The Cure

There doesn't seem to be anything sisters and kittens can't cure.

That and Seinfeld.

I'm back home.

And all I can think about is Christmas! What can I get for everyone? It's so difficult. I already know about my sister, roommate, boyfriend, and three of my friends. But there's still my mother, father, step father, and father's girlfriend...

I love giving my loved ones presents. I wish I could do it all the time.

"Happy Monday! Here's a gift!"

P.S. I miss you.

An Abomination

I was just recently sickened, and I'd like to discuss it. If not for any one of you, then simply for me. (Let's be honest, who is this blog really for?) I guess I just need to rehash some thoughts and get this tornadoe onto something more managable.
I saw Earthlings (this blog is getting closer and closer to a movie critique thing than is comfortable for me.) the other day. It's a documentary on the meat industry predominantly as well as animals in the clothing industry.
What I noticed, which became of extreme importance as the documentary progressed, was that they were careful to point out that the instances of which they spoke and the scenes they showed were not isolated cases but rather, the standard that is carried out globally.
I'm not going to go into detail because I do not want to ruin the documentary for you if you do choose to see it and just in case there are any people of weak constitutions reading this, but I will tell you what has happened afterwards.

1. I laid down on the couch and wept. Not a couple tears or some hiccups. Genuine sobbing. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. Imagining the specific animals that have gone into my selfish lifestyle and their suffering hurt me on such a deep level.
2. I took every leather article of clothing and threw them out. So far they've been picked up by others who thought they were nice or cool, some are still waiting to be claimed.
3. I brushed my teeth and while looking at myself in the mirror, I started crying.
4. I started to ask my God some questions.
A. Why did he create creatures that can inflict so much harm onto those less powerful?
B. What is in our hearts that can be so callous to suffering?
C. Is there any peace or justice for these animals? Does God look after them and care for them before, during, and after their torture and slaugher?
D. What can I do to minimize or end this suffering?

That last question I dwelled on for a while. Now, I'm vegetarian. I'm almost a vegan, but I will eat eggs and milk if I can guarantee that the chickens and cows involved are leading happy and comfortable lives and are being respected just as any living thing deserved.
No more leather or suede sits in my closet and never ever ever will there be any in my closet.
But, as a single consumer, is that enough? How can I make a mark and fight the fight for those who can't (and not look like a crazy PETA bitch)?
I don't know the answer to that question.
So for now, my choices as a consumer will have to do the job.

Can you even imagine?

Yesterday I was in one of those hormonal swings of emotion in which I get caught up in evils and sainthood and I stew in the misery of being alive and human. My darling boyfriend was trying to pull me off that swing and onto solid ground and I started thinking:

What would the world be like if everyone strove for success of the human race?

What if everyone felt their purpose in life was to better the quality of life for every man, woman, and child?

What if the reason every being grew up, went to school, and learned a trade was in order to make the world around them a better place?

What if there was no such thing as individual gain?

What if there was no pleasure found in collecting personal riches?

I didn't know where I was going to go from there.

But then Will in his blog Hardcore Genting, showed me a society where that already exists.

Yes! Here on this Earth there is a species where they build towers a mile high (in relation to their size) and dig a mile deep and construct beautiful things with nothing but wood, spit, and total dedication to their species as a whole.

This video painted a beautiful picture in my head.

A society where men are angels. Mankind needs no reigning force to keep them in line.

In a vast and every darkening world, man looked for nothing but beauty and creation for every being.

Can you imagine what we would have already accomplished had most of us not wasted our lifetime on monetary gain???

We would definitely already have a near perfectly efficient source of energy.

Can you picture buildings a mile high with gardens on every floor and absolutely no waste from the creation and upkeep of such an extravagant building?

Can you imagine living in a dorm at your school and eating dinner and sharing with your peers exactly how each one wanted to make the world brighter, cleaner, or healthier? Can you imagine that sense of unity you would feel being simply human?

Artists would create to bring peace or happiness to the audience or onlookers.

Athletes would perform to bring drama and excitement to everyone's lives and for the love of a game and comradery.

I'm having a societal orgasm just thinking about this utopia.

The key is, however, that there would be not one single person on this planet with any intention of taking advantage of the rest of us. One man with a desire for individual gain would bring this entire imaginary and despairingly impossible world crumbling.

I can just barely imagine this world.

Thinking about it too much makes me forget the real world in which we reside.

I'm pathetic in thinking so, but I like to entertain the idea that this mentality isn't too far off from possibility.

Not even I am so unselfish though.

Pessimism

Am I choosing to be ignorant by being an optimist?

Is it even really possible to maintain a cheery outlook when Truth is unveiled?

Is anything achievable from any viewpoint?

Is there anything worth achieving?

Fuck Kurt Vonnegut.

These dark days have me down.

I've misplaced my raincoat and forgot my umbrella.

I fixed a darling coat that only looks good with dresses.

But my whole body shivers at the idea of a dress on days like these, even with a coat to cover me up.

Wind, blow some of that spontaneity my way.

I am a muse amused by you.

This is just to say,

I have stolen all of your lightbulbs.

I needed them to see the light

You already have.

I am so sorry.

It is so bright.

I was laying in bed this morning, wondering how I can cope with the throws of love and remembered that I once did with poetry. Jumping up, I found my book of self sewn poetry detailing the swells and aches of my little heart in high school.

So here are some treasures.

I've waited miles and searched ages for an inspiration like yourself.

My caffeinated beats, fleets and tease, meets and squeeze.

Nerves, rusty from rain, crusty with pain, unused and abused.

You are my anecdote in the awkward room.

My antidote in the virus boom.

Never take your hand away, never leave me this way.

SIDE NOTE: Even now I haven't searched ages in anything. Also, he did leave me that way.

My grumpy tummy tells funny tales. It wails and snails towards food and down trails. We've been down this road, slowed by hunger. Over and under clover and thunder.

Good grief, I was starving.

God Woman, let me be free. Joined hips bring snide quips.

You cause ire in my bile. Your fire's out of style.

A truly human thing to do

Unruly crewmen sing to blue

Soaking up the salty hue

Ignoring that little, faulty screw

that sunk the boat

and killed the crew.

Davy Jones wishes you

all a bitter

and deep adieu.

Birds will dance and men will fly and then we'll learn you can't touch the sky.

The crow will laugh and the dove will snort at our disappointment and dreams cut short.

But no matter how we beg and how we plead, birds won't give up the grounded life they lead.

We will be stuck between Earth and Space, our final dream we're left the chase.

Internal Revolution

I make mistakes and trickle out the doubt and clout.

I apologize a million times.

And one more time to lose the value of words and take away the meaning of my ill planned and ill manned mouth.

I'm sorry again.

I put my life first and think I'm a martyr.

I put myself on a pedestal and tell myself I'm worthless.

I contradict myself on a daily basis and feel neglected in the midst of your adoration.

(Notice how 'I' is the first word in most of these sentences...)

Come first.

Do your thing and lead your life and let me tag along.

Let me forget I matter and let me see that you are the amazing person with the bright future and stone hard drive that I fell in love with.

I want to follow you.

I'm sorry I've been plowing a path as if it's ours, as if you are merely my accompaniment and have forgotten that you have your own calling.

It'll be easy to stray when you're leading the way.

The sun revolves around the world, but not around me.

My world revolves around you though. Take me into your world and help me to forget I think I am what's important.

Learning something every day!

I'm watching my boyfriend do his homework with his music in his ears and his eyes on his paper. He's such a hard worker and driven to such great success.

Sometimes I wish he would drop it for a minute just to be with and hold me.

But that drive and focus that keeps him glued to his desk is what I fell in love with.

Women really are a bundle of contradictions...

Times like that, it's difficult to find all the small things he did for me that day that shows he does love me even while he's doing homework.

Like the fact that he went to the gym and rode the bike with me.

And while I cried and moaned about my worries and needs, he looked me straight in the eye and listened.

Somehow I need to find a way to relax.

To draw some sewn seeds in a previous post, I need to find a way to eradicate those notions of insecurity and nervousness. How can I do that? Can he help me with that?

Is this something that spawns from an internal storm or something in me reacting to an external force?

Thank goodness I'm taking Psychology... maybe my questions will really be answered.

:*(

The intimate relationship the beauty industry tries to establish with me is freaking me out.

Not only does it bash you into feeling like a creature of the night in need of a warm bath and love, but it also promises to make you whole.

"I just want to love myself."

"We can do that."

That's a lie.

All they want is for you to try and fill those dark holes in your life with collagen and cover them up with powders and scrub them out with Microclear beads.

Lately I've been battling for self acceptance and contentment in this area.

I'm not getting help.

No matter how much I spend, I don't love myself more.

I'm not happy with how I look and those that search me out and promise to help don't have my interests at heart, they have my wallet in mind.

"How much are you willing to pay for self acceptance?"

Apparently way too much.

The time of our lives?

I saw the movie "Children of Men" last night. Before I begin to talk about it and its ideas, I want to make a firm statement telling all of you to see it as well. It's a finely crafted, beautifully executed film that can move even that asshole Ironman.
Okay, onto the good stuff.
The premise is that the end of the human race is nigh. Women and men have become inexplicably infertile and a childs cry hasn't been heard in over 18 years.
It's pre-apocolyptic in a sense.
The entire world is falling apart in this despair and even the so-called "haven", England, is falling apart to terrorism and destruction.
However, there is hope. A simple rumor of a collection of sages working together for the extension of the human race. Of course, it's only believed in by those who see UFOs on the daily and smoke weed.
But it's hope nonetheless.
But I didn't come here to write a summary of the story.
I came to talk about something that has been on my mind since the movie ended.
Seeing those potential mothers in such despair and those fathers in dreaming in equal torment nearly broke my heart.
You begin to ask yourself, what's the point of doing anything if you have no one to share it with. To pass it onto.
To brag to and impress.
The youngest person alive was 18 and after that...
Nothing.
Can you imagine NOTHING being the only thing in your fellow mans future?
Some creatures solely live to procreate. They die shortly after. Salmon spend their whole lives preparing for that moment. They battle with unspeakable odds, go under gruesome (and kind of creepy) transformations, and fight the good fight. But it's all gone after the eggs have been laid. They die.
But THEY as a species do not!
They may die, but in half a blink of Gods eye their little babies are at it, just the same as their parents. They live on, carrying on the salmon way.
What if that stops?
We would have no future as a race. Nothing to dream about for our children.
Not even children to dream for.
If we have any rights as living creatures, it is to procreate just like the rest of the breathing Earth.
To lose that right is terrifying. To all-of-a-sudden lose hold of the most sacred and ancient right, it's to die instantly.
Maybe not yourself, maybe you live a horrendously long time.
But your race dies.
You future as mankind dies.
Although it may be attributed to wonderful acting, the hopelessness of those women who could no longer bear the noble title of Mother brought me to a multitude of unadulterated and unstoppable tears.
It was the absolute blackest truth of having no future.
And I tell you, my friends, I wept at the face of such a "future". I cried for every baby that didn't exist to cry. I cried for every woman that couldn't get to cry on their kids' first day of school. I cried for every man who didn't get to walk a daughter down the aisle.
What a black, black future that could be.
Let's cross our fingers.

I want to be a house wife/office queen.

I want the pretty skirts and the cashmere sweaters and the elegant but durable apron and I want to be used to wearing heels and pretty pink nails. I want to always have beautiful hair all done up and I want to be an excellent cook.
I want to have a garden with peonies, lavender, mint, roses, pumpkins, tomatoes, lilacs, and petunias.
I want to throw great parties.
I want to have something prepared for my husband when he gets home. I want my kids to prefer my food to eating out and I want their friends to love me and my cooking and my home.
At the same time,
I want to be a baracuda at the office.
I want to accomplish what people said couldn't be done and I want to do it in a pencil skirt.
I want to be able to do the math in my head and I want to intimidate my coworkers while also befriending them.
I want to drink wine at dinner meetings and have ruthless logic.
I want to have an office with walls of window on the top floor and I want room service with it.
I want to travel the world for work and fly first class.
I want to be so successful, that I can share my success with those less fortunate. I want to throw parties in support of breast cancer and MS.

Is that too much to ask?

I love What If's.

The idea of knowing that there are an infinite number of alternative routes you could have taken in your life blows my mind.
At any one point, you can make a decision and you could've made a million other decisions that would have taken your life in a completley different direction.
Just as it blows my mind, it also scares me shitless.
Which so many options to pick from, what if we make a mistake? What if we go down the wrong path?
How can you tell which decision is the absolute best?
You can't.
And you can't go back and redo it.
Life is so terrifying sometimes. All I want is to have a warm bed to come home to, a warm meal once in a while, and my boy to hold my hand.
But there are so many other things worth pursuing. I literately have an entire globe under my feet, how do I know where to start or what to hold on to?
I won't know until I've come to the end of that many forked road and looked back.
And all I can hope for is that I can accept myself when all is said and done.

A Small Error

I'm an avid follower of Glenn Beck and all his prophecies of doom and gloom and he made a point today that I would like to expand on.
He mentioned that some cities have cut out funding for their police due to budget cuts. It has gotten so bad, that they will no longer "waste" their time by coming to the scenes of a theft or break-in that has been reported.
So... what?
If you find your home is broken into and you call the police...
No one will come?
That is absurd!!! Of all the things you cut, you cut the funding for you police systems!? What are you thinking, my stupid country!?
That is something you are allowed to cut, by all means, as a last resort.
But not when your mayors and idiotic government party planners are racking in ten times the average salary.
When shit hits the fan, everyone will hurt and no matter how big your nest egg, you greedy bastards, shit will hit your fan and it will hit hard.
Let's expand more on that scenario I drew up.
Your house is broken into.
The police are not coming.
And you have no idea whether the burglar is in your house or if it is safe at all.
That's when the big, fat government slaps your other cheek.
You can't own a gun and can't protect yourself even when no one else will protect you.
Your own government bans your weaponry, making you absolutely dependent upon them.
And then they pull back the protection they offered you.
That is a horrible thing.
That is a stupid thing.
I am not excited about this country's future and I have a long way to go within its borders.

My battle with feminism.

A couple nights ago was another one of those turning point moments that I love sharing with all. It started as a typical night, as most nights do. I was chatting with my man before bedtime, but I was falling asleep as the day took it's toll on me. So I said good night and hung up.
I then made a last trip to the bathroom to abate the call of all creatures.
But relief didn't come that night.
(I know Kimmy is flinching right now, she might not get past this point.)
As I turned on the light and stepped into the room, my body lurched backward as my eyes caught a spider in the sink.
I promise it wasn't your ordinary house dwelling, fly eating spider.
This spider had chest hair.
This spider growled.
This fucker would take the newspaper you tried to kill it with and throw it back at you.
I can't describe it. Here's a picture.

(I put a smaller picture so that those of weaker constitution can continue to the deeper themes I have in store for this article.) This, my friends is a female giant house spider. Yes, that's their name; giant house spider. Aptly named, I might add. They are often confused with hobo spiders which yes, are poisonous, but GHSs are horrifying in their own rights. Unlike their hobo cousins, these puppies can climb and actually get much bigger. So when you have a GHS infestation, literately nowhere is safe.
Anyway, back to my story.
I see this beast in my sink and the first thoughts I have are, "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" Without a second thought, I run into my room to grab something to kill it with. I take hold of my favorite flip in a set of flip flops and re-enter the chamber of the monster.
A horrible thought occurs. This spider is literately TOO BIG to be killed by my flop.
"Oh God..."
So I try again. This time I get the left shoe I wear to work. It's got much more substance (and is slip-free, I might add) and I feel much more safe behind this sole.
I inch nearer to the sink and peer into the basin. I see it trying to climb the walls and I realize, it's trapped.
It can't scale the slipper slope of my sink.
This thing can whistle, it can hunt eagles, but it can't climb out of the bathroom sink.
I've never had anything more cornered. I've never been in such a prime position to kill, besides ants that hang out where I walk. Stupid ants.
I stand there, staring at this creature of the night.
"You can do it. You're 50 times bigger than this thing. It's more scared of you than you are of it."
None of the usual methods of encouragement were working. I was paralyzed. I could hear the thing taunting me.
"You're too scared, you can't do it."
So I lean over the sink and pull up the nobby thing that plugs up the drain. If I couldn't squish it, I was going to drown it.
I was so close! I leaned over that thing in my sink and pulled up the nobby thing and what does the bastard do? Flip out, and run around the bottom of the sink! So fast, I could barely keep my eyes on it. I leapt back like I haven't leapt since high school track.
I couldn't bring myself to lean over one more time to turn on the actual sink.
What was wrong with me?
I continued to ask myself this over, and over again.
Finally I said, "I'm just not being creative enough."
I went to the laundry room, where I grabbed a duster. I stuck the head of the duster into my shoe and tried to use it as a shoe killer, from a distance.
That idea was quickly discarded. I would not have been able to provide the right pressure in the right spots on the shoe to kill the monster in one fell move.
And so I thought, "What else is large and relatively flat on one end and is so long I don't have to come within two feet of the victim?"
Why I thought this, I don't know. Adrenaline does some crazy things to people. Anyway, I immediately thought, "Plunger!"...
Well, I find out that my step dad got us a new plunger that has a weird bottom that would not allow me to crush the GHS. Also, when I was examining the end in question, another spider popped out from the plunger. I'm trying really hard to kill one spider, two is simply asking too much of me in one night. The tool was promptly thrown to the other side of the garage in which it is housed.
I was mentally trapped!
The shoe seemed to remain my best bet, so round two commenced.
Although this spider was probably as aware of me as an athiest is of divine intervention, I was sweating bullets over it's presence.
My thoughts shifted to my boy and his wasp killing abilities and his knack for squelching out the lives of insignificant and creepy beings. I thought, "If only my Will was here to kill this thing. If only I had him here to help me."
And then something came over me.
I pushed my shoulders back and picked my chin up and said to myself, "Will will not always be near to help me, just as he isn't now. If I can't help myself, I'll become weak and one of those girls I make fun of. If I want to face the world and be proud of my self, I should be able to kill my own bugs. Nobody should lean on another for that much security.
Especially I who was once strong and could hold a slug and eat dirt!
I once dug feet to hold teh tongue of a gooey duck.
I once had holes in the knees of every pair of tights I owned because
I was fearless!"
I look at this spider with new eyes.
I am a strong and independent woman. I need no man to rescue me from any perilous task. I am (in)Diana Jones! I can engage a spider ten times this size in a battle of swords or wits!
I stare a second longer at this beast who held me in fear for hours and I jumped once more.
Not for any reason belonging to the GHS.
I actually heard someone walking about in the house.
Trying to look into the dark hallway, I see my mom come out. She asks me what the hell I'm doing and I tell her of the spider.
She takes on look, doesn't think twice and says, "Oh yeah, wake Craig up. He'll take care of it."
Interesting, right?
Has she completely given up on that part of a woman that might open a pickle jar or squish a spider? I believe so because there was no doubt in her mind that she and I had no choice but to hire her husband in this mercenary act.
But I was tired, and I knew that my fearless side would have another chance to prove itself, so I woke up my stepdad.
He got up, went to the garage and grabbed his fly swatter.
He whacked the life out of the now sad and fragile creature and dropped it's curled body into the toilet.
And then he went back to bed.
I spent an hour, mentally grappling with this eight legged dog.
He spent one minute awake.
How does a man stifle any act of recoil? How do they appear fearless?
Are they actually terrified, but pressured into seeming brave? Are they actually just born brave?
I have yet to come across another one of these spiders and not scream or flee in the passed few days. (I've had far too many opportunities these days.)
I'm sure that someday I'll be able to call forth the champion in me and prove my worth.
But for now, I'm checking every corner before using the bathroom and shaking out my bed before crawling in.
For now, I will hide behind the backs of my men to protect me from the harmless but terrifying.
For now, I will be a little girl.

Dave Thomas

My hero.

Dave Thomas was trained by his grandma as a child and is currently hiding in South America. If I could pay all the money in the world for an accordion teacher, it would be for this man...

Or his grandma.

It's so beautiful.

I wish my music was as gorgeous as this. It makes my heart hurt.

Note to self: Get better at accordion.

It'll be my Plan B for earning cash without working, also I'll be able to jam with my parents which seems like it's so much fun.

I love all of you.

And because of my love for you, I'm sharing this last song with you. It has made me cry.

Sailing

I haven't been sailing in a while. Because now I work. Okay okay, you can all stop feeling bad for me. Pity party is over.

But really, I miss it.

Don't tell me it isn't awesome, because I know it is.

Anyway, attempts to get the boat to myself are failing. SO, we have a new plan! All of these hours I'm wasting NOT sailing and instead working, will be for the sole purpose of owning my own boat to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.

There are some b-e-a-uuutiful boats out there my friends, and the places I can go on the water! Ugh! Sailing is my heart and soul. I feel so alive and connected to everything.

When breaking waves and all you can hear is the wind and the water, you feeling like you're flying.

I miss, and love, sailing. A lot.

If I could, (which I will be able to hopefully within the next couple years) I would take all of my friends out on the water to experience what I do.

P.S. I miss school.

P.P.S. I'm in the red life vest. Check out my rockin' Beatles hair.

The "weekend"

I was at my dad's for a couple days and I had long periods of isolation in which to think. For long moments, I was very pessimistic marveling at the fact that we are born basically alone and we basically die alone and that every man actually is an island and we will never find that someone who truly bridges us to another person. It was incredibly sad to think about. The thought of dying and being mourned for a period of time and then forgotten and the sorrow that followed in my own heart was... disheartening.

And then Platy woke up from her nap and begged me to take her for a walk. Letting her grab onto my two pointer fingers, she uses me for support while she strolls around the house.

We ventured outside.

At the front of our house (although we treat it like the back) there are long and treacherous stairs that take you from the front door to the driveway. They're creaky, tall, and generally foreboding particularly at night or in the rain.

Platy must have been feeling brave because we saunter right up to the tippy top and the edgy edge of those stairs and she swings her foot out, over the edge. Then she swings again and drops her toe just a little bit down. She bends her other knee and I can feel her tiny paws grip harder on my fingers.

Both of us are nervous. Both of us are nervous about the same thing.

Even though my hands are getting a little sweaty, I double my grip and I say, "Don't worry Platy, I've got you. I won't let go."

And she does it! She finally touched the next step with her toe and with a bravehearted effort, she drops her other foot.

Platy literately squealed with excitement. She looks up at me with ginormous eyes that could suck up the whole world and spit it out a shiny blue. The next step she takes has much more courage behind it although her grip has not loosened from my fingers. Even if it had, mine would be all the more tighter.

Two steps down, things change.

The stairs are just planks of wood and you can see all the way down to the bottom. Poor Platy sees how high up she is and gets terrified. It's too much for her. Even her last two triumphs are not enough to let her go the rest of the way. She is absolutely paralyzed with fear and nothing can move her.

I can feel her tremble and can sense how utterly helpless she feels before this giant void that is just waiting to devour her.

At this moment, she must feel so alone, so small in such a large world where there is nobody to help her and hold her. There is just teeny tiny her and a great big scary world.

So I pick her up and hold her close and we walk back to the house. She wouldn't let me put her down for a while and I wouldn't have. I was going to be there for her as long as she needed me and even longer.

Even though she felt like it, she was never alone. I was there holding her hand and will always be there for her. Which means nobody is ever really alone.

Hey all!

Hey all you one people who read this so far! (Hi Kimmy) I'm off to my dad's house for a couple days which means all electronic outlets will be moot. But take a look at the wee one I'll be with!

That's my little sister Scarlet. She'll be a year old this weekend.

Hurray for life!

New beginnings

So my old blog, of the same title (change, although welcome, is hard) became something of a burden. Childish and obscure. Maybe something of it will become treasures when I find them in hard copy, and then they will be brought to life, but for now, let's turn our eyes to progress.

In this theme, I want to talk about a hero of mine.

Jason Alexander.

He was the angsty, short, and bald character of George Costanza in Seinfeld, but that's all behind him. Check it out.

In his glory days, he rocked Broadway, and when the hairline receded, he kept going; charging right through his career on Seinfeld. Then he gained even more weight (I'm sure the Seinfeld production fed him well) and sort of disappeared but just look at him! He looks awesome and will always be an amazing person. Now he is giving fake inspirational speeches, unfortunately probably the closest he will get to stand-up comedy. It's called The Donny Clay Experience. He dons a toupee and a new character and give, well, purposefully terrible speeches. I personally can't wait to see him.

Look at that mug.

Him and I, although he will never acknowledge me existence, are so similar right now. With his fresh attitude and my new blog, we're a wonderful pair... maybe.

Anyway, the real point of this blog is to say I love Jason Alexander.