana because that would be illegal). What was I saying? Oh yeah, bend to the will of Some Girl because, I am reasserting the loud piece that has been awfully quiet these days.

Pete, who is less than angry, saved me from having to do something because of a backslash. He saved me, can I get an AMEN, and I asked if he wanted to make out….he politely declined, but I feel like he totally wanted to suck my kiss (let me be vain…and drunk…and dependant on the ellipse). But I refused the good advice to clean out a file, (IT TAKES FOUR CLICKS!!!) is what he said [look at me making full use of punctuation this evening], and I thanked him for being so concerned about my carpal tunnel syndrome. I think we were both appropriately sarcastic. Now the captchas are working and should fully deter spamalot. I am working on sprucing up the list (Pete, if’n you’re reading, I totally figured out where the list o’words lives) and making it appropriately ironic.

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don’t care if I never get back. The sox, RED of course, have been superfantastic and blowing shit up, yo. Tonight the game was a joke. Joke I say, and last weekend I went to the game, and saw some things and the things were there and stuff.

But I paid penance, for the drinking and had to take a bus home. I was the keeper of the things and as the keeper I was suppose to remember that I had keys and phones that didn’t belong to me and as I walked in the other direction looking for a cab, dawn came and I cringed in fear while horror washed over me and I realized that I was still the keeper. I tried to find a cab, but there was no cab to be found. A 30 minute walk, while Bruce bitched me out for walking in the not so nice place, and a 10 minute bus ride, and then a 10 minute walk later to get home, in my heels because who wears reasonable shoes to a baseball game? NOT ME!

And now, this weekend seems to be filling up with things with the people who know me and want me to do things that include copious amounts of alcohol. Yay! If I get my way, my weekend will be a big shebang because I need to shape up and ship out to make things A-Okay with Bruce.

I’m blaming PA

Monday, May 08, 2006

I owe some funny stories and catch ups, mostly because at the end of last week I was talking big about my intentions to drunk blog. Unfortunately, whilst drinking, I seemed to have cruised past tastefully drunk and parked somewhere between fucking trashed and wicked hammered. This led to a significant walk home from the Red Sox game (seriously, if I hadn’t been drunk there is no way I would have walked that far in heels, and I don’t know if what I did could be considered walking, maybe more tottering) and then a situation that some might call passing out, some, not me, just some.

Bruce noted that I didn’t seem that drunk. Mostly because no matter how drunk I get, I don’t slur my words or sound incomprehensible. I’m more of a stream of consciousness drunk, which is not all that different from my normal speech patterns, hence, I don’t really sound too drunk. But then I pass out and I wake up with a drumline in my head and I consider that perhaps I partook too much. Whoops.

But, I still think that the drunk blogging promised, should take place. I just think that if I manage to drink the right amount (tipsy not trashed) I will forget what I wanted to blog about in the first place. This is quite the conundrum. What ever will I do?

I’m going to the gym, I’ll figure all this out later.

Tootles

Funny Story

Thursday, May 04, 2006

So Bruce got me these…,

but unfortunately it also came with these…,

so I had to dump the basket and buy a bowl from a convenience store.

The thing is, I LOVE them, but I’ve now become an outcast at work and am being referred to as: “The one with the bugs,” which is totally what I want people to call me in a business environment.

I am taking the whole shebang, minus the bugs, home tonight because I’ve been politely asked (this is so embarrassing!) and I will be staying late so I can drop a stealth spraying of this. I’m just a little nervous that they will infest my other plants, so I am taking precautions and letting everything dry out a little and will spray everything down really heartily. No organic growing here.

From now on, I respectfully request that people refer to me as: “The one with the bugs.”

Fun with search engines

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Perusing my sitemeter this morning, I clicked through some of the search entries. I like to see how people get to me…

The one that makes me the proudest, insofar as I feel like I might be doing some good in the world, was found in an MSN search: Touretts and vocal ticks
... number of individuals attacked by blogger B in any number of places were all very vocal on ... Eventually, Bruce is going to be a social outcast made up of a series of ticks and Touretts-like symptoms ...

It’s enough to think that I am providing some well put together insightful ways of dealing with Touretts. Poor Bruce recently complained that I no longer call him annoying. I think that just block it all out. Plus you shouldn’t call your almost boyfriend annoying, that’s just rude.

Some of the blogger searches, like: laughing cougar
Cougar: I’m holding on too tight. I’ve lost the edge. I’m sorry, sir. Holding the difference between persona and person was easier when I wasn’t so content. I was going to use the word “happy” instead of content, but to be completely ...

and: Dirty talk
Now, I’m a girl who has heard some dirty talk in her day. I mean, I don’t actually mind the “dirty slut”, “my hot bitch”, “fucking whore”, and “wet cunt” stuff that can flow during sex. Some guys say it, others don’t. ...

are pretty normal (laughing cougar?) and I’ve come to expect these. Dirty talk is one of the usuals because it’s in my tag line.

And from google, we have: Maverick and Goose Sing
Goose: She’s lo… [catches up] Goose: No she hasn’t. Maverick: Yes she has. Goose: [objecting] She’s not lost that lo.. Maverick: Goose, she’s lost it man.

with a typical: Anaconda don’t want none
My anaconda don’t want none unless you’ve got buns hun. ... My anaconda don’t want none unless you’ve got buns hun.  Bleed Like Me (0) Comments (0)

Considering this is a category, I’m not too surprised that I am a search result for this. I am surprised how often someone seaches My anaconda don’t want none.

Additionally, google comes up with: dirty talk in bed examples,
Laughing All The Way: There will be no anonymous dirty talk here… ... Then you had to roll your beached-whale ass off the bed.

which is similar to: dirty talk rub breast,
Laughing All The Way: There will be no anonymous dirty talk here. ... Ask me if my breasts are real. Tell me that you are into the Poly scene because: well

we also have: Centerfold Boston Brunch,
What’s brunch…the meal between breakfast and lunch ... Boston has two strip clubs, Centerfolds being the nicer of the two, was our destination. ...www.somegirlislaughingalltheway.com/someblog/ index.php/site/whats_brunchthe_meal_between_breakfast_and_lunch/

as well as: Should I fuck a married woman
But you asked me whether I should have made that determination for her. ... take care of each other, whether or not you want to fuck a married woman or not

and to that last one, yikes of all the things to google. Man, you should just use the magic 8-ball and be done with it. Especially as the reference here is from a disreputable source and all that.

But there was one result that really stood out from the rest. Apparently when someone googled: “anal sex” “with my brother in law” -gay, this is what they got,
I had gone outside to smoke with my brother-in-law and I think I mentioned something about ... Apparently when anal sex is being had sometimes there are ...

They must have found that so disappointing!

You need a Hook: Take me out to the ball game of love

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

I have been tossing and turning for decades now. The sweet infant who would sleep peacefully for hours was replaced by a toddler often riddled with endless nights of endlessness. For the last week, my brain has hurt. The tired headache that normally comes from the business end of a coke binge has been the beer back that chases a shot of tequila: ever present and slightly bitter (way to work the metaphor).

Bruce keeps telling me to sleep…and post. Post he said. I feel like I’ve been taking you away from your blog he said. Go to sleep he said. But you should also post he said.

There are pieces kicking around, perhaps I haven’t been as prolific as I was the past summer (up loading my posts takes time and makes me realize I was writing a whole lot). I am still working on Shiver Redux and I have another idea for something. There are pieces that I gaze at adoringly and think: “Man, I gotta post that.” So, I’ve started to go through the also-rans and decided to post what I had held back. This first one is, ummmm…huh…something.

Enjoy…

Disclaimer: I don’t often warn people, but this time I will. In this post I use the word cunt. If the word cunt offends you, go away and come back tomorrow. I just don’t want you to be surprised when you come across the word cunt, because for some people, mostly women, the word cunt is highly derogatory and offensive. I would never want to offend anyone, so please, for your own sake, if the word cunt bothers you, please discontinue reading at this point.

When I do, all I will hear is: “Do you want me to tell you that I love you?”