That's what I shouted at this chick on the train today right as I got off and the train doors closed. I felt kind of mean, but it felt good to let her know all the same.
When I was a teenager I used to dress pretty provocatively with short skirts and high heels and all that business. People, I'm sure, got a flash of my ass every once and awhile and I really didnt' care. "You can get away with it" (because I didn't give a fuck) that's what my friends always said. But when I reached the age of 18 and started (trying) to be[come] a productive member of society, I stopped showing so much skin and started dressing "normally."
This girl on the train today was about my age. She's pretty I see her sometimes and she's always wearing really tight, really short, super revealing whatever. But today her boob was showing. I wasn't going to mention it until we were almost to my stop and this guy took notice, got up out of his seat to "stretch" and then repositioned himself with the perfect vantage point to view her exposed breast (the nipple was on the verge). So as I stepped off the train I made eyecontact with her and said (a little loudly) "your boob is showing." The doors then closed and I left her and her fellow passengers to their reactions. A lady walking up the steps next to me said "I was trying not to look, but at least you had the guts to say something..." guts? I don't know...maybe just a mean streak...
In a way, I wanted to embarass the guy for staring as much as I wanted to embarass the girl for wanting him to. What a nosey bitch I am. Like it's any of my business or as if I need to be a hypocrite by pointing out someone else's slutty attributes... ain't no excuse fuh you girl...ain't no exuse fuh me.
A lot of people don't like rap music. I am not one of those people. I don't think rap artists get enough credit for their lyricism. So here is my all time favorite Eminem song. It reminds me of ... me. People say music speaks to them. This song speaks to me.
I sit back with this pack of Zig Zags and this bag
of this weed it gives me the shit needed to be
the most meanest MC on this -- on this Earth
And since birth I've been cursed with this curse to just curse
And just blurt this berserk and bizarre shit that works
And it sells and it helps in itself to relieve
all this tension dispensin these sentences
Gettin this stress that's been eatin me recently off of this chest
and I rest again peacefully (peacefully)..
but at least have the decency in you
to leave me alone, when you freaks see me out
in the streets when I'm eatin or feedin my daughter
to not come and speak to me (speak to me)..
I don't know you and no,
I don't owe you a mo-therfuck-in thing
I'm not Mr. N'Sync, I'm not what your friends think
I'm not Mr. Friendly, I can be a prick
if you tempt me my tank is on empty (is on empty)..
No patience is in me and if you offend me
I'm liftin you 10 feet (liftin you 10 feet).. in the air
I don't care who is there and who saw me destroy you
Go call you a lawyer, file you a lawsuit
I'll smile in the courtroom and buy you a wardrobe
I'm tired of all you (of all you)..
I don't mean to be mean but that's all I can be is just me
And I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
In the paper, the news everyday I am
Radio won't even play my jam
Cause I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
In the paper, the news everyday I am
I don't know it's just the way I am
Sometimes I just feel like my father, I hate to be bothered
with all of this nonsense it's constant
And, "Oh, it's his lyrical content -
- the song 'Guilty Conscience' has gotten such rotten responses"
And all of this controversy circles me
and it seems like the media immediately
points a finger at me (finger at me)..
So I point one back at 'em, but not the index or pinkie
or the ring or the thumb, it's the one you put up
when you don't give a fuck, when you won't just put up
with the bullshit they pull, cause they full of shit too
When a dude's gettin bullied and shoots up his school
and they blame it on Marilyn (on Marilyn).. and the heroin
Where were the parents at? And look where it's at
Middle America, now it's a tragedy
Now it's so sad to see, an upper class ci-ty
havin this happenin (this happenin)..
then attack Eminem cause I rap this way (rap this way)..
But I'm glad cause they feed me the fuel that I need for the fire
to burn and it's burnin and I have returned
And I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
In the paper, the news everyday I am
Radio won't even play my jam
Cause I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
In the paper, the news everyday I am
I don't know it's just the way I am
I'm so sick and tired of bein admired
that I wish that I would just die or get fired
and dropped from my label and stop with the fables
I'm not gonna be able to top on "My Name is.."
And pigeon-holed into some pop-py sensation
to cop me rotation at rock'n'roll stations
And I just do not got the patience (got the patience)..
to deal with these cocky caucasians who think
I'm some wigger who just tries to be black cause I talk
with an accent, and grab on my balls, so they always keep askin
the same fuckin questions (fuckin questions)..
What school did I go to, what hood I grew up in
The why, the who what when, the where, and the how
'til I'm grabbin my hair and I'm tearin it out
cause they drivin me crazy (drivin me crazy).. I can't take it
I'm racin, I'm pacin, I stand and I sit
And I'm thankful for ev-ery fan that I get
But I can't take a SHIT, in the bathroom
without someone standin by it
No I won't sign your autograph
You can call me an asshole I'm glad
I just called Kathleen and she told me she was walking from Buffalo into Ontario and that there was a hot air baloon overhead that had a light glowing inside making it look like a big orange moon and that she could see the mist rising off of Niagra Falls and she could see the lights of the city ahead and she was about to cross the United States/Canadian border and she was going to talk to me on the phone while she did and it would be like I was there...and it was.
We talked and talked and she told me all about camping and her road trip and how excited she is to get here on Saturday and to be here forever with me and how she sent a big huge box of clothes from Indiana to arrive here about the same time she does and she told me their house got burglarized twice before she left South Bend and that her ice skates got stolen (horrible, horrible thieves!!!!) and something of Charles' and something of her roommates but I can't remember what because I was so shocked about the ice skates and then all of a sudden she said "I see them omigod I see them there they are there's the falls!" and we were both silent for a moment and I could hear the water rushing and then Kathleen told me how happy she was that I could be there to see them with her. And I closed my eyes and listened to the water and imagined how good it must feel to be in her shoes at that moment. Then she said "okay, we saw it, let's go get a burger" WEEEHAW! That's good ol' american ADD for ya...
When we hung up the phone the feeling of anticipation and excitement at the prospect of her arrival feels like a hot air baloon in my chest. And I am so excited, my head must be glowing orange like a big moon. My best friend is moving to nyc!!!!! (We haven't lived in the same town since we were in high school, but have kept extremely close and see a lot of eachother through the years, all the same...) My best friend is moving to be with me!!! (me and my stupid rhyming again...)
For many people, the answer to that question is, "Right here!"
I love pictures and I think cameras are the coolest things ever, but for some reason, I don't own one, I never take photographs of anything, and it totally bums me out.
Like, right now for instance, my cats are acting like assholes in the living room. (They do this everyday.) They are constantly out looking for mischief. If they're not doing that they are laying around pruning themselves or eating or taking a big huge crap. They love to "mark" things, so I keep them confined to the laundy room (which is big and they have a little hiding place in there which they love). I have tried different things to curb their behavior, but nothing seems to work except for pretending like they are children and supervising them all the time. If they make a noise in the other room, I go check to see what they're up to. Sometimes one is on the counter or the table, sometimes one is batting at my purse that's hanging on the chair or trying to get into the storage cabinet (which has now been tied shut with string), they even get atop the fridge... And god, if I only had a camera so that I could capture their nefarious little expressions when they feel my presence near. They both sit perfectly still at attention and stare pointedly at me. If I move toward them slightly they get nervous and poise themselves to dart in any given direction if I begin to advance any further. They are starting to get brazen though and wait and stare me down until I get right next to them and then they take off.
Matilda is the black one, she's the absolute worst. She has that black cat thing going that every black cat seems to have - those eyes of utter defiance. Like "you may be bigger and stronger than me, but I'm much faster, so try and catch me mama"...ZOOM! Amelia, the gray one, is more like "alright alright you got me, just don't hurt me" when the truth is, I can't catch her for shit either. They both have me beat when it comes to speed. I can run and lunge but I will never come up with so much as a hairball in hand.
You see, my cats don't like human beings at all. They are inherently terrified by the thought of being touched by us. I adopted them from a lady who had like fifty cats. (No joke, she was the lady who lived in a cat-house...very smelly.) People probably think my cats are abused because that's how p-noid they are. But they've never been abused. They never got any attention as kittens, so I think that's a part of it. We adopted them at 4 months (or so...) and they had never been around people much. They are sisters. All they need is eachother. They love eachother, hug eachother, clean eachother, sleep near eachother, play with eachother, fight with eachother, and that is all they seem to need. The presence of a human is required for one reason. To feed. If not for that, the relationship would be useless for them. What do I expect? They're fucking cats. But I love them so damn much. It's almost like an abusive relationship. Hahahaaaaa!
We were looking forward to having loveable, snuggly kittens who would occasionally annoy us, but would be healthy and well adjusted. It's been sort of rough to realize that they are extremely withdrawn when it comes to being dealt with physically and that they certainly do not feel like loving and cuddling us. :( I said, oh well, these are the cats god gave us (I say god because, it's just, well where else would cats-or anything for that matter-come from? Honestly, I don't know - we came from the stars... but whatever, "God" just seems to work, ya know?) so we'll just have to love them and live with it anyway. I couldn't bear the thought of giving them to someone else (who they would just torment like they torment me). This is the way it's gonna be.
They are really funny though and very, very pretty little girls. But bad I say. Bad to the bone.
Note:
As I was typing this, they both ceased making devilish mischief in the living room and have each laid down on opposite sides of the computer and are kind of "hanging out with me"... you know? I think this might be a first...
This is my favorite headline so far today: To Psychopathic Murderers, Violence Is Not So Bad. Hmm, yes, I guess that's why they ENJOY killing people...
So it looks like dude in Baton Rouge is going to da bigga housa for a very longa timea. He was a regular churchlady, according to those who "knew" him. You know, it really amazes me that, despite the fact that almost every killer who has ever been caught didn't "seem like the type to do it," people continue to repeat that phrase ad nauseum. I remember when my mom said that about O.J. Simpson and I shit a brick. I never for a second thought my mother was even remotely naive, until just then. Not to mention that my mother is passionately vocal about violence towards women and men who oppress...go figure, she asserts his innocence - perhaps just to see me get heated.
Was it George Carlin who said: "I'm so sick of hearing people say 'it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for...it's the quiet ones...well while you're watching out for the quiet ones some noisy fucker comes from behind and fucking kills you!" Well, regardless of whether or not you need to "watch out for the quiet ones" I think it's patently naive for people to still stand around scratching their heads wondering how such a "normal" person could be a psychopathic murderer.
You know what I love about psycho killers? They are so interesting. Even if it makes you sick to learn about, it's a riveting subject and there are an endless supply of them to read about. Know what I hate about them? They're horrible. I will never truly understand the phenomenon, and at the same time, it is and always has been something that we have had to live with. Predators of our same species. It's bizarre. One of the scariest guys ever was Andrei Chikatilo, a Russian man who committed an unbelievable number of murders, cannibalistic, sexual, horrifying acts...he was a true animal. The only funny thing about it was that the Russian government was in complete denial, claiming that serial murder was a western phenomenon and that such a thing did not occur in Russia. For this reason and a number of others, despite having several opportunities to capture Chikatilo, the authorities overlooked him and he continued to kill freely.
When I was a little girl living in Los Angeles student housing on Sawtelle Blvd., The Nightstalker, Richard Ramirez, was on his insane killing spree in our neck of the woods. I will never forget the fear that struck everyone, including me. The way that my already "overprotective" (as I perceived it) mother would never take her eyes off me, not even for a second and how she was religious about making sure the door was locked AT ALL TIMES. I remember going asleep at night and being afraid that the nightstalker would come for us. The scariest thing about him was that he had no real criteria for his victims. He would kill anyone and he would do it with relish. Now that was a guy nobody said "he didn't seem like the type to do it" because he was uglier than sin, dissheveled and smelly and just all around a repulsive person. The relief was huge when he was captured.
Serial murder is definately NOT a western phenomenon. It is a human phenomenon that cannot truly be explained except to say that this is a part of our nature, our existence on this earth as human beings. It is inevitable. I don't know why. It just is. I guess it is because we are animals, but unlike other animals, we are acutely aware of our existence and pathologically curious about our own individual significance. We have such a strong sense of identity that other animals lack. That in itself makes us prone to all kinds of bizarre behavior, as evidenced by humanity and the very way that we conduct ourselves. Murder is just one more thing that we do. It's terrible, but it's true...like rhyming accidentally...
This is wonderful news. I'm considering moving to Canada!
Well not really, because it is....well, it's Canada, but all the same I am very excited about their new cannibis legislation. (Click on opening sentence for link to article) I wish the weed stigma would just disappear for good because it's so antiquated, not to mention out of hand. Not the use. The laws. In some states the penalties for marijuana are tougher than that of rape. In Idaho the penalty is harsher for possession of pot than for methamphetemines. Ha!
You want to know what makes me mad? Madder than mad? Anti-drug campaign ads which focus solely on marijuana. They say it is the "gateway drug." You know? I think there was a time when that was true; when pot was the gateway drug. But this is the year 2003 and the biggest and most harmful gateway drug around is alcohol. The statistics on highschool and college-age binge drinking are scary. Alcohol is easy and legal and one of the most dangerous things out there if abused. You can not honestly sit and tell me that the numbers of car wrecks caused by marijuana, by any means, exceed those caused by alcohol. You can not honestly sit here and tell me that smoking one "marijuana cigarette" is as harmful to your health as smoking "ten cigarettes" as they love to say in these anti-drug ads.
I don't see ads where they show the kid shooting up heroin and the parents all broken up about that. Is the real truth too ugly so we shroud it with some bullshit about cannibis being the real root of the evil? That's like ignoring the big bad guy and blaming the little guy. But that's a huge problem. Heroin. I have had a friend die from it, other friends go into horrible stupors and waste away months, sometimes even years of their lives. I have watched people lose all of their sensibilities and have at times lost even my own over drugs. I have watched people become empty shells, seen the saddest things....had my heart broken observing the destruction and misery of it...But it has never been pot. Pot has never killed anybody. It has never made me cry. I have never banged my fists and said "why did you do it? Why did you smoke that fucking pot you fucking idiot???"
Hundreds of thousands of people die every year from smoking cigarettes. But they're as legal as could be. I was buying them when I was thirteen years old. I was smoking them in public. Nobody stopped me. (Not that my poor mother didn't try...)
Thousands of people die every year from drunk driving accidents. Yet alcohol is perfectly legal. It's a huge industry. I'm not saying it shouldn't be legal. But marijuana...somebody tell me, when placed in perspective with the other things out there that are harming people and that are legal, does that make sense to you? What makes marijuana the antichrist? The gateway-to-hell-and-damnation drug? Hemp is a beautiful thing. Marijuana is good (granted, it definitely can cause a person to be forgetful, hungry and procrastinating on your living room couch for many hours). And anyone who believes that it is a bad thing which should be cursed and banished, needs to find a sturdy appliance with which to remove their own cranium from their rectal region.
I've always had a love/hate relationship with Pamela Anderson.
She's gorgeous, that's obvious, and she's blond, also obvious, she has gigantic breasts, unavoidable, she claims not to have any plastic surgery beyond her breasts, I believe her and I really don't give that much of a shit anyway. People are free to do what they want. I just wouldn't do it. That doesn't mean other people can't if they want to. Just don't get on the fucking internet and ask other people to pay for it. That's annoying.
She's written a couple of articles for Jane, which I read every now and again. They have that trademark ditzy tone to them, but she's not altogether intellectually challenged (I think), and I do enjoy reading her babble. I guess I really don't hate her at all, except when my boyfriend momentarily ogles, but even that I have learned to forgive, because she is after all, beautiful, blond and big breasted. You can't hold that against a girl...or a person for noticing and admiring.
But today is a different day. And I received my June issue of Stuff magazine in the mail today (finally, after seeing them on the newsstands for 2 weeks.) and there's Pammy, in all her airbrushed glory, looking like a classic pinup girl, with a red, white and blue rectangle over her ass that says "For The Boys." I can dig it. I've been anticipating the arrival of my favorite magazine. Of course, nothing's changed. It's as funny and stupid and full of bathroom humor as ever. The Pam layout is ten pages long. It's all done in that sort of Olivia style, superdramatic airbrush action, cool. But the interview. Ooh, the interview.
The interview is another thing. I'm just not feeling any brainpower emanating from her and I don't think it's just because they're asking stupid questions like they always do.
Here is the one I disliked the most:
Q: What do you think of women in the military?
Pam: Obviously, women are not as strong as men, and they could be taken advantage of. But I think if Americans said "Look, no women can go to Iraq," there would have been a huge problem about it. I don't think you can win either way.
Dimwit.
(Excuse me while I act very, very childish)
And this is the one I loved the very most:
Q: What are you reading right now?
Pam: The Bible. I haven't gotten to the good parts yet. I'm, like, halfway through. I'm glad that I'm finally reading it though.
Haaaa! Thank you Pam, for making me laugh today. She hasn't gotten to the good parts yet...! :oD And only moments before that:
Q: What's pretty about Pammy?
Pam: ...I like smoky eyes. And I like to be naked [for photo shoots]. I'm like, "Clothes? Take them away!"
In a way, her trampiness is endearing...
A final word?
Pam: I've never seen a small penis, and I don't think I've ever had a bad date.
You're wonderful.
Pam: I'm blessed.
It comes from reading the bible.
Pam: [...] I'm going to church right after this! Get me in some holy water...
There is this one photo of her wearing these underpants that have a peephole for the booty crack and a big satin bow. She is wearing plush pink suede stacked shoes. That one deserves framing. Girlfriend, I need to learn how to make skins...
Oh My. Well, I never... (Be careful what you click on in other people's blogs, especially things like this) (not safe for work!!!)
Holy shit, that is just too funny. So the question is: how many of you would truly give yourselves oral sex, if you could. I, for one, would not. Second question: If you are a man and you SYOD, does that make you gay? ...not that there's anything wrong with that...
Click here to watch a phat video by Khia about all the fun to be had down in the dirty, dirty south.
Mamaaaa ooooh, didn't mean to make you cry...if I'm not back this time tomorrow, carryon, carryon...nothing really matters...
Mamaaaaaa, I don't wanna die, sometimes wish I'd never been born at all!!!!
I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me. He's just a poor boy, nobody loves him...I see a little silhouette of a man, scaramoush, scaramoush will you do the fandango...
Queen was seriously brilliant to write that song. I don't care what anyone says.
I honestly don't know what that has to do with the fact that I decided to go and visit my mom's page today and I just love it so damn much, I felt that I should not keep it to myself.
I could spend hours on that site, seriously, but even just reading what is written on the homepage made me feel great. I felt proud to be listed as a child of fortune, though I suppose not altogether surprised, considering it IS my mom's site. Haaha!
It feels like I ate so much food today. On the weekdays I am a person who, on the average, eats lunch, which is my favorite meal - mostly because it is often my ONLY meal in a day. Breakfast=coffee, dinner=doritos. If Rob is over I almost always cook dinner. He gets on my case says that I need to take care of myself the same way I take care of other people, because he knows if he's not around I won't make much of an effort to feed myself. Today I woke up and made pancakes, bacon, eggs. For lunch I made grilled cheese sandwiches and pickle spears and then for dinner we had tacos delivered from down the street. After that I fell asleep because I was so full and when I woke up I made the big mistake of having a coffee drink at about 9:30 p.m.
I don't know what the hell I was thinking. It was a speciality coffee drink with a little bit of liquor in it. I went to Omonia and sat on the back patio. They have the waterfall turned on. It's so beautiful and I love the sound of the water rushing, mixed with all the chatter and clinking of glasses. In a way, I guess it's sad that that is as close to a waterfall as I am going to get anytime in the near future... I finished the book I've been reading which turned out to be very sad and then returned home to watch VH1's episode of "All Access - Awesomely Bad Hair," which turned out to be hysterically funny. I love their comedic commentary.
I caught a little bit of Anna Nicole Smith on E! acting like the hopeless retard that she is. I know, I know, she's so bizarre that it's almost endearing, but not quite...especially when she is drunk and gets the hiccups or when you tell her she can't bring her silly dog with her to the Kentucky Derby... I don't know if she was born that way or if she got that way somehow, but she is a total dorkasauras. I guess that's why they call it "entertainment."
Amelia and Matilda are driving me nuts fiddling with every last thing in the house that they can get their little paws on. They have way too much energy, even after the spaying. Everybody said that would probaby calm them down, but as far as I can see, they are just as neurotic as they eva' was.
I am so excited to have tomorrow off and then a nice short four day week ahead. Mmmm. What a beautious thing it is. Too bad the weather is going to suck just like it does every year on Memorial Day. I told Rob today I am sick of the NY weather and ready to move back to California. I can dream.
Oooh boy, J. Lo is shakin her big ass booty all over the place in that "I'm Glad" video. Wooohoo! Wave that thing around like a magic wand!...I'm really not gay, but that is some very fine booty. Maybe it's time for the crazy lady to go to sleep now before I incriminate myself any further...
It's late and I should be sleeping. We just got home from the par-tay. It was tons of fun. The food was a hit. Tanya made baked ziti and italian sausage and her famous spanish rice with olives....I love that stuff with a passion. It's a beautiful thing. I functioned as the bartender, since for some reason, no one else knows what goes with what when it comes to liquor and mixers. For some reason the concept is simple for me. I had a blast fixing all sorts of fabulous cocktails. Pineapple juice and fruit punch are the key. They mix with everything from vodka to rum. Also colas because they go with everything else. We danced, we laughed, a couple of people got a little too drunk. Of course, if that wasn't the case, the party wouldn't have been a true success. But it was. It was perfect.
I drove us home. Someone slept in the backseat all the way home and tossed himself straight onto the bed clutching a twix bar immediately after entering the house. I served myself a salad and feel like listening to music but launch seems to be temporarily out of service. sux. I guess I should sleep too so I'm not too tired to make breakfast in the morning. Mmmmm. Breakfast. My favorite meal...
It was a happy night. I hope the sun comes out for Sunday. I miss it.
So I made the perfect, luscious roast, a tray of chicken teriyaki shishkabobs and a huge salad. I think I'm ready to go. If Rob can ever bring himself to put some pants on and tear himself away from wandering around the house aimlessly, scratching his head and his crotch in unison. Boys. Can't live with them, can't kill them, all you can do is kick their asses from one end of the house to the other.
...Now he is hunting the cats....GET READY CAVEBOY! We have a great deal of partying to attend to!!!
An update on "Everything is Illuminated". I am having an extremely difficult time getting through the last 20 pages. This is the part of the book where the Ukrainian grandfather tells the story of when the Nazis came to his village and terrorized everyone and killed all the jews, including his best friend Herschel. It is so fucking sad that I can't get through it without crying. And not little lightweight tears, I am talking, this story really breaks my heart. The way that he writes the fear of these characters is enough to reduce anyone to tears. And of course, the worst part is always knowing that it's true....people having to endure that level of terror is more than I can comprehend. Like a nightmare that you can never wake up from....
It is two o’clock in the afternoon and I just got up out of bed. My aunt Flo is in town, so I’m kind of dragging my own weight around and feeling only slightly less than altogether crappy.
I turned on launchcast and was immediately treated to “Say Yes” by Floetic… “All ya gotta do is say yes, Don't deny what you feel let me undress you baby
Open up your mind and just rest…” I am really feeling that song lately. Immediately after that was “If Not Now” by Tracy Chapman, which, since I was in the 10th grade, I can’t remember being sick of it once. And then there is Lauryn Hill’s unplugged album. Absolutely haunting and in spite of the raspiness of her voice at the time, is the most unbelievably raw and heartpulling performance. Gee, somebody is in lady-land today…
One of the reasons I didn’t get out of bed so late is because I had a long dream which was still busy in my mind when I opened up my eyes. Rob got up early to go help T & R move furniture, so I just fell back into a deeply undisturbed sleep.
One thing I do remember about the dream was that it was my birthday, and my parents were there. And Rob was there…and my brother. My brother’s face was as clear as daylight and he looked sad, which is not terribly unusual, and I knew he was sad because he had clenched his jaw deeply in place so that the bones jutted slightly out of the corners of his face, the exact way that I do when I am anxious or frustrated. I wish I could see my brother and give him a big hug right now because I don’t know why he was sad in my dream, but I don’t want him to be sad in real life. Only happy and fulfilled and peaceful.
George was there too with his father and Xaq. A strange addition? Yes, but soon became the focus of the dream. Many events occurred around that particular aspect of the dream. It’s all much too confusing to describe, especially considering that george has incorporated into my dreams often for the past 8 years of my life, and I have pretty much resigned myself to the peculiar feeling of confusion that comes over me after.
Little Wing is playing (Jimi Hendrix).
Well, she's walking through the clouds,
With a circus mind that's running wild,
Butterflies and Zebras,
And Moonbeams and fairy tales.
That's all she ever thinks about.
Riding with the wind.
When I'm sad, she comes to me,
With a thousand smiles she gives to me free.
It's alright, she says it's alright,
Take anything you want from me,
Anything.
Fly on little wing.
I have to go put in a pot roast and grill a bunch of shishkabobs for T & R’s party. I better get started.
This is one that was taken at that dumb club we used to hang out at in Meddy.
And finally, just me, sippin on something sizour at Eugene's on 21st. Whatever it was, it definately made me pucker!
Dreary, dreary and dark and dreary and rainy and gray. Did I mention dreary? Will the springtime ever truly arrive?
Not only is this terribly sad that this poor boy is dead and stuck in a water pipe, but these people have no choice but to risk their health drinking cruddy water that has been filled with chlorine. To make things even worse, when the body is finally removed, they are going to be forced to stomach drinking water that has basically washed a decaying corpse. I hope that water is ICE COLD for purposes of preservation or else this is only going to get yuckier. They say it is unlikely that the water will be contaminated by the corpse. That's good, but still a little unsettling. I hope they get him out of there in a jiffy.
They've banned me and attempted to belittle me. How cutting. It's okay, I'm not angry, just astounded at the audacity of these schmucks! Therefore, though I know I should not waste anymore time on this, I am compelled to get this off my chest.
There are these people who devote all of their time to talking uber-trash about everybody from Madonna to the Dixie Chicks to Michael Moore to Mickey fucking Mouse just because the adversarial opinions don't exactly match those of these simpletons. This message is for them: What does it do for you to sit and bash Madonna and Martin Sheen and Sean Penn and Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, endlessly? What do you have to prove? You guys got your war, you have your beloved president. What more do you want? You must also relentlessly piss on others? I'm especially talking about those who comment. Those who don't have blogs that just sit around on the message board and crap on whoever is the latest target. Why do the Dixie Chicks have to be "whores"? Why is it necessary to make such derrogatory comments about anyone who doesn't share your political opinions? Old, ugly, stupid, fat, slutty (and more!) are all legitimate attributes which come into question when discussing political issues? Another thing these people like to do is call people who disagree with them "liars" i.e. "the Dixie Chicks are lying whores!" Newsflash: just because someone has a different opinion doesn't mean they are "lying." If a Catholic nun tells me "God is everywhere" I don't call her a lying whore! I just disagree & perhaps express my reasons for feeling differently. If a person tells me they oppose abortion because they believe that life begins at conception I don't call them a lying whore! I just disagree & express my own beliefs and sometimes become passionate or pissed off. But why is it necessary to turn your opinions into deeply personal attacks on others?
So you want to boycott Hollywood? Go ahead. Don't go to the movies, don't buy into the media at all...but must you sit around talking about how you refuse to see a new movie coming out because it has an actor in it that you are boycotting, but then ask everyone else if they've seen it because you are so desperately curious about whether or not it was a good flick. And worse than that! There are those of you who are "lite-ly boycotting" i.e., not boycotting ALL hollywood flicks, only those that you aren't interested in seeing anyway. What is all of this inanity for? You sit around so self righteously, as if you are the judge and jury of all Americans and those who do not fit into your exact criteria of what a patriotic American should be, are called the worst things imagineable. If some of you had your way, those who disagree would just be lined up and shot, as they serve no purpose on this earth. Is this who you wanted to grow up to be? A negative creep? Well you are quite the success story.
You are having an intelligent debate/discussion you say? Where? Where is the debate when you don't respond to differing opinions with anything except that the person expressing them is stupid, uneducated, immature...but definately NEVER intelligent or thoughtful, unless their opinion is drifting towards your side of the debate? What intelligent debate/discussion? You guys can't even handle an opposing position. You take yourselves so fucking seriously. One of you even went so far as to say that you consider your little hell realm of a blog to be something of a support group for those who hate celebrities who oppose war in Iraq. How pathetic is that? A bunch of victims. I can understand talking about it for fun or something to do, but because you seriously need emotional support because that is how deeply it disturbs you that people in the world disagree with you? You are kidding me right?
I just can't get over the fact that you never get tired of sitting around pointing fingers at all the "stupid liberals" who are ruining everything for you 24/7. I mean, who cares about Madonna? Can't you just ignore her like I ignore Bill O'Reilly? No, you have to sit around like a sewing circle and trade snide remarks about how much she (and every other liberal on earth) sucks and stroke eachother's inferiority complexes. The worst part of this is that those who agree with you are given free reign to insult the "liberals" at will and with as much ferocity as they please, but when I make a humorous insult (which some people consider an enjoyable passtime) that doesn't even so much as include a swear word, I get banned and deleted. Can't handle the heat... Though if you didn't sit around doing that, I wouldn't have anyone to laugh at. Maybe if you didn't take yourselves so goddamn seriously, you could have a laugh too. So I'll shut up now and ya'll can get back to being assholes. Forever with the sand in your underpants...
Only in Lou-siana...would a water tower be considered "the top of the world"...good grief. Not to knock it. I loves Louisiana... but everything's real low to the ground/sea there, so I guess a water tower COULD be considered the top of the world...
All this is making me want to go out and rent Deliverance.
Since I am not busy at work today I decided to blog surf. And did I ever. I feel like I have been sucked into this whole world of micro domains, each one a parallel dimension, all coexisting at the same time. All interlacing, somehow crossing paths at one time or another...so many to read, so little time. Actually, that's not true. Today it seems I've got nothing but time. All of my guys are out.
I'm glad this workday is almost over. Honestly, I like my job as much as I am going to like any job where I have to work 9:30 to 5:30 for someone other than myself. Nobody bothers me. (Unlike at KK with the crazy fascist administration and the lunatics who made it all possible). It's a nice environment here. I don't have to sit in a cubicle or anything resembling a cubicle. I can look out the window from my desk on the 24th floor and see the city spread out before me, which always gives me this strange wistful feeling, especially on a really quiet day or if a song comes on that makes me feel nostalgic. I like that feeling. It seems almost tangible enough that I could fold it up and put it in my pocket.
I love to lose myself staring off into the city. Trying to glimpse the smallest details. Things often look more mysterious and magical when viewed from above. It is hard to describe what I feel when I look out at New York, but I think it's awe. Or maybe it's a certain sense of pride. To think that I am here and that I'm surviving in one of the biggest and most exciting cities, that I leapt out of the nest and flew with all my might and I landed on my feet! (I had help)... I also feel kind of sad when I look out at all of those buildings and the patch of Central Park and when I look straight down at all the people and cars and street vendors...all the silent action below...I feel sort of sad because I think of my family back home and my friends. I think of Oregon, how fresh and wholesome it feels to be there, in the nature, far away from tall buildings and cab drivers and hilal food stands and grumpy commuters and high fashion. Where there are many, many trees and acres and acres of open field and road. And memories abound. Parties and secrets and rumors and love and hate and violence and laughter and goodness and badness... and... a whole crazy life that is vastly distant now. Isn't it funny when you want so badly to change and progress in life, and you finally reach that next destination that you were gravitating yourself toward, how you often miss that which you've left behind? Even if you are kind of glad? There is so much that I miss. Yet still just as much that I am greatful to forget.
Right now I am listening to the Pixies "Where is My Mind?" I love Frank Black. Nobody in the whole world has a voice like him. I like in "This Monkey's Gone To Heaven" at the end when he screams "If Man is five, then the devil is six, the devil is six, and God is seven, GOD IS SEVEN!!!" IF THE DEVIL IS SIX, THEN GOD IS SEVEN! This monkey's gone to heaven. He comes to this great passionate crescendo when he shouts that over and over. It's so spectacular. I love it.
I've had this gift certificate for Pilo Arts since Valentine's Day when we went to Chadwicks, so I finally decided to use it. I went in and got a hot conditioning hair treatment, paraffin hand treatment, hair cut/style, eyebrows waxed and "mini" makeup application. I was feeling pretty damn pampered until I got to the mini makeup application which was administered by a severe woman who applied makeup like she was slapping paint onto a canvas. See, I love makeup but I barely wear any. I buy it a lot, but in reality I don't wear more than mascara, a little blush and some lip gloss. I definately do not cake foundation onto my face and frosty eyeshadow and heavy rouge or bronzer. I looked pretty when she was done, but just not at all like myself. I can't tolerate the thick layer of foundation. A little to smooth, okay, but everytime I scratch a small itch on my face, I come off with crap under my fingernail! GROSS. So instead of making me feel fresh and clean, I feel like I need a freakin shower.
Oh well. It was something to do on a Sunday and I really did need the haircut and brow wax.
So I sit down to browse the latest on Smoking Gun and come across the story about this creepy police officer who made this chick and her boyfriend do topless jumping jacks in order to avoid being cited for public indecency or whatever the charge is when you're caught making out half naked in the sticks. The cop has those psycho eyes. I'm not kidding.
I need to wash my face.
I am halfway through the book that Rob gave me last week. It is called "Everything Is Illuminated," by Jonathan Safran Foer. I have just been reading it on the train to work in the morning and in the evening on my way home. I have laughed uncontrollably and even shed a couple of discreet tears in response to the exquisite illusory realm that I have been brought into by Foer's remarkable skill at imagery and humor.
He is wildly funny like David Sedaris and beautifully tragic like Gabriel García Marquez.
I can't get enough of Alex, the "most humorous" Ukrainian who narrarates some of the book. It has me alternating between being in stitches over his hysterical personality and having my heart torn out by the incredibly sad story that is the reason for all the humor. The main character is the author. He travels to Ukraine to find an ancient woman named Augustine who saved his grandfather during the war. He simultaneously tells the tale of his jewish ancestors dating back to 1791. That is a sort of intricate and mystical world as it deals a lot with dreams and those things that are felt but never said and said but never genuinely felt. That is how Foer writes. One way and then he turns around and goes the other way. It is sort of tangled and surreal, but that is what makes it so captivating.
The fable of his very great grandmother Brod and her adopive father Yankel is full of both sorrow and joy (she doesn't know that Yankel is not her real father and he never tells her). At 15 she marries a lovely man Kolker. That is a story that begins with both sorrow and joy, then becomes deeply heartbreaking and ultimately becomes spun into an incredible web of all three.
I don't think I've been this moved by a book since I read A Hundred Years Of Solitude and Love In The Time Of Cholera and I haven't laughed this hard at a book since I read Me Talk Pretty One Day, but it makes me want to read them again. I suppose I should enjoy the rest of this one first.
It's not a wrong thing
to be addicted to the microphone like a heroin fiend
I'll tell you one thing:
You'll never catch me fronting
As I proceed to give the people what they wanting
You're making some green...
But not for drama or fashion
I'm stacking cash until I can get Moms a mansion
All from rapping?
Nah, man, there's many plans
Like investing in land
It started all from impressing the fans
With brand new flows
And you know
All the way from gangsta clones to weirdos
Fools used those
But we ain't tripping
Give respect when you see this
You need us,
or your raps underdevelop like a fetus
Those that know not doze
And it shows
When we broke out the knock
Hos hopped out they clothes
That's positive feedback
Yep, The Prose
I'm poised, we never pose, you'll never know
From '93 til infinity we've been inventive
Creating the bump is our only incentive
And it's been a long time since I feel I've been felt
But the only thing I fear is fear itself
So you know what we gots to do
Maybe could we keep it within the crew
Like it should be?
Never givin' out
We're livin' out our dreams
If there's something I can't live without,
That's my team
You never knew...
Hieroglyphics
Hip-hop is vintage
Underground like silos
Launching long-range ballistics
World-renowned, we ground-breaking
Musical boundaries
Runnin' circles around emcees
Del -- been rhyming for more than a decade
Onto the next stage, while emcees need aid
Stay paid, I'm still grade-A
None of that tomfoolery
As you can see this shit ain't nothing new to me
Utterly hovering over other things material
You're stuck in the here and now
Plus you're sweating profusely -- here's a towel
Your fears are now reality
When I take your dream states
And elaborate on how your team's fake
With phony IDs, but sometimes I feel like
Only I see through the charade you've made
In today, but hey, tomorrow it's played
And then they got a new fool in your place to be okayed
Hieroglyphics
Hip-hop is vintage
Invented in days back
Rekindling in ways that many thought was lost
In this contemporary maze of methods to floss
We finding trees and trails to blaze
Boundaries to cross
We can be found beyond the bounds of reason
Or earthbound, heatin' up the Coliseum
They rushed the stage full-throttle in Chicago
Our brains interlocked
Where fakin' emcees get caught with the 40-bottle
Or get their chains snatched, pronto
We unstoppable, droppin' flows in Toronto
Maneuverin' through Vancouver and on to Japan
where they put major grands in my hand
Follow...
Straight from the heart we set apart from the rest an'
Our perfection on the microphone was predestined
World-renowned, we ground-breaking
Musical boundaries
Runnin' circles around MCs
I want to beat the daylights out of Carrie, that nasty bitch. Trying to climb the CTU ladder by kissing ass and stabbing people in the back. Oooh if I could get my hands on her. Now she's gotten Tony and Michelle into some real trouble. She's got that evil glower about her when she sulks. Fffffft.
Kim's shellshocked after shooting her scary boss (the wife abuser & murderer), who totally deserved it but Kate is going to make everything A-OK.
And the PRESIDENT! Oh poor David Palmer. He's such a great president. I just love that man from the bottom of ma' little heart. He's going to take the presidency back from those crooked old men and prevail damnit!!! And Sherry Palmer should get a swift kick in the ass! (Well she already got stabbed, so I guess that's enough...)
I should be ashamed of myself getting this excited over a tv show...
BUT I JUST CAN'T HIDE IT!!!!!
And then I died laughing:
DEMOCRAT: You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful. You vote people into office that put a tax on your cows, forcing you to sell one to raise money to pay the tax. The people you voted for then take the tax money, buy a cow and give it to your neighbor. You feel righteous. Barbra Streisand sings for you.
SOCIALIST: You have two cows. The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor. You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.
REPUBLICAN: You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So?
COMMUNIST: You have two cows. The government seizes both and provides you with milk. You wait in line for hours to get it. It is expensive and sour.
CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE: You have two cows. You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.
DEMOCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE: You have two cows. The government taxes you to the point you have to sell both to support a man in a foreign country who has only one cow, which was a gift from your government.
BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE: You have two cows. The government takes them both, shoots one, milks the other, pays you for the milk, and then pours the milk down the drain.
AMERICAN CORPORATION: You have two cows. You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one. You force the 2 cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses. Your stock goes up.
FRENCH CORPORATION: You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows. You go to lunch. Life is good.
JAPANESE CORPORATION: You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains. Most are at the top of their class at cow school.
GERMAN CORPORATION: You have two cows. You engineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give excellent quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.
ITALIAN CORPORATION: You have two cows but you don't know where they are. While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman. You break for lunch. Life is good.
RUSSIAN CORPORATION: You have two cows. You count them and learn you have five cows. You have some more vodka. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. You count them again and learn you have 12 cows. You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka. You produce your 10th, 5-year plan in the last 3 months. The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.
TALIBAN CORPORATION: You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two. You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private parts. At night when no one is looking, you have sex with both of them. Then you kill them and claim a US bomb blew them up while they were in the hospital.
POLISH CORPORATION: You have two bulls. Employees are regularly maimed and killed attempting to milk them.
FLORIDA CORPORATION: You have a black cow and a brown cow. Everyone votes for the best looking one. Some of the people who like the brown one best, vote for the black one. Some people vote for both. Some people vote for neither. Some people can't figure out how to vote at all. Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which is the best-looking one.
NEW YORK CORPORATION: You have fifteen million cows. You have to choose which one will be the leader of the herd, so you pick some fat cow from Arkansas.
I knew I was bad, but it looks like this is going to be more than I bargained for.
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Second Level of Hell
_______________________________________
You have come to a place mute of all light, where the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest. This is the realm where the lustful spend eternity. Here, sinners are blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire as punishment for their transgressions. The infernal hurricane that never rests hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine, whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. You have betrayed reason at the behest of your appetite for pleasure, and so here you are doomed to remain. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy are two that share in your fate.
Here is how I matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Low |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | Very High |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | Low |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Very Low |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | High |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | High |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Very High |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | High |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | Moderate |
I've been working away on my Fundamentals over there on the right. Check it out! Click on Music I Love to read artist bios and watch videos. Click on my station to listen to some music. Have fun!
I have discovered the most glorious thing ever.
Rob came home yesterday bearing gifts that he was given by other people promoting products in the park yesterday. So I hopped in the shower and put this thing to the test and it turns out to be the coolest new product I've tried in awhile.
Ladies, trust me. This is too good. You have to get one.
Arguing on a beautiful Saturday morning is such a waste.
Rob and I woke up this morning and bickered. We were supposed to go to his friend's birthday party last night at Cafe Deville downtown on 3rd Ave. He said he wanted to come home first and take a nap because he was so tired from going to the gym twice a day almost everyday this week. I was pretty tired too from all the overtime and staying up too late every night.
But I know this boy. Once he lays his head down and falls asleep, he's not getting up for awhile. He's very spoiled, so when you try to wake him he gives you the hairy eyeball and whines like a little baby. Shameless. A grown man acting that way. So when I tried to wake him up he tossed himself around and announced that he didn't feel like going to the party after all. And he made up a rash of silly excuses like that one of his coworkers who gets on his nerves would be there and that he didn't have any freshly ironed clothes. Waaaah!
I can't stand that feeling of disappointment when you are anticipating going someplace and it is ultimately inticlimactic when the plan falls through. I felt really annoyed. Not even that we weren't going out as that he was just falling asleep so early on a Friday night when I've barely seen him all week and leaving me to toil the night away by myself... I don't know why I let these things take on so much importance.
So now he's gone to Central Park to promote heelys with Ziad and Shoddie (or however the heck you spell those kids' names). Mr. Cheeks is cheering me up. I'm going to take myself down to the bakery and get a latte and something sweet. That'll do the trick.
See, there is this group called "Trio" that my dad used to play when we were little. Us kids loved that tape so much. That song DA DA DA daba doon daba doon DA DA DA I don't love you, you don't love me...
And the other one "Where were you in the night? I said don't go, I needed you so..." I recently searched on Launch and was pleasantly surprised that it was listed there, so I rated them but it just doesn't play as much as I'd like so I was thinking about going out and buying the CD. They combine English and German lyrics. It's truly unique. The music and lyrics are simple, yet profoundly inspiring.
Of all the coincidences in the world, when I got home last night with my hottieman, there was a surprise in the mailbox from my daddy. It was a letter and enclosed with it was a copy of that exact CD. I never mentioned that I had been wanting a copy. I guess it turns out he is psychic, or at least one of the most wonderfully thoughtful people I've ever known. So I put it in while I read the letter and went to Trio heaven. Hottieman loved it too...
Talk about instant gratification. Just the flood of incredible images that came to me and the waves of pleasure that seemed to undulate beneath my skin as each song began, each note and the sound of this man's voice - it is intoxicating...the voice of that man - Stephan Remmler - It's ... I can't even describe it...it is like a drug. It was literally a beautiful experience, as silly as that might seem.
I remember one particular day, a Sunday when we lived in Santa Monica and I was probably about ten or eleven years old. My whole family was in the car and we were on our way to Dandelion's, our favorite weekend breakfast spot in Venice. Trio was playing...the weather was lovely...we were on our way to have eggs and yummy home fried potatoes and the best hot chocolate. We would have it out on the patio with the lattice fence that was high enough to provide shade, but with all the diamond cutouts to allow the sun to stream through...that's a beautiful memory. Those are the kinds of things I think about when I hear Trio. Most of all, I think about my dad. What a special person he is to me. How I wouldn't know what to do without him. How he is a brilliant star in the center of my world and there is no one else like him.
He wrote the letter with his voice activated word processing program and it made it funny, though it was mostly very accurate. Some of the sentences were a little off. He says "surprising word combinations bedevil it...the program is based [partly] on the predictability of speech...so basically, if you say something you would expect Bill Gates to say, the program will probably get it right, but if you talk like Steve Jobs, your recognition quotient will drop way down." He also mentioned that we used to listen to Trio a lot when we lived in UCLA student housing...it's a lifelong thing...
Having a strong family is the most precious thing imaginable. Other people, of your same blood, who understand you in a way that nobody else ever could and accept you unconditionally. Having siblings, people who understand that you are who you are because of where you came from, and there are no questions about where that place is. Because they came from there too. Nothing is that good, or that comforting.
I'm closer to the Golden Dawn
Immersed in Crowley's uniform
Of imagery
I'm living in a silent film
Portraying Himmler's sacred realm
Of dream reality
I'm frightened by the total goal
Drawing to the rabbit hole
And I ain't got the power anymore
No I ain't got the power anymore
I'm the twisted name on Garbo's eyes
Living proof of Churchill's lies
I'm destiny
I'm torn between the light and dark
Where others see their targets' divine symmetry
Should I kiss the viper's fang
Or herald loud the death of Man
I'm sinking in the quicksand
of my thought
And I ain't got the power anymore
Don't believe in yourself
Don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes
with death's release
I'm not a prophet or a stone age man
Just a mortal with the potential of a superman
I'm living on
I'm tethered to the logic of Homo Sapien
Can't take my eyes from the great salvation
Of bullshit faith
If I don't explain what you ought to know
You can tell me all about it on the next bardo
I'm sinking in the quicksand
of my thought
And I ain't got the power anymore
I've been working overtime everyday since Sunday and I'm getting really tired. When I get home I don't want to go to bed because I have all sorts of other things I need to do, but I just end up spreading myself thin and being exhausted in the morning. So here I am again. I guess I can give it a couple minutes.
I am trying to quit smoking and it's hard. I am down from a pack a day to about 2 or 3 a day. Still not good enough. They don't make it easy man. The lawfirm I work for represents a lot of tobacco companies. I read these depositions and type these documents everyday having to do with tobacco and asbestos litigation and all I can think is: I have got to overcome this thing. I don't want to die.
Lightning keeps flashing outside the window. It was warm today and now we are going to have ourselves a little thunderstorm.
I just read this story about how these 9/11 victim's families sued Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden for a whole buttload of money for the wrongful deaths of their loved ones. Hmmm. We'll see if they ever collect on that judgment.
They finally found that Russian lady who went missing from the upper east side back in March. She was in the river. So sad. Violence against women really is way too common. Always has been, and I suppose it always will be that way, until something dramatic changes in this universe and men stop being violent aggressors who want to kill women.
I am going to figure out how to spruce up my blog. I feel like a total lose-ah for not being more blogsavvy or whatever... I am just a silly girl who likes to scribble and type and talk and think about stuff a lot. So it would be fun to get better acquainted with the stylistic aspects of my blog. Yah know what am sayin? Crash boom bang. It's time to lay this little head to sleep.
I have been spending a lot of time looking at and reading other people's blogs. I have definately stumbled upon the good, the bad and more than anything, the ugly. I am not happy with my own blog because I don't know the slightest thing about all this html programming frikafrak and despite having read through a ridiculous heap of "helpful" information, I am not anymore nimble than I was before. FUuuuuuuuCK! It is so annoying. I want to have control of my blog. I want to be the master of it. But I'm not. It's not even the master of me. We are two slaves to a master of html jargon that we don't understand. Sad story man.
My ex-husband was a computer geek. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten rid of him so soon. I could use a programming geek like him around to show me a couple of things right about now.
I am determined to figure this crap out. I guess now is one of those times where it might be a good idea to swallow my pride and ask someone who knows.
The writing, I can do, but all that other fun stuff that I see on other people's blogs (I won't say what because then I'll feel like such a sissy), that's what I want. I want the fun AND the writing. Not just the writing. I mean, the reason I am doing this is to write, but I am just frustrated by my lack of freedom to post pictures, link sites, etc. Anyone who reads this who has any tips, please, share your wisdom!!!!