Neko

FB Fun Suckers

08.01.10 (12:20 am)

So I am pointing and clicking my little heart away over at facebook, getting my little off season preternatural Supernatural fix when the self appointed  game wardens try to take me down!   ...they don't like my gaming, they say.   Why hit someone like that?  Define the words HONOR and FRIEND for me - challenging my game and my ethics.   You know what my response to that is?  Do you know?   Let me throw some SHADE on it for you...   Pixels on a screen.   Words like honor and friend are   are not just definable letters coming together randomly nor should they be applied so carelessly to trivialities and strangers on the net. I know who my friends are and where my honor stands - all in reality. Pixels on a screen. Deleted.

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Just A Little Writing exercise.

07.15.10 (7:19 pm)

Okay, go here to see what author you write like... My results - - - after the few paragraphsI wrote - analyzed by - no doubt - a rare gem of a little software program are at the bottom of the screen.... ------------------------- -------------------- A day in the life of an over educated, under qualified, uppity female in XXXXX is no walk in the park. As I am only able to find part time work and finally decided to quit the part time job from hell, I find myself eaking out a living doing what I love the most - serving and educating others while fostering the past for the local museum. Why don't I teach? People don't want to be taught. They want to pass. ...and I am scared shitless that the powers that be will catch on that I am faking this whole grown up thing and expose me for the scam artist I am. If this were a perfect world I would be curator in residence at an incredibly well funded and well tended retro futuristic architectural museum as well as working with area school children on educational outreach programs. "Yes dear, there is significant difference in the work of early American architects like Frank Lloyd Wright and the explosion of "space age" design in the the 50's and 60's. Just think of the world in the 50's and 60's man was going to the moon! Nothing out of reach! How we dressed and decorated our homes reflected the people's desires and unfettered optimism for a better future. ...and then the 70's came along." Meh. Being an author would be a pretty freakin fantastic job too. I love the supernatural genre finally finding a place in American pop culture. No longer does it hide behind Harlequin romances and dusty westerns... I believe it all really started with Neil Gaiman's seminal work on Sandman and then in the Books of Magic - but Harry Potter (and as much as I hate to admit it) the Twilight series has mainstreamed the genre. What would I write? Moody dark drama with just a hint of sarcasm and hope. Suicides would be my heroes, Angels sexed and armed the deus ex machina and the masses living day to day relatively unburdened by even the notion of an examined life, the zombie horde my protagonists save, serve or destroy... Perhaps I should just sit down and try it someday. Perhaps I will just sit in front of the computer checking my e-mail and social networking sites - a zombie as I would have them portrayed in my imagined best sellers... Apparently I write like Dan Brown. Thoughts? Anyone out there?

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Free Association

06.29.10 (11:26 pm)

Collectors ::vintage Passion ::style Winner ::loser Uninhibited ::me Challenge ::yourself Self ::image Your ::view Viewer ::occupier Random ::occurrence Vice ::Miami

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Normal

06.29.10 (11:18 pm)

Spent the day doing things normal people do. Cleaned house, gave pups a bath, washed and dried clothes... Not impressed. Did have the chance to read some of the literature our local political wannabe's are spamming/snail mailing and phoning in to the voters. Here's a little tip for you all, if you ever thing you want to do or be anything in your life other than a good ol' boy or gal, that person Seger calls a Beautiful Loser - - - do not, and I repeat DO NOT name your children after actors on the CW. Love Supernatural. LOVE IT. Do not want my state representative to be the guy who named his kids after "the boys." I don't know what I am more offended by, the guys lack of stance on any sort of political ideal or that he has infringed upon and tainted my current favorite fandom? Must sway vote in other direction...

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Unconcious Mutterings

06.20.10 (9:34 pm)

Executive ::director Director ::Spielberg Dress ::pink Studio ::54 Accountant ::cpa Unit ::heh... Engaged ::not Safety :pilot Post ::al Dialogue ::france

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After a long absence...

06.19.10 (5:18 am)

No, I haven't been hospitalized. I honestly forgot my password and - at the time - was unable to retrieve it. I have been corresponding a lot lately and began to reminisce and well one thing led to another and ::crossed arms, blinked eyes, requested password:: I am back. I am sure something unusually witty yet insightful will happen and I will find myself blogging soon. Take care tBloggers.

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Subliminal Luminina

08.05.07 (3:42 pm)

Voices :: in the dark Have to :: pee Machine :: death Seventh grade :: drop uut Beach :: boat Roommate :: hell Cyclone :: Dorothy Theater :: at Southeastern Pregnant :: oops Phoebe :: Buffay

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cowork-erm, empoyee-erm, underling-erm, amoeb...whatever

08.03.07 (4:45 pm)

What do you do when you have a coworker incapable of filling out their own timesheet?  As in, can't read a calendar fill out their timesheet? I am not exactly this person's boss - it is up to me to keep them on as an employee and give them tasks to perform, but boss - eh, I don't really like that word.  It has such an air of, well, you know, responsibility.  We all know how much I dislike the term - dread living the reality of it... It's not just the timesheet thing you know.  She can't hear, smells funny (read like pee), wears a bicycly helmet "just in case she falls," and gets angry - a lot, at the little things in life that roll off most people's backs - like, oh, I don't know - being asked to go sit and do nothing while their boss tries to finish her work for the day.  Did I mention she smells like pee? I'm not heartless or stupid - I know a lot of these things are the signs of a person not coming to terms with aging - or aging gracefully.  She's also had an awfully tough year - still, jesus leaping off a cross - how long is this my burden to bear?  The latest role she's placed on my shoulders is that of confessor.  Oh. My. God.  There are just things I did not want to know.  Number one on my list is about the sex life of any woman who has more hair on her chin than the original members of Lynyrd Skynard assembled as one.  Number two is her worthless husband and how awful he is to her.  She gets seriously angry with the man and takes it out on me - ME!  He brings home a paycheck, is faithful, doesn't hit her and apparently has no issues with female facial hair.  Sounds like an alright dude to me. Number three, never, ever feed her after midnight - no wait, that's a movie...Number three, the church deacon does not want to have sex with you.  Okay, I am an awful person.  She needs help.  I will meditate on my attitude. Rant over.

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What's in a job?

08.01.07 (3:15 pm)

I have several. I talk about this a lot. Why?  Well - I really don't have much of a life otherwise and people are sick of hearing about my pets. I guess my best title is museum curator.  It is also the second closest thing I do that I actually went to school for.  I have an MA in Anthropology.  (Yeah, I know right?  What was I thinking?)  Anyway, here I am five years later the only paid  worker at my hometown museum basically keeping the status quo for the community historical society.  It's a great title though. The other thing I do that is directly related to my degree is teach Anthropology at my the local Uni, where I got my bachelor's.  I'm adjunct of course, because there is no terminal degree in antrhopology.  Not a big deal.  With a title like mine I get to be as flakey as I want to be and hey - there's that bookstore discount.  If only some fully tenured social science prof would come and sweep me off my feet... My other jobs at the circulation desk of the library and local radio station are less than stellar but then again, they are less than taxing on my tiny little brain as well.  When I was a kid and dreaming about what I would be doing when I grew up I never could make up my mind - who knew I wouldn't have to - I was going to have to do as many as I could to keep my head above  water anyway?

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I IZ ADDiCK n NEEDZ ur HLP by LOL CAT

08.01.07 (8:52 am)

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What does it really say...

07.30.07 (4:09 pm)

What does what I watch on television, listen to on my iPod and read really say about me? I have to admit, there was a time when I would have said nothing really.  I was about 10, 11 years younger then.  Ah, youth.  Just convinced that I was who I was and nothing external could influence that... But go just a wee bit crazy once and all of a sudden you begin to analyze these things a bit more.  Actually, I probably went that wee bit crazy becasue I was a bit of an analyzer in the first place, but that's not what this blog is about... so I digress. I like things on the dark side.  Music, literature, humor, film, sex, cereal - the darker the better.  Now, listen freaks, I said it, I like those things dark, but I like them REALISTICALLY dark.  Bukowski dark.  Waits dark.  Hunter S. Thompson dark.  Please keep your Insane Clown Posse's and Vampiric lifestyle's out of my daily dose of reality. Again, I digress.  Am I attracted to Thompson and his flights through the desert at high speed sucking on tanks of nitrous while furiously avoiding any monstrous bats that might come his way because in some way I already relate to his (R.I.P.) mindframe, or because the first time I read his work in Rolling Stone, I knew I had to have more?  I don't think I was thinking anything other than, "that's a fucking kickass song," the first time I heard Rod Stewart sing Tom Traubert's Blues, and after checking out who wrote it, realized that Jersey Girl and a host of other's were also penned by Waits, knew I had to own this man singing his own material, in his own voice.  FUCK.  There is just nothing else like it on Earth.  Everything wrong about his instrument makes the music and the words right. Bukowski - Jesus.  It's like the set up to a joke... Jesus walks up to Charles Bukowski at the bar... I am sure the punch line would be Bukowski telling Jesus to go fuck himself - and to have another drink.  I don't think you can get any more real than these three.  Any darker.  Every day they live(d) with a knowledge of how going just a wee bit crazy can turn those big dreams into small hopes, and every day tasks into wondrous accomplishments to be celebrated.  That's darkness.

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Men will be Boys

07.30.07 (3:29 pm)

Boys pretending at being men... or something like that. I attract them like moths to a flame.  Live with your mother?  Emotional age of 16?  Need to borrow money?  Still in love with your ex wife who you met in high school?  Hey!  I'm single!  Let's go out. I need to get some things straight first.  I will not - under any circumstances - let you move in with me.  No ring, no house.  It's mine.  Allllll Mine I tell you!!!!! MINE!  MUAHAHAHA! Still with me? Okay, you will be expected to pay for at least half of our dates.  You want to go to a football game or moto-cross and it is not your birthday?  Yeah, you are going to tote that bill buddy.  The Cheesecake Factory and tickets to Rent are on me. Stopped shaking yet? No pictures of the ex hanging anywhere - that includes mom and dad's house.  Yep, I said it.  The wedding photos have to go.  They can at least put the photos of the big-eyed waifs, and dogs playing poker up when I visit.  Your tacky ass wedding photos can go back when I leave the door. Almost done. Borrowing money. Let's just not.  You need a lung?  If your immediate family isn't a match and we're sleeping together, I'll get tested, but money is a whole different matter. Last, but certainly not least, you shall not speak her (the last ex) name in my prescence after - oh let's make it an even four dates.  I have no problem with talking about histories, it's the dwelling I take issue with.  There, that didn't hurt so bad - did it?

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Jobs

07.30.07 (3:08 pm)

I work no less than 4 jobs and still live below the poverty level. What is that you say? Wal-Mart employee? McDonalds? Perhaps a janitor? Oh hellllll no. I am a museum curator. Adjunct faculty member at a 4 year University. Work part time programming music and laying out ads for a local radio station/entertainment newspaper and work at the circulation desk at the Uni library. Holla! I would make more money if I quit these jobs and worked as waitress at TGIWHATEVER's. I know - it's how I put myself through grad school... Kids, if you are out there, get a safety degree or a degree in business. Forget about doing something that makes you happy - make a ton of money, retire in 20/30 years, then make yourself happy. Peace out.

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Jake

07.30.07 (3:02 pm)

Okay, so it's been a while. Here's an update. Never trust a Nazi vet. Jake has been resting peacefully now for some months. He died shortly after that last veteranarian visit where I was told there was nothing to worry about. Sure, there was nothing to worry about unless I didn't want my FREAKING PET TO DIE. Fucking Fuckers. Needless to say the other animals won't be going back to that office - uh, like - EVER. Anyway, after a reasonable amount of time I welcomed what I thought was an adorable little 9 week old dachsund into my home. Unfortunately Sophie has turned out to be the Ebil Spawn of Satan, Pup of DOOM! Yes, she can out run a Persian snup in nothing flat, likes nothing better than to chew on flip flops til she makes them her bitches, and then, in the ultimate act of EBIL, she partakes of the spawn's sacrament - cat poop. No wonder the Mug and Skitty look at her like excrement. If she ate my poop I would do the same. The problem is, that between these moments of insufferable misery, she looks at me with pitiful brown eyes that say, "love me MAMA..." It's only later when those same eyes are saying, "feed me bitch," do I realize how far I am into the game to far to get out...

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Snup in Crisis!

03.12.07 (4:25 pm)

This is what's been going on in my world for the last 18 hours or so... About 1 am Jake yerked up an unusual amount of blood. At least I think it was yerked and not from the other end... Anyway, we have no emergency vet so I did the only thing I knew - I googled. Well, cat/vomit/blood gets you nice little entries that say things like, "nothing too bad..." Erm, when was the last time you yerked up blood and it was "nothing too bad?" I was worried sick. He wasn't acting strange but I didn't sleep until I could get the big guy to the vet's. Where again, I got the, "nothing too serious," spiel, Jake got violated in several orifices and two shots and $32 later we are home. Poor snup. I am supposed to watch him. The doc thinks at the worst it is an ulcer and may be as little as a hairball irritating his system...  I forgot to mention that my vet seems to have hired an ex con. How do I know? Well, something about all the ARYAN NATION tats tipped me off. Given, he's tried to cover them up with even more elaborate tatooing but uhm, well, they just didn't do a good enough job. Who knew swastikas would be so hard to disguise... Frankly I am a little freaked out about the whole thing. The other crazy thing was that I noticed two smallish boxes on their front porch while I was waiting for them to open. First, as I went through the doors I heard, "god dammit, I wish I could put a bullit through their heads." (If you are thinking it was my new favorite and only nazi buddy, well you would be right.) Anyway, some FREAK, had stuffed 12 pit bull PUPPIES into those boxes like sardines and then duct taped the boxes so they couldn't get out. Are you outraged yet? Well, if not, IT'S NOT THE FIRST TIME IT HAS HAPPENED!!!!!!! F*CKERS. Now, one kind soul who owns a pet store and is a breeder had been there checking on a dog who had to have a c-section the day before. He took 4 of the pups because he thought he could sell them. If the other 8 aren't adopted after a couple of weeks - they will have to be put down. There wasn't one person in that office who wasn't sick over the whole thing... Oh, and Jake has leaked a couple of times this afternoon - if you had a rod shoved up your hoo hoo you would leak too.

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These are the days to remember...

02.04.07 (10:13 am)

A cousin, Molly Ivins, countless others in Iraq... Death surrounds us all. Most go unaware. I feel it inside everday. The medicines dull the pain, make it ephemeral enough to not act, to see clearly through the fog, but it is there.

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R.I.P.

01.22.07 (9:43 pm)

Pat Prestage I love you.

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Meditation

01.12.07 (7:06 pm)

People say "I want peace." If you remove I (ego), and your want (desire), you are left with peace. -Satya Sai Baba

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Shoutsout to Ms. Kimber

01.12.07 (7:03 pm)

For updating my links. I have no idea what I did to my html - but she fixed. Special kisses. ...and, as you all can see - the meds kicked in and I am functioning again.

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weeks

01.07.07 (9:58 am)

Bad weeks, good weeks, ups, downs, back, forth - you think I would be used to it by now. The fact is i am just perpetually lost. Once you've gone crazy nothing worse can happen to you. It doesn't mean that everything is rosie from then on. There is a certain cynicism that comes with insanity. It stews with the giddyness and ironies that have been made all too apparent in everyday life. Especially when your shell appears "normal." You mask the snears when you hear people talk about the "crazy" people in town - or the "pills" the doctor put so and so on because they just couldn't cope. "They don't know crazy," you're thinking - "hey, at the hospital they give you those pills in little cups twice a day, take away your shoe strings so you won't hurt yourself and, if you are in a *nice* place, they supply you with extra blankets and make sure your roommates aren't murderers. (Lucky me - I am middle class.)" Fuckers. It's been a bad week. I've felt useless. Lonely. I am in a situation, one I have put myself in, where I have no real support system. My family is here, but they choose not to educate themselves about my problem. They throw money at me - and seem a little freaked out by it all, but they try and love me, they just sort of ignore my feelings - I probaby would too - I'm crazy. Don't have any real friends here - I am a flaming liberal in an ultra-conservative town. If I really spoke my mind I would probably be burned at the stake. (Did I mention I have a flair for the dramatic too?) I do occasionally date, but when I start to get close to someone - the questons about the meds come out and all of a sudden I drop off the old "A" list. Someone once gave me a comment on this site to drop to my knees and accept Jesus - I'm not tougher than him. I've got news for that freak - I've probably known Jesus a lot longer than them. That's not my problem. Closed minds, a poor self image and an illness even the best doctors don't really understand is my problem. I have above average intelligence, I work, I pay my bills and I make it through each day (sometimes I do that hour by hour). I almost made it 30 years without medication - which my doctors tell me is astonishing. I want to make it at least another 30 years - but I don't think I can do it alone anymore... Anyway - I am glad I have this place to write this down - to get the words out of my head - to make things tangible in my own way. I don't know when I will be back, but I will. Maybe I will have had some good weeks to write about then.

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