Tuesday, November 30, 2004
The layout is as follows: hallway, door, small storage area, small kitchen, door, bosses office.
I stepped on a mouse today, crushing it, spewing blood and guts everywhere. The comprehension of what I had done was delayed. The sequence of events were: open door, walk, weirdness, walk walk walk, turn on faucet so that I could wash my coffee mug, notice strange sweet smell, turn to the left to investigate said smell and then KABLAM! As soon as I saw the bloodied, smushed blob out of the corner of my eye I knew what it was. The realization of, "So THATS what I stepped on" came in slow motion and was like blunt force trauma to the head. I immediately began banging on the door that leads into my boss’s office and screaming for him to let me in. I can still feel the bones cracking beneath my heel. I have a serious case of the heebie jeebies.
The event was traumatic but not because of the fact that I committed involuntary rodent slaughter before nine in the morning. No, it was traumatic because my shoe touched vermin. I am SERIOUSLY mouse and rat phobic. My son is going to LOVE this.
I stepped on a mouse today, crushing it, spewing blood and guts everywhere. The comprehension of what I had done was delayed. The sequence of events were: open door, walk, weirdness, walk walk walk, turn on faucet so that I could wash my coffee mug, notice strange sweet smell, turn to the left to investigate said smell and then KABLAM! As soon as I saw the bloodied, smushed blob out of the corner of my eye I knew what it was. The realization of, "So THATS what I stepped on" came in slow motion and was like blunt force trauma to the head. I immediately began banging on the door that leads into my boss’s office and screaming for him to let me in. I can still feel the bones cracking beneath my heel. I have a serious case of the heebie jeebies.
The event was traumatic but not because of the fact that I committed involuntary rodent slaughter before nine in the morning. No, it was traumatic because my shoe touched vermin. I am SERIOUSLY mouse and rat phobic. My son is going to LOVE this.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Today is a throw away day at work and I am doing the shit tasks that I constantly disregard for other, more important things like looking for a new job and checking my personal email sixty-seven times an hour. My boss is on vacation and after 1 pm this joint will look like a ghost town, tumbleweed and all. I left my heart in bed today, but why should today be any different.
Last night we went to see Motorcycle Diaries. It was a compelling story and made me want to become a communist revolutionary but the more I thought about it the more I wondered what the hell would I revolutionize for? I am too selfish and too defeated to make an honest, consorted effort toward change. I will continue to write my pointless letters to my crooked Congressmen with the hopes that they will actually listen but with the reality that my cries fall on deaf and dumb ears. It made me sad that selfless passion seems to be dead or in the very least, dying. It made me even more sad that I am perpetuating the cycle. It was a beautiful movie and I implore everyone to see it.
By the end of the weekend I will have a photo gallery on my site. I am really excited that I will finally be able to launch version one. It isnt the bees knees of websites but it will do until I can dedicate more time to the cause. Obviously it will be widely publicized when it is complete. After long deliberation I have decided to leave my journal at blogspot. I tend to censor myself because I actually know the majority of the people that visit me here and intense personal information and strong opinions are things that would do better in the hands of strangers. I want to be able to share my photographs with anyone and if my journal is linked from my site then I would restrain myself even more. Sadly, until I can find a great therapist this has to suffice as my leather couch.
Anyhow, gobble gobble. Eat mashed potatoes by the truckloads. Come Monday I hope none of us can button our pants and we explode from gluttony. Cheers!
Last night we went to see Motorcycle Diaries. It was a compelling story and made me want to become a communist revolutionary but the more I thought about it the more I wondered what the hell would I revolutionize for? I am too selfish and too defeated to make an honest, consorted effort toward change. I will continue to write my pointless letters to my crooked Congressmen with the hopes that they will actually listen but with the reality that my cries fall on deaf and dumb ears. It made me sad that selfless passion seems to be dead or in the very least, dying. It made me even more sad that I am perpetuating the cycle. It was a beautiful movie and I implore everyone to see it.
By the end of the weekend I will have a photo gallery on my site. I am really excited that I will finally be able to launch version one. It isnt the bees knees of websites but it will do until I can dedicate more time to the cause. Obviously it will be widely publicized when it is complete. After long deliberation I have decided to leave my journal at blogspot. I tend to censor myself because I actually know the majority of the people that visit me here and intense personal information and strong opinions are things that would do better in the hands of strangers. I want to be able to share my photographs with anyone and if my journal is linked from my site then I would restrain myself even more. Sadly, until I can find a great therapist this has to suffice as my leather couch.
Anyhow, gobble gobble. Eat mashed potatoes by the truckloads. Come Monday I hope none of us can button our pants and we explode from gluttony. Cheers!
Friday, November 19, 2004
My sister taught my Nephew sign language. He is almost two. This morning while I was talking to her, Mason wanted to say hi so she put him on the phone. He lost interest in about fifteen seconds but when we resumed talking, he made the sign for “more” so she put him back on the phone. I said hi, asked him how he was doing and told him I loved him, again, our one sided conversation lasted only a few seconds. This time instead signing for, “more” he did the sign for, “shoes”. FOR SHOES! Not for cookie, not for, put my favorite Aunt back on the phone MOM, but for SHOES! You’ll have to forgive me. I am a little choked up at the moment.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
It certainly has been a busy couple of months and with the holiday season approaching it appears that the social calendar will not relent. Some engagements are welcomed when others are very much tolerated with feigned grins and plastic pleasantries. Although I long for a weekend just to myself to do whatever it is I fancy, I am sure that I would be screaming for something fantastic and exciting if that scenario were to materialize. I adore my friends and I am SO thankful that they are there to keep me hip and thirty-one.
Sometimes I feel as though I will never fit in, like the habitual fifth wheel. Perhaps it is because I have the need to feel a level of intimacy with my friends. Mental and emotional intimacy that is, NOT sexual intimacy you fucking pervs. It stems from my desires to REALLY know the people I care for. To feel comfortable sharing the personal details and to understand what personifies the people I spend time with is important to me. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand myself or maybe it’s because I must sustain a degree of control that sort of knowledge brings. Whatever the reason may be, I am sure that in some aspects I end up inadvertently isolating myself because of it.
I am so drained from trying to figure myself out. When a girl spends 87% of her day agonizing about life, love and the pursuit to be a better person, I suspect it is a little exhausting. Oh this self-imposed stress is killing me.
All I want is fabulous shoes and hott ass handbags. Throw in an endless supply of fishnets, pencil skirts and cashmere cardigans and you would never see me frown. I am a simple girl with grueling needs, I know.
Sometimes I feel as though I will never fit in, like the habitual fifth wheel. Perhaps it is because I have the need to feel a level of intimacy with my friends. Mental and emotional intimacy that is, NOT sexual intimacy you fucking pervs. It stems from my desires to REALLY know the people I care for. To feel comfortable sharing the personal details and to understand what personifies the people I spend time with is important to me. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand myself or maybe it’s because I must sustain a degree of control that sort of knowledge brings. Whatever the reason may be, I am sure that in some aspects I end up inadvertently isolating myself because of it.
I am so drained from trying to figure myself out. When a girl spends 87% of her day agonizing about life, love and the pursuit to be a better person, I suspect it is a little exhausting. Oh this self-imposed stress is killing me.
All I want is fabulous shoes and hott ass handbags. Throw in an endless supply of fishnets, pencil skirts and cashmere cardigans and you would never see me frown. I am a simple girl with grueling needs, I know.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
My tongue and my face feel like needles and if I shake my head real fast it feels all tingly like. You gotta love the sucking on a socket sensation, Novocain gives you when you are starting to come down after your dentist just violated your mouth six ways to Sunday. At this point I just wish the feeling would be gone already but seeing as though, "...it's a lot sloppier" when I am numb, I am sure Johnny K wishes it would stick around for just a while longer. Anyway, does a trip to the dentist constitute a Dairy Queen Blizzard?
Monday, November 08, 2004
I have a friend who is compiling photos for a project that sounds very interesting. I have already submitted two photos for it. I enjoy collaborating with different artist as it brings a whole new perspective to your efforts. In the next twelve months I plan to work with a few friends (finally) implementing some ideas I have had for a shoot. I want to collaborate on a few projects, mainly with a couple painter friends of mine and I may even join the local photography organization. Of course I will be spending more time shooting and being mindful to take my camera with me where ever I go. Creatively it's going to be a good year.
Here is some of the stupid fucking shit I deal with on a daily basis.
My telephone rings
Me: This is Douleur
Employee: How would I get the custodian to move some copy paper? We don’t have a hand truck.
Me: Um, I guess I would call Kirk his manager and ask him to arrange it.
After a long-winded explanation as to WHY we need copy paper in our building
Me: Yeah, just call Kirk since he is his manager
Employee: Do YOU want to do that or do you want ME to?
Me: Um, you can take care of that you lazy piece of shit.
~
Please note that I conducted orientation on Friday explaining in DETAIL our benefits package
Employee: (Handing me his health and dental application) I think I am done.
I examine his application of which only is 75% completed.
Me: You need to mark what type of insurance you are taking, write the group number here which is on the front of your notebook and (showing him where) you need to sign and date it.
Employee: What type of insurance do I want?
Me: (any sort of tolerance for I had for stupidity just went screaming out of my body) I have no idea.
Employee: (after figuring out what he wanted) And where is the group number?
Me: As I indicated a few moments ago, it’s on the front of your notebook.
Employee: On the life insurance section, how much should I take?
Me: Well, you can see here that this section is marked out and if you remember, I had you mark this section out because Blue Cross doesn’t provide our life insurance.
Employee: Oh, okay. (Flipping through his notebook) Where do I need to sign it?
At this point I get down on my knees and prayed to Jesus himself for just a morsel of resolve and the will not to murder this man with a spoon.
My telephone rings
Me: This is Douleur
Employee: How would I get the custodian to move some copy paper? We don’t have a hand truck.
Me: Um, I guess I would call Kirk his manager and ask him to arrange it.
After a long-winded explanation as to WHY we need copy paper in our building
Me: Yeah, just call Kirk since he is his manager
Employee: Do YOU want to do that or do you want ME to?
Me: Um, you can take care of that you lazy piece of shit.
~
Please note that I conducted orientation on Friday explaining in DETAIL our benefits package
Employee: (Handing me his health and dental application) I think I am done.
I examine his application of which only is 75% completed.
Me: You need to mark what type of insurance you are taking, write the group number here which is on the front of your notebook and (showing him where) you need to sign and date it.
Employee: What type of insurance do I want?
Me: (any sort of tolerance for I had for stupidity just went screaming out of my body) I have no idea.
Employee: (after figuring out what he wanted) And where is the group number?
Me: As I indicated a few moments ago, it’s on the front of your notebook.
Employee: On the life insurance section, how much should I take?
Me: Well, you can see here that this section is marked out and if you remember, I had you mark this section out because Blue Cross doesn’t provide our life insurance.
Employee: Oh, okay. (Flipping through his notebook) Where do I need to sign it?
At this point I get down on my knees and prayed to Jesus himself for just a morsel of resolve and the will not to murder this man with a spoon.
Saturday night I went to an art opening featuring a collection of about fifteen artists showcasing their work in their new spaces. I left with a knot in my throat and a longing for expansive, twelve-foot high walls decorated with my photographs. Photographs that people actually want to purchase to hang on their expansive, twelve-foot high walls. I am a big city girl living in a house in the suburbs, playing a role that at times I feel was miscast. It is a bitter pill to swallow when I get bits and pieces of the, “other side”.
Sunday, as I was lying in bed replaying the evening’s events and trying to fall asleep, a situation popped into my mind and for the life of me I cannot discern where it came from. For some reason I played out the scenario of meeting my biological *birthing medium for the first time. In reality the woman lives in a small industrial town in upstate Ohio where both her and her husband work in a factory to support themselves. She is a product of a small town and her children will surely grow up and work mediocre jobs and die after living very meager lives.
The moment started with an exaggerated gasp when she opened the door and we laid eyes on each other’s physical selves for the first time. I knew what to expect from her but she had no idea that her offspring had become a well-dressed meticulous woman with long, raven hair and a pierced nose. I was the type of person they only saw on the television; someone so surreal they never really believed my type actually existed. I was the epitome of big city to them and they are the definition of, thank fucking god I got the hell out, to me. So there we are, sitting on her sofa, she is crying and I am trying to figure out if she is sobbing out of happiness or if she is saddened because her, “daughter” is a freak. It was an odd feeling being the point of contact where two worlds collide and I ultimately left behind a menagerie of unrest in the form of:
A woman utterly distraught at what I had become
A little girl dreaming to leave and despising what had always been her life
A teenage boy angry that I existed because I made him feel insignificant
and
A man who was left to clean up the mess I (inadvertently) left in my wake
*I refuse to call the woman my biological “mother”
Sunday, as I was lying in bed replaying the evening’s events and trying to fall asleep, a situation popped into my mind and for the life of me I cannot discern where it came from. For some reason I played out the scenario of meeting my biological *birthing medium for the first time. In reality the woman lives in a small industrial town in upstate Ohio where both her and her husband work in a factory to support themselves. She is a product of a small town and her children will surely grow up and work mediocre jobs and die after living very meager lives.
The moment started with an exaggerated gasp when she opened the door and we laid eyes on each other’s physical selves for the first time. I knew what to expect from her but she had no idea that her offspring had become a well-dressed meticulous woman with long, raven hair and a pierced nose. I was the type of person they only saw on the television; someone so surreal they never really believed my type actually existed. I was the epitome of big city to them and they are the definition of, thank fucking god I got the hell out, to me. So there we are, sitting on her sofa, she is crying and I am trying to figure out if she is sobbing out of happiness or if she is saddened because her, “daughter” is a freak. It was an odd feeling being the point of contact where two worlds collide and I ultimately left behind a menagerie of unrest in the form of:
A woman utterly distraught at what I had become
A little girl dreaming to leave and despising what had always been her life
A teenage boy angry that I existed because I made him feel insignificant
and
A man who was left to clean up the mess I (inadvertently) left in my wake
*I refuse to call the woman my biological “mother”
Friday, November 05, 2004
If you have not heard of, or have taken the time to watch The Long Way Around, I certainly hope you do so soon. It is perhaps the most intriguing show on television today, well, besides The Swan of course. The show documents Ewan McGregor’s and his best friend Charley Boorman’s four month, transcontinental excursion on motorcycle. Beginning their trip in London, they travel through Belgium, Czech Republic, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Russia, Mongolia, China, Siberia, Alaska and Canada ultimately ending their journey in New York. Their travels take them through sections of the world that I could only dream of visiting. For example, a portion of their trip takes them through parts of Russia where, “people are sent for punishment, never to return”. I am not exactly sure why that sounds so appealing but it does. Traveling in that manner may not be a quick dose of adrenaline but rather than a sustained four month fix. I must have Gypsy blood flowing through my veins. Sans a child and husband I would most definitely be living out of a suitcase
~
If you were ever in need of a medical bone saw or knew that a cat skeleton would be just the thing to compliment those new drapes, you may want to visit necromance dot com. How fucking hot.
~
It seems that fall has come later than usual but I will take it. The air is crispy like pressed white linen and I feel life effervescing now that the oppressive heat seems to have flown south for the winter. I feel alive and November is going to prove to be a fabulous month.
If you were ever in need of a medical bone saw or knew that a cat skeleton would be just the thing to compliment those new drapes, you may want to visit necromance dot com. How fucking hot.
It seems that fall has come later than usual but I will take it. The air is crispy like pressed white linen and I feel life effervescing now that the oppressive heat seems to have flown south for the winter. I feel alive and November is going to prove to be a fabulous month.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
~ In celebration of Samhain, Johnny K and I watched a wonderfully hilarious yet vaguely disturbing movie after him and the yunggin came home from collecting their tricks and treats. Vampire’s Kiss, starring a young and (dare I say) talented Nick Cage, was fabulous and I highly recommend that everyone watch it regardless of whether or not Mr. Cage makes you throw up a little bit in your mouth.
~ "Will we be charged for these changes?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, do you think you could FUCKING FIND OUT?"
~ There is a cute boutique close to my house called The Painted Monkey. They sell designer handbags of the knock off variety, clothes I think are white hot but would never wear and femalecentric objects with witty sayings like, "she liked imaginary men best of all" and, "she could no longer pretend that he wasn't an idiot". I think the little historic square in which this shop is located would benefit from a shop that I have decided to open called The Bearded Clam. I have no idea what I will sell but I thought it would be a nice compliment and I would find an immense amount of pleasure if I could hear something along the lines of, "Oh you have to try that restaurant you know, the one between The Painted Monkey and The Bearded Clam." I know it's random but I am working on vocalizing my inner dialog.
~ Voting was rather traumatic for me and I stood there for almost fifteen minutes agonizing what to do. I almost cried. Why can't I be as young and ignorant as I was during the cold war? Shopping will surely make me feel better.
~ "Will we be charged for these changes?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, do you think you could FUCKING FIND OUT?"
~ There is a cute boutique close to my house called The Painted Monkey. They sell designer handbags of the knock off variety, clothes I think are white hot but would never wear and femalecentric objects with witty sayings like, "she liked imaginary men best of all" and, "she could no longer pretend that he wasn't an idiot". I think the little historic square in which this shop is located would benefit from a shop that I have decided to open called The Bearded Clam. I have no idea what I will sell but I thought it would be a nice compliment and I would find an immense amount of pleasure if I could hear something along the lines of, "Oh you have to try that restaurant you know, the one between The Painted Monkey and The Bearded Clam." I know it's random but I am working on vocalizing my inner dialog.
~ Voting was rather traumatic for me and I stood there for almost fifteen minutes agonizing what to do. I almost cried. Why can't I be as young and ignorant as I was during the cold war? Shopping will surely make me feel better.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Here are some photo’s from my trip to New Orleans. Obviously I havent created a gallery for my website but I am thinking about it real hard. I would appreciate some feedback Mr. Man.
Me love you long time
Lafayette Cemetery
In mourning
Tombs
Cigar Rolling 101
Cigar Rolling 102
Cigar Rolling 103
Fun for the whole family
Nothing like good old fashioned pussy
Anne Rice’s neighbor
House Of Blues
Bar at the H.o.B.
And finally my favorite photo
Painting at dark
All contents © 2004 divineimagery.com unless otherwise specified herein. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Me love you long time
Lafayette Cemetery
In mourning
Tombs
Cigar Rolling 101
Cigar Rolling 102
Cigar Rolling 103
Fun for the whole family
Nothing like good old fashioned pussy
Anne Rice’s neighbor
House Of Blues
Bar at the H.o.B.
And finally my favorite photo
Painting at dark
All contents © 2004 divineimagery.com unless otherwise specified herein. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
