Green Eyed Boys

I have a predeliction for men with unusually colored eyes. Ah, yes, my latest crush, a columnist at the local newspaper with the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen. Naturally, he is married and I will never, ever, ever be his fair wife, but in the meantime I have successfully installed us (mentally speaking) into a beautiful Victorian home with two black labradors, both of whom are named Boomer. Hey, it works for me, not that anything else is, mind you.

Last night I went to a meditation group meeting where we watched a DVD entitled "Ten Things To Ask the Dali Lama" and it was actually extremely good and I enjoyed myself. Naturally, since I was hanging with a bunch of Buddihists no meat was allowed at the meal we enjoyed first, which kinda made me wonder where all the cats were. As you know, vegetarians are almost always cat lovers, and meat lovers like dogs. Or so it seems to me -- I myself love a nice juicy burger with a lot of cheese and onions melted on top, but then again, I am 5'10 and kinda on the athletic side. So, to make a long story short, I chatted with all the nice Buddhists, most of whom were considerably older than I, and the conversation was almost irritatingly safe. We discussed drinking raw vegetable juice (yes! you heard it here first! terribly enthralling!), Reiki treatments, the wonder of all the good vegetarian food (ahem), and in the meantime I mentally rearranged everyone into poses best left to a party in the 1970's after too much pot was ingested. Hey, I never said I wasn't deranged. I sat close to a couple who is very much into PDA, which personally I find rather disgusting, but I admit to a pang of jealousy when the woman sat behind her beloved and wrapped her arms around him. They stayed like that for the entire showing of the DVD, which after awhile struck me as both codependent and slightly spooky. In the meantime I sat next to a woman who looked like her idea of a good time was watching Sex in the City after drinking a glass of red wine.

Ah, yes, New Englanders! The most careful people on the planet. Especially middle-class Caucasians who are overly educated and so neurotic that every comment has to be mentally rehearsed, evidently. This is definitely the stick up your ass state, which means that you have to present your resume before people will deign to speak to you. How I miss the South, where people will talk to you simply because you exist. Yes, this contradicts my former comment about minimal education as I am no longer trashing them, but blogs are, of course, based sheerly on whim and mood. At least mine are, oh 2.6 alien readers. I assume only aliens read my blogs at this point. Who knows, on another planet I might have an insanely wonderful following! For all I know it's "lake of the long sun" day, every day! Ha! Ha!

Speaking of the Dali Lama (as I was a paragraph or so ago -- detour here and go backwards), he apparently believes there are "Sentient Beings" living on other planets. If there are, I bet they look just like him and vote Republican. Because the universe is just that scary. Carl Sagan, be damned! Just kidding. Just kidding.

So, I will retire now and fantasize wistfully about beautiful green-eyed men I will never know, not in a million years, oh no. Oh, the agony of it all. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!

I feel better now. God bless you.

The Thinning of the Soul's Membrane (curse of Tom C.)

It's been awhile since I blogged, much like it's been awhile since I had any semblance of stability, sanity, or found a really good deal at Target. But hey, that's OK. It is the election season, the skies are clearing, it is Lent, I actually voted in the primaries (easier than you can say, Jimminy Cricket) and everything else goes on and on and on until you want to scream or commit some kind of torrid sex crime. Of course, that's a joke, because I have never committed any kind of crime other than that one time in North Carolina when the mean southern cop pulled me over and immediately said, "Didn't you see me behind yew??" in tones that suggested I should be shot on sight. Ah, the South, land of maximum tempers and minimal education. Hey, you heard it here first.

So I'm in a mood. I actually have a PT job tutoring, a crush on somebody besides the blue-eyed doctor, and am #1 now (yah! I'm #1) on the list for a decent apartment, and #12 on another list. Ah, waiting, the fundamental activity of the poor. We wait, we wait, we count our blessings, we scream at night into our pillows, we wonder why, why, why over and over again until our skulls feel as though they are bleeding. Such is life, life, life.

Lately I am trying to figure out my life, and have come to the conclusion that in this hepped-up, thoroughly confusing, and basically addled age that ain't ever going to happen. I wonder why I let certain friendships go, why certain people don't seem to be good for me or if I could ever figure out whether or not they are, and why there is never anybody around when you need them to be. I wonder why my entire life is a long series of endless phone calls, or why it's also an endless series of tedious appointments that go nowhere. Much like cabinet meetings in George W. Bush's administration unless they've decided to bomb the shit out of some country just because A. they can and B. they're bored and C. won't this stick it to the taxpayers for the next century or so. Ah, our government, working for you.

So that's that. I really am the most amazingly wondrous creature, and once I am out of the homeless shelter where I currently live I will feel even better. Lately it's all stealing, and more stealing, and feeling accused when you know you didn't do anything because some people never leave and are always having their shit stolen and everything is endless dysfunction. It's enough to make anyone scream, particularly in this dripping confessional age where we let it all hang out and then some. Tennis, anyone? Or just a heaping helping of bad transitional living, as it's called? HA! More like hell in a Turkish prison without the delights, thanks very much (Turkish delights, that is).

So there you have it. I had to take a Klonpin (1/2 tab, my dear psychiatrist) in order to function because I have a terribly hard time sitting in restaurants of any kind (in this case Subway, land of phallic shaped sandwiches and an ordering time of approximately 15 minutes as workers labor to put endless condiments and other assorted goodies on a sandwich you could make in half the time in your very own kitchen, ah). Now I am here in the library, wishing to God something (and not me) would break. If only for my guitar, if only for my soul, if only for anything that matters any longer. It's all hell, hell, hell, hell, hell.

Ah. Now I feel better. Tennis, anyone? Rudolpho, are you there? I'll take tea in the sun room, thank you. And no shrimp, thank you, as I believe it was stolen. But not by me, people. Not by me. The only thing I want to steal is your SOUL (diabolical laughter insert here). Did I mention I'm crazy? But only in the best way, Tom Cruise!

Gibberish and other mental knickers in a knot

Hmm...if only I had one reader, I might not feel like I was writing into a giant existential void. Writing, music, and screaming at the top of my little lungs keeps me alive, as does large amounts of caffeine and a lot of inane sexual fantasies starring Julian McMahon. He's the Nip/Tuck doctor guy; at least I think he is. Whoever he is (whomever?), he's beautiful, and I bet I'm not the only woman to think lewd, wicked, beautifully vile things in his presence. Not that I've met him, mind you, but you never know. It could happen. So could a major apocalypse, but then again, I've been gearing up for that one for ages.

Life is terrible, terrible, terrible, and I am fucking TIRED, TIRED, TIRED. And yet I still sit here, writing like a madwoman. There is one universal law, and that is, humans continue to exist, even when they most feel like going insane and jumping off buildings. Of course, those two things have been known to happen, and god knows (literally), I've thought about it. God, that is, little "g" might make me end up in purgatory. Typing little "g", that is, which now is making me think of rappers, who all have odd names and like to wear sweatshirts with giant hoods and show voluptuous women shaking their asses into the camera. I don't get that kind of misogyny, but then again, who does? In fact, it makes me sad to think about it.

What else is there to say, as California burns, land that I love? I was born in SF, beautiful city, that. And now it's burning. It has not felt like fall for a very long time, we are overpopulated, overtechnologized, and the streets brim with those awful fast machines, cars. Cars rule the roost in America. I think mass transit will one day be the only way to go, b/c this traffic/air pollution/alleged greenhouse effect thing can't go on forever. Nor can George Clooney's alleged anorexia; does anyone in Hollyweird EAT??

I am tired. I wish you love. If my husband is out there, please write me, care of the insane asylum. Where are you, my dear?

Blessings.

Here's Mud in Yer Eye (nah, not really)

The latest communique from the outskirts of hell: I am back, all 0.3 readers, and I am BAD. No, I am merely confused, but what else is new? Most of us are, upon occasion, confused, and I am now living in a "transitional housing" program which means that I am surrounded by everyone from parolees to people with brain injuries. Triggering? You bet. Insane? Definitely. Will I survive? Who the hell knows, but I am definitely ready for a major apocalypse, if it happens.

I just emailed the former doctor that once I loved (blue eyed man, for those of you in the know), and will probably receive some sort of universal slap on the wrist for that, but that's OK. I mean, what else is new? Most of us have these unrequited crushes. I just want to feel like my life means more than fear, pain, and endless trauma, and if living in fantasy land helps provide it, so be it. It's the awareness of such that enables me to, hopefully, move on with my existence. And to find a real live man in this very state! I mean, it could happen, theoretically. An asteroid could also hit the earth tomorrow, but hey, whatever, man. If so, I'm ready.

Not much else to say at present, except I may start screaming and never stop. I may also need to start taking two instead of one tranquilizers a day to deal with this. A job will help -- I just finished up a temp job that provided some sorely needed income and help and I do tend to be feisty. I wouldn't be 35 years old and a survivor of everything from childhood sexual abuse to living on the street if I wasn't a tad feisty. And look, I'm even articulate! And thus we banish universal stereotypes.

Here's looking at you, kid.