Wednesday, December 29, 2004


I have three of them. They are all awesome. Not because they're a good design or a great coloring, but because they all mean something very special to me. My tattoos are Confidence, Friendship, and Trying New Things.

The first time I went to get a tattoo I didn't do nearly enough research and went somewhere with a tattooist that didn't do a very good job. BUT I did walk away with, not one, but two tattoos. The first one was easy. I wanted an Airwalk "A" on my left shoulder. This tattoo is Confidence.
When I was growing up, around the 7th grade, I ran with a group of friends that all wore Airwalks. We didn't put anything else on our feet. We used to say that we could do anything in our Airwalks. Young as we were, we chose our shoes to draw confidence from for whatever reason. We could walk up walls, or over water. We could do whatever we wanted to as long as we were in our Airwalks. It became a source of absolute confidence. As I grew older I realized that it was not the shoes, but simply the belief in myself that should be bringing me confidence. I wanted a reminder of this, however, so I decided that I should mark myself permanently with an Airwalk "A" so that I always remember the confidence that I carried - not from the shoes, but from myself. The tattooist took the shoe off of my foot, scanned it and printed out the A on the side and marked me for life. I couldn't have been happier.

One of my best friends, Cesar, accompanied me on my trip to the shady tattoo shop to get my first tattoo. Cesar was a sweet, caring, and wonderful friend - one of the best I've ever had. He was searching thru the flash on the walls and found a great sun that he would have tattooed on himself if he had been old enough at the time (he was only 17). That day I decided that in addition to my own tattoo, I would get one for Cesar too, since he couldn't. I had the sun tattooed on me to remind me about the importance of Friendship.
Cesar and I have since lost touch and I miss him horribly. But it doesn't matter how much time or distance separates us (the last I heard from him he was leaving to spend a year in Paris) I will always have a sun tattooed on my right arm for him. My friends are hands-down my most valuable resource. Without friendship, life would simply not be tolerable. I owe so much to so many of my dear friends throughout the years - I never want to forget how important they are to me. Now it's awfully hard with a constant reminder blazed onto my arm. Friendship is the reason I can't wear sleeveless shirts to work!

Sadly, both of these tattoos healed terribly. The work was not great, the lines were not clean, and the ink did not take. I ended up going back to another tattoo artist almost two years later to have them redone. I simply had a little extra work done to my "A", but covered up the sun on my arm completely with another sun - one that I was sure Cesar would have loved. I know the original ink still hides underneath the fresh work - and that's what matters most.

My third tattoo came from 6th street in Austin. Somewhere along the road of my youth I got a terrible taste in my mouth about Austin. I had never really visited there and knew nearly nothing about it - but for some reason I was sure I would hate it. I got dragged there on a weekend roadtrip and dreaded it the whole way. However, upon arriving I really fell in love with the town and the people. It was such a wonderful and ecclectic place! I gave in, dropped grudges, and had a great time. Walking down 6th street in the heat of a summer afternoon we decided to get tattoos. I picked a very simple tribal bead from the flash on the wall and had it put on the back of my neck. Everytime I think of this tattoo, I'm reminded that trying new things is rarely as terrible as you think it will be. Give life a shot - just a chance for fun. You never know, you might like it!

Three tattoos...three important life lessons.

This is what I think permanently marking your body should be all about. Don't do it because it's "cool". Don't do it because all of your friends did it. Do it because it means something to you. Do it for yourself.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

HEY! I remember this... is my only Thursday in December to have to work a full day. I will admit that I got VERY used to getting a couple more hours of sleep after my Wednesday nights at the cafe. I'd almost forgotten how sleepy I can get on a Thursday morning sitting around here at work. Of course, I've got PLENTY to do to keep my mind occupied - it's just a matter of keeping myself on task. As a great example of how poorly I am doing at this, here I am in the afternoon blogging.

In the good news department I seem to have made the turn on my sinus issues. Last night at the Cafe there was actually a point where I was feeling mostly normal. It was a little rough getting up again this morning, but this afternoon things seem to be looking better as well. If I can keep up with my medication regimen I hope to have this thing licked by the end of the weekend. Keep your fingers crossed.

In the confusing news department, let me just say "Be careful what you wish for." Here I am, the world's biggest dumbass, pining away after a relationship. During this time I have gotten to know a number of very nice (and some just tolerably nice) guys in person and over the internet. Just when I am at the point where I'm juggling more boys than I ever imagined possible (and loving it, by the way) one of these nice boys lets me know that he wants me to be "his girl". He lets me know this just hours prior to my standing Wednesday night appointment with the Cafe and Chris. I let him know that I already have plans for the evening which include another guy and he's understandably upset. He wants me to cancel my plans. He wants me to ditch out on the Cafe. Now let me tell you something about me. Number one, not even a possible debilitating sinus issue is going to keep me away from a Wednesday at the Cafe. Number two, I DEFINITELY don't flake out on my friends when I've made plans with them - especially not when breaking the plans would only give my friend a few hours notice. So...I let Josh know in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to pursue something more than our casual conversations, it would not be today. I figured I could pick up with him later.
Well here's the really confusing part. A good chunk of my heart was actually really excited over the prospect of a relationship. "This is just what we've been waiting for," it tells me. That good chunk, however, got weewee'd on last night as I'm kissing and cuddling with Chris - realizing how much I'm going to miss the freedom to be able to do that every Wednesday night with Chris, and every other night with whoever else I want to cuddle and kiss. I've got an friend now who is living out of town who will be in to visit before too long. I'm going to be really honest and admit that I'm definitely looking forward to getting to know him really well when he is here. Wouldn't that suck if he ended up on my doorway and I had to turn him away with apologies because I am now someone's "girl"?

Am I really as ready for a relationship as I thought I was?

Interesting questions to ponder over the holiday weekend...

Have a great long weekend everybody - and a wonderful (insert whatever spiritual holiday you choose to celebrate around this time of year - because hey, we've all got one).

I won't be back in the office until Tuesday, so you may not get any fresh blogginess from me until then - unless I actually get ambitious and set up my laptop at home. But I see that is a pretty common thing around this time of year...none of my favorite blogs have been updated lately.

Until next time,
Darbi - confused and dumbfounded

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

By Dose Ith Thtuffy

Well...the move did it. It officially brought on the battle of the year - Allergies vs. My Poor Sinuses. My thoughtful ex found it in his infinite wisdom to leave all of my belongings out in the garage for the dustiest, mold-sporiest 2 months out of the whole farking year.

Going thru the boxes over the last few days and stirring up dust has left my sinuses in a very sad and poor state. I'm blowing my nose every 2 minutes and therefore my nose is red. I'm having trouble breathing thru my nose, and so brething thru my mouth has left my lips chapped. I'm congested and getting out of breath easily. Luckily, infection has not yet set in thanks to a grueling medication regimen I have learned to put myself on in such a situation - but one false move and it could be on me like crazy.

In addition I'm supposed to be traveling for the Christmas holiday, which will NOT improve the situation, but I've just got to go. Chances are this will be my grandfather's last Christmas with us and I know I need to go and spend some time. At the same time, I wonder if I should be around him in my sickly state. If I do end up with a sinus infection while I am there I could only make things worse by passing it along to him or my grandma.

I am not ill enough, however, to cancel my Cafe trip tonight. It's just not going to happen. No frickin way. So I will continue on with my barrage of meds.

This morning I took:
2 huge Vitamin C pills
2 Tylenol Allergy Sinus
1 Zyrtec
1 B-complex vitamin

The last two nights I have:
Taken a Benadryl and passed out early
Slopped myself up with Vicks Vapo-rub to help with congestion

After work today I will dose up again on Vitamin C, Zyrtec, and Tylenol or Sudafed. Unfortunately I can't take the Benadryl because of the lack of hours between sleep time after the Cafe and wake up time for work tomorrow. Hopefully that wont be the misstep that will send me careening into a full-fledged, bed-ridden, sinus infected stupor. Only time will tell...

That's all for blogging right now. Time to go and blow my nose again and re-apply chapstick.



Monday, December 20, 2004


Boy, what a weekend! Saturday morning I got up early and showed up over at the ex's house at the appointed hour with Mom and Dad on my heels to pay the moving company. Moving company was supposed to show up between 8 and 9. We fiddled around and made sure that everything that was going to get moved was ready to move. 9 came and went. I called and left a message at the moving company. I finally get a hold of someone at 10 to find out that a job that they had last night went way over and that none of their moving crews got to bed before 3am. So they were going to be late. So we waited. I spent 3 hours on Saturday morning with my posse glaring and staring at the ex and his posse while they returned the favor. It was not a fun scene. But Ex started drinking and disappeared so things got better after that. Moving company finally arrived around 11, we loaded everything up, and I got to my new house! I started unloading boxes - who ever knew I had SO much CRAP? Of course, the ex did a crappy job of packing everything so there was a lot of trash and stuff to throw out. Everything was terribly dusty from sitting out in the garage for the last 2 months so now my allergies are a mess. But...

Everything else aside, I AM IN MY NEW HOUSE! I have SPACE! I have my OWN ROOM!!! I am sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo excited. All of my furniture is pushed up against all of the walls leaving a great big open area in the middle of the room big enough that I could do cartwheels across if I so choose. And that is how I like my room. Creative decorating is nice, but space is better. I've ALWAYS done that with my rooms. As soon as I was old enough to have any say at all in how my room is arranged I always wanted as much carpet space as possible. This is the reason why I opted for a tiny day bed instead of getting a larger bed. The day bed sits right up against one of my walls and takes up very little space. 9 times out of 10 I only get into my bed to sleep in it. If I'm looking to lay around I throw some pillows and blankets on the floor - it's better that way! I have more options! The day bed also works well as a couch - right across from the TV. My room has lots of bookshelves, my bass, and an altar in front of the window. It's just like I wanted it. It's perfect.
The rest of the house is great too. Carmilla has a real knack for decoration so I've kind of let her take it over and it looks awesome. She always checks with me to make sure that everything's okay -but I trust her absolutely and know the place is going to look great. It's cozy, funky, and fun.

Please, if you are reading and know me, stop by and see my house. I am so excited about it and want to show it off. We are also planning a mega-stuper-uber-awesome New Years/housewarming party. If I have not yet extended an invite, please email me and I will get you all of the particulars.

That's all for now...time to get back to work!

Yay for new houses!


Friday, December 17, 2004

DMB Overload

Have you ever listened to SO much Dave Matthews that you feel like you're going to explode? His lyrics and the energy in his music can get to be a little much for my heart to handle. Each song touches me in a different way - overwhelming feelings of happiness, sadness, love, obsession, or just plain fun. I alternate between wanting to cry, get up and dance around the office, hug someone randomly, or twirl. I don't know what it is about Dave, but some of his music just makes me want to stand in one spot, put my arms out at my sides, and TWIRL!

Chris burned me a CD the other day with a bunch of Dave songs and it is the most perfect CD ever. I could not have picked a better playlist for myself. Old, new, covers - it's all there. I've listened to it pretty much non-stop since he gave it to me. You know you've got a great friend when they burn you the perfect DMB mix.

I'm under enough stress today as it is, with the big move tomorrow. My mind is already aflood with lists of things to be done, worry about whether things are ready, and just general stress. I don't know how much more Dave Matthews I can take. I'm on overload. Maybe I should turn it off for just a bit and listen to something a little more mindless. I'm thinking maybe Jet. Great beat, good energy, but not a lot of feeling. Just good rock. It will keep my feet tapping but not occupy my mind. Sounds like a good plan. Now to the task of motivating my fingers to press the Stop button on Dave. He's like an addiction. I know he's bad for me but I just.....can't.....STOP!

Wish me luck with tomorrow's move, everybody!


Wednesday, December 15, 2004

I Heart Blogs

I read blogs for about a year before deciding to start one. Every day I'd visit my list of favorites and pray for an update! I still have quite a few favorite blogs that I check on daily. Now, I know I should probably be blogrolling, but I'm lazy and haven't made it work yet. So instead I'm just going to cheese my blog up here with a little "Favorites" post.

My First
TJ's Place. TJ mysteriously stopped posting and there was a big controversy in the "comments" about whether he had died, or whether he never really existed at all. The comments have been taken down, but it's still a good damn site to read thru. Kevin's kind of an "everyman" that is very easy to relate to.

My Guilty Pleasure
Cheating Spouse X. He hasn't updated in a while either and I hope he doesn't plan on stopping. Reading his blog is like reading one of those steamy smut novels with Fabio on the cover. But I love it.

She's Damn Funny
Rotten Eggs. I just like the way this gal looks at life. She's struggling with certain things but still keeps a sense of humor. Whether her posts are funny or touching it's always a good read.

Fellow MINI Driver
Monkey Boy. This very cute but tragically married guy keeps a great blog. He likes a lot of the same things that I do and he's great to talk to. I like his style.

...and finally...
Witt and Wisdom. I was hooked when I read "My Penis May Be A Terrorist" and have loved it ever since. Funny on the left, touching on the right. Always, always great writing. SOMEONE please give this guy a book deal!

In other news...
My Keeping Chris Casual plan is working out well these days. I've been spending a lot of time with my hip group of young co-workers and also spent a little quality time this week with another one of my good friends. I do still think about Chris a lot though...not in some puppy-love kind of a middle-school crush way but just missing having him around. I miss his friendship. His companionship. He's just a great guy to have around. He's a wonderful friend. It's Wednesday though and I will get to spend some time with him tonight. It's crazy chilly outside so it will be a bundle-up night at The Cafe...but sub-zero temperatures couldn't keep me away!

I'm moving into my new rental house this weekend and can't wait!! It's been so long coming and I am definitely ready. The Smut Hut will soon be swingin'!!

I'm turning more and more people on to my new relationship model. I've found, however, that many more women are interested in it than men. I wonder why that is...? I always thought it was the male gender that is more afraid of long-term commitments. Who knows....still gathering data and doing research. Any volunteers out there? Please email me! Ha!

That's all for now. I think I might actually do some work this afternoon!

Yay for Wednesday!!

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Adam's Story

This is going to be a really long get comfortable and grab a snack.
The "Adam" mentioned in the title is NOT my friend Adam who is in Italy. This is another friend Adam that I had in high school. His last name is Lay, and so we called him Frito.
I LOVED Adam in high school. He was an outcast. He didn't hang out with a lot of people. He was incredibly intelligent but stayed quiet in class. He had this great orange-ish/reddish hair. He was different. And that is why I loved him. I made an effort to get to know him. I said hello to him every time I saw him. I saw the genius and wonder in him that went largely ignored by the more image-conscious jerks that were in my class. As you will see, Adam has quite a sick sense of humor. I knew it well and enjoyed it often. After graduation we emailed a few times back and forth and one time he sent me this story. I had a request for a pointless story in my blog today. This is the best pointless story I can ever remember reading it and couldn't even fathom topping it. So I went back in my old email, dug up this sordid tale, and decided to share it with you all. I hope you enjoy Adam's story as much as I did.

p.s. I went to lunch with my friend Sister today. We went to Subway in the Outlet Mall but had to stop by Rue 21 (clothing store) first so she could exchange a sweater she bought the other day. Cute panties were on sale for 99 cents a pair. I couldn't help myself and bought 3....

Now back to Adam's story:

Timmy and His Incoherent Love Story part 1 by: Adam Lay
Timmy had a problem, a big problem. The usual (and most of the unusual) forms of sexual intercourse didn't interest him. In the tenth grade Timmy wouldn't look twice at Big Boobed Betty, and so the straights beat the hell out of him for being a fag. Two months later the fags kicked his ass because he wouldn't look twice at Perfect Ten Larry. Three days later the zoophiliacs (who'd let him into their social group on probationary terms but forgot to tell him) subjected him to the discipline of the baseball bat after scrutinizing his My Little Pony action figures and Lassie comic books and not finding any traces of dried semen. A week after that the masochists slapped him (and themselves) around because the sick bastard didn't seem to be enjoying his beatings. Then the sadists gave all of them a quick once over because they got off on that sort of thing. Timmy had a problem, and it wasn't just perpetually losing fights.
Timmy recieved his sexual gratification from dead things. Many experts agree that getting off on corpses is just about the sickest thing a person could do--if you don't count trees or styrofoam packing peanuts. Timmy didn't care, because he knew that nothing could ever give it up better than a corpse. And he could prove it too. He'd been sleeping with his dead cousin Jenny for years, and Jenny was the best (and only) lay he'd had since grade school.
It must be understood that screwing Jenny wasn't entirely his fault. Jenny had visited Timmy with her family during his eighth grade Christmas. She had a heart attack when a parasitic worm jumped out of her cranberry sauce, Jack Daniels bottle in hand, and cursing about joint DEA/INS operations. It could have happened to anybody. All of the credit cards had been maxed out on plane tickets and gifts, and the morticians wouldn't accept out-of-state checks, so Jenny had to stay in the attic until she could be disposed of properly in her own home town. On top of that, no means of public transportation would deliver untreated dead matter, and so she ending up staying with Timmy's family indefinitely. Throw in the fact that both of Jenny's parents had notoriously short attention spans and it's easy to see how Timmy could wind up with the body of a teenage girl wrapped up in plastic trash bags lying exactly seven feet, three inches above his bed. And who the hell would ever pass up the chance to enjoy some form of sexual congress with a reasonably attractive member of the opposite gender that probably wouldn't mind in the least? Certainly not Timmy. Thus Jenny ended up hiding on a cart under his bed, ready to be rolled out whenever Timmy needed her.
But if Jenny wasn't entirely his fault, then Petunia certainly was. By the time Timmy had hit his sophmore year poor Jenny was in tatters. Timmy had done a half-assed job of preserving her, and as a result she spent most of her time hanging from a bed post in an old gym bag. Petunia had died in a car accident late in October, and Timmy was one of her 875 closest friends allowed to skip school to pay their respects. Truth be told, Timmy had never even heard of her, but that really didn't bother him--hell, he'd even managed to work up a couple of tears at the funeral. However, he wasn't crying over the untimely loss of life, he was sad because he needed three more bucks to buy a new shovel. Fortune soon smiled upon him, and Petunia was a pemanent fixture between Timmy's sheets before she'd even grown cold. Timmy loved Petunia even more than he had ever loved Jenny. She was embalmed, so he didn't have to fight off the cockroaches and flies nearly so often as he did with Jenny. Petunia's mouth had been permanently fixed into a smile, and she even had another one where an ashtray lodged itself in her throat a ninety-eight miles-an-hour. But perhaps the most important reason was the difference in Jenny and Petunia's breast sizes. Petunia's parents had retained the services of the most renowned (and expensive) morticians in the three surrounding counties, and they had gotten results. Petunia's had been a little bigger than average before a flying chunk of solid steel safety cage removed a good three-quarters of volume, but after the people at the funeral home got their hands on her, they were positively enormous. The morticians had used an exotic mixture of chemicals that were guaranteed to retain a firm, yet bouncy character until the year 3003. Jenny's had collapsed two months in.
Petunia was everything Timmy had ever wanted in a woman, at least until he realized what he wanted. Petunia had been a rather stupid girl in life, and in death she fared no better. In fact, the conversations with her after a good six-hour marathon were some of the most dull he'd ever experienced. Things between the couple became so bad that Timmy used a glue gun to put Jenny more or less back together again, and they secretly made love under the pale light of the moon--when Petunia was asleep. And that was the way things went, for a year and a day, when Timmy Senior discovered him in the throes of passion with what little was left of his cousin. To make matters worse, the commotion woke up Petunia and her suspicions were finally confirmed. Her heart was broken into more pieces than even the impact of a rogue fender could produce.
To make a long story short, Jenny was buried beneath a rosebush, Petunia was returned to the cemetary, and Timmy went to the Cedar River facility. Timmy Senior wanted his son to be lobotomized, but he was afraid the boy might try to have sex with the distended section of brain. Instead, declared Timmy Senior, it would be electrock and enemas daily until Timmy was cured. Timmy did not want to be cured because though he might be the best lay a corpse could ever hope for, he figured he'd do a lousy job with anything slightly animated. The man who plugged in the electroshock didn't give a rat's ass, it had been years since his wife had let him even attempt to do a lousy job with her. Every time he heard Timmy boast of how quickly he could make a dead girl smile he'd turn the machine up a couple of notches. And that was the way things went for Timmy, until he met Sarah.
Timmy met her after he'd just recieved one those real class-A roto-rooter enemas, and the first thing she told him was that she was dead. Flat-lined, stone-cold, dead as a doornail. Sarah used to be one of those girls with lots of emotional baggage, and one day she decided to do something about it. So she slit her wrists, multiple times, intraveinously injected two teaspoons of air, and swallowed a handful of nifty yellow sleeping pills to boot. She said that the ambulance must have mixed up some paperwork, because she ended up at the Cedar River facility instead of the Cedar Springs graveyard. Timmy hung onto her every word; he was totally entranced by her. Sarah was by far the most interesting dead person he'd ever met, and he hadn't even had sex with her yet.
The pair was inseparable. If Timmy went to take some more electroshock therapy, then Sarah would stick her big toe in an unguarded electrical outlet just to sympathize with him. If she was wheeled into a two hour self-worth seminar, then he'd sit through fifteen minutes of PBS children's programming. If she hid Prozac, Prilosec, and General WellNess under her tongue until she could safely spit them out into a potted plant, then he'd hide his Haldol too--at least until it dissolved in his cheek. If Timmy got a class-A roto-rooter enema, then she'd try not laugh at him. And eventually, when Timmy wanted to get physical with a lump of dead organic matter, then she'd lie still while he worked his magic. It was as close to perfect as Timmy felt he could ever get. Hell, it was better than perfect, until Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer came and ruined everything.
Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer was a disgusting pig of a man. His tanned, clean-shaven, well-built exterior totally mirrored the intelligent, sensitive brain within. He was married to Mrs. Hoffbringer, who seemed to become more beautiful everyday. He made love to his wife three times a week, sometimes more, and always gave her at least one spectacular hour, if not the usual two. Neither had ever cheated on the other, regardless of whatever opportunities there might have been. The couple had two children, a boy and a girl, and they excelled in sports and in their schoolwork. They were both popular in school, but had never, ever smoked, drank, or experimented with drugs. Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer drove a really nice sedan, and his wife, Mrs. Hoffbringer, drove a really nice sport/utility vehicle. The whole lot of them lived in a large two-story house with an immaculate lawn and every friday they ordered pizza and watched nice movies together. He paid for his cable television, but mostly read news magazines and financial reports. The family PC was virtually free of Internet pornography and violent games. The liquor cabinet had a dusty sheen of neglect and the bathroom cabinets held no anti-depressants. They even had a dog...a nice, clean one that wasn't too large--nor to small...that was house broken, could play fetch, got the newspaper every day, and didn't bark wasn't named Shep.
Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer was a disgusting pig of a man. Everyone secretely hated him. Everybody hates perfect people--especially happy perfect people. The Cedar River facility's administrator hated him because his wife really did look better at thirty-six than at twenty-six. The girl who gave the class-B toilet-plunger enemas hated him because men were more willing to watch his ass walk by than hers. The head nurse hated him because he never wanted to go screw in the broom closet--even before word went 'round about her battles with the clap. The night watchman hated him because his (the night watchman's) wife would call out "Oh, Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer!" in her sleep. The patients hated him because he was supposed to be the target they were shooting for. Timmy hated him because of the horrible, impure things he did with Sarah.
For starters, he spent ten minutes a day convincing her she was going to walk again, oblivious to the fact that corpses, no matter how lively, can't move about on their own. He also stuck her in one of those CAT scan thingies once or twice a week, and Timmy was always afraid that Little Special Timmy might fall off or mutate into a horrible old lady during the long nights after those procedures. But most importantly, above all the other wrongs, was the thing that woke Timmy up a night bathed in cold sweat. The sin that he would never forgive, not in his lifetime--not in ten lifetimes... ...Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer was a quack. An ablsolutely, totally incompetent disgrace that the Cedar River victims had to put up with day in and day out. Ask anyone their opinion of a man who walks around around all day hitting other grown men in the knee with a little rubber hammer. Or man who wanders, smiling no less, freely about the Depression Ward asking the inmates how they feel. Or a man, who claims to have several degrees in various sciences, that doesn't undertand the fundamentals of ritualized, mass artiodactyli suicide. It won't be too high.
Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer believed that Sarah was alive, which was bad enough on its own. But he also had the gaul to intend to keep her that way--which was tantamount to murder. Timmy was disgusted, enraged, and troubled. If Sarah was actually a living, breathing being, and God forbid she was, then Timmy had been doing the sickest, most perverted things imaginable since two weeks after he'd met her. If Sarah was actually a living, breathing being, Timmy mused, then the base for his entire sexuality was most decidely defunct. If Sarah was actually a living, breathing being, and please let her not be, then Timmy had...then Timmy had... ...well Timmy spent hours one day washing and cleaning and disinfecting Little Special Timmy--living things have diseases, you know.
For weeks and weeks Timmy did not know what to do. He was torn between his love for Sarah, and the suspicion she was alive. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he shuffled from the electroshock room to the enema room and back again. The bland songs playing on the PA even made sense to him. He was far more confused than the man who believed Pandas are really nifty animals. Pandas come from China, and there is more than one type of panda. Everybody knows about the big white-and-black kind--which are pretty spiffy in their own right. Red pandas look more like raccoons than bears, and are raccoon-sized rather than bear-sized. Red pandas are colored red, as their name implies, and probably eat bamboo just like their larger counterparts. Bamboo is stronger than concrete and grows faster than weeds, making it an ideal building material for third-world countries. Bamboo is not particularly nutritious, so pandas have to eat lots and lots of it to stay alive. that he was really just an insignificant character in some awful necrophilia story that had an essay (and a bad one at that) about panda bears halfway through one of the few sentences that made up his entire existence. Doctors called him a really sick fuck behind his back. The author probably had nightmares about this character exacting some horrible form of revenge every night he writes about him. The character probably thinks it serves the author right. Damn, that really killed the flow of the story. Well anyway, Timmy was confused. Screw you if you need another metaphor. It's hard enough trying to get back on track.
To be fair, Sarah didn't really think Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer was too terribly hot either. Then again Sarah didn't really think anyone was too terribly hot. Sarah didn't think much of anything; Sarah was dead. Everytime one of those recovering junkies or alcoholics or self-mutilators said her life was worth living she just rolled her eyes. Sarah knew the truth; she was as a dead as a door nail. That's why she sort of liked Timmy, sort of. Timmy knew she was dead, and that's why he loved her in his sick little way. In life she might have objected to Timmy dumping her out of her wheelchair onto his bed every time he wanted a little action. But she felt that putting up a struggle was unbecoming of a corpse. Thus Timmy was able to have way with her, and so was Doctor Melvin P. Hoffbringer. She would have told Timmy how she felt, but dead people can't speak.
Then one day day Timmy got an idea. He'd been sitting around, watching The Brave Little Toaster, and just when the radio finished talking about wiener dogs it hit him: build a cold fusion reactor out of duct tape and Sprite cans; use the energy created to flood a DARPA super-laser with massive amounts of power; direct the beam towards the sun; and, sixteen minutes later, watch the universe fall into a wormhole generated by the resulting matter/antimatter reaction and out of existence. Quickly realizing that destroying the universe would ultimately be detrimental to any of the other goals in his five-year-plan, not to mention undermining his recycling efforts, he dropped the idea. Negating all existence is really, really difficult anyway; MacGuyver probably couldn't even pull it off. So it was on to plan B, escape.
Escaping, though easier than annhilating everything imaginable, was no simple task. Timmy tried filing the bars on his window for weeks before concluding that vienna sausages can't do a damn thing to metal. Then he tried flushing himself down the toilet, but the staff pulled him out and shot him up with tranquilizers. You can imagine how stupid Timmy felt when he discovered that all he had to do was walk out of the back door. There was even a wheelchair ramp so he could bring Sarah along too. And they were out, and they were free.
The sun was on their backs (Timmy's anyway) as they went up the driveway, down the street, and away from the Cedar River facility. A half-mile away from the Cedar River facility was the Cedar Lake zoo. Timmy and Sarah stopped by to watch the cheetahs (which are known to accelerate faster than many sports cars when running down gazelles) walk lazily toward the bleeding cow chunks the staff had thrown at them. At the end of the street, past the Cedar Streams deli and the Cedar Falls authentic Japanese garden, were the Cedar Bog housing projects. Timmy and Sarah hurried past them as fast as they could. Beyond them was the Cedar Springs graveyard. When the pair arrived TImmy sat down, his head hurt and his ass was sore. A two mile walk after a year and a day of electrock and enema therapy can do that to you. Besides, doing crazy shit for almost two thousand words can get pretty tiresome. Right about now the now the confused Baby panda bears, after they get their spots, are really cute. man started sending subliminal to author (the one that no one else believes in) to get on with it and stop bitching. After all, the author was stupid enough to start the whole thing off, and, by god, he's gonna finish it.
The couple decided that Cedar Springs ought to be their home, mostly because one of them was dead and thought she should live in a graveyard like a normal deceased human being. Rather than go through the trouble of building a house or digging a hole, Timmy opted to commandeer a mausoleum. But as his life-partner was not any old corpse, not any old mausoleum would do. It had to be as perfect as she was. After hours of searching Timmy found one, and it was everything Sarah had ever wanted in an eternal resting place. First Timmy had to relocate the original inhabitants to the slightly more frugal facilities of a dilapidated dumpster. Then, after giving the place a quick once-over with a dust mop, the two little lovebirds had a home of their own.
Timmy, being a traditional male, decided that starting a family was the next logical step. Before they had children, the pair agreed, they must be in a state of fiscal independence and stability, for they knew that a child born with the burden of financial need was worth much less than one born without. After all, it's common knowledge that a joint operation by the CIA and NSA injects all welfare-family babies with a virus that alters the infant's DNA; the infant will then create proteins that will eventually destroy the individual's ability to resist television; and eventually the person will be rendered impotent and sedentary through massive doses of CRT radiation--but not until after spawning another generation of welfare recipients, creating an ugly, disgusting "demonstration" of what a global communist economy would do to humanity. Not willing to subject his offspring to any half-baked conspiracy (especially one written in a run-on sentence), Timmy began looking for work, and eventually landed a part-time job at the Sizzler. Now completely prepared to handle the cost of a child, or children should the good lord be generous, the couple was ready. Niether wanted their child to be some kind of flipper baby, they paid a visit to the local planned parenthood center.
When the lady at the Cedar Pond Planned Parenthood Place saw some weirdo rolling around a dilapidated young woman, who claimed to be dead, asking for directions on the best possible manner to concieve offspring that would not bear the complications normally associated with a deceased carrier, she was more than a little disturbed. Those right-wing right-to-life bastards had gone to far. She threw a handful of pamphlets and prophylactics and Flinstone's RU-486 Chewables at them and ran away. The lady was later spotted working for a left-wing terrorist organization dedicated to the systematic eradication of conservative activists--mostly through the post-natal abortion of aging white male fetuses, especially the ones that cut financial aid programs.
Planned parenthood being no help, Timmy and Sarah went to the library to read up on the subject. Unfortunately the library had been closed for years and was scheduled to be demolished so that a Wal-Mart Supercenter could be built on the piles of rubble and book ashes. The substandard security systems (more accurately "NO TRESSPASSING" stickers) did little to hamper the pair's entrance, and they were soon knee deep in literature devoted solely to procreation. The general consensus of many texts indicated that in order for reproduction to be possible, the man must inject his sperm into the birth canal, and his little guys would do the rest. Timmy was rather happy with that discovery; after all, he'd been doing that for ages. Hell, he'd shot her up twice that morning, and once after lunch. Further reading, however, suggested rather firmly that both partners must be living human beings, and not only that, but the female must be alive for at least six months after conception before modern science could take over. Neither spoke the entire trip home.
If Timmy was sad about the whole thing, then Sarah was totally destroyed. She was so depressed she wouldn't even let Timmy touch her, which is quite a feat for someone without a pulse. Things between them were so bad that Timmy even caught himself eyeing shovels in hardware stores. There's no telling what would have happened if Jurassic Park hadn't come along to give them hope. Timmy figured that if they could clone 65 million-year-old man-eating lizards from 65 million-year-old mosquito entrails, then certainly they manage to get Sarah to squeeze out a couple of puppies. The confused Which is not to say that baby pandas without spots are ugly. They look like little white balls, and resemble samoyed puppies or baby polar bears. They do not, however, look anything like male elephant seals. Male elephant seals are ugly and mean. Male elephant seals have tusks. Pandas also bear no apparent resemblence to early twentieth century communist propoganda. man often wonders whether or not the plot is actually going somewhere, and will usually wind up thinking (rather pessimistically) that there probably isn't a plot and the author is just making the whole thing up as he goes along, building an enourmously bad and long story about necropheliacs--who really aren't all that funny in the first place. If the plot does have a direction, he concludes, then that direction must be flying towards the ground straighter than a MIRV and faster than a 747 with faulty welding and a sea gull in an engine. For that little diversion his left leg was lost when a '72 Buick Skylark happened out of nowhere and drove right into him, snapping the leg right off, and forcing him to move about in a squeaky wheelchair. But the man held his ground anyway, firmly lifting his arms into the sky, and flipped the author the bird. And then, for no apparent reason, his penis began to wither into a tiny, useless little lump of flesh.
To make matters worse, Alcoholic Nematode Sal burst in to save the day. He said that he'd been running from an angry mob of the animated dead, and was looking for a place to hide. He and the Fat Little Hippo hid behind a mausoleum and heard mysterious "squish-squish" sounds coming from within. Always willing to ruin someone else's good time, he crashed in on Timmy and Sarah celebrating their new found hope in a rather personal manner. The Fat Little Hippo, ever ready to dump his depression onto others, explained their dire situation to the couple. They'd been drinking excessively in a bar geared toward biker surf-nazi lesbians, and Alcoholic Nematode Sal decided he wanted a dyke to shove her boot--foot and all--up his ass in the nearest available cemetery. When she had finished squirting K-Y jelly on her right Doctor Marten, the Fat Little Hippo informed the girl about his dire medical condition. She ran away. Alcoholic Nematode Sal, who had no legs and was too drunk to walk anyway, started after her and slipped on the slimy trail of lubricant that dripped from the girl's patented airwave sole. He sailed down that jelly like it was a Crocodile Mile set a downward angle of eighty-eight degrees, zipping by the tombstones faster than any other bad metaphor could possibly describe. He zipped by so fast that he quickly ran out of K-Y jelly upon which to zip and went flying into the air, over the lesbian's head, through a mausoleum's wall, and into the dilapidated (but fairly animated) corpse of Sarah.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Panties and Confidence

Okay. I REALIZE that I've already blogged once today and another blog is absolutely not needed; but sometimes it's Monday, I don't feel like working, and blogging seems a much more logical choice on how to spend the afternoon. And so I bring you a blog that has been a long time in the making. It's gone thru many manifestations of the same central theme. Today, however, the oven timer dinged signaling a finished and cooked-thru blog and so I'm serving it up hot and fresh. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Panties and Confidence

Some of you may know this about me and some of you may not, but I am an absolute sucker for cute panties. There's a little Outlet Mall just down the road from work, and at least 3 times a month you can find me there on the bargain tables buying entirely too many pairs of cute panties. I love panties with cute designs or sayings on them. Which, as is my custom, leads me to ask myself, "Why?"
Well you see, I am not a flasher. People rarely see my panties unless they're having sex with me, chronically go with me to the bathroom, or are there with me while I'm buying my cute panties (each of you in these categories KNOW who you ARE!) So what is it that leads me to spend more money on cute panties rather than buy the packages of cheap Hanes plain white undies? The answer, folks, is confidence. There's something great that happens to your spirit when you know you're wearing something great under your clothes. My personal favorite pair are navy blue with Rock Star written in silver on the front with stars on the butt. Sometimes I want to feel pretty and wear a frilly pair. Sometimes I want to feel sexy so I wear my T-back that actually has "Sexy" embroidered on the back. It's all just a matter of treating yourself to something that makes you feel great without calling yourself out in a crowd. It's something private and nice that I do for myself every day when I'm getting dressed.

Here's the thing that's really been cracking me up lately, though. With my current good mood, whimsical attitude, and mentally sound state I've kind of been growing my own confidence. I'm spending less and less time every morning picking out the perfect panties to make my day complete. This all culminated this morning when I woke up late and was in a mad rush to get ready for work. I looked at my underwear box*, said Screw it!, threw on my red dress with the white flowers, and headed out the door. That's right, my faithful blogreaders, I'm all about going commando today! It's a little silly to get all analytical over not wearing panties, but I am a silly individual from time to time so bear with me. What I've come up with is that, for me, this is the ultimate sign of confidence. While I have been drawing confidence from a pair of frilly underthings for months, I am confident enough with myself today that I can go without and still enjoy the same feeling. THAT in turn gives me even more confidence. :-D
Will I continue with this crazy habit? Who knows? My panties are awfully pretty! We'll see...

*Yes, my underwear are currently kept in a box. It's a little, ugly, cardboard box. Give me a break wouldja! - everything I have is stuffed in a tiny closet at my friend's house. THIS WEEKEND I will have a pretty dresser drawer to keep all of my pretty panties in. Until then, give me a frickin' break!

Whimsicality is a real word. And I thought it had a nice ring to it.
Lots of others did, too, you'll find if you Google it. There...see now you don't even have to. I did all the hard work for you.

I am feeling pretty whimsical today I thought I'd go for it with my blog.

There's a silly little feeling that's been stirred up inside of me today. I can't really put a specific finger on it but I have a feeling the closest thing I could come to it is whimsical. I'm giddily happy for no good reason other than things are going good. But they're not going TOO good... which is an awesome feeling. I am really happy with my life at the moment - a perfect balance between joys and trials. This feeling brings a lovely contentment that's both comfortable and exciting. I look forward to every passing minute because whatever comes, good or bad, will simply be life - my life - and therefore wonderful. I want to do everything, talk to everyone, and just experience the world without fear today. I am not afraid, nervous, or apprehensive.

If I can just hang on to this feeling, this happy mental state, good things will definitely be coming this week. I feel very a great karmic run coming...


Friday, December 10, 2004

Happy Place

What a happy place I'm in today. Some of my more notable emotional demons have been successfully exorcised and I'm feeling very mentally sound at the moment. I've come to a real revelation regarding my own personal definition of a "serious relationship". What has scared me in the recent past about relationships, and I think what scares a lot of people about them, is their reputation for being a first step. First you're in a "serious relationship". Then after a particular period of time you are expected to get "engaged". Then "married". Then we all know what happens from there, don't we folks - FOREVER.... Therefore the finality of the last step has seeped its way back into the first. Being the big trailblazer that I am, I have chosen to reverse that meaning seepage back and redefine for myself the meaning of "relationship".
What I crave from a relationship is the person-to-person dealing that comes from two people sharing a life together. There is an exciting mental dynamic that you can't get anywhere else than from having a significant other. That's what makes the other person "significant"! Sharing the happy times, arguing over dilemmas, and even fights can be rewarding and exciting when brought between two respectful adults. So this is what I want from someone else. I'm not looking for a first step to marraige. I'm not even completely out of the marraige that I'm currently tangled up in! I just spent four and a half years of my life wrapped up in an unhealthy and unhappy relationship. I want to know what a good relationship is like. BUT I don't want it to go too far.
So this is what I'm coveting today - a serious, short-term relationship. I want someone that isn't going to hate me if I ditch them in a month or two and still want to remain friends. I want something like a month-to-month lease on an apartment. I want someone to commit themselves fully to me, as I will to them, but still understand that sometime in the not-to-distant future I want to turn it back and be on my own again.
This great back and forth debate that has gone on in my head for well over a month has finally been compromised and decided. "I want a relationship" and "I don't want to get married yet" have come together to form this new aspiration. to the task of finding someone else who's progressive enough to want this too... revelation, new dilemma....le sigh.... :-p

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Double-Fun Wednesday's Wednesday and it's going to be a great day. I'll have my usual Cafe trip tonight - but before that I'm doing Happy Hour with some other folks that I work with. Good friends, good times! My Daily Love horoscope says:
"It's a great time to start new flings. If there's nobody on your radar right now, stretch your wings and find some new place to check out the hotties. "
So maybe tonight I can find someone new and lovely to spend a little time with. There's one guy who is going who I've never really considered as a potential "interest" but I'm starting to look at him differently these days. I think there's a really cool guy somewhere hiding underneath his uptight and slightly geekish exterior. We'll see where it goes - I'll let you know tomorrow!
I am not going to have time to stop home so I brought clothes to change into after work with all of my packing for a usual Wednesday night sleeping over. The biggest problem - I couldn't decide WHAT to wear so I brought a few different possibilities. I'm going to sit around here all day and wonder what to wear tonight. I brought the following:
Shirts -
  • a small, pink Go Go's concert tee from their UK Tour in 1981 with ripped, asymmetrical seams. Pros - damn trendy and cute. Cons - a little small and tight and could be chilly
  • A black Smashing Pumpkins concert t-shirt. Pros - loose, comfy, and classic. Cons - could be more casual than I'm going for
  • a nice linen sleeveless shirt that dips down in the front showing a little clevage (yeah baby!). Pros - balanced between sexy and comfy. Cons - maybe a little too tame

Pants -

  • a pair of grey khaki long capris. Look great with my black belt.
  • jeans, that dark classic blue denim - also look great with my belt

Pretty much any shirt/pant combination would be acceptable so this is my big dilemma for the day. Anybody got any ideas?

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Doing the Right Thing

Well, even after my liberating post yesterday I sort of spiraled down into a dark pit of thought. I started thinking about Chris...a lot. I allowed myself one last afternoon and evening of obsession over what we could have but don't. What I want but can't have. What is right in front of my face, but just out of reach. I blurted out a tangled mess of feelings at him that I don't think he really knew what to do with. I went and comiserated with my dear friend, and soon roommate, Carmilla. I really let myself wander into the deep choppy water.

I've gotten past that today, however. I woke up this morning knowing that last night was my final pathetic hurrah. I decided I would do the RIGHT THING. I made the decision to move on with my "Keeping Chris Casual" plan. While tomorrow is Wednesday and I will be going to the Cafe, I've already got plans for the weekend with another one of my "good" friends. I'm letting that tiny but powerful voice of reason in my head speak to my heart and motivate it out of the rut that it's in. I am alleviating the mental funk. I will work through this.... :-D

Now, just a little update on the housing situation, since I did mention Carmilla. In LESS THAN TWO WEEKS I will be in my house. I am SO excited. I can't wait!! Carmilla is going to rock as a roommate. I think that we will compliment each other well in a cohabitatating relationship. We're good friends and will enjoy the camraderie associated with being roommates, but I think we both realize the need for "alone" time and will respect that for one another. We're both pretty tolerant and communicate well - I don't see us flying off the handle over some little petty roomie problem. We are going to have a New Years Eve party - so we'll have to get some settling in quickly - but I'm sure we'll pull it off grandly. I'M SO EXCITED!! Can't wait...

Here's to turning over a new leaf...mentally and physically.


Monday, December 06, 2004


What a wonderful weekend. Chris and I took a little mini-vacation to Houston. Spent the weekend in a hotel near the museum district and walked around to a few museums on Saturday. We went out to The Cafe Saturday night. We swam in the hotel pool. Spending such a large uninterrupted block of time with him was a lot of fun - and also quite informative....

He's been completely humanized. Spending that much time with anyone is bound to drag him down from Mount Olympus and make him seem more real. There was no major revelation, no smoking gun to his descent - just a gradual realization - he's no longer the "perfect man" that I thought he was - he's just Chris.

This is great for me because I am no longer hanging around all day with the perfect man dangling just out of my reach. My thoughts aren't constantly taken up trying to wrap my mind around such a perfect being. I think I'm more able to just sit around, relax, and be his friend. What happens past that is just the future - one which I can't control, and don't want to.

There were a few close calls over our weekend. There were times when my heart got away from me and I fell hard and fast. I had to stop, clear my head, pick myself up and start again. I had to remind myself of the reality of the situation. I'm getting better though...much better.

I was sitting this morning listening to a CD by a sweet little red-head from Austin named Ginger Mackenzie. She does a great cover of Joni Mitchell's "Help Me". I listened to the song, remembered the words, and thought it was so funny I hadn't thought of them before. They're so fitting for my life at the I'm going to cheeseball it up and post the lyrics.

Still reeling from one of the greatest weekends ever...

Joni Mitchell

Help me
I think I'm falling
In love again
When I get that crazy feeling,
I know I'm in trouble again
I'm in trouble
'Cause you're a rambler and a gambler
And a sweet-talking-ladies man
And you love your lovin'
But not like you love your freedom
Help me
I think I'm falling
In love too fast
It's got me hoping for the future
And worrying about the past
'Cause I've seen some hot hot blazes
Come down to smoke and ash
We love our lovin'
But not like we love our freedom
Didn't it feel good
We were sitting there talking
Or lying there not talking
Didn't it feel good
You dance with the lady
With the hole in her stocking
Didn't it feel good
Didn't it feel good
Help me
I think I'm falling
In love with you
Are you going to let me go there by myself
That's such a lonely thing to do
Both of us flirting around
Flirting and flirting
Hurting too
We love our lovin'
But not like we love our freedom

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