Dear Diary,
My whole life I've been wholesome, Miss Goody-goody, do no wrong blablafreakinbla. I spent the past few years in the metropolis of NYC, feeling like the absolute least fabulous person because, um, hello? I'm not interesting and definitely not bad-ass. See? Who the hell puts a hyphen in badass? Me, that's who. I worked in Harlem, always miserable because everyone there was much harder than me. Even the grandmas. Even the dogs. Even the chorizos being sold. Sooo pathetic. But I studied my surroundings in case the day should come that I could make people believe that I was not to be trifled with. and it's here, baby, it's finally here.
I'm in the middle of nowhere in this tiny town where no one is hard. I haven't seen a booty for miles around. I've got the only one. I've got a lock on the "don't mess with her" market. They're never gonna know that I'm the biggest loser ever to put my name on a gold chain. So now I put a bounce in my step, some attitude in my voice and I'm good to go. I'm not gonna overdo it, though, no worries. I got shit locked down. I'ma do what I do, aight?
Better believe it.
comin straight outta p-mac
representin the 301
listen up, takes notes,
my disciples when i'm done
time to feel my flow
following my game
blow by blow
no instant replay
no slo-mo
just jigga jigga me
and my rhymes
better pick ya poison
better pick ya crime
cuz theres no tomorrow
...
(to order the cd with my smooth navigation
from outta this foreign nation
gimme your cc info
and you
can be amongst the chosen few
who get to call me cee-lo)
Monday, October 23, 2006
Sinner!
Dear Diary,
Today is a dark day in my quest for innocence and purity of heart. In general, I would say I make a conscious (does that make it less worthy?) effort to be a good person. I pay my taxes, hold doors open, assist with strollers on staircases, and give up my seat for old people and/or pregnant women. I should have the ace in the hole when it comes to being good. Maybe I haven't quite reached Mother Teresa status, but I'm doing my part for goodness in humanity. (I must confess that I do enjoy a good shoot-out in a movie, but then I shed the requisite tears for all people killed. I just like the noises and the shattering glass, not the blood, ok? Ask anyone, I am definitely a bleeding heart, if ever there was one.)
So there's the defense of my person. Now here's the crime. (I totally blame this on my iPod, by the way. It seduces me to behaving inappropriately on a regular basis.)
In any case, I was walking down the street, bopping along, stepping to the beat, feeling very alive, energetic, and all things associated with drinking red bull. I have to confess, I was listening to rather embarrassingly crappy music, principally of the pop nature. So anyway, I'm walking along, walking along and then BAM! my groove starts kicking into overdrive because that anthem of youthful sensuality starts pumping in my ear. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am referring to Ms. Spears's dance classic "I'm a slave 4 U." I was invaded by the spirit of the over-sexed Ms. Britney and moving scandalously along my path. I was having all kinds of naughty thoughts about how much fun this song was and how I'd danced to it in the past and how it could be used in various scenarios, etc etc. Basically, I was laughing inwardly about what the talented singer must have been thinking as she gasped and sighed and breathed heavily into the microphone in the studio. Suddenly, I looked up to realize that I was picturing and imagining all of these things while walking past a cathedral, and that's not good. I'm going to hell in a handbasket. Thanks a lot, pop music marketers, MTV, and all you other seducers. I sang about "bab(ies), wanting to dance up on me" right in front of God's house. Ah, crap.
Then, I cursed vehemently, which did not help the situation.
Musically whorish me.
Today is a dark day in my quest for innocence and purity of heart. In general, I would say I make a conscious (does that make it less worthy?) effort to be a good person. I pay my taxes, hold doors open, assist with strollers on staircases, and give up my seat for old people and/or pregnant women. I should have the ace in the hole when it comes to being good. Maybe I haven't quite reached Mother Teresa status, but I'm doing my part for goodness in humanity. (I must confess that I do enjoy a good shoot-out in a movie, but then I shed the requisite tears for all people killed. I just like the noises and the shattering glass, not the blood, ok? Ask anyone, I am definitely a bleeding heart, if ever there was one.)
So there's the defense of my person. Now here's the crime. (I totally blame this on my iPod, by the way. It seduces me to behaving inappropriately on a regular basis.)
In any case, I was walking down the street, bopping along, stepping to the beat, feeling very alive, energetic, and all things associated with drinking red bull. I have to confess, I was listening to rather embarrassingly crappy music, principally of the pop nature. So anyway, I'm walking along, walking along and then BAM! my groove starts kicking into overdrive because that anthem of youthful sensuality starts pumping in my ear. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am referring to Ms. Spears's dance classic "I'm a slave 4 U." I was invaded by the spirit of the over-sexed Ms. Britney and moving scandalously along my path. I was having all kinds of naughty thoughts about how much fun this song was and how I'd danced to it in the past and how it could be used in various scenarios, etc etc. Basically, I was laughing inwardly about what the talented singer must have been thinking as she gasped and sighed and breathed heavily into the microphone in the studio. Suddenly, I looked up to realize that I was picturing and imagining all of these things while walking past a cathedral, and that's not good. I'm going to hell in a handbasket. Thanks a lot, pop music marketers, MTV, and all you other seducers. I sang about "bab(ies), wanting to dance up on me" right in front of God's house. Ah, crap.
Then, I cursed vehemently, which did not help the situation.
Musically whorish me.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Humiliated
Dear Diary,
Today began as any other day, but then I guess most days of defeat do. I was walking along, listening to my music, feeling the vibe, feeling fantastic, feeling like one of the girls at the beginning of the Cameron Diaz "girls can be gross too"movie, you know, when she's walking up the hills in San Francisco, shaking her non-existent booty to burn off the burger she ate for lunch cos otherwise it will result in a hideous gaining of weight, except that, OH YEAH!, she doesn't gain weight?
Wait, what was I talking about? Ah, I was doing my best to work it down the pedestrian zone, when I came to a slight incline.
I started walking up the hill when I noticed this woman with a broken leg, sitting in an electric wheelchair, pulling a suitcase behind her. AND SHE WAS BEATING ME UP THE HILL. So I started to pick up the pace because I was not about to let Miss Battery Pack show me up. But it must have been a big battery cos it was taking a lot out of me. But I dug deep, thought back to those inspiring passages in Lance Armstrong's memoirs and stayed focused and pressed on. But the hill wasn't coming to its crest, and she wasn't slowing down. I didn't want everyone to notice that I was racing the injured woman, but, on the other hand, I didn't want to lose the race either. So I practically started running up the hill for no reason, right next to this woman in the wheelchair. Then, these girls were walking next to each other talking, and walking around them would really have cost me some time, so I just pushed right between girl 2 and girl 3, no time for "excuse me"s.
Then, there was this man selling those remote-controlled cars, which he was demonstrating right in my path, so I thought about that movie with the hurdles and did one of those awesome, "my legs are almost in a split" leaps over it. I was almost at the top and could smell the victory (haha electro-girl, how you like me now?), smiling and congratulating myself when a small child ambled into my way. I considered just knocking him over, but my humanity won out, and I ran around him. But the detour had given her the edge back and I was forced to dive for the top of the hill. Diving against gravity onto cobblestones? Not advisable. She won. She won a race she didn't know she was in with a broken leg. And I, for seemingly no reason, had just thrown myself on the ground in the middle of town and was bleeding and scraped up all over my face. Idiot, idiot, idiot,idiot, idiot, idiot,idiot, idiot, idiot...
That's all.
--InsaneCompetitor
Today began as any other day, but then I guess most days of defeat do. I was walking along, listening to my music, feeling the vibe, feeling fantastic, feeling like one of the girls at the beginning of the Cameron Diaz "girls can be gross too"movie, you know, when she's walking up the hills in San Francisco, shaking her non-existent booty to burn off the burger she ate for lunch cos otherwise it will result in a hideous gaining of weight, except that, OH YEAH!, she doesn't gain weight?
Wait, what was I talking about? Ah, I was doing my best to work it down the pedestrian zone, when I came to a slight incline.
I started walking up the hill when I noticed this woman with a broken leg, sitting in an electric wheelchair, pulling a suitcase behind her. AND SHE WAS BEATING ME UP THE HILL. So I started to pick up the pace because I was not about to let Miss Battery Pack show me up. But it must have been a big battery cos it was taking a lot out of me. But I dug deep, thought back to those inspiring passages in Lance Armstrong's memoirs and stayed focused and pressed on. But the hill wasn't coming to its crest, and she wasn't slowing down. I didn't want everyone to notice that I was racing the injured woman, but, on the other hand, I didn't want to lose the race either. So I practically started running up the hill for no reason, right next to this woman in the wheelchair. Then, these girls were walking next to each other talking, and walking around them would really have cost me some time, so I just pushed right between girl 2 and girl 3, no time for "excuse me"s.
Then, there was this man selling those remote-controlled cars, which he was demonstrating right in my path, so I thought about that movie with the hurdles and did one of those awesome, "my legs are almost in a split" leaps over it. I was almost at the top and could smell the victory (haha electro-girl, how you like me now?), smiling and congratulating myself when a small child ambled into my way. I considered just knocking him over, but my humanity won out, and I ran around him. But the detour had given her the edge back and I was forced to dive for the top of the hill. Diving against gravity onto cobblestones? Not advisable. She won. She won a race she didn't know she was in with a broken leg. And I, for seemingly no reason, had just thrown myself on the ground in the middle of town and was bleeding and scraped up all over my face. Idiot, idiot, idiot,idiot, idiot, idiot,idiot, idiot, idiot...
That's all.
--InsaneCompetitor
THE ANSWER TO THE ETERNAL QUESTION
Dear Diary,
I did it. I really did it. When I was in college, I learned about this psychological phenomenon amongst adolescents, namely that they all believe they're destined for greatness and really special in some as yet undiscovered way. BUT I REALLY AM. Why? Allow me to explain:
I have recently moved to a new, strange, beautiful, but utterly disgusting (at least sidewalk-concerned) place. I shouldn't criticize this place though because it has a) a lot in common with every other place and b) led me to finding the purpose of my heretofore ridiculous existence.
While walking down the street, I have become keenly aware of the odd nature of the "litter" to be found. For example, I was shocked by the number of Qtips. There are a LOT. I thought that was weird and unexpected. Then, I saw things like a pad. Not a used one, thankgod, but a sanitary napkin nonetheless.
My confusion regarding the sidewalk decorations caused me to glance down a great deal while strolling about. As a result, I took notice of a sock, covered in leaves. I thought to myself: "Why is there a sock on the sidewalk?" Then I starting thinking about all the strange places other than the sidewalk that I've seen socks: hanging over telephone wires, on highways, at train stations, in lakes and rivers...
Then it occurred to me, my socks ALWAYS disappear from the dryer and so do everyone else's. And we all wonder where they go. OBVIOUSLY they go everywhere. Right in front of our faces, they're just roaming about, not tumbling in the gentle cycle, nono. They're out seeing the world. They don't take their partneralong . They're sick of being one in a pair. Can't be monogamous. But they sure as hell can travel. Selfish socks, man, selfish socks.
yours truly,
geniuswithapurpose
I did it. I really did it. When I was in college, I learned about this psychological phenomenon amongst adolescents, namely that they all believe they're destined for greatness and really special in some as yet undiscovered way. BUT I REALLY AM. Why? Allow me to explain:
I have recently moved to a new, strange, beautiful, but utterly disgusting (at least sidewalk-concerned) place. I shouldn't criticize this place though because it has a) a lot in common with every other place and b) led me to finding the purpose of my heretofore ridiculous existence.
While walking down the street, I have become keenly aware of the odd nature of the "litter" to be found. For example, I was shocked by the number of Qtips. There are a LOT. I thought that was weird and unexpected. Then, I saw things like a pad. Not a used one, thankgod, but a sanitary napkin nonetheless.
My confusion regarding the sidewalk decorations caused me to glance down a great deal while strolling about. As a result, I took notice of a sock, covered in leaves. I thought to myself: "Why is there a sock on the sidewalk?" Then I starting thinking about all the strange places other than the sidewalk that I've seen socks: hanging over telephone wires, on highways, at train stations, in lakes and rivers...
Then it occurred to me, my socks ALWAYS disappear from the dryer and so do everyone else's. And we all wonder where they go. OBVIOUSLY they go everywhere. Right in front of our faces, they're just roaming about, not tumbling in the gentle cycle, nono. They're out seeing the world. They don't take their partneralong . They're sick of being one in a pair. Can't be monogamous. But they sure as hell can travel. Selfish socks, man, selfish socks.
yours truly,
geniuswithapurpose
Thursday, September 14, 2006
worst decision EVER!!!
Dear Diary,
Seriously, how could I have been so stupid? I've done some stupid things in my life. There was the time I asked a woman how many months pregnant she was, and she wasn't pregnant. That was dumb. There was the time I decide to write on my face without checking to make sure the marker wasn't permanent. That was idiotic. There was the time I went through an entire job interview with my fly open and very noticable pit stains. That was humiliating...but this? Does life not humble me on a frequent enough basis? Was this really necessary???
You know how long I have been in love with Jake. He is essentially the most perfect being to grace this planet and for the first time, the first time, I was able to have a really great conversation with him. We started talking about all kinds of things, and I managed to sound intelligent (primarily because I actually uttered something other than "yeah"), so much to my surprise and to my great pleasure, he asked if I might want to join him at a cafe, where this local singer would be performing. Thrilled, I accepted. He told me to meet him at 7 that evening.
Then, I met my Mom for lunch. I actually blame her because being a vegetarian, she insisted we eat at some hippie restaurant and before I knew it, I had indulged in beans the size of yesterday and some hummus-flavored garlic. It wasn't until we started talking about my plans for the evening that I realized my huge mistake.
Now, I am hiding in the bathroom, trying to rid myself of the pressure in my stomach, which could easily fill a blimp. Not only that, but I am neurotically sucking on my 28th and 29th breath mints. I've been too afraid to open my mouth all evening and, instead, have chosen to grunt (quite melodically, I might add),shrug and use other incredibly unattractive body language. My life is over. The beans are staging a coup and taking over my digestive tract. There seems to be no end to my misery in sight and, oh my god, I have been in the bathroom for 15 minutes already. Help!
Help!
Help!
Help!
P.S. to add insult to injury, the whole time, this stupid song is playing in my head:
beans beans, the musical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot (so true), the more you toot, the better you feel (not so far), so eat your beans with every meal ( DO NOT DO THIS!!!)
Seriously, how could I have been so stupid? I've done some stupid things in my life. There was the time I asked a woman how many months pregnant she was, and she wasn't pregnant. That was dumb. There was the time I decide to write on my face without checking to make sure the marker wasn't permanent. That was idiotic. There was the time I went through an entire job interview with my fly open and very noticable pit stains. That was humiliating...but this? Does life not humble me on a frequent enough basis? Was this really necessary???
You know how long I have been in love with Jake. He is essentially the most perfect being to grace this planet and for the first time, the first time, I was able to have a really great conversation with him. We started talking about all kinds of things, and I managed to sound intelligent (primarily because I actually uttered something other than "yeah"), so much to my surprise and to my great pleasure, he asked if I might want to join him at a cafe, where this local singer would be performing. Thrilled, I accepted. He told me to meet him at 7 that evening.
Then, I met my Mom for lunch. I actually blame her because being a vegetarian, she insisted we eat at some hippie restaurant and before I knew it, I had indulged in beans the size of yesterday and some hummus-flavored garlic. It wasn't until we started talking about my plans for the evening that I realized my huge mistake.
Now, I am hiding in the bathroom, trying to rid myself of the pressure in my stomach, which could easily fill a blimp. Not only that, but I am neurotically sucking on my 28th and 29th breath mints. I've been too afraid to open my mouth all evening and, instead, have chosen to grunt (quite melodically, I might add),shrug and use other incredibly unattractive body language. My life is over. The beans are staging a coup and taking over my digestive tract. There seems to be no end to my misery in sight and, oh my god, I have been in the bathroom for 15 minutes already. Help!
Help!
Help!
Help!
P.S. to add insult to injury, the whole time, this stupid song is playing in my head:
beans beans, the musical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot (so true), the more you toot, the better you feel (not so far), so eat your beans with every meal ( DO NOT DO THIS!!!)
Confessions of a vicious murderer...
Dear Diary,
I'm so ashamed. I don't even know if I am willing to admit to the heinous crime that I am personally guilty of committing. Maybe if I simply begin by explaining how I became wrapped up in this horrible and vicious attack.
I was sitting in my room, working on my humanitarian efforts via an email to a particularly embittered journalist for some two-bit paper, when I became aware of a quiet buzzing in my ear. At first I thought that maybe I had played the music in my headphones too loud and had some sort of residual effect, but alas, it was not so...
The buzzing grew louder and louder, until I could no longer deny that a vile, disgusting and no doubt disease-ridden insect of the mosquito variety had penetrated the sanctity of my work area. I swear, I tried to ignore the damn thing, but before I knew it, the little demon had left a trail of SIX bites behind my ear, along my hairline. I told the bug that this behavior, as a guest in my home, was unacceptable, but lacking culture as these beings so often do, it was unresponsive and continued to bite.
I surmised that it was taunting me, so I swatted at it with all my might and after an embarassingly large amount of attempts, I finally managed to bring the rebel down.
I had barely had the chance to glory in my triumph over evil, when it suddenly occurred to me that I had murdered this creature. A saying that I once read on a kitchen plaque resurfaced in my consciousness: "If you ever felt that your voice was too small to make a difference, try falling asleep with a mosquito in your bedroom." (or something to that effect) Here I was, writing this objection, trying to have my voice word, while unceremoniously extinguishing the little guy.
My hypocrisy is my burden.
Despairingly and penitently yours,
Vigilante Swatter
I'm so ashamed. I don't even know if I am willing to admit to the heinous crime that I am personally guilty of committing. Maybe if I simply begin by explaining how I became wrapped up in this horrible and vicious attack.
I was sitting in my room, working on my humanitarian efforts via an email to a particularly embittered journalist for some two-bit paper, when I became aware of a quiet buzzing in my ear. At first I thought that maybe I had played the music in my headphones too loud and had some sort of residual effect, but alas, it was not so...
The buzzing grew louder and louder, until I could no longer deny that a vile, disgusting and no doubt disease-ridden insect of the mosquito variety had penetrated the sanctity of my work area. I swear, I tried to ignore the damn thing, but before I knew it, the little demon had left a trail of SIX bites behind my ear, along my hairline. I told the bug that this behavior, as a guest in my home, was unacceptable, but lacking culture as these beings so often do, it was unresponsive and continued to bite.
I surmised that it was taunting me, so I swatted at it with all my might and after an embarassingly large amount of attempts, I finally managed to bring the rebel down.
I had barely had the chance to glory in my triumph over evil, when it suddenly occurred to me that I had murdered this creature. A saying that I once read on a kitchen plaque resurfaced in my consciousness: "If you ever felt that your voice was too small to make a difference, try falling asleep with a mosquito in your bedroom." (or something to that effect) Here I was, writing this objection, trying to have my voice word, while unceremoniously extinguishing the little guy.
My hypocrisy is my burden.
Despairingly and penitently yours,
Vigilante Swatter
Thursday, May 25, 2006
I shower, therefore I think
Dear Diary,
I am clean and refreshed and feeling very impressed with my intellectual and philosophical capacities. Why, you ask? Simply because I have just emerged from the life-affirming and spirit-rejuvenating experience we so take for granted and thoughtlessly refer to as THE SHOWER.
Every single time I step out of that little confessional and sole haven, I feel that I have worked through things that even the most expensive therapy would not reach. It is the last surviving place where I have no distractions--TV, reading material, conversation... Thus, my mind is free to wander and explore its own depths.
I am so enamored of the power of the shower that I was beginning to think that world leaders should spend more time in that miraculous solution booth. Perhaps they could be required to take showers prior to any important meeting or diplomatic negotiation. It is my experience that even a quick shower offers unexpected insight into the navigation of daily life and even chaotic crises.
My plan was ruined, however, when I realized that the power cannot be harnessed and manipulated. In fact, I have often paused when writing a paper or contemplating something challenging and relocated to the shower. Once there, unfailingly, my mind begins to stray from the consideration of the desired problem to another, underlying trouble I am facing.
Thus, we cannot use the power of the shower; we must simple learn to enjoy the ride it takes us on.
Thought-provokingly cleansed,
Hygiene enthusiast
I am clean and refreshed and feeling very impressed with my intellectual and philosophical capacities. Why, you ask? Simply because I have just emerged from the life-affirming and spirit-rejuvenating experience we so take for granted and thoughtlessly refer to as THE SHOWER.
Every single time I step out of that little confessional and sole haven, I feel that I have worked through things that even the most expensive therapy would not reach. It is the last surviving place where I have no distractions--TV, reading material, conversation... Thus, my mind is free to wander and explore its own depths.
I am so enamored of the power of the shower that I was beginning to think that world leaders should spend more time in that miraculous solution booth. Perhaps they could be required to take showers prior to any important meeting or diplomatic negotiation. It is my experience that even a quick shower offers unexpected insight into the navigation of daily life and even chaotic crises.
My plan was ruined, however, when I realized that the power cannot be harnessed and manipulated. In fact, I have often paused when writing a paper or contemplating something challenging and relocated to the shower. Once there, unfailingly, my mind begins to stray from the consideration of the desired problem to another, underlying trouble I am facing.
Thus, we cannot use the power of the shower; we must simple learn to enjoy the ride it takes us on.
Thought-provokingly cleansed,
Hygiene enthusiast
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Time ISN'T on my side!
Dear Diary,
I thought that time was on my side. When The Rolling Stones sang, I thought I was completely with them. I sang along, off-key and blissfully ignorant of the truth: Time does not love me. I thought I had my relationship with time all figured out. I suppose I should have known better. I did have an early tip-off, back when I was a mere child of 12. That should have been warning enough. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Or at least that's what you think. You probably think that time is on your side, too. Silly, silly fool.
Anyway, here's the full story:
When I was a child of 5 or so, I remember a visit to the Family Health Clinic. My parents had taken me to get some sort of torturous immunization. Something about measles, mumps and ow that hurts. I was, at that tender age, terrified, paralyzingly so, of needles. I seriously could not stand the sight of them, and my flipping out when I saw them grew so extreme that a nurse actually refused to give me a shot because I made her feel too guilty. (Bad move on my part. Long-term effect: Pissed off doctor had to come and administer the shot. Impatient and not sympathetic to my plight. Jabbing motion comes to mind.) In any case, my older sister was getting a shot too. She had to get some 12 year old booster, and I thought, Wow. In 7 years, I have to go through this again. THANK GOD I will be so grown up then that I won't be afraid. It won't affect me at all. I'll be so cool about it. Thank God I'll be 12 and able to handle it.
Fast Forward 7 years: hysterics. trembling with fear. And feeling betrayed by time because I was not able to handle it. In fact, I still warn nurses whenever they have to draw blood or give me a shot. I still get the butterfly needle. When I had an IV once, I dreamed about being able to leave it in for all time, so that any time they needed something: voila! ready access, no pain.
So why am I writing about this? Because I'm graduating. And like the shot scenario, I always assumed that when I graduated, I'd be ready to graduate. Ready to move on and be an adult. But no. I'm not. Not even remotely. I don't want to be a grown-up, non-student. What's that about? I do not like it. I don't like it at all.
So now that I've learned that time isn't, in fact, on my side, I've begun to dread things. There have been a lot of things that have flashed through my head, but most prominently, and most disturbingly: childbirth.
I don't think I'm going to be able to handle it. And don't try to make me feel better with the "childbirth lasts a day (or whatever time it takes for me), motherhood lasts a lifetime" crap sentiment. I don't care. I'm adopting. Or something. Or they'll have to find some way to take away the pain without using a needle. Cos I don't play that way, as you should know.
Does anyone have any suggestions for how I can prepare myself for childbirth? Should I be doing some kind of exercise, taking some kind of vitamins, in case I forget that time isn't on my side and wind up "with child" somehow, someday?
Please, please, please help me. I don't want to go through the pain of childbirth. I'm not ready. AND I NEVER WILL BE. I now know and accept that.
Considering celibacy,
TimeEnemy
I thought that time was on my side. When The Rolling Stones sang, I thought I was completely with them. I sang along, off-key and blissfully ignorant of the truth: Time does not love me. I thought I had my relationship with time all figured out. I suppose I should have known better. I did have an early tip-off, back when I was a mere child of 12. That should have been warning enough. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Or at least that's what you think. You probably think that time is on your side, too. Silly, silly fool.
Anyway, here's the full story:
When I was a child of 5 or so, I remember a visit to the Family Health Clinic. My parents had taken me to get some sort of torturous immunization. Something about measles, mumps and ow that hurts. I was, at that tender age, terrified, paralyzingly so, of needles. I seriously could not stand the sight of them, and my flipping out when I saw them grew so extreme that a nurse actually refused to give me a shot because I made her feel too guilty. (Bad move on my part. Long-term effect: Pissed off doctor had to come and administer the shot. Impatient and not sympathetic to my plight. Jabbing motion comes to mind.) In any case, my older sister was getting a shot too. She had to get some 12 year old booster, and I thought, Wow. In 7 years, I have to go through this again. THANK GOD I will be so grown up then that I won't be afraid. It won't affect me at all. I'll be so cool about it. Thank God I'll be 12 and able to handle it.
Fast Forward 7 years: hysterics. trembling with fear. And feeling betrayed by time because I was not able to handle it. In fact, I still warn nurses whenever they have to draw blood or give me a shot. I still get the butterfly needle. When I had an IV once, I dreamed about being able to leave it in for all time, so that any time they needed something: voila! ready access, no pain.
So why am I writing about this? Because I'm graduating. And like the shot scenario, I always assumed that when I graduated, I'd be ready to graduate. Ready to move on and be an adult. But no. I'm not. Not even remotely. I don't want to be a grown-up, non-student. What's that about? I do not like it. I don't like it at all.
So now that I've learned that time isn't, in fact, on my side, I've begun to dread things. There have been a lot of things that have flashed through my head, but most prominently, and most disturbingly: childbirth.
I don't think I'm going to be able to handle it. And don't try to make me feel better with the "childbirth lasts a day (or whatever time it takes for me), motherhood lasts a lifetime" crap sentiment. I don't care. I'm adopting. Or something. Or they'll have to find some way to take away the pain without using a needle. Cos I don't play that way, as you should know.
Does anyone have any suggestions for how I can prepare myself for childbirth? Should I be doing some kind of exercise, taking some kind of vitamins, in case I forget that time isn't on my side and wind up "with child" somehow, someday?
Please, please, please help me. I don't want to go through the pain of childbirth. I'm not ready. AND I NEVER WILL BE. I now know and accept that.
Considering celibacy,
TimeEnemy
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
IT has finally come
Today, or yesterday, depending on when I finally post this, is Angi's birthday. What does this mean you ask? A wonderful, albeit short, reprieve from her reminders that her birthday is coming (which begins about a month prior to the 26th)...But also that she should be somewhere celebrating and indulging in youthful indiscretion. So, I plan to think of her this weekend, while I celebrate Alizah's birthday with her! So to two very fantastic chicas: Happy 22nd!!
Smooches,
C.
Smooches,
C.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Can't eat cos your hands smell? Boy, have I got something for YOU!!
Dear easily amused readers,
If you're like me, you love to eat out, but you hate having to find a good restaurant. Moreover, you like to wash your hands before dining, but hate it when your hands smell like nasty hospital soap. It's not appetizing, right? Well, if you need help overcoming these and many more issues faced by the average restaurant patron, LOOK NO FURTHER!!!! NaViCa is here for YOU!!!
But wait, there's more--you will find out about the quality of the food, decor, prices, whether you can whisper, is it a date place?, are the seats comfy? and all the pressing questions in our lives today at:
http://NaViCa.blogspot.com
Or you can always use the link on the right side of this page.
Yours Sincerely,
CM
(up-and-coming food and restaurant reviewer/expert/all-powerful dining Deity...)
If you're like me, you love to eat out, but you hate having to find a good restaurant. Moreover, you like to wash your hands before dining, but hate it when your hands smell like nasty hospital soap. It's not appetizing, right? Well, if you need help overcoming these and many more issues faced by the average restaurant patron, LOOK NO FURTHER!!!! NaViCa is here for YOU!!!
But wait, there's more--you will find out about the quality of the food, decor, prices, whether you can whisper, is it a date place?, are the seats comfy? and all the pressing questions in our lives today at:
http://NaViCa.blogspot.com
Or you can always use the link on the right side of this page.
Yours Sincerely,
CM
(up-and-coming food and restaurant reviewer/expert/all-powerful dining Deity...)
Porcupine's are taking over...
Dear Diary...
Who knew that porcupines were such popular animals? Over the past few days, porcupines have been invading my world. First of all, I was watching Conan, and there was one of those animal expert dudes (who for whatever reason never seem to know anything about their animals). The guy had a porcupine with him and explained that if you pet them a certain way, the porcs (why not?) are quite soft, but if you are pricked by one, it can mean death. No, seriously. You will die. (If you fail to remove said porc before the stuff enters your bloodstream) So that was my first encounter withthe porcupine this weekend.
Then, I went to the zoo and saw some. Granted, it's the zoo, so who's surprised, right? I mean, the porcupine should have been more insulted than I was that I was invading its life.
But when I saw a human porcupine, I knew it was all over.
I was at a party, when suddenly a friend pointed out to me that one of the males had clearly been cross-bred with a porcupine. His black hair was sticking up in such clearly porc descendant deadly and poisonous weapons that I immediately feared for my life. Nonetheless, as it turned out, the procupine/human was a German guy with a fetish for extremely hard and spikey hair. What's with all of the gel, boys? I bet half of the gel economy is based on the market in Germany. No joke.
Just keeping you updated on the goings-on of my porcupine filled days.
(BTW, I did manage to mess up his hair and discovered that instead of venom, the porcuguy had regular strands of hair that could be separated...I never cease to be amazed.)
Signed,
AnimalEnthusiast
Sidenote--I learned a new song at the zoo. It goes like this: (Hit it, boys!)
" H-I-P for the hi-ii-p,
P-O-P-O for the hip-popo,
T-A for the tay,
M-U-S for the hip-popo-tay-mus,
(spoken quickly) ay-hippo, ay-hippopo!"
Nice, right? Now you know how to spell hippopotamus.
Who knew that porcupines were such popular animals? Over the past few days, porcupines have been invading my world. First of all, I was watching Conan, and there was one of those animal expert dudes (who for whatever reason never seem to know anything about their animals). The guy had a porcupine with him and explained that if you pet them a certain way, the porcs (why not?) are quite soft, but if you are pricked by one, it can mean death. No, seriously. You will die. (If you fail to remove said porc before the stuff enters your bloodstream) So that was my first encounter withthe porcupine this weekend.
Then, I went to the zoo and saw some. Granted, it's the zoo, so who's surprised, right? I mean, the porcupine should have been more insulted than I was that I was invading its life.
But when I saw a human porcupine, I knew it was all over.
I was at a party, when suddenly a friend pointed out to me that one of the males had clearly been cross-bred with a porcupine. His black hair was sticking up in such clearly porc descendant deadly and poisonous weapons that I immediately feared for my life. Nonetheless, as it turned out, the procupine/human was a German guy with a fetish for extremely hard and spikey hair. What's with all of the gel, boys? I bet half of the gel economy is based on the market in Germany. No joke.
Just keeping you updated on the goings-on of my porcupine filled days.
(BTW, I did manage to mess up his hair and discovered that instead of venom, the porcuguy had regular strands of hair that could be separated...I never cease to be amazed.)
Signed,
AnimalEnthusiast
Sidenote--I learned a new song at the zoo. It goes like this: (Hit it, boys!)
" H-I-P for the hi-ii-p,
P-O-P-O for the hip-popo,
T-A for the tay,
M-U-S for the hip-popo-tay-mus,
(spoken quickly) ay-hippo, ay-hippopo!"
Nice, right? Now you know how to spell hippopotamus.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
I have a dream---and i hope it ain't comin' true.
Dear Diary,
I am very scared because I just woke up from an extremely disturbing dream. I was hugging a giant penis. And one of my friends was there. What does this mean? Could someone interpret for me? But please, please, please do not apply Freudian theory.
I'm going to try to get back in bed, but I doubt that I will be able to close my eyes.
INsomniac.
I am very scared because I just woke up from an extremely disturbing dream. I was hugging a giant penis. And one of my friends was there. What does this mean? Could someone interpret for me? But please, please, please do not apply Freudian theory.
I'm going to try to get back in bed, but I doubt that I will be able to close my eyes.
INsomniac.
I have confession to make...
To whom it may concern:
i have to get this off my chest. I love to read teeny bopper books. seriously. The Princess Diaries, for example. and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. do you judge me? cos most people do.
english teacher jr.
p.s. there are quite a few more...
i have to get this off my chest. I love to read teeny bopper books. seriously. The Princess Diaries, for example. and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. do you judge me? cos most people do.
english teacher jr.
p.s. there are quite a few more...
Jiggle-Juggle-Jam
Dear Dr. P. Kapfhammer,
I am writing to express to you a few issues that I would like to discuss. First of all, I would like to thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I felt very concerned about my health, and your evaluation was crucial in settling my heart and mind. I had not been taking very good care of my precious body, which I know is my temple, but I haven't been very conscious of it. My friend, who is in a little Bungalow-hut on an island in Southern Thailand, has asked me to join her. She makes me very nervous because she is this phenomenal yoga-practicing, lizard-hunting (they sound like dogs), monastery-visiting, non-compliant (with respect to taking pictures of lizards barking in her bed), international friend who is totally going to show me up by being way cooler than me. Perhaps I am revealing too much about my personal life, but then again, you've seen me naked. Which brings me to my next point:
I did not think that it was right that you chose to make me expose myself in that way. I understand that I had to remove my clothes in order for you to conduct the EKG, but to make me ride a bicycle naked was simply cruel. I did not feel that those little suction cups were enough to cover up my breasts, nor did they offer any significant amount of support. The only way to express this humiliation (of my breasts jiggling about) is to say that I have had horrific dreams about it since then. PLUS my friends have been making fun of me incessantly.
MOREOVER, you should more carefully train and supervise your staff, particularly your nursing staff, as they play a crucial role in the suction cup application process. A specific nurse, I believe her name was Betty (she was blonde), managed to apply one of the cups to my right nipple. Then, she proceeded to remove it rather roughly and unapologetically. I would only like to inform you that my nipple is in a great deal of pain.
In short, I really feel that you should find another way to go about collecting EKG readings: One which does not include braless bicycling and imprecise suctioning.
Thank you for your time and attention to this matter.
Sincerely,
Ms. X
I am writing to express to you a few issues that I would like to discuss. First of all, I would like to thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I felt very concerned about my health, and your evaluation was crucial in settling my heart and mind. I had not been taking very good care of my precious body, which I know is my temple, but I haven't been very conscious of it. My friend, who is in a little Bungalow-hut on an island in Southern Thailand, has asked me to join her. She makes me very nervous because she is this phenomenal yoga-practicing, lizard-hunting (they sound like dogs), monastery-visiting, non-compliant (with respect to taking pictures of lizards barking in her bed), international friend who is totally going to show me up by being way cooler than me. Perhaps I am revealing too much about my personal life, but then again, you've seen me naked. Which brings me to my next point:
I did not think that it was right that you chose to make me expose myself in that way. I understand that I had to remove my clothes in order for you to conduct the EKG, but to make me ride a bicycle naked was simply cruel. I did not feel that those little suction cups were enough to cover up my breasts, nor did they offer any significant amount of support. The only way to express this humiliation (of my breasts jiggling about) is to say that I have had horrific dreams about it since then. PLUS my friends have been making fun of me incessantly.
MOREOVER, you should more carefully train and supervise your staff, particularly your nursing staff, as they play a crucial role in the suction cup application process. A specific nurse, I believe her name was Betty (she was blonde), managed to apply one of the cups to my right nipple. Then, she proceeded to remove it rather roughly and unapologetically. I would only like to inform you that my nipple is in a great deal of pain.
In short, I really feel that you should find another way to go about collecting EKG readings: One which does not include braless bicycling and imprecise suctioning.
Thank you for your time and attention to this matter.
Sincerely,
Ms. X
Monday, January 30, 2006
As promised...
Dear Diary,
Today has been a really hard day. I don't know how to explain it. It's just one of those things: I guess you could call it a funk? This whole day has been a drag. Ever since I got out of bed this morning, I've known that nothing good would happen.
I was feeling really down and all, so I thought it might make me feel better to go to Blockbuster and rent a good movie. Except when I got there, there was nothing--and I mean nothing--worth renting. Ok, I admit that it's possible that lack of enthusiasm on my part had more to do with the inability to find a good movie. Normally I might have spotted something, but not today. I think my mom said it's called a self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever.
So then I thought I might feel better if I flirted a little with the guy working there. He sort of responded, in fact, he even took his break so he could hang out with me, but he wasn't even remotely cute. I was actually kind of embarassed by my actions. I guess it was kind of mean to lead him on, but it was really harmless. Anyway, he wasn't even overly interested, maybe because I wasn't very interesting to talk to. I couldn't think of a thing to say, plus my mood was sort of apparent after two minutes of conversation. The really horrible part? I kept imagining throwing myself up against a tree. Or maybe dancing with a monkey. Or something weird like that. I don't know, anything to make me smile, but somehow, none of my usual tricks were working and my less than charming self could not maintain Josh(?)'s attention.
Then some cute blonde walked up and he said his break was over.
So now my MOM wants me to shuck some corn with her. My life is a disaster.
Signed,
PatheticLoserSquared
AKA
TheCornShucker
Today has been a really hard day. I don't know how to explain it. It's just one of those things: I guess you could call it a funk? This whole day has been a drag. Ever since I got out of bed this morning, I've known that nothing good would happen.
I was feeling really down and all, so I thought it might make me feel better to go to Blockbuster and rent a good movie. Except when I got there, there was nothing--and I mean nothing--worth renting. Ok, I admit that it's possible that lack of enthusiasm on my part had more to do with the inability to find a good movie. Normally I might have spotted something, but not today. I think my mom said it's called a self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever.
So then I thought I might feel better if I flirted a little with the guy working there. He sort of responded, in fact, he even took his break so he could hang out with me, but he wasn't even remotely cute. I was actually kind of embarassed by my actions. I guess it was kind of mean to lead him on, but it was really harmless. Anyway, he wasn't even overly interested, maybe because I wasn't very interesting to talk to. I couldn't think of a thing to say, plus my mood was sort of apparent after two minutes of conversation. The really horrible part? I kept imagining throwing myself up against a tree. Or maybe dancing with a monkey. Or something weird like that. I don't know, anything to make me smile, but somehow, none of my usual tricks were working and my less than charming self could not maintain Josh(?)'s attention.
Then some cute blonde walked up and he said his break was over.
So now my MOM wants me to shuck some corn with her. My life is a disaster.
Signed,
PatheticLoserSquared
AKA
TheCornShucker
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