Soul Mate

The phrase soul mate gets tossed around constantly. It's in every trashy book I read with vigor, and every B romantic comedy. I have found my soul mate, and I don't even feel cheesy in saying so.

My soul mate is wonderful bringing me both a sense of comfort and a salty tang. It's tomato goodness coats everything bringing me unimaginable joy. My dear ketchup, the most important of all condiments, I shall never forsake you.

Sure, we have fights like all soul mates, but we forgive and move on. I've all ready forgiven my love for covering me head to toe in the middle of a restaurant. I shouldn't have shaken you so vigorously, I was wrong. It's just a shame that innocent bystanders also had to rinse you out of their hair. It's ok because we forgive. I didn't need that shirt or my new jacket, it's not your fault some careless fool took you for granted and didn't screw your top on the way you like. My clothes, our table, and all the people near by have already forgiven you... for we will be reaching for you again as soon as the next basket of fries arrives.

"Those who forget the pasta are condemned to reheat it." -- Author Unknown

Creative Waste of Time

I'm not an artiest, I've accepted that about myself. Yet here I am with my shiny new graphic pen trying to create silly things for Whirled. Whirled is a game that's still in beta testing for Three Rings. Well it really isn't a game but rather an environment where games can be played to earn money to use to buy other things to spruce up your little section. Anyone can upload content to the catalog for sale and eventually cash out for real money.

I think the whole thing just gives me an excuse to try to teach myself Flash and create some goodies. I know I won't actually make anything off it, but it's a nice way to waste a few hours. Once you find a decent group of people, it can be rather fun in there.

How silly is it you ask? Well I spent a good amount of time making a cucumber wearing a snorkel that will dance. How many people can say that... or would want to? Dance cucumber dance!

"Music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance." -- Ezra Pound

Here we go again....

I'm a glutton for punishment... I'm amazed I'm going to even attempt the blog thing again. Putting thoughts to paper for others to read just allows them to discover that you weren't kidding when you told them of your insanity. To make matters worse, I've come up with the monumentally stupid idea to centralize my past posts from previous blogs (I'll time stamp them so they end up in the correct order before this post chronologically). This probably explains the entirely ridiculous title for this blog. We'll see if that actually happens once my lazy procrastination genes kick in.

Why now? I think a good part of it is that I am visiting my parents and bored outta my mind. Me bored only leads to bad things. So I inexplicably made a Facebook page (If you want that whole interactive friend web experience or want to contact me) which eventually made me want to Google folks from my past. I really wouldn't recommend this unless you're trying to kick yourself in the rear and remind yourself of past hurts or regrets. So once again I think it would be nice to blog and establish some kinda social network outside of my normal one. Part of me is scared to death that this means others will Google me and I'll have some explanations to make regarding my internet absence.... oh goodie.

I realize I sound unhappy. Here's the thing, I'm not. Perhaps that's why I am setting myself up....

"Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life." -- Sophia Loren

Giant Gap in Time....

As you can see there is quite the gap in time. I needed some time to get things figured out and make a life for myself that made me wake up every morning thankful rather than regretful. Eventually I'll get the nerve to contact those who were hurt by me falling off the face of the Earth... I'm just too chicken shit to do it yet.

Below you'll find a good number of old posts. I did you the favor of removing any silly quiz responses or really pitiful depressing posts.

I saw Angelina Jolie at the grocery store.

I did, really. I was attempting to find a ripe cantaloupe, which as you all know is virtually impossible to detect. But that doesn’t stop me from thumping and smelling alla them. I heard someplace that you could roll it down the frozen food aisle and if it rolls to the left then it’s ripe. Don’t worry I didn’t test the theory. I tried it with a watermelon once and ended up downing a display of bran cereal. The box boy looked at me like I was evil incarnate. Of course at the time I wasn’t intending to roll it down the aisle but my hands were slippery and those suckers are sometimes heavier than they look.

Anyway, back to Angelina.... There she was moving into another aisle. So what did I do? I can’t believe you can even think to ask such a question. I followed her of course. Any lesbian worth a salt would follow either Angelina or Emma Thompson. It’s an unwritten rule; it’s in the lesbian manifesto for crying out loud. So I threw down the cantaloupe... I’d have to go back to my fruit fondling another time... and took off after her.

As I was arguing with my cart to get it to cooperate, I had to wonder what I would do when I finally caught up to her. I couldn’t just tackle her could I? Well I probably could but my friends get cranky when they have to bail me outta jail. Here’s where you start to wonder if someone is better than you in some way just because they are famous or have more money. Why was I stalking her through the grocery store? Sure she’s attractive, but that’s always meant very little to me. Suddenly I decided that I needed to be more cool about the whole thing.

-Step 1 of faking coolness: Stop trying a cool walk. If you don’t already have one, you certainly aren’t going to develop one the instant you need it. You end up looking like a wounded geriatric goblin.

-Step 2 of faking coolness: Try to make sure you voice doesn’t go supersonic. You can’t look cool when the only thing coming out of your mouth sounds like a strangled bird. This leads into what you should say. Remember simple is better. Don’t begin expounding on crap you don’t know. With your luck the person you’re trying to impress is the world’s foremost expert on the subject. Go for the easy things like, “hello”.

-Step 3 of faking coolness: Body language is important. If you shake their hand, remember to return it. Try not to do things like fan yourself with your hand while you’re breaking rule two. Give them some space. You don’t want to forever be remembered as the nutjob that speaks with their head inches from another’s.

-Step 4 of faking coolness: This is the most important thing.... do NOT act like I did.

So with alla my coolness in mind I rounded the corner.... and smashed dead on into her cart. Of course the sudden stop sent me careening across the aisle where I got very close and personal with a can of peas. So I tried to scramble up to my feet, but it’s difficult to do that while catching falling canned foods. That and there was the added problem that my coordination had gone south for the winter.

I then look up ready to say hello to Angelina and add one more thing to my super geeky autograph collection. There was only one problem. This wasn’t Angelina!! In fact the woman didn’t even look like her. In fact the person wasn’t even a woman! What the hell is wrong with my brain? How the hell do you salvage your dignity... you can’t say, “Oh sorry sir, I thought you were a rather overly skinny though beautiful woman...” Nope that wouldn’t work. So I said the first thing that came to mind... “Oh sorry sir, I just really needed those veggies for a stew...” And then I got the hell outta there.

So really I guess you can never see some things coming. You can try to look cool, or worry what others are going to say. But I’m starting to realize that worrying about it just takes too much of my energy... especially considering that even if I worry, I still cannot control most things. That and I learned that Angelina Jolie is actually a man... with a fondness for prunes and creamed corn.

“Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.” -- Oscar Wilde

Spandex and rubber

Wouldn’t it be great to be a superhero? These are the kinds of things I think about when nursing a sever caffeine deficiency and my harmless insanity. I would just like to know what it would be like to be the hero coming to the rescue. I don’t mean one that’s established like Wonder Woman, I mean if that *you* were a superhero. Whatever your greatest strengths are would be your superhero powers.

Let me give you an example: I would be Captain Cynicism. I’d wear vintage T-shirts with smartass sayings, loose jeans, and steel toed boots. If asked why I wasn’t wearing spandex or a ridiculously short skirt; you’d receive a lengthily diatribe about how that’s just another way to make women fall short of meeting society’s impossible expectations while holding them back as if they were nothing more than a mere sexual object. I would have a procrastination ray gun that I’d use to incapacitate would be criminals by making them continuously put off making plans to rule the world in favor of a bag of chips and the TV remote. I could blind them with my horrible dancing of doom, or bring them to their knees with my super screech like singing. I could confuse them with my losing laser that would hide their keys and make them unable to find the bank they were going to rob. If all else fails, I could tempt them with my cooking that would bring death faster than Poison Ivy’s kiss. Look out evil doers, Captain Cynicism is on duty.

These ludicrous thoughts were running through my mind as I waited on the side of the road with a flat tire. More people than I care to think about refused to stop. Now me being a liberated woman, I know *how* to change a tire. My problem was the Hulk couldn’t have moved the tire lock. My cell phone was so helpfully out of juice, and most people didn’t even look at the girl on the side of the road twice. This gave me all the time in the world as I contemplated who to call collect. Oh, did I mention that I had no change seeing as though I used it for gas, and my wallet was probably under my bed where it does me the most good?

So, just as I was about to head to the nearest convenience store, that wasn’t so convenient as it was about a mile away, a car stopped. An older man in a three piece suit stepped out of the car. He walked over to where I was. I was overjoyed, here was my help. However he said nothing to me, dumped out his old coffee from a travel mug on the side of the road, and got back in his car. Are you kidding me? I was starting to wonder if I was invisible, or perhaps he didn’t notice me standing not 50 feet from him, next to a car that had its hazard lights on. Stranger things have happened. Though, these thoughts didn’t stop me from cursing him as he drove off. Clearly those lessons in etiquette that my mother gave me were tossed right out the window sometime near puberty.

Just as I was about to cry, yes frustration can do that to a girl, a minivan stopped. A frazzled mother of two got out of the drivers seat and walked towards me. She had a stain on her shirt and looked like she hadn’t slept in the last decade. I could understand why judging by the wail I heard from young lungs in her van. She offered me a smile, her cell phone, and even a pop. Then she offered to wait with me until help arrived. She clearly wasn’t having the best day herself, yet she stopped to help me improve mine. Today, this harried mother with wild hair and exhaustion in her eyes was my hero.

Yes, today a woman was my hero and she didn’t even need any superpowers. She just needed kindness and the ability to think of someone else. Of all the people that could have stopped, she probably had the most reason not to. She probably would have been better off with a nap or getting her kids to the babysitter faster, but she chose to stop. She made a choice to use her compassion to help another in the real world. What kind of superhero would you be?

“Nurture your mind with great thoughts; to believe in the heroic makes heroes.” -- Benjamin Disraeli

Mutterings

I wish sometimes I remembered how to ask. Somewhere along the line I must have forgotten how to say the words I needed to. Just because you know what you want doesn’t necessarily mean that you will even ask for it.

I want you to tell me a story, your story. A story that makes me understand a side of you I have never seen. But I don’t know how to ask. I want you to tell me that the world isn’t a cold place and I will always be warm walking along side of you. But I haven’t the words. I want you to say that the dark shadow that haunts my nightmares can’t harm me while you are around. That seeing him wouldn’t send me reeling into memories best forgotten. But the words never come. I want to ask you to give me your friendship as well as your shoulder, to let me burden you with my chaotic thoughts. But I haven’t the heart to ask. I want to ask you to wipe away my memory and regret. To glue the broken pieces back together seamlessly. But I wouldn’t know where to begin. I even want to ask you to laugh with me, to enjoy my moments of joy. But I’ve forgotten how to speak.

Where would I start? It’s been so long since I bothered to ask anyone for anything. Someone asked me whose shoulder I had to cry on. The thing is I know those people are there. They are waving their arms at me as if they were tying to land a chopper. I know who “you” is. “You” is everyone I care about, who I know haven’t forgotten what it is to open themselves up to another. But I don’t remember how to ask. It isn’t that I need them right now or that I am falling apart. I just want to remember how. To ask is to open up a part of yourself, a part that I closed long ago in an effort to move on.

There’s no need to comment here, these are just my random mutterings. All I need is some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a good book. That and to appreciate that I do have those people there... regardless of if I ask or not.

“I'm just trying to look at something without blinking.” -- Toni Morrison