Home Time... Good Girls Win

01/07/2005

Just started listening to the new Handsome Boy Modeling School joint-- pretty good shit.
The thing is that nobody knows themselves. Every day we go through, we're all just guessing. We live every movie we've ever seen, and the world has gone crazy. Like some kind of surreal Crayola crayon box.

I look at who my president is; I look at what purports to be Democracy; I think to myself that these things can't be real. When M says... "It's all going to be privatized; schools, prisons, everything owned by a corporation; it'd be just like all the futuristic movies..." and I'm sure that it will and everything they say is simultaneously true and false like a wacky truth or dare escapade...

These are the days I live in. And this is the history of the moment. Sometimes I wonder if I ever have a child (but this is a vague and extremely distant vision) if that child will look back at my eras the way I look to my mothers: the fifties, where ambiguous memories are best; the sixties, where everything changed rapidly and with/out reason; the seventies, where she found her truths and followed through; the eighties, where everything lifelike rioted again; the nineties, dealing with the four to ten of us... the 00's, building houses...

I got no time to get to where I don't need to be... Oh, please, just let me just break down.. I need this, oh dream, to break down...let me please break down...

M says it's good for Jack Johnson to break out of the mainstream. So far on the first listen through I'm all for good ole Handsome Boy Modeling School.

I should probably go. I'm clacking away on a friend's computer. We moved; we live below M & L now. Our best friends are our neighbors. We all have keys. It's actually a pretty good deal; so far.

Maybe one of these days I'll post something in regards to fiction that I write... whatever. I'm being asked what I'm doing. That's never a good sign.


Peace out...

One Day At A Time- Screw That

I hate taking it one day at a time.

I hate that one person can fuck everything up.

I hate it that I'm not a violent or malicious person but I wish violence and malevolence on an individual, or rather, a pack of stinking wolves.

It just isn't fair.

This has been my call phrase for god-only-knows-how-long and a running joke in my family. I always want everything to be fair... my father wants me to become a lawyer because of this. But you know, I work with a bunch of lawyers and I'm pretty cool with not being one. The money isn't worth it. It's barely worth it for me to even be thier silly little secretary.

Regardless, soldiering on is required. The crazy one will never go away. Someone will always believe her lies. I feel like this is inevitable-- and people are the constant variable-- no one ever knows.

Got the new Shins album today and Handsome Boy Modeling School. Who doesn't love baroque rock and the greats Dan the Automator & Prince Paaaaaaaaaaaul ?

Not that it matters.

When I'm really depressed I buy new music.

Guess this finally got to me.

And I can't even really say what this is. Limiting my words-- man, that crazy girl really knows how to stick it to ya. Seriously. Oh... lord. I should just work on a story, not on this blog. I should just be not thinking about it, detatching myself, eliminating the emotional elements. But it's hard not to feel personally attacked. It's hard not to feel curtailed and hated. It's hard not to want to grab the nearest sharp object and puncture tires.

But One Day At A Time. These things can take months. Years, even.

Jesus.

Old Thoughts. New Blog

Old thoughts. New Blog.

First, there was angelfire... The Reflection .

Then, there was diaryland... Monkeybeth Rambles...

And of course, who can forget runboard? Eak The Monkey ...

And now... we have blogger.com. Lovely.

I've been posting random thoughts on the internet since 1995 (I think. It may have been '96).

Indulging yourself on county time is great. Fantastic. Thanks to all you taxpayers for allowing my narcissitic mispellings and all that shy-it... Not that I'm the one taxpayers should be concerned about. They should be freaking out about these other county employees who forget to put slips in for sick time and disappear for three to five hour lunches and have movie breaks in the library and all that shit. They should be more concerned about the ones who come in at ten and leave at four.

That'd be a nice work day... but, comma, no comma.

I'm in the no comma crowd. All the losers described above... well... sorry TP's but they be in the comma department.

So I'm not that bad. I don't even take full hour lunches...

We moved this weekend and I am exhausted. Who ever knew that hardwood floors would make such a difference in the temperature of my apartment!?! Freezing all the time. Sleeping in long sleeve t-shirts. Not so sexy as see-through tank tops and panties. But I guess we can't all be sexy all the time.

Today is Futon Day. Our flea-infested, seventies patterned, springs-all-sprung, tiny itsy bitsy teeny weeny loveseat is no more! How exciting for those of us who despise fleas. Get off my fucking cats, you little bastards, squish, crack, no more flea. We cleaned out our apartment and the loveseat was the last thing to go. We hauled it out and set it in front of the house with a Free sign; some poor sucker bastard picked it up within forty five minutes.

Hope s/he doesn't mind the fleas.

Put an old vaccuum out there, too, and within moments it was gone. Damn people didn't take the eight bags of clothes, though. Woulda saved me a trip to the goodwill.

Too bad for the tsunami victims that no where is accepting clothing donations... they coulda been pimped out in gap and gucci.

I lied about that gucci part.

I don't even own any gucci shit. Unless you count OK computer where Thom York says gucci little piggies... but I don't think that even counts. Not even that. But I do love the gap, despite an ardent protestation of them in my teenage years. I'd cross streets to avoid even being on the same side as a gap. I'd yell at innocent cheerleaders. Now that I'm working, Gap is handy-- one pair of pants in thirty different colors... sounds great!

Montel Williams smokes pot.

Right on for him. Way to be a leader, Montel


I should get back to work. Enough unoriginality for today.

Peace, yo.