Wednesday, August 29, 2007


Sometimes I am just so disappointed.

I want to believe as a rule that human beings recognize occasions and rise to them.

Today makes me sad because we have the anniversary of an occasion to which we all rose, like 9/11, like the bombing in Oklahoma, like the Indonesian Tsunami, like so many things that are thrown at our feet by a constant barrage of sound bytes, and news clips perpetuated constantly through all the forms of media that are literally at our finger tips. The thing is it seems that we often subscribe to interest in these tragedies until the next one comes along. It is like our humanitarianism has a short attention span. Like we have no follow up, no accountability to each other, no depth of interest in anything beyond ourselves.

On a smaller scale, it seems like we are not really involved with or aware of the inner workings of the lives of those we hold near and dear. No matter how long you know someone or how "close" you are, or how much time you spend together, it seems no one can really know anyone. Because we all view the world through the prism of our own experiences, we view everything, including each other, uniquely. It seems like the more I hope to find "like minded individuals" the more isolated I feel. It seems to me often that my world view is so utterly warped from the alleged norm that I feel like I do not have anybody to talk to, not even the people who love me.

I have a lot of expectations of other people, but nothing less than the expectations I have of myself in relation to other people. I expect when I directly tell people who purport to care for me about something they do, or do not do, that is hurtful to me, that they will stop or start doing it posthaste. It really pisses me off when the people who I feel like are my support system are the ones about whom I need to be supported. So, I am disgruntled, with no hope of becoming gruntled soon. Some things, no matter how trivial, are important to me, and I am mad that my peeps dropped the ball.

Meanwhile, back to the aftermath of Katrina, people in Mississippi and Louisiana still are homeless, penniless, and hopeless. That is pretty fucked up here in the richest country in the world, with the best infrastructure in the world, and the best military in the world, dontcha think? Do what you can, even if all you can do is pray, do it. Do something, anything; buy an extra can of food for your local homeless shelter, clean out your closet, volunteer somewhere. Just do it. Take responsibility for your fellow humans and stick to your commitment damn it.

Friday, August 24, 2007

Everybody Poops

This morning once again, I am up at O’dark thirty. I cannot find the elusive Unisom anywhere. I think maybe it is one of those drugs the pharmacy holds now, you know like the Sudafed. Perhaps there is some sort of street drug one can fabricate using the Unisom as well. As I sat on the edge of my bathtub shaving my legs, yes shaving my legs, let it not be said that I do not use my time wisely, I realized something. It occurred to me that I woke up today at 4:20 AM, as I have every day for weeks, no matter when I fell asleep. Being a great believer not only in divine intervention, but that you also subconsciously know the solution to all your problems, I am thinking maybe I am supposed to become a pothead.

I have also observed many other things as I have enjoyed my most recent bout of insomnia. First of all, I realize that over the past few months I have really scaled back on my contributions to my cable company’s bottom line by canceling my $9,827,236 per month cable modem internet service, and progressively decreasing my channel selection down to the dreaded "family" package. It was just taking up too much of my time to surf through thousands of channels all day while simultaneously looking at porn and trying to bring up my church bulletin on the internet. Now I have plenty of time to do funky stuff like sleep, alas, I am not sleeping. While I realize that I now have only approximately 100 television channels, I am mystified as to why nearly all of them play the dreaded "paid programming" all night long. Perhaps everyone has been reduced to the depths of sorrow known as "family"cable and the cable company really needs to drum up revenue.

In my opinion, the Dual Cleanse guy really looks like the kind of person I would think would be into poop. Who dresses these infomercial people anyway? I must say though, I am a purist, I think the SoloFlex guy was way hotter than the AbRail guy. Having decided I no longer need to put the Dolan family through college, I of course do not have Showtime, and will not be watching one of my vintage era hotties, David Duchovny, in Californication. I sure do like going retro and watching those old X-Files episodes though. According to my unscientific television research the world is full of STD ridden, fat ass, acne prone, stupid young women with no shirt on lovin', classic rock fans. I am totally going to break down and buy that Singers and Songwriters series one night.

I am going to go back to bed, Angel is on. Before I go; America, please keep your legs and mouths, and other various orifices closed for Christ’s sake! I am sick of the herpasyphilaids treatment commercials you sluts.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Elusive Sheep

For awhile now, I have been profoundly tired and unable to sleep. I fall asleep for a short while, just enough to take the edge off the sheer exhaustion. Then I cannot sleep anymore. I am too old for this shit. I want to sleep at night, all night, like normal people. Over the weekend I saw some of my close friends and got along loving lecture about not worrying about other people, and who gives a shit if you hate work, we still love ya.

But I am still tired. Right now I feel like the money to make the rest of the repairs to my house is unattainable, and I will be stuck living in this decrepit dump forever. Sometimes I wish I had been shallow and gotten married, then I could at least hove some alimony coming in. But my parents always said; if you marry for money you earn every penny.

I am simultaneously worried about my sisters, and sick of them being such colossal fuck-ups. I have given them all the advice I have to give. I am not a bank and this is not a hotel. They are what I call penguins, ya know, they just stand there making a lot of noise and flapping their wings and going nowhere. Somehow I have to figure out a way not to give a shit.

Being tired is hard for me. It amplifies the worst of my personality, and squelches the best. I want to smack the shit out of people most of the time. They all drive too slow, talk to slow, talk to loud, breathe, and otherwise hinder my progress through life. It sucks. I lay in bed at night and ask God to please help me fucking sleep so I can think. Me and God are tight, he knows I have a potty mouth, but I mean well.

I have tried a few things; tonight I am trying Unisom. If it does not work I am going to have to break down and go to the doctor and get some real drugs. I might slap a few people who need it first though.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Geezer Pervs

Seriously, what is the deal with pervy old farts? Do I have "talk dirty to me you salacious old fuck" tattooed on my forehead or what?

I have long history, some of which my friends misguidedly find funny, with dirty old men bothering me. It has not changed any as I have aged; the pervs have just gotten older.

One of my most creepy experiences was when I went to see Silence of the Lambs with some friends. I’m sitting in the very crowded movie theatre, minding my own business, trying not to be too much of a wimp, as I am not a scary movie person. An older man, like grandpa age, comes and sits next to me, and I think nothing of it until I realize he has thrown his coat over both our laps, is trying to "touch" me, and get my hand into his lap. I aggressively crossed my legs, threw his coat on the floor, elbowed him in the ribs, and stage whispered to my friend "this creepy old dude is trying to touch me!" My friend's husband laughed, I wanted to punch him too. Several people around us were horrified, and the old dude picked up his coat, and high tailed it up the aisle and out of there at a surprising rate of speed for such a geriatric case.

My apartment where I lived the whole time after I left home was really cute, and I liked it there. Across the driveway lived a little old man and a little old lady. They seemed nice enough. The lady used to make me laugh telling me stories about her kids and grand kids. We were friendly with each other; it was a friendly neighborhood in general. One time the lady got excited to answer the door when her grandchildren came to visit, she hurried too fast, slid on the welcome mat, and shattered her elbow on the door frame. She was in the hospital and rehab for quite some time. While she was away, I, and several other neighbors, helped the little old man with stuff he never had to do before, like work the stove, and washing machine. A couple years later, the little old man had a very serious car accident. He did not brake in time as he approached an intersection where the light had just turned red. He had to be cut out of his car by the firemen. This was between Christmas and New Year’s one year.

He was upset because they had just bought the car that fall, and they cut off the coat he had gotten for Christmas. What really pissed him off, was lying on the ground in his "undershorts" in the snow while they stabilized him to go to the hospital. Anyway, all along the little old man would tell me I was pretty, or sexy, or looked nice, or my boyfriend was lucky, or tell my boyfriend he was lucky, etcetera, blah, blah, blah. I thought nothing of it, as I am pretty, and my boyfriend was lucky. The two biggest flirts in the free world raised me, so I thought nothing of considering such compliments as merely passingly friendly, and wholeheartedly innocuous. One night, in the midst of my parents’ illnesses, I made myself some cappellini with butter and fresh grated Romano cheese. Real food from a pot, not a box, alone, at a table, with no one to take care of, and nothing to do but chew. As I sat there at my kitchen table, in front of my beautiful thirty two divided light picture window, I noticed a flash of light and looked up to see my neighbor across the driveway in his kitchen, all the lights blazing, buck naked, masturbating like he was getting paid for it, and staring dead at me. I spit out the food I had in my mouth, closed the blinds, which I did not open again until they moved a year later, and checked all the locks on the doors and windows. I called the police. They said I could have him arrested. I felt sorry for him. I thought he must have lost a few too many marbles or something, so I did not have him arrested. Then I later found out he had been making a habit of doing similar things for years. Too bad the neighbors never mentioned THAT at the block watch meetings, huh?

So, recently, I am sitting on the beach thinking maybe I will go to Vegas because it is probably cooler there. In the midst of the freakish heat wave, I like many people am taking every opportunity for hydrating. I am enjoying a nice watermelon flavored shaved ice, and thumbing through a stack of magazines I drag around in my car. I swear I am minding my own business when I little old dude, soon to be revealed as a big fat pervo, comes and sits at the picnic table with me. He starts talking about the weather, blah, blah, blah. I am politely uh huhing as I read my old Vanity Fairs, and my parents’ AARP magazine that is still coming. They have a really good crossword puzzle, by the way. As I am flipping through a magazine, the geezer dude notices something that catches his eye. He goes; "ooh naked people," "I like naked people pictures." I showed him; nope it is not naked people, just a make-up ad. He then goes on and on about naked people. I tell him that I would think people should not talk about naked people in front of kids, of which a whole gaggle was sitting all around us. He STILL did not shut up, until I pointed out you can get arrested for exposing kids to such conversation.

Seriously, what the fuck!?

Friday, August 17, 2007

My New Camera Phone Works Too!

Life is good.

I can indeed sit on the beach with my computer, a nice cool overpriced coffee based drink at my side, and watch the waves, and sailboats, and people, and the coming weather on the horizon over the top of my laptop screen while I write.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Access Denied

Crapsaplenty! Man, I was all set to embark on my new and improved frugal life of taking mooching to new heights, when I went to Starbucks today. Apparently, the Internet access is freely available, not free. What kinda freaking scam is that? Geez, you’d think for $50.00 a cup for the coffee, there would be some perks. Ha, ha, perks, get it? Hee, hee, hee.

So apparently, I am going to be spending a lot of time at the library. This sucks because I cannot slurp back overpriced caffeine laden beverages there. Also, people who mumble to themselves and laugh out loud like I do tend to be asked to adjourn to the homeless shelter across the street. So I will have to be uncharacteristically quiet. I also hate the bathrooms there. They are pretty low rent. And they have this vague smell, like they got too wet, and never dried out, plus, the aforementioned mumbling laughers like to bathe in there. Finally, all the chairs hurt my butt. Seriously, would it be so tough to get some ergonomic seating? What the fuck are they doing with the exorbitant taxes I pay in this town anyway?

Since I am complaining about how the town spends my tax dollars, I want to take a moment to say we seriously need an upgrade with the firemen and policemen. They all look like freaking Barney Fife. We need some hotties in these uniforms. It is not like we have any real crime or carnage. Would it kill them to get some camera ready personnel in the civil services of the city, huh, would it? Also, I am 5’4" and I find it very difficult to have any faith in a man who I can take in a fight, gun or no. I thought there was some kind of height requirement. Talk about lowering standards. Lower, get it, huh, huh.

I know a couple other places where I can use free Internet. I am bummed because all the wifi I could access from the comfort and privacy of my couch is secured, so I need to be creative. Tomorrow, I am going to go to the beach, and see if maybe some of the rich bastards who live there have an unsecured network I can use surreptitiously. Either way it will make me look busy as I chat up the hard bodies who wind surf at dawn before slogging off to Wall Street. I love summer.

Sunday, August 12, 2007


After much dissatisfaction with my cable modem, and being chained to my desk in my house, I have dumped the cable company and taken a step into the current millennium.

I bought a laptop, and with the help of some very nice computer geek little boys at the computer store, and every place I have tried using it, I have figured out how to use it, and get on line with it. I am paranoid about logging on to my bank and stuff. I understand what filtered and unfiltered mean, but I am still not sure exactly what secured and unsecured mean. I have been told secured means I need a password to access the wifi network, but I am afraid it means everybody can see my porn, hypothetically speaking

I am excited to be mobile with my computing. While I allege not to actually like people I do enjoy being around them, if nothing else, than to observe them in their natural habitat to reinforce my sense of smug superiority. As I am now simultaneously looking for a new job, and trying to write more, this is a good thing for me. It will get me out of the house and get the stink off me. So, I hope to be sharing my ramblings with the great eternal Internet more often now that I have figured out how to do it.

Speaking of the Internet, I have gotten some pretty strange hits from key word searches. I had no idea so many people had issues with tighty whiteys, shitty birthdays, and fucked up co-workers, and even more screwy relatives. I hope you enjoy my warped worldview, and that you grow to love the compound-complex sentences rife with alliteration, or at least have fun reading.

TTFN, I’m off to be Tiggerific offline for the rest of the day.