Friday, August 27, 2004
And here are some statements I think we can all benefit from knowing. Courtesy of the June issue of Cheri
"...What's romance anyway but a precursor to nasty cum soaked sex?"
"...Hey girls, we're out here beating our meat"
"It's hard to talk when your mouth's stuffed with cock. But trust us, a good time to be had by all."
"Hey, we love sex, whether we get paid for it or not!"
"And take it from me, a pimp, you can never have too may pussies!"
Last but not least, some phrases that I think we should ALL incorporate into our daily vocabulary.
Lusty panty-lips
& my favorite
Frothy she-cum
"...What's romance anyway but a precursor to nasty cum soaked sex?"
"...Hey girls, we're out here beating our meat"
"It's hard to talk when your mouth's stuffed with cock. But trust us, a good time to be had by all."
"Hey, we love sex, whether we get paid for it or not!"
"And take it from me, a pimp, you can never have too may pussies!"
Last but not least, some phrases that I think we should ALL incorporate into our daily vocabulary.
Lusty panty-lips
& my favorite
Frothy she-cum
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
I am finished. Today I have reached the maximum thought allotment for the day and I am spent. I give up on trying to be all fabulous like. The truth is I am nothing more than a glorified secretary with old shoes and a shitty attitude. Or is that shitty shoes and an old attitude? I dunno, my brain is too mushy to think but if fall asleep at 7:30 and pee myself prior to waking, it would have to be the latter.
I have a secret fascination for a girl whom I have never met. She inspires me, which is the only reason, I can find, why I am actually sitting here trying to create a semi-cohesive idea in my current state of defeated apatheticness. I can only imagine living a lifestyle that is so far beyond anything that I have ever experienced. Perhaps another life or a million dollars richer but at this point and time, it is just not an option. And screw everyone who has that, “anything is possible” attitude. Everything is NOT possible otherwise I would not be sitting in an office with no windows and fuck for all ventilation in Doraville, Georgia. And I shudder to think that I will be spending a good portion of my evenings and weekends with mini van driving stay at home moms that think Starbucks is actually good coffee. I don’t want to fit in and I don’t try to fit in yet I pass judgment on those who I assume are passing judgment on me. Perhaps I should just give my lifestyle a chance but I guess I am afraid that I will be settling if I do. I don’t want to become one of the walking dead, everything is FANTASTIC, numb to the world, strive for nothing more than a house full of pretty things that somehow validate my sad, fat existence people that I am surrounded by. I love my kid, I feel at home in my house and I adore my husband but if I don’t get out of this stinkin town soon I am going to combust all over my mad, mad world.
I have a secret fascination for a girl whom I have never met. She inspires me, which is the only reason, I can find, why I am actually sitting here trying to create a semi-cohesive idea in my current state of defeated apatheticness. I can only imagine living a lifestyle that is so far beyond anything that I have ever experienced. Perhaps another life or a million dollars richer but at this point and time, it is just not an option. And screw everyone who has that, “anything is possible” attitude. Everything is NOT possible otherwise I would not be sitting in an office with no windows and fuck for all ventilation in Doraville, Georgia. And I shudder to think that I will be spending a good portion of my evenings and weekends with mini van driving stay at home moms that think Starbucks is actually good coffee. I don’t want to fit in and I don’t try to fit in yet I pass judgment on those who I assume are passing judgment on me. Perhaps I should just give my lifestyle a chance but I guess I am afraid that I will be settling if I do. I don’t want to become one of the walking dead, everything is FANTASTIC, numb to the world, strive for nothing more than a house full of pretty things that somehow validate my sad, fat existence people that I am surrounded by. I love my kid, I feel at home in my house and I adore my husband but if I don’t get out of this stinkin town soon I am going to combust all over my mad, mad world.
Monday, August 16, 2004
I am tired of not being able to purchase the things that I want and need.
I am tired of not being able to walk into a store and buy a cute skirt regardless of the cost.
I am tired of my paycheck no being able to support my habit.
I am tired of wife beaters and baggie jeans.
I am tired of cheap shoes and even cheaper handbags.
I am tired of the shit in my closet. The shit that was given to me as gifts. The shit I NEVER buy for myself.
I am tired of shopping in discount stores.
I am tired of hand washing my dry clean only clothes.
I am tired of the cheap, pathetic wardrobe that has been in my closet for the past twenty-seven YEARS.
I am tired of not having any accessories.
I am tired of the fucking responsibility.
I am so utterly sick and fucking tired of wanting and wanting and feeling selfish for all the want. I am tired of looking like yesterday’s trash. When will the dream pay off? When will I be able to reap the benefits of the hard work that I do every goddamn day?
And I think I am going to go cry now because I am a selfish, materialistic whore.
I am tired of not being able to walk into a store and buy a cute skirt regardless of the cost.
I am tired of my paycheck no being able to support my habit.
I am tired of wife beaters and baggie jeans.
I am tired of cheap shoes and even cheaper handbags.
I am tired of the shit in my closet. The shit that was given to me as gifts. The shit I NEVER buy for myself.
I am tired of shopping in discount stores.
I am tired of hand washing my dry clean only clothes.
I am tired of the cheap, pathetic wardrobe that has been in my closet for the past twenty-seven YEARS.
I am tired of not having any accessories.
I am tired of the fucking responsibility.
I am so utterly sick and fucking tired of wanting and wanting and feeling selfish for all the want. I am tired of looking like yesterday’s trash. When will the dream pay off? When will I be able to reap the benefits of the hard work that I do every goddamn day?
And I think I am going to go cry now because I am a selfish, materialistic whore.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Simply believing is not enough. As children, we were taught that reverence occurred after 4 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday during mass. These same teachings have been handed down throughout the ages and if you were not baptized, first communion-ized and confirmation-ized, you were on a bullet train to hell with a VIP reception awaiting your arrival. Worshiping was done in a church along with all those trials one needed in order to be seated at the right hand of the father. Church is what good people do on Sunday’s in their pressed chinos and polo shirts and those of us who denounce the secular tradition are heathens not fit for a heavenly resting place. To worship at home and in your own, private way is inadequate and unacceptable as apparently it is all very structured and precise. Apparently God is a Virgo.
My life has not been devoid of spirituality per se but questions, many of which have gone unanswered, have plagued me over the years. While I was reading this evening I came across a quote that spoke volumes to me and I felt compelled to document it for future reference.
”…I did not ask you if you believe in what man says about God. I asked if you believed in God. There is a difference. Holy scripture is stories . . . legends and history of man’s quest to understand his own need for meaning. I am not asking you to pass judgment on literature. I am asking if you believe in God.” Brown, D. Angels & Demons.
My life has not been devoid of spirituality per se but questions, many of which have gone unanswered, have plagued me over the years. While I was reading this evening I came across a quote that spoke volumes to me and I felt compelled to document it for future reference.
”…I did not ask you if you believe in what man says about God. I asked if you believed in God. There is a difference. Holy scripture is stories . . . legends and history of man’s quest to understand his own need for meaning. I am not asking you to pass judgment on literature. I am asking if you believe in God.” Brown, D. Angels & Demons.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
With the days of low humidity and the nights cool and refreshing, the past few days have been reminisce of the fall which is unheard of during the dog days of a southern summer. After a long hibernation, I can feel a revival coming on and I can hardly wait for autumn to officially arrive.
Despite the fact that there was a Beverly Hills, 90210 marathon on FX, I slowly dragged my battered body out of bed. Yesterday’s yard work turned me into an eighty year old lady and my muscles are officially on strike from doing anything that would exert any energy. I made a simple breakfast of toast and blueberries and took my coffee and Photographic mag out onto the back deck in lieu of java and cigarettes at a café’. I read an article on Photojournalism which conjured a hint of want inside. But that is a dream for someone else so I swallowed my desires along with my black coffee and opted to play three compelling rounds of Go Fish with Johnny K and Junior. This morning has been lazy and tomorrow will come way to fast for me. Work is becoming almost too unbearable but for no other reason than I don’t want to do it any longer. If I think about the fact that I will more than likely be stuck in this unfulfilling career for the next thousand years, I want nothing more than to cry. I suppose that is what adults call responsibility and I have resigned myself to concentrate on the positive rather than the shit we all have to deal with. There is no regret per se but if I am honest with myself, there really is, however I guess it only becomes a detriment if you dwell on it. I get jealous of those who seem to have a fabulous life, filled with fabulous events and those who can create wherever and whenever their hearts content. I am stuck in a plastic world but I suppose it’s not as artificial as most. Be thankful, be thankful, be thankful. That is my mantra for today.
Since school begins tomorrow I am going to neglect all those chores that I neglected last weekend and soak in the sun at the pool. I wonder sometimes how silly it is for a thirty year old woman, who lives a suburban life of mediocrity to have a journal. It’s almost embarrassing to showcase my meager writing skills about my meager days and sometimes I am not sure why I even bother. I can assure you this is not me feeling sorry for myself but I DO laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Of course, I am too much of an attention whore to relent.
Windows down
A fast car
Damn fine music to sink your teeth into
What more could a girl ask for?
Well, the list is getting mighty long but this will do for now.
Despite the fact that there was a Beverly Hills, 90210 marathon on FX, I slowly dragged my battered body out of bed. Yesterday’s yard work turned me into an eighty year old lady and my muscles are officially on strike from doing anything that would exert any energy. I made a simple breakfast of toast and blueberries and took my coffee and Photographic mag out onto the back deck in lieu of java and cigarettes at a café’. I read an article on Photojournalism which conjured a hint of want inside. But that is a dream for someone else so I swallowed my desires along with my black coffee and opted to play three compelling rounds of Go Fish with Johnny K and Junior. This morning has been lazy and tomorrow will come way to fast for me. Work is becoming almost too unbearable but for no other reason than I don’t want to do it any longer. If I think about the fact that I will more than likely be stuck in this unfulfilling career for the next thousand years, I want nothing more than to cry. I suppose that is what adults call responsibility and I have resigned myself to concentrate on the positive rather than the shit we all have to deal with. There is no regret per se but if I am honest with myself, there really is, however I guess it only becomes a detriment if you dwell on it. I get jealous of those who seem to have a fabulous life, filled with fabulous events and those who can create wherever and whenever their hearts content. I am stuck in a plastic world but I suppose it’s not as artificial as most. Be thankful, be thankful, be thankful. That is my mantra for today.
Since school begins tomorrow I am going to neglect all those chores that I neglected last weekend and soak in the sun at the pool. I wonder sometimes how silly it is for a thirty year old woman, who lives a suburban life of mediocrity to have a journal. It’s almost embarrassing to showcase my meager writing skills about my meager days and sometimes I am not sure why I even bother. I can assure you this is not me feeling sorry for myself but I DO laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Of course, I am too much of an attention whore to relent.
Windows down
A fast car
Damn fine music to sink your teeth into
What more could a girl ask for?
Well, the list is getting mighty long but this will do for now.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
My hips and my shoulders burn with the ache, my palms are bruised and every time I raise from my chair, I am reminded that my body is nothing more than an fading vessel and unlike fine wine, she is not aging well. The subtle hints of maturity are becoming not so subtle. In forty-two days I will be turning the ripe ole age of thirty-one and where as I don’t necessarily look or feel old, looking old and feeling old are right around the corner. At thirty you straddle the line between the ass stompin boots of your early twenties and the sensible, unobtrusive mules of your forties. I am on a bullet train to menopause, under eye wrinkle cream and shopping in the Misses section because I don’t want to be hip and 45. Crossing over the threshold of, you’re going to be old and you ARE old is going to be difficult endeavor to overcome but I will try my best to do it with all the grace and dignity that I can muster.
Last weekend I had a series of dreams and although I cannot remember finite details, I do remember that they all had the running theme that I had lost something. I began to recall the days of my freshman year in high school and my boyfriend Jason S. I lost my virginity to him on the Badin Rams practice football field on Halloween night – I was fourteen. Jason played guitar and his idols were the likes of Yngwie Malmsteen, Joe Satriani and Tony Macalpine. Since his parents had the tendency to pick up and move on a moments notice, we would create these fantastic scenarios’s where he was always this famous musician and during one of his tours he would find me standing amongst a throng of screaming fans and when our eyes locked, we would fall in love all over again. Immediately after the show he would send one of his roadies to fetch me out of the crowd and we would live happily ever after on his tour bus. How fucking romantic is THAT?
I just did a google search on Jason S. and apparently he is a published writer. I found a phone number AND a picture. I am 99% sure it’s him. Should I call?
Last weekend I had a series of dreams and although I cannot remember finite details, I do remember that they all had the running theme that I had lost something. I began to recall the days of my freshman year in high school and my boyfriend Jason S. I lost my virginity to him on the Badin Rams practice football field on Halloween night – I was fourteen. Jason played guitar and his idols were the likes of Yngwie Malmsteen, Joe Satriani and Tony Macalpine. Since his parents had the tendency to pick up and move on a moments notice, we would create these fantastic scenarios’s where he was always this famous musician and during one of his tours he would find me standing amongst a throng of screaming fans and when our eyes locked, we would fall in love all over again. Immediately after the show he would send one of his roadies to fetch me out of the crowd and we would live happily ever after on his tour bus. How fucking romantic is THAT?
I just did a google search on Jason S. and apparently he is a published writer. I found a phone number AND a picture. I am 99% sure it’s him. Should I call?
Monday, August 02, 2004
Our house has become the place to be on the weekend. With the tiki torches ablaze, it has become customary to sit on the back deck with at least a case of beer, cigarettes and random conversation. I am sure the neighbors are getting sick of our antics and the “fucking, fuck, fuck, shit, goddamn, fuck” that resonates through the yard at what is considered obscene hours of the night. 10 p.m. in the burbs is like 3 a.m. in the city and we are loud and obnoxious well past the witching hour.
My best friend came over Saturday evening and we had a girly girl night while the mens were out getting their geek on at the adult arcade. We made a sensible, low fat dinner followed by, fat-filled, cellulite inducing ice cream. When we returned home from the, I’m a lard ass parlor, wewatched A Chorus Line had a tickle fight in nothing but our panties until we fell asleep in each others arms. Unfortunately for the mens, we awoke just minutes before they arrived, got dressed and they found us having a post something or other cigarette on the back deck.
School starts in a week so we completed the back-to-school shopping on Saturday. Yesterday the yungin put on a back-to-school fashion show and I melted when he came out in his black Chuck T’s and shorts with the chain hanging down the side. I think it is high time that he graduates his velcro wallet circa 1984 for a bona fide chain wallet even though I doubt he will be able to carry it to school. Johnny K will probably protest but my opinions and my mouth are much bigger than his and he will loose. The kid told me that he is going for a “look” because his old look was “jerkie”. I am a good mother and would never want my son to feel “jerkie” so I must allow him to express whatever it is he feels he needs to express. I am having a difficult time discerning whether or not I am in a shit world of pain with this kid or if he will bypass that asshole teenager stage that most chitlins go through. THANK GOD ye old tubes have been tied off and I will NEVER have to go through the pains of raising a child again. Perhaps it is easier the second time around but I have a sneaking suspicion that rather it be easier, parents just relent because they are too tired to deal.
There is less than two months until my birthday and our trip to New Orleans.
My best friend came over Saturday evening and we had a girly girl night while the mens were out getting their geek on at the adult arcade. We made a sensible, low fat dinner followed by, fat-filled, cellulite inducing ice cream. When we returned home from the, I’m a lard ass parlor, we
School starts in a week so we completed the back-to-school shopping on Saturday. Yesterday the yungin put on a back-to-school fashion show and I melted when he came out in his black Chuck T’s and shorts with the chain hanging down the side. I think it is high time that he graduates his velcro wallet circa 1984 for a bona fide chain wallet even though I doubt he will be able to carry it to school. Johnny K will probably protest but my opinions and my mouth are much bigger than his and he will loose. The kid told me that he is going for a “look” because his old look was “jerkie”. I am a good mother and would never want my son to feel “jerkie” so I must allow him to express whatever it is he feels he needs to express. I am having a difficult time discerning whether or not I am in a shit world of pain with this kid or if he will bypass that asshole teenager stage that most chitlins go through. THANK GOD ye old tubes have been tied off and I will NEVER have to go through the pains of raising a child again. Perhaps it is easier the second time around but I have a sneaking suspicion that rather it be easier, parents just relent because they are too tired to deal.
There is less than two months until my birthday and our trip to New Orleans.
