Laughing All The Way

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Must

I was told (a long time ago, must have been a year gone by now, there is a post dead and buried) that I was hard to read. As I deleted some old emails today I realized that I must not be any easier than before the now.

I don’t share anything more revealing or dealing unless I must. Point blank questions with a blank fired at will. I still have walls, rebar reinforced steel embedded in concrete. Discreet.

The yap yap yap as I must smile and share the details that are nothing in a world full of nothing make people feel as if they made it. They are in the inner sanctum. Ground sanctified via dry tear ducts. The sacrosanct live here now. They must.

Being told I wasn’t what I said I was made me pull up quick. You must be wrong. You must not understand. Yes, that is the answer. It’s not me, it’s you. It must always be you. You. You. You.

I know the truth, which must be here somewhere, thinly veiled in a veil of words. A shit storm of words. That must be what I’ve got.

Feint of hand, distract if I must, reflect it back to you. She’ll be coming around the bend and blacken your eye. The surprise must be palpable.

The end will be the same. It must.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

home soon

I managed to break into my blog (obviously). I will be home shortly with stories for the ages. Also, I might have to go to visit good old B. Ford. No more wine. Please.

Well, off to brunch. I can taste the Bloody Mary. (I never said anything about Vodka).

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Lazyboy Zen

In the fight between nice and good, nice is winning. I am okay at being good, I am great at being nice. I wonder why I’m not the only one.

I asked Bruce (one of my endless questions) who responded with: “Well, duh.”

I should strive to be of higher standing. I know better. I should be better.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Words I Should Use in a Post

Command
Photosynthesis
Forgotten
Wizen
Absolve
Quintessential
Entropy
Singled
Hallowed
Busted
Igloo
Nuisance
Trussed
Livid
Vengeance

Unexplainable Burdens in the Heat of the Night

Once upon a time
Not so long ago

I grew up in Rhode Island. Bluer than blue collar. Factory workers and mechanics. I drove a Chevy Cavalier. I knew every word to every Bon Jovi song (still do).

Tommy used to work on the docks
Unions been on strike
He’s down on his luck…it’s tough, so tough
Gina works the diner all day
Working for her man, she brings home her pay
For love - for love

We all knew that there had to be something better than this. Better than the life we had, the life our parents had, the life our grandparents had. We didn’t know that we were the same. Just like Scranton, PA, Booton, NJ, Albion, MI. Like some played out Billy Joel song. We were downeaster with thick accents that called us out with the first “ah”.

She says we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love - well give it a shot

But we, we silly kids were lucky and stupid and stupidly lucky. My house that was a single family house, that had a distinct formal dining room, that had a side yard and a back yard, that had a private drive way setting the house off the street, that never housed distant relatives for extended periods of non-specific length, my house drew awe and admiration. I only saw where it was falling apart and the wood floors that left splinters.

Whooah, we’re half way there
Livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it - I swear
Livin’ on a prayer

The promises were that we would fail. No one ever gets out. Everyone gets pulled back in. Really, they told us that we were only good enough to also run. Truthfully, they were right. Most of us did fail. Moved back to the place from where we were. Lived next to our parents and grandparent. The cyclical cycle to start again. Children born to parents who were too young to vote. Trapping a life and a future on a corrugated metal track to nowhere.

Tommy’s got his six string in hock
Now he’s holding in what he used
To make it talk - so tough, it’s tough
Gina dreams of running away
When she cries in the night
Tommy whispers baby it’s okay, someday

Running away from a past is futile. Running away from a future is useless. You never get to get anywhere and in the end, you’re just running. But you can’t tell us that. We’ve run. Far and fast and long and wide. We open our eyes and refuse to see what lays out in front of us. They say you can never go home again, but who wants to go home to that?

We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love - well give it a shot

Home is where mom lived. Home is where dad left. Home was the gaping wounds that no one else saw, (remember the house?). Mom would have been such a nice person if she weren’t our mom. Medication would have gone along way in our house. Bipolar. Split-personality. Psychotic. Anti-psychotic. Borderline personality. Manic. Depressed. Narcissist. Bitch. Is there a pill for bitch?

Whooah, we’re half way there
Livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it - I swear
Livin’ on a prayer

They say that mental illness is hereditary. She got it from someone, she gave it to others. Let’s be honest, she gave it to us. The fear is that we become what we know so well. My sister is thinking of having a child of her own. I love my sister. I fear her anger. It’s so deep and hot and quick to bubble over into burning rage. I see it in myself, although I direct it at people who hurt me. My sister directs it at people she wants to hurt.

We’ve got to hold on ready or not
You live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got

I know I need to work on my deeply vindictive anger, that’s what Some Girl does. I have an outlet. I have a voice that let’s me flex my anger and impress my words upon those who won’t ever really see me seether. Knowing my anger, knowing from where it springs, knowing how it feels when I am triggered, and knowing that at my worst, I’ve come nowhere close to my sister’s emotion, I worry. I see her go from a serene, happy, coherent woman to a manipulative, selfish, vindictive, raving loon. I don’t think she would ever direct it at her own children, but I don’t know if she will be able to hide it from her children.

Whooah, we’re half way there
Livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it - I swear
Livin’ on a prayer

When I told her that I was leaving, that I need to beat a path away from our collective daemons, I know that she understood the exact parameters of my words. I didn’t know that she would be so sad to know that I wouldn’t be there for her child. As I put some perspective on my move, I realize that I am the person I always wished would materialize for me. The safe haven my niece or nephew will need, the person that can explain the unexplainable, the one thing for which I prayed, is no longer going to be an option for my sister’s children. And this makes me so sad.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Counting two chickens in the bush before one hatches in my hand

I’ve started my life from afar. Gardens in California are different than those in Boston. Mostly because there is a severe lack of crazy ass snow. I know, I know, “It gets cold in California”. Okay, the next person who says that to me I am going to punch in the face and lock in a freezer. Unless the temperature drops to -2 degrees, I don’t want to hear about how cold California gets.

I think I am going to start a water garden in my aquarium tank. I bought a book about how to create a small one. Once I work out the kinks in the small scale I can move to something larger and more permanent…and outside.

There is also a yard waiting for an intrepid gardener to come and tame it. According to lore, the yard has been in disrepair for several years due the nefarious combination of lack of interest and allergies. I am going to have a backyard at my fingertips. Yay! Lot of ground and space to play!

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Foreign

I’m really quite a joy to be around.

I know that lately I’ve been a bit of a downer, and that the coming posts are really down. I don’t often do deep and introspective. And I know that people come here for the funny. It’s just that funny is a place I’m not occupying right now.

The Internet has a hand in this. There is much anger and sadness and mean snark. Also, the people who write things on the Internet are angry and sad and mean. How feelings can become so bruised from so far away is always so confusing.

I have dropped a few regular reads because I no longer feel the need to read their silly anger. Also, all that undirected anger is just going to bring back some bad ass karma. I don’t need anymore, I already am going to get a hookah lotta bad mojo for when I laugh at old people who fall down.

So, until the change comes into affect, or I find something funny, there’s more not funny. 

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

There are

things

I

miss

about

you.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Posit

The “Well of thoughts I’ve had but didn’t blog about” has gone dry.

It’s tragic.

I’m working on it.

I realize that in July I post a mere 8 times. A year ago July I post 16 times. I need to get back into writing.

I’ve got plenty of stuff to say, trust me. Just ask Bruce. He hears it all.

Hey! I’ve solved my problems. I am no longer talking to Bruce. I will just post everything I WOULD have said to him on my blog. Then he can read my blog and respond*. That way, I still get my answers and I post on my blog.

*You should know that I mostly ask Bruce the most inane questions. He knows that he is expect to be my personal googler. Last week we were talking at night and he commented that his Internet wasn’t working. I asked why he would need it. His response: “Well, I have to find answers to all your questions.”
I then asked him: “What’s the weather like tomorrow in Boston?” He knows me so well.

Friday, August 11, 2006

You Can’t Touch This

There I was, minding my own business, as you do, going to the bathroom.

My pager, conveniently clipped onto my waist band, flipped onto the floor when I pull up my pants. The pager shattered into three distinct pieces: body, battery cover, battery.

Body and battery cover were fairly well behaved and remained at my feet. The battery, however, decided to make a run for it and rolled to the lowest point on the floor.

The drain.

You know that drain in public bathrooms where all the dirty water is sent after washing the horrible horrors that happen in the public bathrooms at hospitals? That is where my battery stopped. Also, with my battery, a pair of shoes. A pair of shoes attached to a set of feet. Feet that belonged to the young woman in the stall where my battery decided to take up residence.

I could have run, but I decided to be brave and face the poor person whose private time was interrupted by my freedom seeking battery. She was nice enough to pick it up and hand it to me. She was also kind enough to warn me: “It was kind of wet, I don’t know what it was in, here,” as she handed me my battery wrapped in toilet paper.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her what exactly is washed down that drain. I took it from her, and thanked her profusely, dried off the battery, washed my hand and left without further incident.

I now have a new battery.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Blue

I updated the shade of blue for the text background. I saw it on another site and every time I went from her site to mine, the blue-green background looked so dank and depressing. Who knew that pastels could be depressing?

But it’s not perfect. I was trying to match the color in the far background with the photo to the text box. I have yet to find the exact shade of sky blue from that day on Newbury Street. I suppose there is some sort of life lesson in that (Roses are red, skies are blue).

Flying into London in a few weeks is looking ominous. Grey skies ahead. I still don’t understand why books are verboten. I understand no iPods, but no books? Words are my sustenance. Without something to chew on during a flight I am going to be bored to tears. I guess this is the government’s way of telling me to start drinking at 9 AM.

I am working on a new background. I haven’t quite figured out this skinning thing, but I think with a little effort I will be good. I also need to upgrade to the next EE version. Be on the look out for crow’s nests.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

bound

FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. DON’T STEAL OTHER PEOPLE’S BLOG POSTS.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

I am really hungry.

I am about to eat a piece of cake for breakfast. Okay, I won’t because I fear the look of shame from the cafe workers. But I want to eat a piece of cake for breakfast.

Stupid boring apple.