fidelity

the room was blue. even thought the paint can had read rootbeer, laying in that bed, the room looked blue. maybe it was the august glare reflecting off the blue quilt. maybe it was a fraction of the prism in that morning sky.

no matter. it was blue. and she wanted him dead. not anytime soon, but in time for there to be more than this blue room, and these brown walls, and that damn squirrel on the fence.

Tennessee Code Annotated #2

Title 68.5

(1) The board shall establish criteria for determining the sentence when a person violates work place environmental conditions by speaking to colleagues while depositing waste in disposal areas. Entry order, grunt decibal readings, and cube-land proximity shall all be taken into consideration when determining sentence. The board shall also prepare a list of comminication methods that are hazardous in order to aid in determining the generators of hazardous waste in creating a safe lavaratory environment. However, such list shall not limit the regulatory authority over the board to whip somebody's ass if they create substances or conversations which meet established criteria for a hazardous waste area environmental violation.


(b) (1) The commissioner shall notify the register of institutional mango spray candidates in each stall in which a disposal facility or site is located and currently being used for depositing of hazardous waste. Such notice shall include the following:

1. Identification
2. Violation
3. Sentence

for example:

1. Identification: Richard R. Richarson
2. Violation: Inquiries into weekend activities while engaged in noxious waste disposal of a TCA#2 nature.
3. Sentence: Relegated to the library parking garage to dispose of waste with vagrants who will talk to anybody.

The general assembly declares that it is the policy of this state to ensure that no hazardous waste, as regulated under this title, is disposed of in conjunction with small talk. Therefore, subject to the appropriation of funds in the general appropriations act for such purposes, the department shall develop an inspection program for all permitted facilities that provides for frequent, thorough and regular inspections of the uninvited conversations in bathroom stalls. Further, subject to the appropriation of funds in the general appropriations act for such purposes, the department shall inspect meeting rooms, break areas and parking lots to prevent the introduction of hazardous conversation into any OFFICE SPACE.

license to ill

somebody call the short bus.
i need a ride.

now, this is not because i am that girl in the white jeep who plucks her eyebrows while travelling down the interstate in morning rush hour. nor, does it have anything to do with the fact that i have been known to drive my stick-shift SUV while drinking a yazoo pale ale, talking on my cell phone, and smoking a cigarette.

what is does relate to is the fact that i could not find my way out of a new year's eve vodka bottle if i pooped on myself in it. don't ask.

it took me 30 minutes this morning to get from my house in east nash to my cleaners on belmont boulevard. it should have taken 10. this had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with the fact that i am retarded.

please call riverdale elementary and chastise them relentlessly them for putting me in the gifted program. they gave me the impression that i am smart. i have spent subsequent years proving them wrong.

this morning, in my continuing effort of proof, i did, however, get an education. i learned that you can go back and forth under the interstate 3 times on your way from 5 points to belmont boulevard. as well, the homeless man at 4th and douglas is definitely related to the one at harding place and franklin road. and who knew nashville had a motor speedyway?

a freaking race track in the middle of town.

after passing the speedway, i lost all will to navigate and pluck my eyebrows. instead, i got my mascara out, continued my mating dance with blindness, and realized my dry cleaners was on 12th avenue and not belmont.

does the short bus have a drink holder?

cat vs. whale

some nights i drink cocktails.
and by cocktails, i mean cocktailssssssssssssss.

and some mornings i wake up with a cat in my eye.
and by cat in my eye, i mean some dried out, ass red eyeballs that scare people on the streets. no whites in my eyes. it's nasty. it hurts. and i am so dehydrated from the night before, i can't make tears to remedy this.

yes, i've tried drops.
they don't work.
yazoo pale ale gives me ferris bueller dry eyes.

on these mornings, i walk around the office and co-workers stop me in the hallway to ask me, "what is wrong with your eyes?" when i open my mouth to tell them, they know the answer before i speak. pale ale has some serious staying power. and because everyone knows that i'm hung over from the reek factor, i just wander around muttering. "there's a cat in my eye. i hate cats. fucking cats."

people think i'm crazy.
might be- pale ale is the only thing in my life with staying power.
i know my memory has none.

after 5 years of working downtown, i am well aware of the air vents that blow like whale holes on 7th avenue. i mean this is something i KNOW. countless hours of entertainment have come from watching tourists get accosted by these ginormous blow holes. i thought they were intrinsic to my world view of downtown.

so, i'm walking into work after getting out of my boss's car.
it's rush hour.
i'm wearing a skirt.
and no panties.
and it's not bikini season.
yup.
commuters got an eyeful of cat.

it made me laugh so hard, i peed.
all down my legs.
in the middle of church street.
i fucking hate cats.

a nervous tic motion of the head to the left

when most people find out i'm single, they look at me a little shocked.
i am reasonable to look at.
smarter than a box of rocks.
and sometimes funny.
by cultural definition, i should be getting laid.

most times, i tell people i am single because i haven't met anyone interesting enough. most people in the world are boring and watch too much tv.

or i say that i like to do what i like to do, and not many men like to read the new yorker, watch buffy the vampire slayer on DVD, and shop for antiques. well, not any straight men.

i play it off like it's my choice.
and it is.
my choice.
to be an idiot.

so, last night... i go to a favorite bar to see a band whose lead singer is grimey's boy. now, grimey's boy has been an inspiration of mine for a couple of years. i go and buy vinyl, and we talk music. when we do this, i am sober and not retarded. my heart beats like a fucking white stripes album, but i am cool, calculated, and appropriately hot when i go into grimey's. because i like this guy. he's interesting. and smart. and reasonable to look at.

broke that glass last night.
some of the highlights of and alternatives to our conversation..

"last night" me: you're not drunk? huh?(nose curls) why not?
"a world where i am not single" me: can i get you a drink?

"last night" me: so, those were all new songs, huh?
(nose still may have been curled)
"a world where i am not single" me: i really like your new stuff. when are you guys putting out your next album?

"last night" me: you know what's fucked up? you were hotter to me when you were just the guy who worked in a record store. when i found out that you were in a band you got less hot. is that weird?
"a world where i am not single" me: great shirt. i love the design.

"last night" me: thanks for the bees, uk. you know the album you recommended to me in april.
(what the fuck? it's october. i'm psycho, and he has a blank look)
"a world where i am not single" me: so what was the best new release this week? you've got such great taste in music.

i could go on and on.
i did last night.

why can't i just black out when I am loaded, like everybody else?
why do i have to remember this shit?
why didn't someone diagnose my ketel-one-tourette's when i was in college?

in the midst of all of these questions, there's one thing i do know.
why i'm single.

chillout tent

this morning, i am sitting on my couch in my kitchen.

the couch smells like pot and has for 4 years.
i bought it with returned wedding gifts.
sorry if you bought me the waffle iron.
that it smells like pot is absolute karma.
i shouldn't return presents that people give me.
especially when i have asked for them with the intention of returning them to buy something else.
it's deceitful.
and selfish.

luckily, i am divorced and aunt marie will never know that her waffle iron went straight back to goldsmiths, and she really bought me 9 square inches of a leather couch.
that smells like pot.

actually, marie may like that. she smoked a lot of pot in her day. it explains why she licks her fingers after she eats and before she shakes your hand.

an
e
way
the kitchen is full of all of the things that i had to move so that the carpet installers could do their job. i think they just broke a hole in the floor.

new carpet rocks.
i don't have to wear shower shoes inside my house any more.
yes, i did.

oh... another hole.
I bet my downstairs neighbors do not have a plaster ceiling any more.
but i have carpet which brings me one step closer to getting laid.

trust me.
it all makes sense.

hoobastank

how many farts does it take in a cube before the entire office reeks?
this feels like question for the tootsie pop owl.
wonder where that cat is these days.
he soooooo needed an eyebrow wax.

jesus loves me

so last night i trolled though blogger profiles in the nashville area while watching a movie alone. exactly the kind of behavior i like to ridicule.

anyways, if i had to guess, i would estimate that 29.9856% of nashville bloggers are blogging for christ. i had no idea that proselytizing had gone digital. what ever happened to putting on a tie and walking through neighborhoods on summer days? whatever happened to stopping on the edge of consummation to radically disappoint a lover? whatever happened to standing on a milk crate on the street corner?

one could also ask, what ever happened to looking for interesting people out in public, instead of on your computer?

touche. i'm going to drink coffee on a patio.