Long time, long time. Sucky typing with a broken keyboard, hence the not doing.
I am ok with my body saying "I enjoy life" but not so much "I don't fit in pants". Thank you, holiday season, for "piling on" the unavoidable temptations in a carb-cheese-dip-fried-something-gravy obssesed life. and let's not forget the beans. Who could forget the beans.
Something happens when you get to the age and proximity with your family when they have the potential to stop being the people you've known them to be for the last almost three decades, and morph into totally realer most realest people with more flaws and baggage and confusing spiderman webbing than ever before. Now with more webbing! It makes one wonder if sometimes it is better not to know. "But this is reality," some would say, "no one's perfect". "They were never perfect," I say, "But they are my family." Feel me? Oh, the holidays...
all my tights have runs in them. The temperature in my house is hard to regulate. It's either tropical and rosy, or cold and numb footed. Reminds me of college.
Uncle Brother Cousin B moved in a couple months ago. It's been awesome to have a house full of friends and doggies. Except Cousin B's old smelly boxer Jackson is such good friends with Walter now that they are often playing , and all Jackson's drool makes Walter crunchy, dreadlocky, and smelly. Such is the price of big dog-little dog love. Probably the best thing is that Jackson is one of the kindest sweetest dogs there is (though very forceful with the cuddling and spooning) and so is very respectful of playing with little Walter. The action you'll hopefully one day be able to catch in the "youtube" is where Walter does his favorite manouvers: the "chewing Jackson behind the knee" trick, and the "flying off a chair or bed and biting Jackson on his giant flappy cheek" trick. It's like if Danny DeVito and arnold were dogs. But if arnold were cooler. Sorry, Gov. you got nothing on this smelly smelly dog. Jackson for office!
Welp, here we are, at the one year anniversary (or there abouts--who really keeps track of such dumb shit?) of not having a computer. Strange. I guess it goes to show that as long as you have kind friends with their own technology you can safely avoid the libraries you're affraid of, stave off the bad habits of getting nice things dirty, and safely confuse yourself if you try and write anything important (where is it? PC? Mac? Disc? Email? Oh well, better just stop writing then.) Yep. Getting a new computer is right there on the list, right behind visiting friends, building an office to put a think box in, going out to eat, probably bowling, christmas shits, and probably even under "getting new hairdo". Basically, america, getting a new computer is as far away as saving a couple thousand cool ones. and with this job, you can imagine. and what with trying to be one of those "artists" you can really imagine. You know Mama don't do credit cards.
Thank God for the Giraffe and his computer. Were it not for him, you know my ass would be in a library somewhere sweating bullets, checking my "internet profiles", and crying on the inside. His key'board is wonky, which makes it SUPER easy not to want to type for very long. But this is unimportant.
Meanwhile, life has been moving. In the general everything is, and has been on the up and up. I feel like I don't see many people that often, but the ones I do see I am grateful for, and the ones I don't it seems I think about often. But I'm still not sure how to be the person I want to be with the people I love when some of them are so far away and some of them are living in monday to friday schedules, and pre-determined couples hang out nights. I like those nights. Not sure I get the memo on those too often. Kind of been doing that thing though, where staying home and drinking and organising and movieing and high fiveing is actually that really rewarding thing I always saw it being. Domestic Meca. Too dramatic? How about "making a house a home". Too cheesy? How about "less anxiety about being where i am than ever before". It's a nice thing to enjoy.
Do you ever feel like you're getting an overdose of yourself? Like possibly Quickly dissappearing into a gentle crowd would feel nice, recalibrating, and reimerging a neutral party is just the thing to do? Or hermitising, or shutting up, or saving orphans, or writting letters, or just a little something to take you away from the ready and loud voice of your head which is always, invariably, a worse version of what you sound like when you speak. I think everyone could use a vacation from themselves every now and then. I remember Florida. I still, and again, want Disneyland.
EDIT: Not so brief note.
Winter coats can be really warm or maybe we're just drinking.
Life with the Giraffe and the Flat Faced Chinese Dog is never nothing. Often a lot of saying "thank you" and "how can I be getting where I want to go and know that I am getting there". That last one is really about life with myself. But it'd still be nice to see the progress you're making. If you're making any. If we're making any. But we're all doing something. We all made it through some of the weirdest times, surely? Surely.
and, wine for dinner means I've gone on too long, and that I felt that about 30 minutes ago. Gonna put on my neon coat and smoke in the cold.
Mama
p.s. OH HEY!!!!!!! what I was going to say up top somewhere was that next Halloween I am going to forego the excuses for whatever I'm "dressing up" as, and going as a Slut. No "Sexy Teacher" "sexy bunny" " sexy police Lady" "sexy fucking wolverine". Just a plain old Slut. Just put it right out there. Because if we want to get debased as dirty sexual objects so badly, surely we don't need the thin vail of a beloved archtypical character. Generally I don't do the slutty version of what I'm trying to dress up as--I just actually do it. But next year--look out world. I am slutting it full force. I mean, what else do I have to offer as a chick with tits that may or may not be too big for my body?
So when you see that sexy sex slut slinking around at the party next year just ask me what I am. I might tell you something like "Snow white" or "a nurse" or "librarian". But you'll know what I'm really saying is "just. a. plain. old. slut."
p.p.s. girrrrlll, you should totally go as little red ridding hood. But like, in lingere.
