I keep finding really funny shit. Like this. I'm just too lazy to put the pic on my blog.
On a side note, I hope that life looks nicely upon me for once. I doubt it, but a change might pleasant.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Alright, so this is funny too.
But I hate it when the pictures don't have context. Is this from a contest? Some random person? Someone trying to make a point?
Why the hell do people do this?
But I hate it when the pictures don't have context. Is this from a contest? Some random person? Someone trying to make a point?
Why the hell do people do this?
I think a lot. It takes up most of my day.
I think about the strange timing of things, the bizarre coincidences that happen, things like that. I know that pretty much it probably doesn't mean anything, but still...my timing is all strange. Twice, now, there have been times where I just went to the bar to have a few drinks, not meet anyone - like I was going to anyway, at that bar! - on a random day on the weekend, and I've met guys.
The thing is, every time I think about how I really do want a relationship, my brain points me to the reality of having a relationship. All those times, the stupid fights, the compromises I'm uncomfortable with, being vulnerable.
I am terrified of commitment. I feel myself cringe at the word "girlfriend" now. It truly is a terrifying concept. Which is so, so hard for me. I want to give my heart to someone, and I'm rather generous with love, but I don't want to be taken advantage of ever. I fear that for myself, and rightly so. My mother was always afraid that would happen to me, and there was a time where I saw it too, and ever since then, I've been very cautious, because I have to be. In that way, the terrorism of childhood that I experienced helps me to be cautious and cynical of other people's motives. My first nature is to be loving, my second nature is to be hopelessly cynical. And yes, I will be cynical to the point of ridiculousness, and will use it as both a defense and a weapon, but in the long run, it is what keeps my heart safe - from disappointments, from heartbreak, from self-pity.
There are a few of us in the world who would gladly give up a loaf of bread and jar of jelly to starving man, because he says he is starving. I am one of those people. I will buy cans of organic soup and organic beans and organic pasta, because why shouldn't a poor person have the same access to food that I do? We all should have healthcare, single payer, because then we're free to move from job to job, go in when we need to, and not worry about how cancer is going to cost us - or even that creak in the knee that we really should get checked out, but don't, because we've got a high deductible.
I used to take solace in going to church, but I don't any more. I can't. It's become too political, too strict, too suffocating. People will go to church and say their magic prayers for money and love and acceptance, but ignore everything else. Those parts of the bible that require you to forgive debt against your brother, to turn the other cheek, to stand up to injustice and inequality, to help the poorest of the brethren of mankind. To realize that you can aspire to be holy, and you'll probably fail here and there, but to forgive yourself for your failure as you forgive others, and continue on to be the best human that you can. This, all of this, I realized at 15. I give my pain and suffering to God, the worst parts of pain and the endless suffering and victimhood, to God, because God can take it. I want it to go. And if it begins anew, I give it to God again, because there's only so much a person can handle. I'm not into God for the moral judgment and slut shaming and superiority, I'm in it because in the worst hour, God was there for me when no one else was. I try not to let those fuckers who want power take my faith from me, but it's hard sometimes. And somewhere along the way, I got disgusted with it.
But this big heart I have, that's full of faith and love, is at odds with things like commitment and obligation, and worst of all, people's perceptions of me. I like to know what people think of me, because it sometimes produces hilarious results. Mr. Asshat, ExFiancee, my mom...everyone else as well. I don't open up a lot, for the reason that people will form wild-ass opinions about me whether I say anything or not. And again, it was interesting having "spies" tell me about what The Terrorists were saying about me. So far, throughout my lifetime, I've gotten:
- I'm total slut who sleeps with anyone.
- I'm a complete psycho.
- I'm extremely pure, sweet and innocent.
- I'm a complete bitch who will beat you up.
- I'm a lesbian.
- I'm totally a judgmental privileged preppy.
- I hate men.
- I'm a total prude.
- I am naive.
- I know everything.
The truth? I'm just a standard person, with faults, failures, successes, and hopes and dreams. In my world - what I truly believe - is that we are all standard people. Sure, we have differences, which makes life enjoyable/interesting or soul sucking/boring, but really, we're interchangeable to each other.
Maybe that's why I don't like the term "girlfriend". That's really putting me into a box that will never fit me. I'm a person, not defined by other people. Influenced, yes, but not defined.
And now I have to go to work. That really sucks.
I think about the strange timing of things, the bizarre coincidences that happen, things like that. I know that pretty much it probably doesn't mean anything, but still...my timing is all strange. Twice, now, there have been times where I just went to the bar to have a few drinks, not meet anyone - like I was going to anyway, at that bar! - on a random day on the weekend, and I've met guys.
The thing is, every time I think about how I really do want a relationship, my brain points me to the reality of having a relationship. All those times, the stupid fights, the compromises I'm uncomfortable with, being vulnerable.
I am terrified of commitment. I feel myself cringe at the word "girlfriend" now. It truly is a terrifying concept. Which is so, so hard for me. I want to give my heart to someone, and I'm rather generous with love, but I don't want to be taken advantage of ever. I fear that for myself, and rightly so. My mother was always afraid that would happen to me, and there was a time where I saw it too, and ever since then, I've been very cautious, because I have to be. In that way, the terrorism of childhood that I experienced helps me to be cautious and cynical of other people's motives. My first nature is to be loving, my second nature is to be hopelessly cynical. And yes, I will be cynical to the point of ridiculousness, and will use it as both a defense and a weapon, but in the long run, it is what keeps my heart safe - from disappointments, from heartbreak, from self-pity.
There are a few of us in the world who would gladly give up a loaf of bread and jar of jelly to starving man, because he says he is starving. I am one of those people. I will buy cans of organic soup and organic beans and organic pasta, because why shouldn't a poor person have the same access to food that I do? We all should have healthcare, single payer, because then we're free to move from job to job, go in when we need to, and not worry about how cancer is going to cost us - or even that creak in the knee that we really should get checked out, but don't, because we've got a high deductible.
I used to take solace in going to church, but I don't any more. I can't. It's become too political, too strict, too suffocating. People will go to church and say their magic prayers for money and love and acceptance, but ignore everything else. Those parts of the bible that require you to forgive debt against your brother, to turn the other cheek, to stand up to injustice and inequality, to help the poorest of the brethren of mankind. To realize that you can aspire to be holy, and you'll probably fail here and there, but to forgive yourself for your failure as you forgive others, and continue on to be the best human that you can. This, all of this, I realized at 15. I give my pain and suffering to God, the worst parts of pain and the endless suffering and victimhood, to God, because God can take it. I want it to go. And if it begins anew, I give it to God again, because there's only so much a person can handle. I'm not into God for the moral judgment and slut shaming and superiority, I'm in it because in the worst hour, God was there for me when no one else was. I try not to let those fuckers who want power take my faith from me, but it's hard sometimes. And somewhere along the way, I got disgusted with it.
But this big heart I have, that's full of faith and love, is at odds with things like commitment and obligation, and worst of all, people's perceptions of me. I like to know what people think of me, because it sometimes produces hilarious results. Mr. Asshat, ExFiancee, my mom...everyone else as well. I don't open up a lot, for the reason that people will form wild-ass opinions about me whether I say anything or not. And again, it was interesting having "spies" tell me about what The Terrorists were saying about me. So far, throughout my lifetime, I've gotten:
- I'm total slut who sleeps with anyone.
- I'm a complete psycho.
- I'm extremely pure, sweet and innocent.
- I'm a complete bitch who will beat you up.
- I'm a lesbian.
- I'm totally a judgmental privileged preppy.
- I hate men.
- I'm a total prude.
- I am naive.
- I know everything.
The truth? I'm just a standard person, with faults, failures, successes, and hopes and dreams. In my world - what I truly believe - is that we are all standard people. Sure, we have differences, which makes life enjoyable/interesting or soul sucking/boring, but really, we're interchangeable to each other.
Maybe that's why I don't like the term "girlfriend". That's really putting me into a box that will never fit me. I'm a person, not defined by other people. Influenced, yes, but not defined.
And now I have to go to work. That really sucks.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
The nephew turns 5.
This child and I get along well. It's kind of eerie how well we get along. I am amazed. He does a lot of talking. At 3, when I took him to the mall, he suddenly sat down on the floor, and refused to move. No temper tantrum, no screaming, but a ten minute discussion on how we were going to leave, and that he could come back to the mall later, and how it would be more fun to leave if we pretend we were swimming back to the car. And the pain! The child comes up with so many ways for "his guys" to die, it's really amusing and disturbing at the same time. The whole elaborate setup of "guys" and ways they have to die.
(I really wonder where he gets this. He really doesn't watch anything too violent. One wonders if it's all Oswald and Pinky Dinky Doo.)
But anyway, he starts school soon. And it will be hilarious, I bet. He's very cautious around strangers. He has to observe first, then go ahead.
I can't wait to hear it.
This child and I get along well. It's kind of eerie how well we get along. I am amazed. He does a lot of talking. At 3, when I took him to the mall, he suddenly sat down on the floor, and refused to move. No temper tantrum, no screaming, but a ten minute discussion on how we were going to leave, and that he could come back to the mall later, and how it would be more fun to leave if we pretend we were swimming back to the car. And the pain! The child comes up with so many ways for "his guys" to die, it's really amusing and disturbing at the same time. The whole elaborate setup of "guys" and ways they have to die.
(I really wonder where he gets this. He really doesn't watch anything too violent. One wonders if it's all Oswald and Pinky Dinky Doo.)
But anyway, he starts school soon. And it will be hilarious, I bet. He's very cautious around strangers. He has to observe first, then go ahead.
I can't wait to hear it.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
I do hope that you call me again, and that it wasn't just a one time thing.
She said, "I think he likes you. But he's also a heartbreaker."
Inside, I nearly died laughing.
First, I would have to be in love for that kind of thing to even happen, and I'm not. Love is for other people who aren't me. Second, unless he sexually assaults me, beats me, or isn't respectful enough to be honest with me, there isn't much one can do to break my heart. All three of these things are not just crimes against my person, they're crimes against my soul. I'm a really tough bitch, but a fair one, and I'm a resilient creature. Life is so fucking short, I'm not about to waste it. I mean, yeah, sometimes I do with all the whining about not having a boyfriend, but it's just pity party whining and well, people sometimes feel sorry for themselves. But in my day-to-day life, the nitty-gritty of it, I just don't care.
But this makes me think of something larger that I've been mulling over. I can't really open up and be myself unless I drink. I try to sober, but I have to get to know someone enough to be comfortable doing that. And even then, I can't. I just can't. There are things that I just can never talk about ever. I can write about it, pages and screeds and a thousand words, but I just can't talk about it. Or, rather, the circle of people that I can talk about it with is getting smaller, and it irritates me. So instead I write, because I can, because that's all that I have left. Paper and pen have never let me down. Neither has the computer. And in writing that out, it almost makes me want to cry, because that's a bit pathetic, isn't it? That I'm trapped in a verbal world when all I can do is write.
Of course, she also said, "Christ! You're wearing Crocs!" like it was the most offensive thing in the universe. Which made me laugh. Hard. "Yeah, well, it's Sunday, and I'm walking around. I want to be comfortable," I replied, which is true. "I'm not going to wear high heels when I'm walking about." "You wear high heels?" "DUH! I'm short. Of course I wear heels, the higher, the better."
Really, I'm a classy broad. But Sunday is for milling about.
And I still hope that he calls again. And I think I'm going to stop writing right now, before I annoy myself with my pathetic ramblings.
She said, "I think he likes you. But he's also a heartbreaker."
Inside, I nearly died laughing.
First, I would have to be in love for that kind of thing to even happen, and I'm not. Love is for other people who aren't me. Second, unless he sexually assaults me, beats me, or isn't respectful enough to be honest with me, there isn't much one can do to break my heart. All three of these things are not just crimes against my person, they're crimes against my soul. I'm a really tough bitch, but a fair one, and I'm a resilient creature. Life is so fucking short, I'm not about to waste it. I mean, yeah, sometimes I do with all the whining about not having a boyfriend, but it's just pity party whining and well, people sometimes feel sorry for themselves. But in my day-to-day life, the nitty-gritty of it, I just don't care.
But this makes me think of something larger that I've been mulling over. I can't really open up and be myself unless I drink. I try to sober, but I have to get to know someone enough to be comfortable doing that. And even then, I can't. I just can't. There are things that I just can never talk about ever. I can write about it, pages and screeds and a thousand words, but I just can't talk about it. Or, rather, the circle of people that I can talk about it with is getting smaller, and it irritates me. So instead I write, because I can, because that's all that I have left. Paper and pen have never let me down. Neither has the computer. And in writing that out, it almost makes me want to cry, because that's a bit pathetic, isn't it? That I'm trapped in a verbal world when all I can do is write.
Of course, she also said, "Christ! You're wearing Crocs!" like it was the most offensive thing in the universe. Which made me laugh. Hard. "Yeah, well, it's Sunday, and I'm walking around. I want to be comfortable," I replied, which is true. "I'm not going to wear high heels when I'm walking about." "You wear high heels?" "DUH! I'm short. Of course I wear heels, the higher, the better."
Really, I'm a classy broad. But Sunday is for milling about.
And I still hope that he calls again. And I think I'm going to stop writing right now, before I annoy myself with my pathetic ramblings.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)