Dear Past,
I can see why people want to forget you. I can see why people don't want to talk about you or look at your documentations. I thought I was up to it. Now I have to get drunk. Thanks so much. I mean, truthfully it's not your fault. It is NOT your fault. I'm being melodramatic, I know. It would be better to say "it is what it is" and have a good laugh and move on. But you know, Past, I have a rash on my face. An unexplained rash that has been here for weeks. It continues to spread and grow and it is not an allergic reaction to anything. It is just here. Just hanging out on my dry, patchy face. And while sometimes I can ignore it or put some medicine on it and keep going, after spending some time with you tonight, Past, I am looking at this rash thinking "how apt". I mean really, what a great symbol of it all.
I do recognize that sometimes when I hang out with you, Past, I leave thinking "thank god" and "hooray for time passing". Mostly I probably think that, no offense, but tonight--paired with a foot injury that keeps me in orthopedic shoes, a moc-turtleneck I thought was comfortable, and a red patchy rash extending across my face--I found myself really missing you.
I mean, the thing is, Past, we had some good times. And above the good times, what I'm reflecting upon tonight, is how OLD I am. How sadly, insufferably old I have become. There was this person, this "me" that you were sharing with me, and that person looks so different than what I am now. I am having a hard time over here. And I know you're not trying to get me down, you're just presenting the facts. But the facts are hurtful. I mean, I wish you would have TOLD me, Past--I wish you would have told me what was going to happen. How everything was going to spread out and sag and swell and then sag even more. How my hair was going to get thin and limp and my freckles would fade and my chins would flow over one another like an American waterfall if I ever moved my head and my eyes would get foggy and my expressions would become more unsightly than they are creative. I wish you would have told me. Yes, I know if you had I couldn't have believed it, but Past, I have to say, I wish I could have found a way.
Nostalgia is a funny feeling. Sometimes it's laced with regret and remembering, and sometimes it's bookended by laughter and greatfulness. Tonight it's confusing. I love those things I saw pictures of. I love those times and the way I can remember them. But hey, how did that person experiencing all those things in the pictures become so different? That person does not seem like this person with an awful rash and broken feet. I don't even remember I smiled like that.
I don't remember I could smile like that. Do you know what that means? I looked at myself, and I didn't remember I could be like that. I don't remember. It's not even that long ago, and I don't remember it. I don't remember how to do it anymore. I know how to be happy, and I smile truly, but that thing--those faces--you showed to me tonight? I don't remember them.
I am smarter now, that much we can agree on. I am kinder, clearer, calmer. All of that is good. for all of that I am grateful, and for all of that I would not go back. But to look sweet and alive and excited and enraptured and consumed and hopeful and charged? Well, I might feel those things still, but I don't look them. The proof is in you, Past, you know that. To look them again, what a feeling. The cheese, the burritos, the late nights, the lack of fruit, the cigarettes, the worry, the poor time management, the brown food diet, the beer. It's all gotten part of me.
The question is, Past, can I turn this into something we look at together and laugh about and say we learned from and move on? Or is this just who I am now?
Is it? Or is it?
Mamma
12.22.2009
12.01.2009
Dear Worry and Mice
The mice have been in my shoes. Can't wear the old ones like I used to, they won't close, 13 black ones, 4 reds, a little note at the bottom of each. You waste too much you want too much you weren't paying attention. Everything seemed clearer a bit ago but slowing down slows it all down, which seems like a feat considering that at any time before now it would have seemed slow. Slowest. This is the slowest. This is the slowest of the right now in memory. The memory has a way of being against me.
I used to stay up late, young, with a fever to keep going and an angst to get farther: all the "you'll see"s and "just wait until"s. Now it's sitting staring at the lamp with yellow light that flickers behind the dirty screen that's not mine with a worry and a far away sickness: the "what is this" and "what if not". Not doing so well with the Wide Open Spaces bit of the Rest of my Life; the long long path of nothing but what I make of it. I knew this was coming but I didn't know how it would feel and it feels old--no I feel old--and it feels like it knows and it's laughing at me, challenging me. The Everything about Right Now which is the same as Tomorrow is challenging me and I could take it, hard, if it didn't take long. But I know it takes long. It takes until I die. How do I not get tired. How do I not turn the volume of the show up and stare off, far away. How do I not tune out to something someone else already did when it's most comforting to see a final product--any final product. Do the dishes again, you know where they go. Pick out an outfit from the clothes that don't fit anymore, they're the only ones you own. Make a list on the back of an old receipt, making a list is almost like actually doing something.
That thing people think when they're safe inside an educational construct, that "maybe you're not good enough"--that thing you quiet with the praise of your peers and the looming deadline of something you wouldn't complete on your own? That thing is true. MAYBE YOU'RE NOT. MAYBE YOU'RE REALLY NOT. A lot of people aren't. Maybe you're one of them. Could be. Truly, very well could be. Your own abstract ideas about how good you are and what you can accomplish and the stars you're going to reach for and the star you're going to be don't mean anything. What you're doing right now means something. And what you're doing right now is dishes and staring at an old cheap lamp and watching the mice shit in your shoes that don't have soles anymore, and the part about the soles is not a metaphor. Your shoes don't have soles anymore. And they're filled with mouse shit. And you can't kill the mice. That's not a metaphor either. You can't kill them. You can't. And on your off days you would say that also you are unable to get your life into high gear--the highest of moving gears--and don't even know what they look like. What do the gears look like. What do any of the gears look like?
Someone else has made them. While you were thinking about what your life looks like and feels like, someone else has already made an interactive diagram about what YOUR EXACT LIFE looks like and feels like. The people who made these things were not waiting for anything. They just went forward and made programs for you to feel and think the things that you, as yourself, were not ready or able to think or feel, but TO ANYONE ELSE would provide a window into the deeper emotional psyche of you. Someone smarter has created a project for people to know you better, and you don't even know yourself. Enjoy that.
Not that it's bad. It's not terrible, is it. No. But sometimes it mounts on itself.
I used to stay up late, young, with a fever to keep going and an angst to get farther: all the "you'll see"s and "just wait until"s. Now it's sitting staring at the lamp with yellow light that flickers behind the dirty screen that's not mine with a worry and a far away sickness: the "what is this" and "what if not". Not doing so well with the Wide Open Spaces bit of the Rest of my Life; the long long path of nothing but what I make of it. I knew this was coming but I didn't know how it would feel and it feels old--no I feel old--and it feels like it knows and it's laughing at me, challenging me. The Everything about Right Now which is the same as Tomorrow is challenging me and I could take it, hard, if it didn't take long. But I know it takes long. It takes until I die. How do I not get tired. How do I not turn the volume of the show up and stare off, far away. How do I not tune out to something someone else already did when it's most comforting to see a final product--any final product. Do the dishes again, you know where they go. Pick out an outfit from the clothes that don't fit anymore, they're the only ones you own. Make a list on the back of an old receipt, making a list is almost like actually doing something.
That thing people think when they're safe inside an educational construct, that "maybe you're not good enough"--that thing you quiet with the praise of your peers and the looming deadline of something you wouldn't complete on your own? That thing is true. MAYBE YOU'RE NOT. MAYBE YOU'RE REALLY NOT. A lot of people aren't. Maybe you're one of them. Could be. Truly, very well could be. Your own abstract ideas about how good you are and what you can accomplish and the stars you're going to reach for and the star you're going to be don't mean anything. What you're doing right now means something. And what you're doing right now is dishes and staring at an old cheap lamp and watching the mice shit in your shoes that don't have soles anymore, and the part about the soles is not a metaphor. Your shoes don't have soles anymore. And they're filled with mouse shit. And you can't kill the mice. That's not a metaphor either. You can't kill them. You can't. And on your off days you would say that also you are unable to get your life into high gear--the highest of moving gears--and don't even know what they look like. What do the gears look like. What do any of the gears look like?
Someone else has made them. While you were thinking about what your life looks like and feels like, someone else has already made an interactive diagram about what YOUR EXACT LIFE looks like and feels like. The people who made these things were not waiting for anything. They just went forward and made programs for you to feel and think the things that you, as yourself, were not ready or able to think or feel, but TO ANYONE ELSE would provide a window into the deeper emotional psyche of you. Someone smarter has created a project for people to know you better, and you don't even know yourself. Enjoy that.
Not that it's bad. It's not terrible, is it. No. But sometimes it mounts on itself.
7.23.2009
Dear Work, #1?
Dear,
Been working. It feels good to work again. It feels good to be doing the work I have aimed at making my life about. It feels good to not be lazy; to not be satisfied with the unhappiness of just making coffee, and just thinking about it all. It feels good to be with friends the way I want and need and haven't been able to get to for the longest of times. Internal, it feels good to be swimming through that.
It feels good to think about working my whole life if I can be doing this work. Isn't the goal to make your life's work one that you can embrace with pride and honesty, and not one that happens to you while you're trying not to stare the reality of it in the face? Ten years from now I want to look back on this and know that for those ten years, I really tried. And that "really trying" meant that I finally let go of some of the burdens of fear and just trudged forward, and just believed I was worthy of the dreams I have always had. That "really trying" meant being shitty a lot of time, but that I wanted to keep doing it, and that I wanted to learn.
That is where we're at right now. The time to cry about your lack of "just deserves" has passed now. You are a grown up. You can chase your dream down, or you can be miserable into adulthood, and push that misery onto your following generations. And I'm sitting right now, feeling like this will be easy because I want it so bad. I haven't felt the next round of stumbling blocks yet. But just being gifted the tenacity to get to this point--right here--right now--maybe that one push means you can have others. I can have others. WE can have others.
Maybe my point is that when you want your life to be about something, you should make your life about that thing. And stop waiting for it TO HAPPEN TO YOU.
Because a couple months ago I had this thought: You have all these ideas of things to create, and make happen. YOU are the only person who can do that. No one else can take the internal and actualize it besides you. If you don't, it will go to waste.
So let's not waste. Let's at least just try.
Realizing the obvious, in hard hitting ways,
MAMA
Seems, so obvious and simple, I know. But still, thinking it was like waking up. Remembering I am the only person who can have my own ideas--and that they're mine for a reason. That feels good to remember.
SO I'm working on it now. And it's amazing. I hope everyone is working on it. Carol Burnett, I'm channeling you. Let's do this life. It's the only one I can do.
Been working. It feels good to work again. It feels good to be doing the work I have aimed at making my life about. It feels good to not be lazy; to not be satisfied with the unhappiness of just making coffee, and just thinking about it all. It feels good to be with friends the way I want and need and haven't been able to get to for the longest of times. Internal, it feels good to be swimming through that.
It feels good to think about working my whole life if I can be doing this work. Isn't the goal to make your life's work one that you can embrace with pride and honesty, and not one that happens to you while you're trying not to stare the reality of it in the face? Ten years from now I want to look back on this and know that for those ten years, I really tried. And that "really trying" meant that I finally let go of some of the burdens of fear and just trudged forward, and just believed I was worthy of the dreams I have always had. That "really trying" meant being shitty a lot of time, but that I wanted to keep doing it, and that I wanted to learn.
That is where we're at right now. The time to cry about your lack of "just deserves" has passed now. You are a grown up. You can chase your dream down, or you can be miserable into adulthood, and push that misery onto your following generations. And I'm sitting right now, feeling like this will be easy because I want it so bad. I haven't felt the next round of stumbling blocks yet. But just being gifted the tenacity to get to this point--right here--right now--maybe that one push means you can have others. I can have others. WE can have others.
Maybe my point is that when you want your life to be about something, you should make your life about that thing. And stop waiting for it TO HAPPEN TO YOU.
Because a couple months ago I had this thought: You have all these ideas of things to create, and make happen. YOU are the only person who can do that. No one else can take the internal and actualize it besides you. If you don't, it will go to waste.
So let's not waste. Let's at least just try.
Realizing the obvious, in hard hitting ways,
MAMA
Seems, so obvious and simple, I know. But still, thinking it was like waking up. Remembering I am the only person who can have my own ideas--and that they're mine for a reason. That feels good to remember.
SO I'm working on it now. And it's amazing. I hope everyone is working on it. Carol Burnett, I'm channeling you. Let's do this life. It's the only one I can do.
6.29.2009
Dear Bummers # 1 and 2, for your consideration
I've let this one sit a while. I wrote these over two (three?) weeks ago. They seemed harsh. So I left them alone. Over that time these subjects have come up in conversation, and every time I say nearly what I had written prior. Thusly, I have come to the conclusion that these are my legitimate viewpoints on the events in question.
I think it's good to choose your jerky, self-righteous, grand-standing, chest-puffing, soap-boxing, finger-pointing moments on issues. You can't get mad about everything. Well, some people do. But you can't share them all the time. People would stop listening to you. So, after considering them for some time, I feel solid about these bummers. Bummers, #1 and #2....
Dear Bummer #1,
I don't know what was happening in your day. And yes, I acknowledge that. It would be shitty for me to assume that you are supposed to operate in "super nice" mode all of the time. I don't. Especially at work. And you, 1, were at work. So I get it. So I didn't expect you to engage in personal or perky conversation. But I didn't expect you to be kind of...well...the way you were. Maybe I was expecting civility and or courtesy before you decided I wasn't worthy of being kind to. Maybe that was wrong of me. Needless to say, when I came to you on an 80-some degree day and said "hey, there's a dog tied up outside. Do you think you have a bowl of water or something I could bring him?" And you responded to me coldly, and tersely, I was confused. This seemed to be a bother to you. You didn't understand. Why would I want this bowl of water?
I explained again.
"Well," you asked, "is it YOUR dog?"
No, I said. It's not.
"Well then I wouldn't worry about it," you told me.
"So you're not going to give me any water?" I asked, confused, yes, about why this would be such a weird thing to ask.
You repeated "I wouldn't worry about it."
I feel it's necessary to let anyone else reading this know that you made a point of not looking me in the eye throughout the conversation, and when you did it was a punctuation of condescension. Though a small detail, it is one that does not go unnoticed as I have long been around people who build social identities by letting others know they're not worthy of their time. But I digress...
"...mmm...ok." I was at an impasse. There I was, an admittant dog enthusiast, just wanting the hot guy to have some relief. Oh water, the horror! Maybe not everyone would react as I do to a dog being tied up in the heat, and I understood, so I made a joke:
"Oh, you're a cat person, aren't you?" But you were not in the mood for jokes and shirked me off. Snorting at me, then looking over, around, and through me you went back to your work.
I walked out of the restaurant, patted the dog, and went on with my day. My friends were waiting for me down the street.
What I thought of saying to you two blocks away was this:
I hope someday you are tied to a post on a hot day, and nobody brings YOU any water BECAUSE THEY DON'T OWN YOU.
You totally logical and caring person. You were so rude about such a little thing. I'm not a lunatic or an animal freak, I just know that many places will put bowls of water out on hot days when they have a dog-toting clientele. But sorry. That must've been my bad. How silly I must have looked. Fuck the dogs, RIGHT?! Better to keep having your crappy day. I hope things changed for you though. I hope a rainbow sprouted overhead and the sky rained chocolate kisses and everyone who crossed your path adorned you with hand shakes and butterfly kisses.
If you're ever stuck outside in the heat, you probably shouldn't ask me for help. I might just not find it my communal responsibility to give you a cup of water.
Dear Bummer #2
Oh you. You probably believe we all have a right to breed. As Americans, I mean. And especially as the monetarily privileged ones. I work for an affluent clientele, so I will be the first one to say that my views on parenting in that neighborhood can be somewhat skewed by my perception of their electives to not participate in the rearing of their children. It's not a part time job in my opinion. But I know I am in no real position to have such opinions as I have no children myself. "Oh goody. Kids are like gerbils. Clean their cage once a week, they're fine." But I digress....
Anyway, you seem like a nice person. A kind person. I actually mostly liked you on your own. But you came in with your family on a Sunday for brunch. Here I would like to say that my place of business is very family friendly--to its detriment at times--and so any day, especially weekends, are frequented by families with small children. I have a very high threshold for erratic behavior from children in public places. But I DO NOT believe they should be allowed to be banshees. Look, I don't have kids, so how could I possibly know how trying it is to raise them. But I do believe if I had them I would be sensitive to other's dinning experiences. And yes, you, this family, I don't mean to offend you, but your children were unacceptable. I am used to seeing fits, and fighting, and vomiting, and crying, and all of that, but these demons you let rule your life were rude, and inexplicably inappropriate in the cafe. Shrill screaming, tantrum throwing, right from the beginning, and you let them. You were sitting right in front of me and I watched you enable them while they cried and screamed and hit and made others feel uncomfortable. I know you made others feel uncomfortable because they told me. Your children offended me and I just get paid to make your coffee.
CORRECTION: Perhaps what truly offended me was that you let them behave in such a way. Especially the super ballistic one. How could you possibly let such abhorrish behavior happen for nearly an hour? That is inconsiderate. Anyone interested can be sent an audio file of a recreation of this terrible, unmonitored behavior. Just, just bad. Like really, really bad. So, 2, you thought it was fine your child(ren) were ruining everyone else's dining experience. Fine.
But here's the problem: When you went outside and left your banshees in a stroller while you chatted with friends, some shit went down. I watched this happen. There was a dog tied up outside. It was being barked at by a dog tied up across the street. It seemed stressed. This was unusual for this dog and I know because the owner talked to me about it while she was in line for coffee. I don't think she was just starting to make things up. While your screaming child was sitting in her stroller and you were chatting with friends, she started provoking the dog. She was pulling on his hair, his tail, putting her hand in his face, his eyes. And when you started to notice, and tried to intervene, the dog nipped at her.
The dog NIPPED at her.
You know how I know? If the dog BIT her, she would need stitches, not a paper towel with an ice cube. Know how I know? Ask for my credentials.
The dog nipped at her, and she screamed more (a surprising feat) and bled some and you freaked out. Of course you freaked out. Of course your baby freaked out. Those things are terrifying when they happen to young children, weather they're nips or scratches or gashes or tears. You spoke to the dog owner, and you left.
Hmm, I thought.
And then you came back today. You came back this morning. You talked to my boss and I stood right there. You told the story in a motherly way, as though no one--not even his highness jesus--saw it happen. Just what you wanted to see happen, through your mommy goggles. You said we shouldn't let dogs stay out front anymore. You know, maybe they'll bite someone. Maybe just a suggestion.
Well, I have a suggestion for you. IF YOU FEEL THAT POTENTIALLY INAPPROPRIATE ANIMALS SHOULD BE TIED UP AROUND THE CORNER, THEN POTENTIALLY INAPPROPRIATE CHILDREN SHOULD BE TIED UP AROUND THE CORNER ALSO.
WATCH YOUR SHIT. IF IT'S A DOG OR A BABY, WATCH YOUR SHIT.
The dog is sitting on public property, but you brought your baby into a restaurant, and then you let it act shitty. And then you let it be inappropriate to an animal in a public space. So that really sounds like your problem, lady. Get your inappropriate human in check. I'm not a baby hater, but get your human in check. I would. I would make it my responsibility. And you know one of the reasons I don't have one? Because I know I don't want that kind of responsibility yet. Shame on you. You can't blame that crap on an animal. Get your people in check. Buck up and take responsibility for how your offspring act in the world. Other people live in it, too.
Oh now, Mama. You sound so bitter, you sound so worked up. Well America, I will tell you. The longer I am in this world, and the harder and more I try to contribute to it, the more I build intolerances. But I don't think I'm totally fucking out to lunch about them. Most of them stem from believing that people can be kind and thoughtful and not entirely selfish--and that it's not really that hard. I mean, it's easier to be selfish, rude, and depressed. But that doesn't mean it's better.
All things otherwise, are on the up and up!
So here's to moving up together,
Mama
I think it's good to choose your jerky, self-righteous, grand-standing, chest-puffing, soap-boxing, finger-pointing moments on issues. You can't get mad about everything. Well, some people do. But you can't share them all the time. People would stop listening to you. So, after considering them for some time, I feel solid about these bummers. Bummers, #1 and #2....
Dear Bummer #1,
I don't know what was happening in your day. And yes, I acknowledge that. It would be shitty for me to assume that you are supposed to operate in "super nice" mode all of the time. I don't. Especially at work. And you, 1, were at work. So I get it. So I didn't expect you to engage in personal or perky conversation. But I didn't expect you to be kind of...well...the way you were. Maybe I was expecting civility and or courtesy before you decided I wasn't worthy of being kind to. Maybe that was wrong of me. Needless to say, when I came to you on an 80-some degree day and said "hey, there's a dog tied up outside. Do you think you have a bowl of water or something I could bring him?" And you responded to me coldly, and tersely, I was confused. This seemed to be a bother to you. You didn't understand. Why would I want this bowl of water?
I explained again.
"Well," you asked, "is it YOUR dog?"
No, I said. It's not.
"Well then I wouldn't worry about it," you told me.
"So you're not going to give me any water?" I asked, confused, yes, about why this would be such a weird thing to ask.
You repeated "I wouldn't worry about it."
I feel it's necessary to let anyone else reading this know that you made a point of not looking me in the eye throughout the conversation, and when you did it was a punctuation of condescension. Though a small detail, it is one that does not go unnoticed as I have long been around people who build social identities by letting others know they're not worthy of their time. But I digress...
"...mmm...ok." I was at an impasse. There I was, an admittant dog enthusiast, just wanting the hot guy to have some relief. Oh water, the horror! Maybe not everyone would react as I do to a dog being tied up in the heat, and I understood, so I made a joke:
"Oh, you're a cat person, aren't you?" But you were not in the mood for jokes and shirked me off. Snorting at me, then looking over, around, and through me you went back to your work.
I walked out of the restaurant, patted the dog, and went on with my day. My friends were waiting for me down the street.
What I thought of saying to you two blocks away was this:
I hope someday you are tied to a post on a hot day, and nobody brings YOU any water BECAUSE THEY DON'T OWN YOU.
You totally logical and caring person. You were so rude about such a little thing. I'm not a lunatic or an animal freak, I just know that many places will put bowls of water out on hot days when they have a dog-toting clientele. But sorry. That must've been my bad. How silly I must have looked. Fuck the dogs, RIGHT?! Better to keep having your crappy day. I hope things changed for you though. I hope a rainbow sprouted overhead and the sky rained chocolate kisses and everyone who crossed your path adorned you with hand shakes and butterfly kisses.
If you're ever stuck outside in the heat, you probably shouldn't ask me for help. I might just not find it my communal responsibility to give you a cup of water.
Dear Bummer #2
Oh you. You probably believe we all have a right to breed. As Americans, I mean. And especially as the monetarily privileged ones. I work for an affluent clientele, so I will be the first one to say that my views on parenting in that neighborhood can be somewhat skewed by my perception of their electives to not participate in the rearing of their children. It's not a part time job in my opinion. But I know I am in no real position to have such opinions as I have no children myself. "Oh goody. Kids are like gerbils. Clean their cage once a week, they're fine." But I digress....
Anyway, you seem like a nice person. A kind person. I actually mostly liked you on your own. But you came in with your family on a Sunday for brunch. Here I would like to say that my place of business is very family friendly--to its detriment at times--and so any day, especially weekends, are frequented by families with small children. I have a very high threshold for erratic behavior from children in public places. But I DO NOT believe they should be allowed to be banshees. Look, I don't have kids, so how could I possibly know how trying it is to raise them. But I do believe if I had them I would be sensitive to other's dinning experiences. And yes, you, this family, I don't mean to offend you, but your children were unacceptable. I am used to seeing fits, and fighting, and vomiting, and crying, and all of that, but these demons you let rule your life were rude, and inexplicably inappropriate in the cafe. Shrill screaming, tantrum throwing, right from the beginning, and you let them. You were sitting right in front of me and I watched you enable them while they cried and screamed and hit and made others feel uncomfortable. I know you made others feel uncomfortable because they told me. Your children offended me and I just get paid to make your coffee.
CORRECTION: Perhaps what truly offended me was that you let them behave in such a way. Especially the super ballistic one. How could you possibly let such abhorrish behavior happen for nearly an hour? That is inconsiderate. Anyone interested can be sent an audio file of a recreation of this terrible, unmonitored behavior. Just, just bad. Like really, really bad. So, 2, you thought it was fine your child(ren) were ruining everyone else's dining experience. Fine.
But here's the problem: When you went outside and left your banshees in a stroller while you chatted with friends, some shit went down. I watched this happen. There was a dog tied up outside. It was being barked at by a dog tied up across the street. It seemed stressed. This was unusual for this dog and I know because the owner talked to me about it while she was in line for coffee. I don't think she was just starting to make things up. While your screaming child was sitting in her stroller and you were chatting with friends, she started provoking the dog. She was pulling on his hair, his tail, putting her hand in his face, his eyes. And when you started to notice, and tried to intervene, the dog nipped at her.
The dog NIPPED at her.
You know how I know? If the dog BIT her, she would need stitches, not a paper towel with an ice cube. Know how I know? Ask for my credentials.
The dog nipped at her, and she screamed more (a surprising feat) and bled some and you freaked out. Of course you freaked out. Of course your baby freaked out. Those things are terrifying when they happen to young children, weather they're nips or scratches or gashes or tears. You spoke to the dog owner, and you left.
Hmm, I thought.
And then you came back today. You came back this morning. You talked to my boss and I stood right there. You told the story in a motherly way, as though no one--not even his highness jesus--saw it happen. Just what you wanted to see happen, through your mommy goggles. You said we shouldn't let dogs stay out front anymore. You know, maybe they'll bite someone. Maybe just a suggestion.
Well, I have a suggestion for you. IF YOU FEEL THAT POTENTIALLY INAPPROPRIATE ANIMALS SHOULD BE TIED UP AROUND THE CORNER, THEN POTENTIALLY INAPPROPRIATE CHILDREN SHOULD BE TIED UP AROUND THE CORNER ALSO.
WATCH YOUR SHIT. IF IT'S A DOG OR A BABY, WATCH YOUR SHIT.
The dog is sitting on public property, but you brought your baby into a restaurant, and then you let it act shitty. And then you let it be inappropriate to an animal in a public space. So that really sounds like your problem, lady. Get your inappropriate human in check. I'm not a baby hater, but get your human in check. I would. I would make it my responsibility. And you know one of the reasons I don't have one? Because I know I don't want that kind of responsibility yet. Shame on you. You can't blame that crap on an animal. Get your people in check. Buck up and take responsibility for how your offspring act in the world. Other people live in it, too.
Oh now, Mama. You sound so bitter, you sound so worked up. Well America, I will tell you. The longer I am in this world, and the harder and more I try to contribute to it, the more I build intolerances. But I don't think I'm totally fucking out to lunch about them. Most of them stem from believing that people can be kind and thoughtful and not entirely selfish--and that it's not really that hard. I mean, it's easier to be selfish, rude, and depressed. But that doesn't mean it's better.
All things otherwise, are on the up and up!
So here's to moving up together,
Mama
6.08.2009
Dear, Breaking in the motherboard!
Eee! (pc)
After almost two years of not having my own computer, I do. IT's haaaaaaapening!
The intention of the purchase was to start writing more, and more regularly. It's just a little guy, almost personal pizza sized. Personal pizza pc. But it gets the job done. I think it's a he. Not sure yet...But pretty sure it means there will finally be more writing.
Back in the technology game, y'all! Emmer effers here I come!
After almost two years of not having my own computer, I do. IT's haaaaaaapening!
The intention of the purchase was to start writing more, and more regularly. It's just a little guy, almost personal pizza sized. Personal pizza pc. But it gets the job done. I think it's a he. Not sure yet...But pretty sure it means there will finally be more writing.
Back in the technology game, y'all! Emmer effers here I come!
6.03.2009
Donny Osmond You Are Not A Little Bit Rock n' Roll
I mean, seriously? Was that for real? I'm not trying to rip on Donny Osmond, but did anyone hear that? The very nature of the way he sings those words is so wholesome and dripping-gooey-teen-sugar-vag-cresting-on-a-river-of-fruit-loops-and-chocolate-milk that it kind of is the exact opposite of what someone who is a "little rock n' roll" would sound like. But then, I'm also going on the assumption that rock and roll has a defining sound or look and is not simply a "state of mind" or "way of being". I have, in the past, been informed that it is and that is why "Green Day is the greatest punk band of all time". So. And I'm really not prepared to get into that kind of an argument, or "discussion". So.
Sorry Donny O. Maybe you are a little rock n' roll in there somewhere.
5.02.2009
Keep On Chasing tha Paypah
Just Live yo life. "oooooh!" heey eyeey eyyeyyyeeeh.
Yeah.
Before Steven Bach died.
Before Steven Bach died I thought of writing to him. Funny that I thought of writing to him about the things III was doing---"please would you read this" or "what's new in your life, here's my new whatever"---and as much as I was thinking of him the past few years I was never totally selfless enough to just want to ask about HIM. I mean, the guy was a mentor of mine, and a saucy one at that, so it was always as much about him as it was about anything else. But he never made it that way. I usually thought the immediate universe revolved around him, but I don't think he ever thought that. That's one of the things that made him so amazing. You could never know Steven without thinking of him implicitly with things. But he never grandstanded himself. He really just WAS. Or, IS. Steven Bach IS quite a person, and my experience with him is a testiment to why you shouldn't sit around only thinking about the people you want to talk to or get back in touch with. Because they are brilliant and they might die. We have seen this is true. Before Steven Bach died I was thinking of him a lot. And then he died. And I never got to send the letter-emails I had wanted to send. But the point is I hope he felt full. And he was beautiful.
My personal stock in popular R&B/rap songs is only going up. "Blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol..." Then maybe T.I. and Justin Timberlake sing that song about trying to lead a better life, but still they sound kind of hard, and also a little relatable, and even some of the fainter-at-heart turn up their stereos. Yes, I feel good about this.
Dogs sitting on other dogs is a funny sight. Lucky for me I get emails of these things daily. These important pick-me-ups are the things that remind me "hey, you might not be getting much work, and YES, you might be terrified sometimes, but also sometimes you get to look at puppies and kitties cuddling on couches or uppon rolling fields and at least you have that to look forward to." And good meals. And great friends. And cuddling. As though I were sometimes a giant kitten myself.
So this means nothing. But maybe it could be a little, too...
xo mama
Sometimes don't we all just want to be giant kitties or puppies? (yes, either, but really puppies, correct?? I mean, come on here....)
Yeah.
Before Steven Bach died.
Before Steven Bach died I thought of writing to him. Funny that I thought of writing to him about the things III was doing---"please would you read this" or "what's new in your life, here's my new whatever"---and as much as I was thinking of him the past few years I was never totally selfless enough to just want to ask about HIM. I mean, the guy was a mentor of mine, and a saucy one at that, so it was always as much about him as it was about anything else. But he never made it that way. I usually thought the immediate universe revolved around him, but I don't think he ever thought that. That's one of the things that made him so amazing. You could never know Steven without thinking of him implicitly with things. But he never grandstanded himself. He really just WAS. Or, IS. Steven Bach IS quite a person, and my experience with him is a testiment to why you shouldn't sit around only thinking about the people you want to talk to or get back in touch with. Because they are brilliant and they might die. We have seen this is true. Before Steven Bach died I was thinking of him a lot. And then he died. And I never got to send the letter-emails I had wanted to send. But the point is I hope he felt full. And he was beautiful.
My personal stock in popular R&B/rap songs is only going up. "Blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol..." Then maybe T.I. and Justin Timberlake sing that song about trying to lead a better life, but still they sound kind of hard, and also a little relatable, and even some of the fainter-at-heart turn up their stereos. Yes, I feel good about this.
Dogs sitting on other dogs is a funny sight. Lucky for me I get emails of these things daily. These important pick-me-ups are the things that remind me "hey, you might not be getting much work, and YES, you might be terrified sometimes, but also sometimes you get to look at puppies and kitties cuddling on couches or uppon rolling fields and at least you have that to look forward to." And good meals. And great friends. And cuddling. As though I were sometimes a giant kitten myself.
So this means nothing. But maybe it could be a little, too...
xo mama
Sometimes don't we all just want to be giant kitties or puppies? (yes, either, but really puppies, correct?? I mean, come on here....)
2.27.2009
stop...taking...my...brains...google
I don't know what's happening. I only know this: When I try to log into my harmless blog, the website tells me I now need a google account.
When I enter my google account it tells me to make a new profile. No, I say. I have a profile. I'd like that one please.
When I enter my blog profile it tells me I'm wrong.
We go around in these flirtatious circles until generally I give up or reset something in the desparation that I'll make the problem go away.
It never works.
Now I don't know what I've done, but I'll tell you it just informed me I'm not ALLOWED to make a google account (make up your fucking mind, you fucking machine). Not allowed to make one when I already have one, and not allowed to use the one set up to this account because it's NOT google. I don't even know how I logged on just now.
So if you don't see me blogging for a while, America (all 2 or 3 of yalls), please help me defeat the google.
That nasty, nasty computer machine.
Shame on you, google. BIG, big shame.
mama
When I enter my google account it tells me to make a new profile. No, I say. I have a profile. I'd like that one please.
When I enter my blog profile it tells me I'm wrong.
We go around in these flirtatious circles until generally I give up or reset something in the desparation that I'll make the problem go away.
It never works.
Now I don't know what I've done, but I'll tell you it just informed me I'm not ALLOWED to make a google account (make up your fucking mind, you fucking machine). Not allowed to make one when I already have one, and not allowed to use the one set up to this account because it's NOT google. I don't even know how I logged on just now.
So if you don't see me blogging for a while, America (all 2 or 3 of yalls), please help me defeat the google.
That nasty, nasty computer machine.
Shame on you, google. BIG, big shame.
mama
1.28.2009
Dear Heyyy, no need to melt down, freak out. at least you have your health, mostly
Oh the joyous woes of growing up and learning lessons and trying to keep thinking that becoming an adult isn't one of the shittier things to happen to a person.
Let's see...while stuck in the transition of not making, as my father would say, "squat" as far as american currency is concerned, only so many things can make that time feel more freaky. One of those things is more bills. Huge bills. Bills that won't go away. Bills that appear almost out of nowhere but also not considering they piled up due to a silly misunderstanding between you and your landlord. But really just you. Because only you are held accountable. Oh, silly kids.
The silly missunderstanding in question has resulted in a back log of gas and electricity bills. For the last six months. "Now mama," you might be saying, "Surely this has to come as no surprise, surely you knew you would have to pay for these things when you moved in." and friends, I couldn't agree with you more. But let me say that this was the Giraffe and I's first time renting a house; rules for such dwellings are different from, say, apartments. and when our landlord quoted us a figure to pay him each month for "utilities", making no mention of needing to register for gas/electricity separately, and in fact making mention of things to the opposite effect.
So, rightfully so, we thought all was well.
UNtil our gas was shut off on a Friday afternoon in January, leaving us with no choice but to go without heat for 3 days.
Now friends, we will never make this mistake of assuming again, but the delightful little penalty for such an error is a costly neglect charge and reactivation fee, and a sumptuous bill (correction: TWO bills) for both gas and electricity for all the months we already thought we were paying for them.
We got the first of those two bills this afternoon. The Giraffe called the "people" and they put us on a payment plan. Kind of makes it more bearable, but the bills are still higher than I could have even afforded before I got my pants let out at my job. Now? Fugghet about it. as my dad would say, "ain't happnin'". Not just a pain in the ass, but now just plain not possible. Yum.
So there are these bills. I'm sure I'll get another job eventually, hopefully sooner than later, but friends, I don't have one today. Today there's a cute little melange of things wrapping up the crap ball wrapped in bacon stuffed in the Going To Fucking Come Out ahead Of It in The End Oven of my life.
Billsbillsbills. added bills.
freetimefreetimefreetime. free time with a kick of insult.
pantsthatdon'tfit. ones that haven't fit for months, but even the big-person pants I bought don't fit anymore and I am nothing if not muffin topped, and gushing over.
dogcoveredinpuke. walter barfed, and poor man did it all over his beautiful colored coat. and our couch.
beerbeerbeer. Back to beer. For a good number of months I cut way back on beer in hopes of taming the gut. But that didn't work, and I'm too poor and fed up to drink anything else now. Yum, Olympia.
burstingbustingveins. Veins are popping left and right in my legs. either busted or trying to float right out of my body, my stems look like aunt Dottie's on a cruise to Bocca Raton. I might as well wear a plastic visor and learn bridge.
But you know, friends, it's dinner time now. The Giraffe and Uncle Cousin Brother were great enough to go to the food bank up the street and cook an awesome looking dinner. So I'm going to eat it. and stop complaining.
we got each other. and food. so it's only almost February. We got eachother. IT's still anybody's game.
--mama
p.s. anybodyknowadoctorwhocanlasertheseshitsawayIwouldlovetoreturntolookinglikea20somethingagain
Let's see...while stuck in the transition of not making, as my father would say, "squat" as far as american currency is concerned, only so many things can make that time feel more freaky. One of those things is more bills. Huge bills. Bills that won't go away. Bills that appear almost out of nowhere but also not considering they piled up due to a silly misunderstanding between you and your landlord. But really just you. Because only you are held accountable. Oh, silly kids.
The silly missunderstanding in question has resulted in a back log of gas and electricity bills. For the last six months. "Now mama," you might be saying, "Surely this has to come as no surprise, surely you knew you would have to pay for these things when you moved in." and friends, I couldn't agree with you more. But let me say that this was the Giraffe and I's first time renting a house; rules for such dwellings are different from, say, apartments. and when our landlord quoted us a figure to pay him each month for "utilities", making no mention of needing to register for gas/electricity separately, and in fact making mention of things to the opposite effect.
So, rightfully so, we thought all was well.
UNtil our gas was shut off on a Friday afternoon in January, leaving us with no choice but to go without heat for 3 days.
Now friends, we will never make this mistake of assuming again, but the delightful little penalty for such an error is a costly neglect charge and reactivation fee, and a sumptuous bill (correction: TWO bills) for both gas and electricity for all the months we already thought we were paying for them.
We got the first of those two bills this afternoon. The Giraffe called the "people" and they put us on a payment plan. Kind of makes it more bearable, but the bills are still higher than I could have even afforded before I got my pants let out at my job. Now? Fugghet about it. as my dad would say, "ain't happnin'". Not just a pain in the ass, but now just plain not possible. Yum.
So there are these bills. I'm sure I'll get another job eventually, hopefully sooner than later, but friends, I don't have one today. Today there's a cute little melange of things wrapping up the crap ball wrapped in bacon stuffed in the Going To Fucking Come Out ahead Of It in The End Oven of my life.
Billsbillsbills. added bills.
freetimefreetimefreetime. free time with a kick of insult.
pantsthatdon'tfit. ones that haven't fit for months, but even the big-person pants I bought don't fit anymore and I am nothing if not muffin topped, and gushing over.
dogcoveredinpuke. walter barfed, and poor man did it all over his beautiful colored coat. and our couch.
beerbeerbeer. Back to beer. For a good number of months I cut way back on beer in hopes of taming the gut. But that didn't work, and I'm too poor and fed up to drink anything else now. Yum, Olympia.
burstingbustingveins. Veins are popping left and right in my legs. either busted or trying to float right out of my body, my stems look like aunt Dottie's on a cruise to Bocca Raton. I might as well wear a plastic visor and learn bridge.
But you know, friends, it's dinner time now. The Giraffe and Uncle Cousin Brother were great enough to go to the food bank up the street and cook an awesome looking dinner. So I'm going to eat it. and stop complaining.
we got each other. and food. so it's only almost February. We got eachother. IT's still anybody's game.
--mama
p.s. anybodyknowadoctorwhocanlasertheseshitsawayIwouldlovetoreturntolookinglikea20somethingagain
1.27.2009
This Just in: Hole in Free Time Now Suddenly Blown Wide Open
Dear america,
as many of you know, for the past little while we, as a nation, have been going through what some are calling an "Economic Recession".
Many are going without jobs, many struggling to keep them, and many are just loosing them all together.
Until recently, I was one of those more fortunate. I was a worker. Granted I wasn't a full time worker, and paying the bills had become near impossible, but Gosh Darnit, I had a job.
and then, america, a beautiful kaleidoscope of events and information came whirling my way, and I was let go from said job. Well, not exactly. To be fair, what really happened was I was cut down. Cut back. Let "out". Like a beautiful pair of my pants.
What was once a part time job is now more like a financial hobby. a life infidelity. a sweet little thing I'm doing on the side. My most lucrative days of employment were taken away (temporarily maybe, maybe not), and while I do not have it in writing, I am fairly certain--nay, confident--that this action was not because of the need to save money. This action was more because I am the least competent person in my job title at my place of employment. My shortcomings were brought to my attention right after the news about the schedule shift. and america, I don't have the desire to over exaggerate this point. Whether I was surprised, confused, simultaneously not surprised, hurt, internally protestful and internally wishing those shortcomings were brought to my attention say, as they came up--doesn't matter. What matters is what they see and hear. and that person is not a very good worker. Or maybe just a "fine" worker. Who knows? We don't know these things. When we are told we need to do better and we are working less we say yes we understand and we leave.
We do not wish to inquire about undisclosed details, or make a case for why we need/want more money. Because those things, in this situation, are not necessary. and we, as an employee understand that some of our punishable actions, like tardiness, are indisputably true.
OH america, what will become of our economic crisis? What will I do with my further plunge into pooritude and gaping pockets of free times? Look for jobs, yes, that one is true. Hope my average skill set on par with every other "artsy" 20 something college graduate looking for a job is somehow viewed as "better" or "special" enough to earn me another service job? Yes, also true. Worry, stress, feel bitter at people who take their money and job security and important skill sets for granted, go back to drinking more cheap beer and assume that an ever expanding gut is now just going to be a new feature in the real life action doll that is me, try desperately to make my crafts and career important (and god willing lucrative), do more artsy shit that will never see a financial return, cry so that I look like an overgrown puffy tomato fetus that makes people ask "are you ok?", face some of them demons that don't seem so bad when you're a loser with no money, write more letters n emails n phone calls, clean probably maybe hopefully, do IT more and more (history shows that rates of sex skyrocket in troubling economic times. Free entertainment! We'll flood the streets with our fluids!!), work off some of this cellulite which--america, I fool you not--has worked it's way all the way to my calves and wrists (the gut, you see, will continue to grow but perhaps some muscle could return to the other long forgotten regions of my soft sloppy body. additionally I would wish for a hard belly, perhaps in exchange for the buoyant cottage cheese), build a home studio, spend a lot of time with the people I love (and stalking them on the interweb. I'm talking to yooooouuuuu, east coasters...), get weird, get funky, get it together, get down, get down on myself, get into some theaters, get craazy, get good, get real. THESE are all things I will do.
Let's get real, america. Let's do this together. america, we can do it. If some of you out there have free time blowing through your schedules like I do, let's get together and make some things happen. Let's cut costs. Maybe learn how to make Q-tips and moonshine and dog food and tree houses and latrines.
andifanyofyououttherehaveameshapedjobopeningpleaseohdeargodpleasehireme
Love,
Mama
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