ooooooh my
there is something inherently perverse about rubbing a teddy bear shaped soap on my naked, just-having-been-sexed-the-night-before body while showering....

and it was strangely enjoyable. plus, i smell good now.

sorry about your penis, sir

in high school, a friend and i had a joke about the men obviously in the throes of a mid life crisis who were driving around in little sportscars. we'd see them and yell out to them, "sorry about your penis, sir." we stopped doing that the day my father pulled into the driveway in a little red sportscar.
recently, i had to buy a new car and completely lucked out. i prove that taste must be genetic because i now have a little red sportscar of my very own. (and the insurance to prove it.) but i have to say - if i were a middle aged man, i would so completely feel that my penis was 10 times bigger.

the way you shaken you're booty - i REALLY want you to stop...

i was so brain dead on sunday that i actually watched part of christina aguilera's mtv diary show. egads. it was kind of like a train wreck - i just couldn't stop gaping at the horror that it was. so sad. doesn't she even put clothes on in front of her mother? i even put on clothes in front of my mom, and running around the house naked ain't no thang in our home. the sad thing is, i think that girl can actually sing. i'm not sure which is worse - my opinion on that, or the fact that i sat and thought about it. i mean, she's got this voice, and it's not one of those cute whitesy girl voices, either. no, her voice makes suggestions of, "hum-a-na, hum-a-na, come here baby and let me do very naughty things to you." hell, if she weren't such a skank, there is probabilty that i would want some of that naughtiness for myself. the thing is, as of late, her new found image suggests the same thing as her voice, except it asks for 50 bucks as she crawls out of the backseat of your car after doing the previously mentioned very naughty things.

happy thought for the day...

i have two cats; they are considered our "children" for now. it's easier that way, definitely. tell me of a child you could leave alone for the weekend with only a bowl of food and water each. you will hear much about the boys in our time together to come...

my biggest boy, zeb, is a brit. i only wish he could meow with a british accent, but instead he sounds remarkably bird like. when he purrs, he sounds like a pigeon. this would be less amusing if it weren't coming from a 25 pound cat. zeb intuitively knows when i am wearing pantyhose or dry clean only pants. he is not nearly as interested in me and quality time with my ankles otherwise. as soon as he senses that i am wearing one of these articles of clothing, he decides that he must be the ballerina superstar of beefcake kitties and wind himself intricately in and around my ankles as i'm sure a cat a fourth of his size could never manage to do. i used to get upset about it, but now it amuses me terribly because i am so lucky to be the owner of this, my very own 25 pound beefcake ballerina kitty. zeb rocks my world....

you live & you learn...hopefully

when i moved back to the hell known as southwestern virginia, i not so promptly contacted old friends. i hesitated for as long as i did for fear of what it would bring with it. i was afraid that possibly i hadn't changed in my time away and this realization would hit home once i was with these old friends again. my other dreaded fear was that even though i had changed in leaps and bounds, i would be reminded of who i once was. i didn't like that girl a whole lot and if i had my way i would leave her behind forever and never give her a second thought.

upon rediscovery of my old friends, i was overjoyed to discover that i really had changed, it wasn't just all in my head. this made me fantabulously happy. however, the second fear was realized. my friend kate, though i love her more than words could say, has the memory of an elephant. (i've always wondered how we know that elephants have amazing memories. it's not as if they sit around and say, "hey fred, you remember that time you kicked the shit out of our keeper?") so, of course, there was an obligatory night of the dreaded "do you remember this?" game. frighteningly enough, and maybe for the well-being of my own psyche, i didn't remember half of any of it. but i took it with a grain of salt, or at least did my very best to. afterwards, i was racked with more than a bit of guilt for the actions of the crazy girl i was in my youth. much like an alcoholic, i set out to perform the 9th step for recovering angsty and psychotic teenagers. i promptly apologized to anyone i could, especially my parents. (god bless them for never drowning me in a river or something.) there was one person in particular that i wanted to apologize to for misdeeds and misunderstandings, if only because i knew it would be simple to contact him and the opportunity to do so presented itself. it was not important to me whether or not he accepted the apology or if we ever spoke again after my doing so. i apologized for the health of my consciousness. i did not, however, expect quite the response i received from the said person. it wasn't pleasant, candy coated or remotely nice even by serial killer standards. though i hate to admit it, i was a bit upset. it killed me to think that he could still rattle me the way he used to. up until him, all this apologizing and shit had been easy. but then his response to it all occurred, and just like old times, he still had the ability to make me think and over-analyze way too much. this is what i realized - no matter how much you change or even become a different person ten times over, there will always be someone unwilling to forget the past - no matter how much they say they do. maybe they hold on because they are bitter, or maybe it's because they're perception of you and the situation that unfolded is integral in who they believe themselves to be. if they find out differently, god forbid, they may have to rethink everything that is identity giving to them in any way. either which way, there will always be someone who won't forgive and forget, who will always think you're a fuck up no matter what you do. the trick is to forgive and forget yourself, and to realize, for yourself, that you're not a fuck up. anymore.

i would love to leave who i was behind me, buried in the past like some forgotten ghost. the truth is that without her, without the contrast of the angst ridden crazed teenager that i was and the stupid things that i did, i might not realize who i am now. i might miss out on some very important lessons that my past and present hold for me, and i mightnot appreciate all that i have now.

it's not what you do, it's how you do it...


i tell you, i'm really on a roll with keeping this blog up to date and all.... sheesh.

without question, a death in the family really makes a person begin to think. you start to consider what is important in life, at least in your life. what regrets you have, and why they are there. how you could change things if you would at all because when you get down to it ther is no such thing as a mistake. it's all just one big lesson.

our first night in for the funeral, my brother and i spent good quality time with family we had not seen for 13 years. don't ask why i waited so long. i think i avoid the good majority of my family from both sides because i really hate the question, "so what do you do now?" to have to resist the urge to say something horrible like, "get lots of dickin" is to just too horrible for me. but i think my family really would not appreciate that joke. so, i tell the truth. it may not be as impressive, but it is what mom always taught me to do.

"i answer phones for an engineering firm and quietly work my way through college for a degree in god knows what."

then came the second most dreaded question. the one about why on earth did i move from an awesome city like boston, back to southwestern virginia. what could be so amazing that i would give up things like art, culture and one of the best sushi restaurants i have ever been to? well, it's a simple answer, but i warn you - it's disgusting, mushy, and quite honestly it is against every fiber of my being that i give answers like this.

"i fell in love."

that is the cold hard truth. i moved back to the one place on earth that i truly despise. the one that represents everything in my past that i hate and eveything i never want to become. and i did it all for this man i love. granted, for the sake of my sanity we are moving far away after he finishes his degree, but i still hold that my sacrifice is a huge one.

i don't have an impressive and expensive piece of paper signed and framed by the college of my choice hanging on my wall. i'm not some wildly earthly creature with an incredible job, blindingly bright future and more money than i know what to do with. i haven't saved the world and if you want to get down to it, i'm not even nice in traffic. but somehow i got lucky enough to get that one thing i've wanted my whole life; the one thing that i consider the most noble and honorable cause. love. i'm fortunate enough to have this person in my life who makes my heart beat a million miles a minute and leaves me breathless. we can talk for hours on end, or sit in silence and and never notice time pass. he is my best friend and my better half. he is the person whose arms i want around me when i'm upset and the last voice i want to hear at night.

that i get to have this in my life is my greatest accomplishment. i feel i have succeeded in a way most will never know and can only dream of. and eveything that i have done or that has happened to me in my life has brought me to this point. so to me, nothing was ever a mistake and there are things that i would not like to be reminded of, but they have made me who i am today and for that i'm greatful.

oh the places we'll go...


here are two weblogs that make me laugh out loud and give me some thread of intellilectuality to keep me sane while i am stuck in my hell of southwestern va for the next year.... dooce and
sarah brown

thank you for your cooperation in existing.....

i've been a bad bad girl....

sometimes i get the impression that maybe my co-workers feel i am not being part of the team. like maybe i'm a slacker or something b/c all i do is answer phones and take messages. and organize things. (or maybe i'm just paranoid after the last place.) this never becomes more apparent than when they bring me heaploads of papers to shred. to be honest, i fear shredding. not only is it time consuming and tears me away from my precious slackerdom, it frightens me. i am a tall woman with a serious lack of equilibrium. this has caused many a castrophe. my beau and i are both big clumsy fucks. (no, not literally. amazingly enough, that has always gone off without a single hitch and is really quite nice.) he once dislocated his shoulder by walking into a wall. i am proud to say, i've never done anything that drastic. but i digress... so, being near anything with a warning label that reads, "keep hands, clothing and all loose articles away from front and rear paper openings, injury may result" well that just scares me a little. it might as well say, "tall, awkward and clumsy woman beware" with a little picture of my beautiful mug beside it. after trepidatiously approaching said shredder i briefly conquered my fear. and i was on a roll, too. which was very very good since the pile was knee high. (i hate it when messy people decide to be neat.) there i was just feeding that little baby all the scrap paper & blueprints it could handle. there is a note on the front that clearly states to not feed the monster more than 10-12 sheets at a time. did i heed that warning? oh no. i didn't even bother taking out staples!! i was living on the edge! i was being a very bad girl! completely ignoring proper shredder etiquette - and then it happened. as could be suspected whenever i approach anything remotely mechanical, it died on me. apparently, you're really not supposed to feed it more than 10-12 sheets at a time. luckily, after great abuse, it worked again and my clumsy ass was off the line. in the meantime, the very nice gentleman who was here interviewing is probably very afraid of me and no longer wants to be employed with us. he would really be missing out, too. i love this place. anytime i work for a company where when they bring me piles of paper and politely ask, "where would you like this?" and i can reply back, "preferably in a trash can, already shredded." and they are not offended by my lack of a love to serve i am very happy.
another thing i love about my job - and this one in particular just always make my little heart sing - when i am taking a message for someone and after i get the caller's name i ask "and where are you calling from?" and they give me the city name instead of the company name. and after i correct them they talk to me like i am dumb as a turd for asking. i love that one. eventually, when i live in a real city again, i will have a real job. but mindless is working out very nicely right now.

and what a way to start it all...

shortly after i start this little puppy, i have to leave for ky. (you have to love and fear any state that's intials are the same name as a personal lubricant.) my father called on sunday night to tell me that "by the way, your grandfather died." i don't know how to handle that news, or if i'm actually handling it. horrible as this may be, i was not a very good granddaughter. we weren't sper close or anything. so i'm upset about that, and feeling guilty for all the things i should have said and done. but i think after my last grandfather died - who i was wicked close to - i think maybe i might have closed myself off a bit so that when it happened again, it wouldn't hurt so badly. and my step-mother rocks because she made sure to get us a hotel with a bar. dad is irish, we'll deal with our pain the good old fashioned way! so i feel badly, but i'm looking forward to some dad time and the road trip with my brother. i'm hoping we can do our fun "you're on my side of the car" game, but it might prove dangerous with one of us driving. we always had so much fun with that game when we were kids. my mom would put that spare seatbelt down the middle of the backseat and declare whose side was whose and that we better stay on those respective. but i was a shit. my big brother would be over on his side just minding his own business and behaving. i would get this really devious feeling, like i just had to let the devil out or something. so i would ever so sweetly tiptoe my fingers across to his side. i wouldn't even look at him, i would just stare straight ahead like i was minding my own business, and slide my fingers right across. then he'd start screaming how i was on his side, all hell would break loose and my father would demonstrate his amazing talent for driving and beating children at the same time. i always got my poor brother into so much trouble. i truly feel i am the main cause of his need for therapy. well, we may be crazy, but at least we're fun.

the beginning.... (quite possibly of the end)


I started this little thang, more or less, as a challenge to myself. and to get me writing more writing frequently. i know i have a faintly decent ability to write, i just need to hone the skill a little. (hone damnit, hone!!!!) or a lot. and then there is my need to entertain the masses and be loved.... so here goes....