scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*


sleep
and when you haven't, or you think you haven't, only you can't really tell, you might have pulled a blink-and-it's-an-hour trick, and you know they've done studies on insomniacs that sleep as much as anyone else and just think they don't, only you coudn't sleep all night, you couldn't, only could you? and do you want to sleep in a little bit? or did you get enough sleep after all? or can you just function on a half-hour nap?






poho bbs. yes!
Board URL: http://s14.invisionfree.com/powellhouse/index.php
Admin Control Panel URL: http://s14.invisionfree.com/powellhouse/admin.php






update: why isn't my email working?!?!?

fuck you all!!!

see? denial rapidly descends into anger. I skip right over that in-between bullshit. This is NOT something i want to be a pro at. you all need to STOP. FUCK.

update: obviously i need to encase you all in amber carbonite.






hurricane redux
So before the hurricane, when all the neighbors were outside bringing in the lawn furniture and the trash cans and the solar lighting, i said, so none of us have watered our lawns, since the hurricane is coming. And we all agreed, no, nobody had watered. Everyones lawn was half dead and we'd all held off watering it because the hurricane was coming. And i said, wouldn't it be funny, if none of us watered, cuz the hurricane was coming, and then it missed us entirely and didn't even rain.

Guess the hell what.






You see saturday on the Where the Hurricane is Going To Be Map? Saturday is where i Live. Fuck. Me. Again.

Only it won't be as bad as all that since we're the destination for galveston evacuees? since we're where they're sending all the hospital and nursing home people? Right? They wouldn't send em all here if it wasn't a little bit secure.

Update: Now i live midway between Saturday and Sunday, and it is only scheduled to be a category 1 when it hits me. This is somewhat of a relief.

Reupdate: It is estimated, now, that the centre of it will be going a little east of us.

Friday midnight: Landfall. It is quite a bit on the windy side, but no rain yet.






aaaugh like me
there is this awful, catchy tune, all over the radio. and there is a lyric in the chorus and on the shitty-quality speakers that are at work (because i don't listen to that damn station in the car, mm hmm) that is a little hard to get. The first time you hear it, it's doncha wish your woman was strong like me. Which, if you're okay with the gist of the entire song, okay fine, go on with your bad little ho self and brag about being strong. And then you hear it a few more times and it's not quite strong, it's maybe doncha wish your woman was wrong like me. Which is entirely different, and quite a bit more ho-bag. what woman is wrong in a relationship? None. No woman wrote that. No woman would sing that. And obviously men wish they were right more often, but they take the most ridiculous stances sometimes. (None recently, but in more of a historical sense.) so you get interested in what the actual lyric might be and you google it and it's doncha wish your woman was raw like me.

Raw, to me, has more connotation of rug-burn than whatever the artists had in mind. Now the last time i had rug-burn, fine, but awfully uncomfortable, and not really sexy, and i can't imagine (though i'm sure they exist) people that might be put in the mood by rug-burn. cuz, ow.

and this poor, sad pile of girls that sings this. i like the idea of them, the theory of it. girl power roxxors and whatnot. but in practise? These people suck.

(communism was just a red herring.)






it is almost hallowe'en again.

eyes wide shut

the seven year itch






survivor's guilt
ever feel bad because you got all the decent, um, Stuff that You Had No Control Over, and someone else got totally screwed? over things that, still, you had no control over. especially when you both could have come out perfectly fine and you have no idea how one of you came out of it all basically okay, on the whole, and the other one is ... just ... not okay at all. and it's not fair. and there's still not a damn thing you can do about it, which really makes you feel even worse, because obviously you got all the good parts and while this screwed-over-person got all the shitty parts there's nothing you could have done, nothing you can do now, all you can do is stand and watch and be self-consciously guilty, you wish you could help them but it just never turns out well when you try. and it's not like you can bring it up, either, because doing so would be recognizing all this, and giving voice to it, and you don't really know if that would help at all and kind of doubt it really and especially when it might bring on something.

and while this was you, too, you could have been screwed-over-person, and you fought your way out of it, with the biting and scratching and metaphorickal bloody parts, and sometimes you sorta wonder that why couldn't screwed-over-person also do that? if i could, and after all you're awfully similar, really, however you try to deny it, only how could you make that decision, to claw your way out of it, and they not? why would they not? when you had all the same chances, all the same opportunities, why would they not escape too? and you feel sort of like, maybe they made the other decision. and if they did - and at times it almost seems like - and i was there, and i made it, and how can they not? so they must not want to, almost, only that can't be right, it can't be, because what kind of blame-the-victim bullshit is that. And more guilt. see? because it's not there but for the grace go i. no. i was there too. and it's frustrating. And more guilt. And not fair.






i'm impressed. even i don't go that far. i do particularly like the what would jesus do bit, i started doing the fig tree routine in sunday school. And it's all very well cited. Poor things, they must be holding a huge grudge.

well. Kinda makes a girl want a bacon cheeseburger, all the same.

god, it's good to not be kosher, eh? *snerk*






sometimes you just want to say, Hey little fucker, Get a life, already. Get out of the fucking house. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. But that would be mean. And i am doing my best to grow out of this behaviour. and yet, sometimes it is very, very hard.

see? see that blank space there? that's me stepping back. And being the bigger person. And not taking the damn bait. Thankyouverymuch, please try again.






confidential to currently-ballerina: kiddo, breathe. i think that was all me. Exercised editorial control as well (did you even realize? cuz that wouldn't have been, and i didn't think you would want) - so hopefully i caught it before. Nicely done on the new-set limit and probably a good idea (though so-far anonymous through). In regards to Messr. Jamais, i think your experience in that particular case is universal, or is if i'm right. Love and Tampax (and i mean that), - ms. tB






more more more more
the carpenter ant thing - combined with the fact that the bug dude thought evil mean nasty bugs were actually NESTING in the attic - waahhhhh! - we're a little shellshocked. More than a little really. maybe quite a bit. combined with the fact that the bug dude sprayed enough chemical around that m had to take a five-hour nap (ok, maybe that was the shellshockedness, but still). NESTING. FUCK. ME. if i could live in a hermetically sealed box i'd seriously consider it, you know? but the bug dude comes and sprays this little white powder all around the windows and first - the ants come out - and then - they go a little nuts - and then - they die. And they don't come out one at a time, they come out in hordes. and suddenly the interior of this window - how the fuck are they nesting in an aluminum fucking window? - is full of carpenter ants. And we had no idea. This on top of learning that THERE WERE EVIL MEAN NASTY BUGS NESTING IN MY ATTIC.

At least i sorta figured we had brown recluses. but we leave each other alone, and they eat the EVIL MEAN NASTY ...

this is getting a little repetitive. But the fridge is still busted. And if we needed either new windows (why, god, why) or to have the foundation fixed (please, no) ... perfect fucking timing. we just opened a savings account, we were trying to actually put stuff in it ... come on.






summer of faulkner, you say?
Oprah's book club just finished three Faulkner works. i'm sort of impressed. it wasn't always a good thing to be on oprah's book list but there have been some fairly respectable items working their way in there. the things i know about oprah:This is all i know about oprah. two are good; one is okay; and dr phil probably isn't her fault. But if she's making opiate-d up masses read Faulkner, i like her.






the grocery store people
must have the strangest ideas about me. For a week now i've been buying twenty-pound bags of ice, not just on weekends or Fridays like a normal person, but just about every day. And i will be until tuesday, and you have to wonder - as i do go to the same grocery store whenever i have the opportunity, are they starting to recognize me? do they notice when people buy weird things? it's kind of already a bad feeling when you look at your pile of groceries on the black conveyor belt and there's a big stack of premade lunches, and some frozen pizza, and having a nice big bag of tomatoes or green peppers or french bread makes it better. can't have people thinking all we eat is prepackaged lunches. But that's the only thing we need from the grocery, right now, is ice and prepackaged, frozen, character-free, tasteless, boring lunches. and you can't make eye contact with the person at the register if all you're getting is a twenty-pound bag of ice and a stack of frozen lunches. because how pathetic a life is that? that's what divorced men in their fifties buy when they're living in a motel. i am none of these things.






The fireplace.
Am considering - considering - that maybe i might as well get it done as it only needs, maybe, three more coats of paint. But. have you ever tried to paint between the lines in brick? it's a pain. just trust me on this one. but as the dogs have destroyed the paint in the computer-room, which i have now successfully spackled to prevent further damage (though dog no. 1 has been licking the spackle, for as yet unknown reasons, and she's dug holes in the wall in the past) - it looks awful. Big white splotches. And i have to finish the one project before i start another. Not to mention, that while i have a color (specific color, too, with a little slip of paper and a name and everything) for the living room, i have no color for the computer room, other than a vague idea of red.

And that would be a lot of red. so i'm not quite sure how it's going to go. it might perfectly well end up being a lot of red, it's certainly paint-over-a-ble. but moving that computer desk, when it finally happens, someday, is going to SUCK.






linkage.
One of the nice things about having assorted blogtoys is that you get to go and look at the keywords that people find your site with. And some of them are so crazy random. I get a lot for don's fish camp, which is very interesting, as i don't think i mention it that often, but obviously people click on me for results, and shit, i'm number two on some of that at yahoo. i get a lot more hits from yahoo than from google, but i guess i'm okay with that. i got one hit from the house we stayed at in Culver, the yellow house by the root beer stand, and i hope (though i'm not taking the effort to look) i said nice things about them. i got one hit just yesterday of someone searching for 'annika cleavage fotos,' which is a little disorienting, but i thought i'd mention it (the page that gets the hits is one about halloween). Somebody found my post about matthew perry's middle finger, oddly enough. Two hits on having a burnt tongue (every time we order pizza, dammit, i burn the little top bit of my mouth right between or behind my two front teeth, though i think before, it was about soup). House geckos, though i'm on the fourth page there and no idea what makes them click. What are you looking for when you're googling "wheatfields"???

And, unfortunately, somehow a lot of people appear to be googleing things that i might not want them to be googleing (though Yahoo, apparently, is the place to search for porn and get ME. WHY, Yahoo, why?) ... weird, though.






sometimes one just has to be vague.
Or else everyone knows what's going on. And by everyone, one means Certain People one might otherwise not want to know what's going on. For instance. liz is a rebel without a cause. (for those of us that were not already aware.) And does not like making people in positions of authority happy, for general purposes. (shut up, it just is, okay?) So if someone who might be percieved, by themselves or others, to be in a position of authority, in even an unconscious way, might be made happy by something that may or may not be happening, well, then, i don't want them to know about it if i can help it at all. Because if they encourage it, then it won't happen any more, and maybe i want it to, only i don't, because i am Succumbing, and Giving In, and after so long i don't particularly want to, because i am NOT ... just ... i don't want to be The Person That Accedes to Certain Things. Like society in general. i don't want to be seen as doing so. liz. does not. yield.

But. Even though one does not want Certain People to get this, one maybe wants to blog it. central tenet of having a blog: Writing is good for me. And therefore, a specific amount (which i may or may not have attained, recently, but we'll see where that goes) of vagueness, cryptic phrasing, extra commas and phrases and unneccessarily confusing and hopefully obscure references, is absolutely vital. Utilize that shizznit.

i am aware that this is a little combative at times. So.

but i have learned something today: wikipedia thinks i would enjoy Lunar Park. And. S, Thomas Pynchon has to be in our club too. please? he totally belongs.

not that i use extra commas.






they actually say Blizz pwns. n00blings, if they only knew ...






the commerce clause -
because if it can be used to prevent people who live in california and have cancer in california from smoking weed they grew in california and that never left california, then it can be applied to a multistate (remember, mississippi was in on this, too) catastrophe that massively affects nationwide and international trading interests. There, bitch. What you got now?






wants: cold.
i have decided: i need to live in a place where i can wear jackets. i have far too many already, and yet i really want one of these - in green - not some silly knockoff, either, i've tried those, and they didn't work - and yet i love *all* my jackets. they each have their very specific purpose - the big trench coat for when its sleety, the long leather one for windy and cold, the bright yellow vest for dogwalking, the quilted and yet reversible one, the down vest, the little brown suede jacket, i'm convinced, if i ever tried to get rid of one, i'd want it back the next day. *sigh*






infinite summer
it's almost cool enough here now that you can go outside and not want to die on the spot. Which means it's only going up to 95, maybe 97, and the humidity is low enough that it's no longer like walking in your own personal waterfall. This is not to say it isn't hot - it is. But not by comparison. We can all breathe again, is the thing. All summer long if you take a deep breath you're suddenly drowning.






that part in grosse point blank at the reunion - that overly cheeseball, way-too-done moment - that one, with the soft lighting and the very closeups and yes, you're all very cute. Hint: Minnie Driver is not in this scene. That part where she turns around and he's looking at - and he's all suddenly - yeah. Um. This is awkward. They make it so obvious, you talk about a director with a heavy hand, it's just so out in the open, there, in front of everybody.

they do exist! And the red m&m faints. because one would not normally assume that these moments actually happen, because there are so many opportunities for them to happen but they don't. until they do. and youre sitting there and there it is, going on its merry way, and you're going, Fuck, this is happening. do i actually have the same expression as john cusack, and if so, do i hate myself for it, or am i suddenly okay with that, and how do i feel about it if i am? and there's not a damn thing you can do about them afterwards. that's it. you're done, you can't unhappen it. And that's a little bit frustrating.






ugh.
there are people that have lost everything, but everything, and i'm being pissy because my fridge is busted and they can't come until thursday (that's almost a week, for those that might be counting, since we noticed it being Really Thoroughly Busted on friday but it was warming up before then, i think) and i have to buy new milk? God, i am such a priviledged piece of shit.

see? like this.

and this.

and this.

and the hell with it, i don't fucking care if you can't find a home for the five thousand fucking kittens you saved. There is a time and place for that bullshit.






for M. see where it says 66 miles per gallon? that's what i'm talking about.

because when gas hits $3 a gallon - which it hasn't, here, yet - well. At some point. That and bicycles. You know?






Creative Commons License
Content copyright protected by Copyscape website plagiarism search
powered by Blogger