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THE SET UP: Me, my boyfriend, my boyfriends roommate and my exhusband are all trying to decide where to go for dinner.

THE THOUGHT: I should really change out of these pajama pants and into some jeans. I'll go change in the bathroom so no one sees my butt.

THAT AWKWARD MOMENT WHEN: I realized that all three men in the room have already seen me bare-ass and spanked mercilessly.

So yeah. I did change my pants. In the bathroom. At least not all of them have seen me half naked at the same time.
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Reasons you may want to read this entry:

1) You have a great connection that will load impossibly long pages.

2) You are very, very bored.

3) You want to laugh at snarky shit.

4) You are on my FB and know the kid I'm talking about. (NAD - stands for "New Age Dude.")

5) You are really, really, holy-fuck-dude, are you really that bored - bored.

As such follows the bulk of the conversation I had with New Age Dude this morning, after the previous night's FB thread when no one believed him when he said he could travel through time and see all dimensions.

No, I haven't booted this kid yet, but I'm not sure if it's because I think he's funny to have around, or if it's because I actually like him.

He is constantly saying stuff like he's smarter, more enlightened (like literally those words.) He is also young - very early 20's. Last conversation we had he was upset because he felt he wasn't being given credit for being "so young."

We will see. Also, I'm pretty sure this is EXACTLY HOW I SOUNDED when I was younger and believed all this. Sans maybe the calling everyone else unenlightened. (But maybe not. I was never immune to being a douchebag myself, so who knows?)

(Anyways, this is like REALLY long.)


Is this what I sounded like? Because I have the sneaking and sinking suspicion it's what I did sound like years ago )
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David, for Christmas, asked me to start a cookbook for him. I started writing in a fancy book I have, but then realized it won't work very well for actual recipe collecting. No loose pages, no way to add pages, and I haven't got all his recipes, so I couldn't organize it leaving enough room to spare for what he's not yet given me.

So while I will continue writing in that, I'm putting together a scrapbook with a three ring binder that will be much more kitchen friendly.

Part of what I'm doing is writing a quote with every recipe. 1) It's goddamn amazing how many food quotes there are out there. 2) It's goddamn amazing how many food quotes for SPECIFIC food quotes there are. (Green beans? YES. There are actually some really awesome quotes about green beans.)

So because it tickles me motherfucking pink, here are some of my favorites.

"If you wish to make an apple pie, you must first invent the universe." - Carl Sagan

"Better beans and bacon in peace than cakes and ale in fear." - Aesop

"Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what's for lunch." -Orson Welles

"Seize the moment. Remember all those women who waved off the dessert cart on the Titanic." - Erma Bombeck

Food is pretty fucking awesome.
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"Crap, I can't find my Alpha Hydroxy Acid!" (exfoliatant for skin)

*triumphantly sees it on the floor*

"AHA!"

*pause*

"Hee hee....."
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Oh ye days and days of work....

I managed to get the apartment clean thanks to a marathon of Scrubs before I fell into bed last night. It makes me literally laugh out loud and the extra energy garnered from that is useful for cleaning. Yay.

David had also had dinner ready for me by the time I got home yesterday from work, which was so incredibly sweet. He is the one who cooks anyways, but the added gift of having food on the table as I walked into the door was wonderful.

Outside of my moods bouncing wildly (and really, that isn't terribly unusual anyways), I seem to be holding up with this insane work-a-gazillion-days-in-a-row thing. At least physically. Pacing myself during the day and going to bed when my body tells me to helps.

I will be very grateful when we finally slow down and/or are able to hire a new housekeeper, though. It always seems to go that we only get really busy when we don't have a full staff, and this month has been no exception. Murphy's Law reigns supreme.

The heat and humidity has been almost unbearable, but it is still better than the nearly subzero temperatures we faced last winter. With this summer being so hot and stormy, I'm a little nervous to see what the winter is going to look like.

At least in the winter, however, my car is at no risk of overheating. That's the one silver lining in the ice-shrouded clouds of my least favorite season.

Yesterday was an odd driving day. And by "odd" I mean "infuriating". I've never been nearly sideswiped so many times in one drive home as I was yesterday. I know cars make it easy to stop seeing human beings and start seeing nameless automatons who are merely in your way, but there comes a point in which the collective idiocy of the human race on the road just becomes a pain in the ass.

Thanks to working so much, there's been several work related rants on my mind. Leaving out the ones I usually rant about, there is: An itemized list of people's thoughtlessness and stupidity )
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Someday I will be a rich enough women to afford my own internet....*sigh* Until then, I do here what I would do if I had a pen and paper in front of me (and the lighting to use them, as David is asleep and a studio apartment does not afford such luxurious as me moving into the next room to turn on lights) and write until I find myself tired enough to sleep.

Always, always....

For the irrelevant and irreverent - in looking at the various reviews at the various apartment buildings I've lived in at various points in my life, I am often struck at how ridiculous many of the negative reviews are. Things such as being able to hear your neighbors (hearing your neighbors? In a place where there are often hundreds of people inside the same building? Physically impossible, I say, impossible!), or being charged late fees on rent because they weren't "sent a bill" (if you aren't worldly enough to know that rent is due every month, please do the working world a favor and move back in with your parents), or absolute indignation at not getting the entirety of your deposit back (Perhaps people really *don't* know that deposits are used to help pay for cleaning your apartment after you leave???).....it blows me away. How does anyone who spends more than six months in any apartment anywhere not understand these things?

Ah well. My apartment complex is not the best of what I've lived in, and is, in fact, the lowest end of what I've lived in. The hallways often have trash and smell, there are any number of unsavory folks who wander the complex, the parking lot is torn to shreds and the lights are often out above the stairwells. But my neighbors leave me alone, the locking security door to even get into the building, and the free wifi center the complex has helps. It's cheap enough that my 6,000 a year school loans can pay the year's rent (469$ all utilities included) thus leaving my 6,000 year earned income to go to actually living.

(Side note: Living below the poverty line is, in part, ascertained by spending more than 30% of your income on rent. Rent comes to a total of 5,628 a year. I earn 6,000 with my job, and get 6,000 from school. So even with my school loans, I am still spending 50% on rent. I is damned poor.)

I often hear my neighbors. I know if I'm late, I'm getting slammed with late charges, and I already know I'm paying for the carpet when I leave. This is apartment living, however, and I understand that.

Besides, someone else is responsible for the yard work and I don't have to deal with "trash days."

I love living in apartments, if for nothing else than those two facts.

I'd also love to write something relevant, but alas, it does not come right now. The screen in front of me, the music on my headphones, the background hum of the air conditioner and David's sleeping form is what arrests my attention - and maybe this is good. It is quiet, and so, maybe it really is good. More to come, should it occur....
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One year ago today, I sat Patrick down on the couch and told him I wanted a divorce. I've tried to avoid thinking about that particular moment (half an hour, really) for the entirety of the last year - it is honestly one of the most painful moments of my entire life.

It would be highly appropriate for me to put Meatloaf's "Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad" on my playlist today, but I also don't want to invite the sobbing that always, always comes with that song. (I've always considered that to be one of the saddest songs I've ever heard, and infinitely moreso in the last year)

David has mentioned that thinking of the good that has come out of the last year would be helpful, and that is part of the strategy in dealing today. My new relationship, new treatment, my eternally messy and yet still homey apartment, all of these things. As I told David, I do expect some sadness to come with the reflection, but perhaps the worst of it can be avoided by trying to remember the good things, too.

This also makes me extremely grateful for the DBT skills I've learned, and will likely be implementing them in some force today. Mindfullness can be such a gift when dealing with an anniversary. (The practice of using visual, auditory, and tactile skills to remain rooted in the present day)

WORK STUFF: The joy of scrubbing toilets (sadly, missing the badly mustached and fuzzy pubed drawings of the book that launched a mini fad back in the 70's)

For a bit of levity, yesterday while I was cleaning rooms, I could only wonder what in the world the guests had been showering with the night before. If I had to draw conclusions from simply the messes I scrubbed out of the bathtubs, I would have come to the decision that soap has gone the way of the dodo and the fashionable thing to wash with these days is a mixture of mud, red wine, and professional grade cement glue.

But that was neither here nor there, since my main job description does involve (gasp!) cleaning, so even for the annoyance of uber scrubbing, there is always that particular thought to come back to.

I would also like to make the following public service announcement. *clears throat, goes AHEM, AHEM*

The proper place to dispose of your boogers, loogies, and other bodily expulsions include the following: Toilet paper, tissue paper, towels, bits of scrap paper, and if you must, the sheets. (I.e - places in which the housekeeper will not have to use her fingernails in order to remove it) It is NOT acceptable to relieve yourselves of these mucus-y parts on: walls, showers, refrigerator doors, lamps, coffee tables, etc etc.

I mean, seriously? Who hocks a loogie onto the wall?!

Also, if you tell the housekeepers that you do not wish to receive service, and then either change your mind or later complain that you did not receive service, we will all hate you and will entertain the possibility, if not the actuality, of using the same rag we clean the toilet with to clean the table you eat your food off of. We will also hate you and consider the same realm of actions should you decide you want your room cleaned late in the day, just as we are wrapping up, especially if you have left your "Do Not Disturb" sign on for most of the day.

(I rarely mind cleaning rooms of those who are staying over with us. It's my job, not a big deal. But please, decide early so that way we aren't pussy-footing around at the end of the day waiting for your over pampered and indecisive ass. You'd be surprised at how many "please come back in an hour"'s turn into three, four, or five hours.)

God loves those who leave on the air conditioners in their rooms and will smite anyone who leaves on the heaters. (We sweat. A lot. Especially in the summer. Be kind and help us to not drip sweat onto your freshly cleaned bathroom floors.) God also loves those whom do not smear jelly onto the table so that it can hardened into a substance that requires a jackhammer and the Jaws of Life to remove. (That's why plates were invented!)

No, you do not need 12 towels for your one or two night stay. We all know the only reason you are requesting that many towels is so that you can steal them, you cheap ass bastard. Neither do you need to steal the coffee packets, since they were specifically designed for our hotel and will not actually work in your coffee maker at home. We understand that you will, of course, do these things, but just be aware that we all see it and we all laugh at you for it.

And for fucks sake, WHY ARE YOU TURNING OFF THE REFRIGERATORS?! Don't you know how moldy those can get once they defrost and sit in the heat for a day or two??? (This happens with such frequency that I am absolutely awed by it. It's not that guests unplug the fridge to use the outlet, to which I could understand on some level. They actually reach into the fridge and turn the dial to the "OFF" position.)

Wow. That actually felt pretty good. Thanks for listening to me rant, folks, for it is off to another day's worth of scrubbing toilets I go!
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diurnal-

Main Entry: di·ur·nal
Pronunciation: \dī-ˈər-nəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Latin diurnalis
Date: 14th century

1 a : recurring every day (diurnal tasks) b : having a daily cycle (diurnal tides)
2 a : of, relating to, or occurring in the daytime (the city diurnal noises)
3 b : active mainly in the daytime (diurnal animals)

And this, my friends, is why I wake up between 5 and 6 AM everyday. All of my friends and loved ones are - and have always been - night owls.

I? I rise with the sun, wane with its setting. It's been this way ever since I was a child. The few times in my life where I've made a habit of staying up late (say past 10 PM) for more than a few days at a time were marked with confusion and new, strange things coming into my life.

But when the days are good, and my mind is even, sunrise becomes my natural alarm clock. (Well, technically a few hours before sunrise at this point, but still...) I'm not sure why it is that I tend to be attracted to those whose internal clocks are set at the opposite of my own (maybe it's a nerd thing?), and yet I am.

C'est la vie. The mornings are quiet and I get to hear the birds waking up around me, and this is good. It is all good.

I crack myself up every time I re-read this entry of mine.

Feb. 17th, 2006

03:33 pm - Dear Makers of Soul Caliber 3:

FUCK YOU SOUL CALIBER 3!

FUCK YOU FOR MAKING A GAME WHERE MITSURUGI AND KILIK NAIL MY FUCKING ASS TO THE WALL FOR FORTY MINUTES AT A SHOT!

NO FAIR PLAYING 3 COMBO MOVES IN A FUCKING ROW AND NOT EVEN ALLOWING MY CHARACTER TO STAND THE FUCK UP BEFORE YOU BITCHSMACK ME ALL OVER THE FUCKING ARENA!

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUU SOUL CALIBER 3!

Fuck you and have a nice day.

Signed Sincerely,
one of your customers who thinks she should have gone with "Barbie's Mansion


Sep. 8th, 2008
05:28 pm - Exploding Dogs



One of my jobs is houskeeping a couple of times a week for a dog grooming shop in town. It's decent work, the owners are great, and they pay me 10 dollars an hour in cash. I can't really complain about it.

BUT -

Upon walking into the shop this morning to clean it, my first and only thought about the amount of fur covering and coating the shop was this -

"If I were to read this in the same manner that a forensic scientist reads blood spatter patterns.....the only logical conclusion one could draw about what happened here is that yesterday, five or so dogs met with their untimely end by way of spontaneous explosion."

So, yeah.

Exploding dogs.

And that's all I have to say right now.
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For the record, having to sweep your carpet because you lack a vacuum cleaner sucks. Patrick's grandmother had offered me an old vacuum cleaner - a behemoth relic from the 70's - but I think I'll take it.

Housecleaning question: How does one keep the smell of ciggerrate smoke from overwhelming a small space? I do have a balcony, but seeing as I smoke 2 or more packs a day, I don't particularly feel like stepping outside everytime I have a smoke.

This, btw, never fails to make me bust out laughing. I can be funny, ha!

Jan. 21st, 2005

BAAARRRGH!

BARRRGGGHH! AOIDUFALSDKFJA;SLDKFJA;LSDKFJ!

And that's how I feel today. Thank you for listening.


For some reason today, I find myself rolling over the memories, the relationship, the songs and eventual end of the time I spent with Vada. I'd hurt over other people I thought I loved, but hers was the only I think I was ever in love with in years past.

Why am I thinking of her today?

I've no idea. I just am. And today, for the first time in a long, long time for it, I am crying for that love, sick and twisted and desperate for the both of us as it was. And I don't know why, but I'm putting something down for it, putting it down and hoping that wherever she is, she is clean, and she is happy, and that she knows that I'm sorry for how things turned out.

Things she sent me:

All the way to New York
I can feel the distance getting close
You're right next to me
But I need an airplane
I can feel the distance as you breathe
Sometimes I think you want me to touch you
How can I when you build the great wall around you
In your eyes I saw the future
Together you just look away in the distance


when the glitter fades in the morning
i know you don't love me anymore

i wanna scream
don't you wanna be happy with me
i wanna scream

***teressa,
let me know you are ok
i have been having the same dream since tuesday
you tried to purposefully kill yourself with drags
i have been calling and calling pats
finally today colin answered the phone and
told me
you were not there

JUST LET ME KNOW YOU ARE OK

you don't want to die do you?***


It makes me wonder what things I carry with me that destroyed that relationship.....she said, she always said, that I always seemed to stand on the edge of love, a strange form of detachment, of being apart from what I was feeling.

I wonder if she was right.
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Urgh, I've started my period. This tracks along with the strange mood I've found myself in the last couple of days. I'd been sick and spent the entire day in bed yesterday, flitting in and out of strange, busy dreams. The weather has been overcast and slate gray for days now, all of these things lending themselves to a slightly morbid mood.

Although I did have a funny thought yesterday morning while musing about Death. Does Death, being the busy sort of guy that he is, carry a Blackberry? A PDA? How else could he keep track of everyone's soul that he's supposed to harvest? Can you just imagine Death looming over someone, scythe stretched out, only to be distracted by an insistent chime and Death reaching into his pocket, going "Hang on, I've got this awesome new app that updates my twitters!"

I giggled.

There may be more later, as I've spent the last day alone and have thoughts that want to be written down, but for the moment, yes, my main concern is wondering what kind of a PDA Death will be carrying when He comes for me.
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Well, if it's play-time we're discussing here, then play-time it is. Let's just get right into the meat of it - something that I'm sure you are quite used to doing, being such a young male and whatnot.

If you are going to use my drug history as an insult, it would help for you to at least get the KINDS of drugs I did correct. I was a meth addict, remember? I would have thought that being on the boards for so long would have allowed you the chance to take this into consideration, but seeing as attention to detail is not your strong suit, I will forgive you for this minor yet amusing transgression.

So now the mission is to find an insult about amphetamines that will offend me. So get to it, I do hate to wait.

The comment about the 12 year old and your molesting does not surprise me. In a way, it's almost endearing that you managed to find someone to connect with. Granted, she's a bit young - but I'm sure that she challenges you on all important levels; mentally, emotionally and most certainly physically. I hope she can teach you a few tricks, since it's unlikely that your personality will be a winning ticket.

Please do not worry, though, about the physical challenges your relationship with this young girl may have. I've heard that the penis can grow even into late puberty, so rest assured that you have many years in which someday your dick may be large enough to please a woman.

I would stay away from the 6th graders, though. They start learning long division at that age, and that might be a little intimidating for you.

In your comment "TITS OR GTFO", are you suggesting that you would like to have tits, or else that you would get the fuck out? Darling, don't be ashamed that your a boy. Breasts are indeed a wonderful thing, but your best bet is to learn to be happy with yourself.

A long haul for you, I'm sure, but I stand in complete support of your eventual turn about.

About the "Origin of Niggers", while your tale of fantasy is amusing ( Did your 12 year old girlfriend tell you that? Tell her she has a wonderful imagination!), it only shows that not only did you fail to pay attention on the boards to what drug I used, but you also apparently failed in the subject of human biology.

Which is, if you'd like to have breasts, really a subject you should apply yourself to with some effort. I'm sure there is a remedial course available for you somewhere.

Baby, I CAN'T be a fag. I'm a girl, remember. What would I be if I were a gay girl?

A lesbian. I'd be a lesbian.

Say it with me now. LES-BI-AN. There we go. Good boy. I'm glad I could be a part of that old "you learn something new everyday" phrase!

Is it really all my fault that America is evil and Kimbah got raped??? Well then, I'm certainly for more important than you. Have you ever influenced a world event? I think not. I take your announcement that I am to blame for all the world's ill in stride and with some great amount of smugness - since I have not yet heard your name mentioned in the workings of such powerful things.

Perhaps the 12 year old girl will teach you to be as influential as me? It's possible, if she can also teach you how to write. I wouldn't fret over that too much, though, darling. Too much expectation can crush a soul, I've heard. We won't push you too hard.

Oh darn. I seem to have run out of things to respond to - since you only posted a handful of things and then copy and pasted them to several entries. Honey, you can do better! While I wouldn't want you to strain yourself - after all, learning long division and having your 12 year old girlfriend rub you down with penis enhancing creams must be exhausting, but please to try to apply yourself to this art of insulting.

I do wait, my sweet pet. With baited breath and much love.

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