Friday, December 31

anger management needed

This cat has some issues.

Thursday, December 30

i don't think we're in kansas anymore

Today was windy with a high of 70 degrees. Yes, it's December 30th in Kansas; the average temperature being 28 degrees.

Because I watch too many movies like The Day After Tomorrow and Deep Impact, I think this has something to do with the tsunami. That's the only thing I can say on the subject. Every morning he gives me updates on the death toll and I pretend I don't see.

Either way, it was a beautiful day to fix the fence that blew over during the night and fall off my horse. I hurt my knee and she pulled a shoe. Maybe it wasn't such a beautiful day after all.

Keith: two of his songs got on my coveted Life Swap list (don't ask what a deaf kid is doing with a soundtrack for his life). Download "Lie to Me" and "Redlight."

Wednesday, December 29

this is about self-deactivation

It'll get trite really fast, so bear with me.

Four Diet Dr Pepper's and one three-mile run later, I'm feeling a little woozy. I'm reading poetry about bad friends and good tragedies. Cursive teaches us that artists have to starve, if things aren't bad a masterpiece won't come out of it. Palahniuk's Diary teaches the same thing, I think, with a little bit of handwriting-analysis mixed in.

Reading a book that starts with someone trying to commit suicide (but only ends up in a coma) and then has his wife bitching at him for 200 pages, well, that just doesn't do much for my current state of mind. Like Beau Sia, I wonder if they'll publish books full of poems I hated when I die. What I wrote when I didn't know better (like what I'm writing now). Maybe someday I will write something like Marya's Wasted only better, but for now I'm completely useless except for...this. Sitting. Reading. Picking scabs.

I'm sorry I'm so "emo." It was nice for that short period when being depressed was a fad, so at least I didn't have to pretend. Now I cover it up with fake smiles and lots of lies. January is a bad month for me. I thought my world was over telling me that my feelings were irrelevant. Everything comes back to invalidating me, because that's the worst thing in the world.

Wait. People all over the world are dying for what they believe in, and I'm just dying to believe something. I'm starting to sound like a Jonny Lang song.

For something more cheery, Wednesday horse blogging.


Two red lines below the crease of my elbow, the width of my arm and perfectly spaced. Trotting poles. One, two, three, jump. This is so teen-angst, so a couple years ago, you remember when it was cool and hardcore to cut. I didn't expect it to be sixty-one degrees today, a beautiful day for t-shirts and everyone creeps out of the cracks to ask what happened. It's not bad enough, really, for any concern. I just thought it was about time I took a more active role in killing myself.

Thursday, December 23

where i've been all week (and will continue to be until it warms up)


Yes, the Santa is terrifying, but it was my grandmother's and so has a certain amount of sentimental value. I get nostalgic about being terrified of it as a young buck.

Happy [insert whatever they say on that T-Mobile commerical here]!

Friday, December 17

friday cat blogging (RIP version)

Merry Christmas!

Thursday, December 16

from the archives (when i get manic i write long emails)

(It really bothers me that I don't remember who this originally was to. If you are the person I wrote this to, let me know. It might not have actually been to anyone. It sounds like the kind of thing I would just make up.)

Dear _____,

On friday I got told TWICE that my life was "boring." Who are these people, and since when was it their business whether or not my life is boring? I guess I never really thought about it before. I'm rarely (if ever) bored, so wouldn't that mean my life isn't boring? Apparently not.

Of course, the two people who told me this think that you're not having fun unless you're tripping off acid (on acid? can opposite prepositions describe the same thing? how strange), so I suppose their opinions don't really matter. Also, they're homophobic and I hate them anyway.

But seriously, boring? I don't think anyone's life ever SOUNDS exciting. The basis of human existence is: eat, sleep, work/school, watch tv; repeat as necessary. (Hey, 1 out of 4 ain't bad.)

Have you seen "A Beautiful Mind"? If so, remember the part where he's decoding all the stuff from the magazines, and he has all these magazine pages pinned up all over his walls and on his desk? I've cleaned up all my shit and ended up taping most of it to the walls, because I think I "NEED" to keep it but don't know what else to do with it. Staring at a TO SCALE version of my "dream barn," I'm feeling a little weird. Maybe I'm crazy and imagining everone, too! I'm just not smart enough to find "codes" in magazines.

I had a very interesting conversation with Toby about the effects of cocaine, and he was laughing because I was being manic and he says, "What you're feeling right now? That's it." On top of the world. Sounds good.

Luke's been listening to David Sedaris. Davy's boyfriend's name is Hugh. That cracks me up. What kind of name is Hugh? If my name were Hugh, I might be tempted to shoot myself--or get a name change. Or move to Colombia (for the men and a "fresh start" where I could be known as HOOLIAHN). Oh, yeah, Davy and speed. That's Luke's favorite part, so far. He talks about how he becomes an artist (except he's not a very good one, just likes to say he's an artist because it sounds cool) and starts doing some meth and is basically nuts, calling people at 3 in the morning. Toby said: "Sucks for you. You get all these fun psuedo-drug symptoms but you can't piss people off calling them in the middle of the night!" (Ten points for using "psuedo" in every day conversation.)

I miss you. Last night I had a waking dream about you. I won't tell you about it; I'm sure you can imagine for yourself.

I'm reading this book called "Stop Pretending" (subtitle: "what happened when my big sister went crazy"). It's a bunch of poems. It's interesting. You can be like Marla--I dated this guy once with a split personality. Except I don't really have a split personality, not in the sense that I think I'm two different people, more in the sense that....

Oops. I went to pet Rio and lost my train of thought.

I miss you. I already said that once, but I guess I think repeating it will make you remember. Don't forget about me when you are busy with all your new friends. :) I haven't forgotten about you with all my...ok...I don't have any friends...but I still haven't forgotten about you! It just doesn't sound so impressive anymore. Damn.

I have to go WORK in the COLD now. Pray that I don't get frostbite and have to have all my limbs amputated.

I love you.

(I'd give it all away/to have someone to come home to.)


Wednesday, December 15

more cyber adventures

TrthUnspkn: pics
TrthUnspkn: s2n
still: n?
TrthUnspkn: s2r
TrthUnspkn: sorry
still: i got really confused there for a second
still: how are ya?
TrthUnspkn: good how are you
still: i'm ok
still: i just watched a plastic surgery show for an hour
still: and i feel a lot better about myself
still: because i may be ugly, but at least i don't wish i was a woman
TrthUnspkn: lol thats funny
still: because then i would be an ugly woman
still: and there's nothing worse than an ugly woman that looks like a man
TrthUnspkn: nobody is ugly////
still: i am ;-)
still: and then i spent some time being really, really uncomfortable as my boyfriend tried to find my plastic surgery scars. anyone under that much scrutiny is going to feel a little squirmy.
TrthUnspkn: surgery scars??
still: yes, it's kind of like "where's waldo" where you think you've found him because of the red and white stripes, but there's a whole shitload of things wth red and white stripes
TrthUnspkn: lol
still: so, i'm sorry, what can i do for you?
TrthUnspkn: i need pics
still: of what?
TrthUnspkn: men
still: that's pretty broad
still: i mean, men do make up about 40% of the world's population
still: that's like over 2 billion
TrthUnspkn: hahlol i need naked men to get my dick hard enough to where i can jack the shit out of it
still: wow, sounds like a personal problem to me
still: check out
TrthUnspkn: you cant direct any to me right now
TrthUnspkn: i was looking foward to the shit you have
still: i have no shit
still: i'm a bulimic, food never gets that far
TrthUnspkn: no pics??
still: i guess that's what i was getting at
TrthUnspkn: ok then
still: what's your favorite scary movie?

everything i know about gay sex i learned from a palahniuk book

He's listening to the radio and starts laughing. What? I say. He explains to me that one of the DJs, meaning to say "farting and belching," instead said "barting and felching" and the DJs had been laughing about it for a good fifteen minutes. And they kept repeating the phrase without any sexual innuendo, leading him to believe they didn't know what 'felching' meant. Sure enough, someone calls in and says, "Do you guys know what that means?" Lots of bleeps and embarrassed laughter follows.

Just so you aren't ever in this situation, I bring you a passage about a lovely family Thanksgiving dinner, courtesy of Chuck Palahniuk's "Invisible Monsters."

My mom says, "Do you know what the AIDS memorial quilt is all about?"
Jump to how much I hate my brother at this moment.
"I bought this fabric because I thought it would make a nice panel for Shane," Mom says. "We just ran into some problems on what to sew on it.
Give me amnesia.
Give me new parents.
"Your mother didn't want to step on any toes," Dad says. "With gay stuff you have to be so careful since everything means something in secret code. I mean, we didn't want to give people the wrong idea."
My mom leans over to scoop yams onto my plate, and says, "Your father wanted a black border, but black on a field of blue would mean Shane was excited by leather sex, you know, bondage and discipline, sado and masochism." She says, "Really these panels are to help the people left behind."
"Strangers are going to see us and see Shane's name," my dad says. "We didn't want them thinking things."
"I wanted pink triangles but all the panels have pink triangles," my mom says. "IT's the Nazi symbol for homosexuals." She says, "Your father suggested black triangles, but that would mean Shane was a lesbian. It looks like the female pubic hair. The black triangle does."
My father says, "Then I wanted a green border, but it turns out that would mean Shane was a male prostitute."
My mom says, "We almost chose a red border, but that would mean fisting. Brown would mean eather scat or rimming, we couldn't figure which."
"Yellow," my father says, "means watersports."
"A lighter shade of blue," Mom says, "would mean just regular oral sex."
"Regular white," my father says, "would mean anal. White could also mean Shane was excited by men wearing underwear." He says, "I can't remember which."
We're supposed to sit and eat with Shane dead all over the table in front of us.
Dad looks down at his plate and says, "Do you know about rimming?"
I know it isn't table talk.
"And fisting?" my mom asks.
I say, I know.
"Would you pass the butter, please?" my mother says. To my father, she says, "Do you know what felching is?"
This, it's too much. Shane's dead, but he's more the center of attention than he ever was. All this sick horrible sex talk over Thanksgiving dinner, I can't take this.
..."Felching," I lower my voice. I'm calm now. "Felching is when a man fucks you up the butt without a rubber. He shoots his load, and then plants his mouth on your anus and sucks out his own warm sperm, plus whatever lubricant and feces are present. That's felching. It may or may not," I add," include kissing you to pass the sperm and fecal matter into your mouth."
My father clears his throat. He says, "I think 'fletching' is the word your mother meant." He says, "It means to slice the turkey into very thin strips."
I say, oh. I say, sorry.
We eat.

Friday, December 10

extended family christmas email "saga"

First of all, let me express my severe shock in being included in this at all, though mostly just as a spectator. I didn't even expect to be invited, much less kinda-sorta involved in the planning. Here we go:

As far as the gift exchange goes . . . my gift will be my presents, but my presence may not be a gift . . . ponder that for awhile.

I'm hoping B and Jenny can bring the fudge just to see if it makes them break out in hives or something. What would Christmas be without Chocolate? I'm not sure how but I think Chocolate used to be part of the the name of the holiday. Somehow we got left with just the Ch.

[Paul] is the kid who waited up till Gary was ready to do Santa and he wanted to ride along that year cause his friends said that Santa was his dad! When told to go to bed, he said “But Dad I’m going with you to deliver the gifts to all the boys and girls!”

Patrice, I think Deb was trying to impress everyone with big words. She meant that as a compliment. Infamous: Known widely and favorably. We were never real good with vocabulary. That's why I mostly stick with four letter words. I know what most of them mean.

Rule #394: You all have to stay until my lights come on. You might want to bring a book to read or something.

I think they are all old enough (and mature enough) to do a Dirty Santa
type thing...(oh did I say "mature"...based on observing the older adults in
this activity, I might consider taking "mature" out of the requirements!)

Ok, I hope the "mature" comment was not aimed at me. . . cuz if it was
the next time I see you, Susie, I'm gonna sit on your fat little head until
you say your sorry, then if we get into a fight and Mom catches us, I'm
gonna scream, "Susie started it!! Susie started it!!" and you'll be SORRRRRY
then, for sure.

You may think you're hot snot, but you're just a cold booger in a heat

This explains the whole event perfectly:
"Looks like Christmas threw up in here!"

Monday, December 6

weird stuff i find in junk drawers

I am not concerned about anything
I am ready to take over the world
All realities began with a dream of surreality
The Matrix can't take me because I am too strong
Oprah holds the key to national immortality
I drink caffeine to keep my mind sharp
All denial eventually leads to addiction
Psychologists take your money to buy more Prozac
Life is better when the gas tank is full
The open road keeps no promises
Algebra won't help you write a book
The world is one big multiple choice test
Peter Wiggin didn't know his place--and it worked
Pronouncing "crayon" correctly will not make you president
Accents make appearances in times of intense emotion
Never trust an artist
Don't believe everything your role models tell you
People who try to be different are all the same
Eating never made anyone fat
Remember: the predominant ingredient in Oreo cream is lard
If you stare at floor tiles too long they start to move
Don't be afraid to look stupid in front of anyone
When given a choice, always choose the right one
Don't fuck with Tyler Durden
If you learn to like lemon flavor, you'll never be without a Jolly Rancher

john stone

Stumbled upon this guy's weight loss site. He's lost a lot of weight, buffed up, blah blah blah. Pretty amazing, I guess, if you're into that kind of thing. Looking at the pictures I immediately noticed a) way too muscley, kinda grosses me out and b) wtf he lost a lot of chest hair and gained a lot of arm/leg hair. (Testosterone shots, you think?)

The daily pictures are kind of an anorectic's dream. I mean, if this guy is normal and he does shit like that, what's to say I'm not normal when I do shit like that? I may not take pictures but I do a lot of examining. And I love that you can see an actual change in his body every day. But what I love most is the part (about halfway down the page, I think) where one day--hairy chest. Next day--no hair, some very apparent irritation in the area. Check the next week, after the irritation has cleared up, and he's got a very noticible shaving cut. I'm easily amused, but I definitely thought it was funny. Apparently it's really important, while you're losing weight and working out, to shave body hair that may distract from your muscles. I'll keep that in mind.

edit: Ah, shit. I can't link directly to the daily photo page; it takes you to the main page and wants you to register. You don't have to. If you are really interested, click the "picture archives" link and go to the "daily" and "front" options. If you have a lot of time on your hands like me. Err. *cough*

Sunday, December 5

happy birthday, nicholas

(and kegan, but that's a long story)

(i don't know if this is good or not, but it was all gloomy and raining when i woke up this morning. my favorite weather.)

Thursday, December 2

how's that for logic?

One for you, Keith:

her: [god] didn't make [people] to love the same sex
me: ok. cool.
me: i just think there were a lot of things god didn't create man to do that man has done anyway
me: walk on the moon, for example
me: the way we are talking right now
her: yes but man also created things like this as a distraction
her: and being gay is a distraction to people like me
Not only is space travel a "distraction" created by man (I assume to distract from God?) being gay is a personal distraction to "people like" her.

Chalk this up to another "errr....pardon?"

EDIT: Libby, yes, I've got plenty of rational ones.

him: hue are you/
me: do you mean "who"?
him: your a fucking dumbass
[got blocked]
me thinking: "you're"

one good trip

He is in the bathroom shaving while I take a shower. He is shirtless and leaning into the counter, the mirror fogging up quickly. I am watching him like the poem--water becomes an erotic passageway for him--and loving everything about him. I look away to wash my hair and by the time it's rinsed clean, he has joined me. His body is slick and his face is smooth when he kisses me.

Before I can think of a really good reason to stop him (really, it's difficult when he's so willing), he's got me backed up against the wall, biting my lip and shivering at the sudden cold air while his lips, tongue, hands, and eyes gift me moans to stifle.

After he holds me against him, under the water again to warm me up. "You owe me," he says, "later. You've got to tell me what it is I did so good this time." I giggle, he kisses me again and slips away. "Gotta go. Love you."

I stand in the shower until the water gets cold, a lot delirious as I come down. And some people think you need drugs to get high.