|
12.31.2003 you say you wanna resolution...I'm going to be hard-pressed to come up with some New Year's resolutions for 2004, because as you know, I'm already perfect. That, and I've embarked on several changes already. My philosophy is, either I'm ready to do something or I'm not, no sense waiting for a special day to get on with it. So I didn't. And lord knows I pretty much think everything needs changing, all the time. Thus, I stopped cavorting with dumb boys months ago, to stop feeling like a complete fool myself. I cut back on drinking, unless you count tea...I decided to start drinking a lot of tea for no discernable reason, other than I was cold one day, and had 5 boxes of tea in the cupboard from all the other times I decided to start drinking a lot of tea. I've been pretty successful at not doing things that make me miserable just because I think I "should" anymore, although I've yet to figure out how to stop going to work and still collect a paycheck. I started eating more produce, not because it's health-conscious, but because salad just sounds really, really good lately. I capriciously vowed to have Better Teeth in '04, an endeavor which involves an embarrassingly loud electric toothbrush and daily flossings. (It also means I actually did something on my little to-do list on the left. Hooray, me.) I backslid a bit on money management, but the iBook was totally worth it, I think, as I no longer want to jettison my computer across the room on a daily basis. I chopped off a bunch of my hair so I can grow it out and destroy it all over again. I haven't delivered a Donut Manifesto in months. I'm practically a god now, or maybe a saint. Something perfect and wonderful, anyway. In short, I'm slowly becoming a 12.29.2003 doggy styleThe other night I dreamt that I was going to marry Snoop Dogg, that loveable rapper, and the preparations and ceremony were to be broadcast on a reality TV show. I was a bit surprised to learn that I'd ever met the man, let alone had a forever kind of love with him, but I figured the show's producers and my subconscious wouldn't steer me astray, so I just went along with the proceedings. Though I should have been far more anxious about marrying a man I didn't even know I knew, what really concerned me was what kind of hairstyle Snoop was going to sport at the wedding, and whether I would be able to keep a straight face when he unveiled his 'do. Given Snoop's penchant for Shirley Temple curls, and the likelihood of him popping a cap in my ass for laughing at him, I think you can understand my trepedation. This, however, was really the least of my worries. It turned out that I was set to marry another man the same day, my "true" love, a brilliant young scientist with spikey blonde hair, endearingly obsessed with facts and theorums. Seems the real premise of this TV show was to see if I could pull off marrying 2 men on the same day, and how long I could live a life of blissful bigamy before it all unraveled. I knew The Scientist was wise to the plan, and would wait for me to work things out so we could be together exclusively. His love - though awkwardly and rarely expressed - was true. For all I knew, Snoop really loved me too, but I wasn't sure he knew what was up, or that I wouldn't stand for him smacking me around once he found out the truth. I have zero tolerance for domestic violence, you know, and moreover, I bruise like a peach. So I spent the rest of the dream trying to figure out if Snoop was hip to the show's premise and avoid getting beaten or killed, all while wearing a wedding dress, with a TV crew following me. But really, who hasn't had this dream? 12.17.2003 bye bye, loveTonight I successfully and quite unwittingly removed all traces of love from Tallulahville.....not from my life, but from my website. Seems one must be a little careful with Moveable Type's handy "Search Entries" feature. Blindly hitting ENTER doesn't just bring up all of your posts featuring the search string in question, it swiftly eradicates the pesky item from your entire site via the adjacent Replace feature. WHOOPS. Once I realized that my folly sent love packing, I had to embark on a long and laborious search to get it back. And man, isn't that just the way? I wonder if this was a Freudian slip. I've been in a temporary self-imposed Romantic Retirement to clear my head and heart, but in the back of my mind I worry I won't ever be able to come out of it. Like I'll forget how (I know, it's like riding a bike, and that's NOT what I meant, perv), or I'll stage a comeback and no one will care. Then again, I also eliminated "Google" from Tallulahville in the same manner, and Google's never hurt me, so maybe it doesn't mean a damn thing. 12.15.2003 and on an unrelated note...Happy Birthday to Todd, a fine fellow who made me want to be a better person. I can't say I was particularly successful in the endeavor, but at least the desire was there. Have a good one, Slick. gettin' a little personal, don't you think?So, they caught Saddam. 'Bout bloody time. While US soldiers were unearthing Hussain Saturday night, I was conducting an Internet search for my estranged father. Given that he goes to some lengths to keep his contact information private, has a fairly common name, and lives in a major US city, I was expecting the endeavor to be fruitless. But adding my stepmother's name to the search string, I was surprised to uncover first a news article quoting both, then fairly current photos of each of them. Even more surprising to me, I burst into tears the moment I made these discoveries. It was the first time I'd seen my father's face or his words in over 6 years. On one hand, there was relief in knowing he was still alive, and probably living in the same place. On the other hand, there was a sinking sadness in knowing that his life has gone on, without me. The rift between us started long before our last conversation, and the blame for that falls on both our shoulders; we were perhaps always far too alike to really get along. But with my father lies the prototype for a pattern that has dogged my entire adult life: he was the first man to be seemingly unwilling to do what it takes to sustain a relationship with me, to fight for me. When the going got tough between us, he just seemed to give up, and it broke my heart. Now, I'm not without male friends, and I've certainly been pursued in my time. Yet as much as men may like, love, or lust after me, they seem more than capable of living without me. The fascination I hold seems to be quite fleeting, as if there is a "best used by" date stamped somewhere on my person. I have friends who can't shake suitors years after they've been dismissed, and it's weird to envy someone who is essentially being stalked, but I do. For whatever reason - be it that I project cool disinterest and self-sufficiency a little too well, or that I simply attract the unmotivated - I do not seem to inspire that kind of dogged devotion. Perhaps the men I've encountered live lives of quiet desperation and secret pining, but if so I am none the wiser. On an intellectual level, it's easy to say that they have issues of their own, that it's nothing personal. But when you are the common denominator, it's hard not to wonder, on a visceral level, What is wrong with ME? The answer, of course, is nothing, really, or nothing more than anyone else. I'm not perfect, but I'm certainly not repugnant. While I possess certain talents, I'm not off-puttingly extraordinary. I speak English and usually smell nice. I've never killed anyone who displeased me. And while I've the secret fear of hackdom that plagues most creative types, my self-esteem is really pretty healthy. Just the same, at times it's hard not to think that if my own father can carry on without me, be it through lack of courage or lack of interest, why should any other man feel differently? Meanwhile, I seem to get along alright myself without them, without him, but deep down, there's a bit of blues that's tough to shake. So, they caught Saddam. Huh. 12.11.2003 is this thing on?Sometimes I feel like I'm really just talking to myself. Then I realize: I AM. And it's quite embarrassing, let me tell you. 12.10.2003 oh, deerToday in a meeting, the topic turned to an Iowa youth who apparently scored quite a coup in the hunting community for shooting the largest whitetail deer on record. Now granted, my father was not a hunter, I don't believe my step-father ever was either, I didn't grow up with any knowledge of the sport, and I saw Bambi at an impressionable age. But my question is, WHY is this a sport? Here is this beautiful, majestic animal, impressive enough to be record-worthy and sought out by so many....if it was so damn awe-inspiring, why KILL it? Why not just appreciate it and, oh, I don't know...LET IT BE? Is it some macho thing? Was that deer coming after the kid and his family, or anyone else? (I doubt it.) What was it doing wrong, besides maybe haplessly running in front of someone's vehicle at some point? (Nothing, I imagine.) Were these people in danger of starving to death if they didn't slaughter this deer? (Highly unlikely.) I understand overpopulation and trying to keep one's crops from being destroyed. That I get. And yes, I do eat meat, although not venison. But killing things purely for sport, for "fun", as a trophy, that I seriously don't get. Maybe we should start killing the best, most impressive humans, and stuff and mount* them for all to enjoy, hmm? * (I know, I know....just leave it alone. We all went there, anyway.) 12.09.2003 stone crazyNot being able to say what's on my mind is driving me a little nuts. And not being able to do anything about it is really making me crazy. I think in my next life, I would like to be a rock. Rock Life just seems so simple. Rocks just hang out, being rocks. Sure, they might take a beating from the elements, but they don't seem to mind. They just endure, all quietly rock-like. For a change of scenery, maybe I'd get to be involved in an avalanche. I might luck into a nice steady job as a paperweight. Or at some point, someone might throw my rock self at another someone, which seems kind of horrible, but they probably had it coming to them, anyway. And me, I wouldn't have to do anything, I'd just be my simple rock self, worry-free. Unless...what if rocks really have whiring, worrying minds full of secrets and questions and truth, but are completely unable to communicate, ever, or initiate any action? Then being a rock would just suck, and I'm already feelin' that. 12.07.2003 fun with philosophical queriesWhat if getting everything you ever wanted meant risking everything you had? Would you take the chance on something that could really offer no guarantees? Live with less? Bide your time and hope for fate to intervene on your behalf? Ignore the question, hoping it might go away? I'd ask What Would Jesus Do, but I can't imagine he'd really have any frame of reference for these sorts of situations. Managing the sins of all mankind seems so much simpler, really. 12.06.2003 requestDear You, This sucks. You know why. FIX IT. 12.05.2003 music you missedI think this may be the last music you missed entry. These things are a bitch to write and I don't think anyone is actually benefitting from my wisdom, although you should be. There is only so much one woman can do for mankind, however, and lord knows I've done plenty. Artist: Phantom Planet This reminds me of The Beach Boys, minus all the songs about surfing. It's similarly bouncy and breezy, and makes me think of summertime and that happy hopeful rush of love you feel when you're still too young and foolish to know any better. But it's plaintive and wistful like The Beach Boys, too. (The Beach Boys weren't all about Good Vibrations, you know. Listen to Pet Sounds. Or just read Brian Wilson's biography.) Still, it's just enough to give it depth, not enough to totally bum you out, cuz that's a real drag, man. No, this is nice. Fun, but not frivolous. It makes me happy. It might make you happy, too, if you'd ever listen to my advice. Now sit up straight and eat your vegetables. 12.04.2003 I bet you think you're pretty funny, misterYeah, well, I do too. I'm ready to insincerely propose marriage to the following complete strangers for making me laugh so hard I've nearly wet myself today: Normally incontinence doesn't make me amorous, but women love a man with a sense of humor, and HOT DAMN these boys have got it goin' on. Incidentally, HOT DAMN is my new favorite phrase. I have used it 3 times already today. And HOT DAMN if I keep it up, someone is going to want to smack me for it soon. 12.02.2003 doll partsMy new haircut makes me look like I've got no neck. Don't look -- I assure you it's quite disturbing. I had a Neckless Barbie once; hers was a tragic tale. Once a Superstar, her neck was broken in an unfortunate Barbie-tossing incident. As a result I had to smoosh her head way down on the remaining stump, lest she instead become Headless Barbie, or Barbie Head on a Stick. Thus: Neckless. You'd be amazed how integral a neck is to the Barbie mystique -- she somehow looked evil and unattractive by comparison. With no future as a traditional Barbie beauty, soon after she was shorn of her long blonde locks and given a blue Magic Marker dye job. My overactive 8-year-old imagination then devised a storyline for her in which she lost her mind after losing her neck and her looks, and thereafter lived only to torment and torture the other Barbies, so that they too might live lives of pain and failure. Her nefarious plans were usually thwarted, though, and only brought her pity from her peers. Eventually she succeeded in stealing another Barbie's neck-intact body, but she never fully recaptured her former glory, as there was still the issue of that forebidding punk hairdo. Such is the power of a hairstyle, people. And a neck. Unlike Neckless Psycho Punk Barbie, though, my hair will grow. I do not look any more evil or unattractive than usual. My mind was lost long ago. And I have yet to pull off a body-snatching caper. Just the same, you may not want to leave yours unattended. 12.01.2003 achtung-deficit, babyIt's pretty sad when the time it takes for me to double-click on an item on my computer is time enough for me to forget what I was about to do. |
