revisionist history

sometimes, i go out and drink too much.
then, i check my cell phone to see whom i have called and texted, trying to piece the night back together in my cloudy little mind. this is all well and good until i realize…

i am a deleter.
i erase incriminating texts while i am in a bathroom stall at, let’s say, a bowling alley and realize that i should not text boys first and must get rid of the evidence that i am an idiot.

then, the next day while scrolling through the past eve's communications in a hungover haze, i live a blissful 3 minutes under the impression that he texted first, which makes me feel okay for engaging in the all night text fiesta.

it even begins to soften the fact that he’s 7 years younger.

then, i have a cloudy memory of the first text,
which was my text,
and realize,
much like the WASPS
i am trying to rewrite history.

well.
at least i am not spreading syphilis.

fatty fatty 2x4

no fat eatin in nashville, whore.

there.
another attempt at poetry.

vandyland this summer and the belle meade cafeteria this christmas.
i may finally be able to get into a size 2 pants.

addictidiot

so i quit drinking coffee yesterday.
new year. new start. beholden to nothing.

i mean, how hard can it be?
i only drink 6 cups every morning.

yesterday, i felt like i was walking around with a wet blanket on my head. i could do nothing. in fact, in target i could not even remember the word for detergent. i looked a my roommate and said, "you know that thing with the clothes and the washing."

so without coffee, i could not
a) find words in my brain
b) open my eyes past a "high as a kite" stage
c) work out
d) go "potty"

the last one turned the trick. i have no problem feeling, looking, and sounding like a dipshit, but "potty" is a necessary- 1 hour after i wake up event- that my world revolves around. it's the reason i leave a shack attack before we can spend the day together. i love it more than i love men.

needless to say, i am drinking a cup of coffee right now.
and i feel great.
don't worry mom- i'm cutting back to 3 cups a day.

by the way, there is an FAQ archive... amazing.

on this FAQ cite I learned all about coffee.

yom kippur and rosh hashanah rolled into one

blogs should be fun, educational, entertaining, or something other than a sap fest for the masses. therefore, i have been less able to write about my life lately. it's hard to be sarcastic when you are happy.
but i'm working on that.

here's my best at obfuscational entertainment.

happy new year.
and get ready for 12th night (january 5th)

i like this concept... jesus is born and it takes 12 days for folks to figure it all out. so we have a huge feast and give more presents 12 days after christmas. unfortunately, no one i know celebrates this holiday except for the grandmother who thinks i've ruined the family resume. freaking luck.

BUT, saturday is epiphany- a holiday that one can celebrate alone.
my favorite part of it is trying to figure out what was learned the previous year.
let's do a run through of some of the winners...

1976- sometimes sperm happens...
even if your mother doesn't want a second child

1981- summer camp in a 103 degree heat wave is crap..
army peanut butter and outdoor naps on ant hills?

1982- life is not fair...
eight year old girls can grow a moustache

1983- bovine growth hormone can be a wonderful thing...
having boobs in 3rd grade is cool

1988- bigger isn't always better...
going up a size every time you shop for clothes loses its joy around age 12

1990- snooping in other people's drawers is bad...
no one needs to find condoms in the drawer of a parent who can't procreate and should not have an STD

1992- chalk that shit up to practice...
in terms of love, sometimes what you think is the championship game turns out to be a little back yard game of touch

1994- pendulums swing...
having the biggest boobs in 3rd grade was not worth having the smallest in 12th grade

1997- accept things when they are free, even if electric shock is part of the deal...
i should have taken my mom up on the electrolysis she offered me in 3rd grade; laser hair removal is some pricey shit

1999- let them go before it it too late...
because when they come back, and they always do (with ceramic chickens of some sort) you are done with them, and it's too late to salvage anything other than a sense of bitchy independence.

2004- listen to your instincts...
perfect isn't perfect if it isn't your perfect

2005- the miracle of life is beautiful...
until you notice that a placenta resembles the sak purse your mom carries

2006- well, i learned some good lessons this year...

1. opposite actions do not have equal reactions...
it takes 4320 times longer to get a divorce than it takes to get married
(i did the math)

2. mick jagger is an f-ing genius...
when you try sometimes, you get what you need.

3. we love whom we love...
in the wake of stolen boyfriends, coveting thy neighbor's ass, fingernail polish on white satin, and miscommunication, the best fleetwood mac song can always remind you that unconditional love is ferocious.

julia childs vs. john carpenter

halloween candy is for losers.
especially candy corn.
and i am a loser.
with orange and yellow syrup dripping from my chin.

can we discuss my meals for halloween and all saints day?
because i know that what i eat is paramount to your survival.


Halloween:
almond joy bar
100,000 grand bar
multitudinous handfuls of candy corn
snickers bar
5 mini peppermint patti's
3 fireballs
4 diet dr. peppers
2 gobstoppers
bowl of all-bran with fruit
tangelo
10 french fries
6 packs of smarties
granola bar
2 spoonfuls peanut butter

at tennis Halloween night, i couldn't see the ball and missed at least 4 balls by a 2 foot margin.
nice

All Saint's Day: (when i pledged to not eat to make up for halloween)
1 pkg bottle caps
2 bags peanut m&m's
3 mini snickers
2 mini dark milky ways
1 mini peppermint patti
3/4 cup edamame
1/3 apple
some ham with mustard
8 spoofuls of peanut butter

and now i'm drinking a beer.
and i'm going to target to buy halloween candy on sale.
i covet the shape of pumpkins.

men are from mars

a friend and i were waxing philosophical today about how much being a grown up really sucks. like how you can't buy a pair of $380 boots without some husband looking at you like you want to starve his children (even if you don't have any yet). although i AM divorced, i can still muster some sympathetic, "i know"s and "aint that the truth"s in response to the right brain/left & brain saver/spender conflict that plagues most marriages.

mmmmmm...
spending good.

look.
sometimes a new pair of boots is just better than contributing to your 403b.
and sometimes eating ramen noodles for 6 days is worth it to have a pair of jeans that makes your ass look slammin on a saturday night
(although with the fat and carb content of ramen noodles, my ass looks more like ham than slam... the fatty ham in a can, but less well shaped).

point being.
sharing your life with someone else can be a bitch, somedays.

and growing up sucks.
being 30 is absolutely phenomenal in terms of telling my dad to kiss my ass when he tries to tell me EXACTLY how to chop the celery at thanksgiving, but outrageously frustrating in terms of looking at another human being as the ONLY human being i will ever share a checkbook with again.

i'm not sure that the philosophy of sharing made much of a lasting impression on me in kindergarten. i definitely got nap, mine, and the alphabet... but sharing.
no way jose.

and what's up with halloween sucking, the older we get. unless you are an "i dream of genie" (which by the way is the most tired way of getting away with wearing your panties in public), most don't get a costume.

i think three people got mine.
and yes- i somehow got a real lampshade over my ginormous boobs and down to my waist.
check it out

one thing

today, i lay in bed all day knowing that there was no other place that i should be.

oh happy day

today i saw little miss sunshine. i'm going to buy it when it comes out on dvd in lieu of looking for old family 8mm.

ummmm- who the fuck was following my family around in the 1980's.

because down to pushing the vw bus with a jacked clutch,
the obsession with philosophy,
a color blind brother whose dreams of pilothood crash and burn,
stark raving child beauty pageants,
and the suicidal sibling of a parent...
that was all me.
the only thing they didn't get right was the heroined grandfather...

mine just kicked the family poodle down the basement stairs.

octoberfest

I trace lines in a calendar’s geometry,
the ink in tandem with my desire.
So begins the month of anniversaries.

Somewhere in the black lines,
She reaches the end of her driveway,
Steps out of the car and is compelled to walk
Again through the storm door, past the dog
To turn the dial of the electric stove, again.
Making sure that what she is home will still be
When she returns. Another grasps the handle
Of a door with her ring finger and thumb,
Securing the brass smoothly within her prints, aware
Of things that i can't see. And a small click
In her chest allows her to breathe.
And he keeps the concrete floor wiped
And all things in the place that is their place
Lining up bottles on the counter,
Sentries that battle whatever is at war
With vitamin b, zinc, and the herb that requires we remember.

Decks of cards,
Pencils in drawers,
And sugar packets
I place in rows
Like sunflowers in a Missouri field,
Remembering the moment I knew it,
The hour I said it,
And the minute I did it.
Arranging April 18th, August 28th,
And the coldest night of October
In the home of a woman
Who carefully moves food around her plate.

rocky top

man, there's nothin like a stadium full of orangely-clad people and a vol thrashin' to put one out of her misery.

oh- add a few cocktails (cause they always help)
and peanuts (we've made up)
good times.
good times, man.

the irony of it all.
of course in a stadium of 60000 people, my ex-inlaws were 12 rows down by the only exit.
nice.

i gotta start volunteering at the mission.