i like hardcore porn.
it both shows me that i’m not too extreme and gives me new ideas
i close the door when i use the bathroom.
i live alone.
why do i do that?
It is ALL about Chocolate flavored Soy milk in my coffee. I’m just sayin.
November 27, 2005
Back to the grind
I wrote recently that I was afraid my dog Stella was plotting to kill me, but facts have been uncovered that have proven otherwise, mainly, that my dog Stella is afraid of everything. The other night, my neighbor was doing something on the back steps making noises after Stella and I had crawled into bed. I’m not complaining about the noises, but I had to laugh at Stella’s reaction to them. She barked, once, stood up and faced the origin of the noises, and did nothing. After a few minutes of her whining, I crawled out of bed and walked thru the apartment turning on lights, Stella steps behind me, showing her that there was nothing in the apartment. Once this little tour was completed, we crawled back into bed and fell asleep.
Therefore I am no longer fearful that my beloved Stella is plotting to kill me.
In other news, Sam , sent me CD’s of his music. The man is a very talented DJ and I’m looking forward to dropping in to see him the next time I’m in San Francisco. I also have not taken them out of my player since they showed up on my steps Wednesday afternoon.
In even more news, I met with my blog daddy Scott for our second anniversary shopping excursion to the outlet malls of northwestern Indiana. We shopped, we talked, and we froze our asses off. It’s always a pleasure to see him. Oh, and he shared something with me but I’m not tellin.
It seems that I’m a slow learner. There is a lesson that I’ve failed to learn on a regular basis ever since I was in kindergarten. My mother had baked cookies for me to take into class on a special day, I don’t remember which. She carefully placed the cookies into a foil-lined shoebox with the instructions that there were only enough cookies for each child in the class to have ONE cookie. At the appropriate time, I reclaimed the box of cookies from my cubicle and started to pass them out to the other kids. In my excitement, I forgot about my mother’s instructions and started giving out 2 cookies to each kid, which caused me to quickly run out of cookies. Panicking, I tried in vain to re-distribute the cookies to those that didn’t get them before.
I tend to do the same thing with my time, trying, often in vain, to share my time with as many people as possible in an unrealistic time-frame. This thanksgiving, I overscheduled myself and had a difficult choice to make. Did I learn? I sure hope so.
November 22, 2005
Surprising things about me.
Earlier today I fixed my favorite meal. Its not really a meal in the common sense of the word, but the minute I sat down to the hot steaming bowl, I was instantly transported back to a time in my youth that forever holds a special place for me. My family has always had strange dietary tastes, from my sister’s fondness of pouring gobs of ketchup onto her cottage cheese to my brother’s love of Peanut butter and fluffernutter sandwiches. There is however, one dish that is unique to my family and that dish is Fried Macaroni.
My father, when I was a little kid, and actually still to this day, loves macaroni. He’ll often fix a pot of macaroni and pour a healthy amount of my mother’s homemade “hot sauce” over it, sprinkle a fair amount of pepper on it and sit down to watch his soap opera before he would shower and head off to work. (He’s now retired) My mother’s hot sauce is a wonderful spicy/sweet tomato(e) combination that explodes with flavor in your mouth. Again, truly unique to my family as I’ve never tasted anything like it in my years or my travels.
On special occasions, when my sister was in the mood (she did the bulk of the cooking for the family) we would get this special treat, which may sound less that tasty, but here goes.
Most of my family would use my mother’s hot sauce; I however, would use ketchup (Heinz only thank you very much).
Now I realize that this is a strange meal, but today, while I was eating it, I remembered what it was like in the house during summer vacations, when my dad would cook up a big batch of fried macaroni before heading to work. It truly represents to me what family is all about. We all grew up on one thing, and I would bet that every single one of my siblings still enjoys this dish once every so often. That time was one of wonder, before life’s changes separated my family and spread us across the country, with families and children of their own. I miss those days every so often. I miss the crazy things we used to do, the spit-wad wars throughout the house, the stories that shaped who we would become, the close-ness of the family. I guess you could say that I miss my family, how we used to be.
I’m thankful for the memories, the fond one and the less than fond ones. I’m thankful that I grew up with the people I grew up with. I’m thankful that the experiences we shared were what they were, leaving Eddie at the Grand Canyon, crossing the country on the back window ledge of the Mercury as we moved to NY from St. Charles, MO., with the St, Bernard stretched out across the laps of the other 4 on the back seat. My memories of those days are glossed over I’m sure. My memories do not match my siblings exactly but they’re my memories and nobody can take them away from me. Happy, sad, enlightening, frightening, angry, but mostly fun, carefree, happy times.
I’m realizing how full my life is and has always been.
November 16, 2005
paranoid much
I’m starting to think that my beloved Stella may be out to get me. I don’t have any hard facts to make a case only a general feeling I get from her. Things are starting to add up that make me worry about my wellbeing with her around me. The subtle things she does to endanger my life. Circling me while she is on her leash wrapping my legs with it until I almost fall is just one example of her treachery.
She gives me this look rather often since we’ve relocated to the new abode (really its quite lovely, everyone that visits leaves in awe of the space) like she is sizing up her competition. I envision her sprawled out on her corner of the bed, making those sleep induced barks as she chases me in her dreams. I see her legs twitching to match the barks and I just know that she is dreaming of the chase to the death of her master (me).
Oh sure she looks all sweet and innocent and full of needy love, but do not let her shtick fool you, my tens of readers. She is quietly plotting. Gathering information slowly (five years so far) that will help her against her adversary. One day soon, she will pounce. Maybe it will be the day that I only treat her with two Scooby Snacks™ instead of the usual three she prefers. Perhaps it will be the day that I switch her food to a brand she doesn’t care for. I don’t know what it will be that will make her snap, but I live in fear of that day.
When you visit, sleep with one eye open and watch yourself around her, you can see it in her eyes. She’s got that look of blood lust. I’ll play your game Stella, but just know that you cannot surprise me. I’m ever alert.
November 15, 2005
pondering quietly in the corner
Some questions that come to mind this morning.
Its times like this I’m thankful I don’t have a Television.
Is it even possible to live simply in this culture and still be a part of it? Do I need to strive for the biggest, fastest automobile available and the Vintage walk-up condo full-rehab in the best neighborhood? Why can’t I buy a simple little apartment in a clean neighborhood where my shit won’t get fucked up? Why does that simple dream cost me a minimum of $300,000 these days? How the fuck am I supposed to pull this off?
That last part is a plea to anyone wealthy enough that would like to sponsor a poor, talent-limited writer.
And lastly…
This is now twice that I’ve needed minor, very minor payouts from my insurance company to cover something that I had insured that they told me it is not covered and there is nothing they can do about it. Well, I’ve got a call into my agent this morning. We’ll see if I’ll be staying with Allstate much longer. The police officer suggested that State Farm would be much more proactive and helpful and that Allstate sucks. Yes, he used those words exactly.
Come to think of it, there are some good things about Chicago. When people tell you what they think, they don’t hold anything back.
That, my tens of readers is what is occupying my mind this morning. Good day to you all!
November 14, 2005
Learning to read all over again
How can you tell when you’ve become too self involved? Is it when you forget the birthday of every single person in your life, including your parents and best friends? Is it when you can’t remember the names or locations of your approx. 9 nieces and nephews?
For me personally, I think I realized that I’m just a tad too self-involved this weekend when my brother called to inform me of his upcoming Corrections Officer training camp that he was driving to Albany, NY to attend. He informed me at the start of the conversation that once again (yes, he used those words) I had forgotten my father’s birthday and that I should call. (Better late than never…) The reason I realized that I might be a tad bit too self involved was when I was more interested in the porn I was viewing on my computer as we talked.
Other things I’ve learned this week.
Read the labels BEFORE you purchase. Sure, I read the labels when I’m grabbing an item off the shelf, however it seems that the item I chose miraculously morphs into something different between the shelf and the check out stand. Since I am not aware of this morphing, it is often not until I get home that I realize the miracle that has taken place. For instance, I recently purchased several packages of new bright white t-shirts, since I realized that my old t-shirts were faded and rather dingy. Ok really dingy. I came home, opened the packages and dumped them into the hamper to be washed before wearing, as stated on the instructions on the packaging. It wasn’t until I was folding them at the Laundromat that I realized the 3 packages of t-shirts were all V-neck. I despise V-neck t-shirts, but since they were out of the packaging and had been laundered, what was I to do? I couldn’t take them back, because you cannot return underwear (or so I’ve always been led to believe.)
Another instance of this phenomenon happened when I purchased a package of new boxer briefs. (Again, the underwear thing). I was shopping at Costco and came across a stack of Champion brand(R) boxer brief in sport colors. I wanted to try them out as I’ve never tried Champion Brand(R) underwear. I carefully chose the package from the stack and tossed it into the cart. Upon my arrival to my new apartment, which is fabulous, thank you all for asking, I realized that the package I picked was sized XL. Now I’m a big boy, but I’ve always worn no larger than L.
I waited a week and a half to try on a pair for fear that they fit better. I’m wearing them now, and I’m not telling you if the do or don’t.
So read the packaging before you leave the store. It’ll save you weeks of wondering.