if not a gold star for patience, maybe like a special hat you could wear. or a sash.
i swear if anyone called me and launched into a conversation about how they took some quiz online and wanted to delve deeply into the profound life-altering multiple choice meanings, i would hang up…and then tear the f-ing phone out of the wall. your patience is astounding.
and it further illustrates why i don’t like to answer the phone! don’t answer unless you’re positive what awaits you on the other end.
Yes, I’m supposed to be studying, but sometimes these random thoughts are very important to consider. What does Prince wear around the house? Historically, he’s always been a very fashion forward, chic sort of person. While I’ve seen photos of Madonna, for example, looking like hell on a stick as she goes out for coffee, Prince is always neat, presentable, elegant.
So.
It’s Sunday, late morning. What do you think Prince is wearing right now? Do you think he’s wearing yesterday’s tshirt (like me!) and some semi-sketchy-not-sure-when-these-were-last-washed flannel pajama pants (like me!) as midday approaches? Do you think his significant other has to be all up in his face like “Prince, you’ve been wearing that Lakers sweatshirt for what, 3 days now? What is that on the front, nacho cheese? You’ve got to put on something clean before my mother comes over and for god’s sake, brush your teeth!” Yeah, it’s hard to imagine his Royal Purpleness sniffing at his cheese-stained 3 day old sweatshirt and going “But honeyyyyyyyyyyyy, I smell fine!” Do you think he has some nasty hole riddled pair of sweatpants or flannel pj pants that his woman would set on fire if she could just get him parted from them for any length of time? I’d like to think that Prince is a regular guy. That thought comforts me.
Hey, I think it’s awesome that ya’ll are so hot for each other that you can’t resist making out right there in WalMart. I think it’s just terrific, good for you! Heck, I’m pretty sure there’s at least one man on earth who could reduce me to sucking face in a retail mecca, so I certainly understand and support you there!
In fact, in my twisted little mind, I like to think you planned ahead to swap spit right there in WalMart…”Jed, it would jazz up our marriage so much if you felt me up at WalMart.” “Sally Sue, I think you’re right! Let’s do that on Sunday when we pick up some antifreeze and some of those frozen cream puff things I like so much.”
But I have to assume that I was not part of your spice-up-your-love-life fantasy. I really can’t imagine that you hoped a grouchy gum-chewing thirty-something wearing the clothes she slept in would hover around your foreplay-fest. I doubt you thought about me standing there, saying “excuse me,” and tapping my foot. While it’s certainly reasonable for all of you to picture me in all your steamiest imaginings, I sincerely doubt you envision me in the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for the last 18 hours, rubbing my itchy allergy eyes, cracking and popping my Big Red gum…of course, if that is how you like to fantasize about me, we need to get together soon!
Jed, Sally Sue, the problem with making out right there in the candy aisle at the super mega mondo WalMart is that your united pelvises and your cart are blocking the chocolate Twizzlers. I had a few things on my list today that could unfortunately only be found at WalMart, and chocolate Twizzlers were a priority item; I can’t find those at any of the grocery stores close to my house but I can count on WalMart when I need a fix. I truly hate shopping at WalMart, so for me to be there at all is a big damn deal. For ya’ll to block the Twizzlers is a travesty.
I did say “excuse me.” I did take a moment to review my shopping list. I tapped my foot and waited, even stopped and checked my email on my crackberry. I did say “excuse me” again…so there was no reason for ya’ll to look so damned irritated when I gave up and reached around your lovefest to get my chocolate Twizzlers. Sorry to pop your bubble of sex magic, but you just can’t block the chocolate Twizzlers, ok?
Next time ya’ll are gonna work yourselves into a frenzied fever of lovin’ at WalMart, please choose a less busy aisle. I’m gonna suggest that you check into the hunting section; it looked pretty free over by the deer urine and duck calls. You might also consider the artificial flower aisle; I cut through there earlier in my shopping and there was no one around. If you’re feeling extra frisky, why don’t you just park yourselves right there on the display futon and make yourselves at home for a bit before you go pick up the frozen cream puffs Jed likes so much?
Ya’ll feel free to get your freak on, more power to ya, but don’t stand in the way of me and my chocolate Twizzlers.
So I’m not really for or against Marilyn Manson and his eponymous band. Don’t mind at all to listen to the songs, some I even like, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about what Marilyn Manson wears, looks like, dates. If you are paying close enough attention to be shocked or surprised at his appearance or his stage show or whatever, you are feeding into exactly what the band hoped for: attention, press, uproar. Mister Marilyn Manson can call it artistic expression or whatever, but it all boils down to a big fat paycheck at the end of the day—the more the shock, the outrage, the bigger the paycheck. Anyhooooo…
I like the Manson cover of “Sweet Dreams.” Eerie, spooky, enjoyable stuff there, especially as the lyrics are whispered in your ear about three minutes into it, that’s fabulous. I do not like the cover of “Personal Jesus” at all; Depeche Mode’s original version was uber sexy, let’s strip, get on the horse and ride, and even though they made it their own, Manson’s cover is hollow–on a vaguely related note, Rob Zombie’s “Pussy Liquor” has that same “Personal Jesus” type of riff, and it is completely dance on the coffee table and strip-worthy. Some of Manson’s originals like “If I Was Your Vampire” are quite listenable, marrying the woe, doom and gloom of bands like The Cure with a more industrial flavor similar to NIN.
Marilyn Manson’s “Tainted Love” just pisses me off. That’s my song. That’s my on my knees, crawling on all fours, leaving the stage to mingle in the crowd karaoke song. I do it justice. It’s mine. They ripped me off with this song. It loses all its heartsick bitter jaded wonderfulosity in the Manson version. (What’s also terrible, maybe even worse, is H.I.M.’s cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game”…but that’s a tangent for another day) I think they need to blow it up, remove it from the universe, give it back to me, pretend it never existed and we’ll call it even.
Pinky swears are binding on a global basis, so even if you fled the country, your pinky swear would still be honored here and abroad.
Today’s song o’ the day I Walk Beside You, Dream Theater, although I think I prefer the studio version to the live version…the studio version videos were crummy, so tis a concert recording I must post.
Earlier in the week, I posted I Will Follow live for similar reasons—the original video for I Will Follow is readily available, but Bono’s circa 1980 flailing is downright silly in it. As he’s gotten older, he flails less dorkily, so the newer live version is easier to tolerate visually.
it’s been a while since i’ve laid any poetry on ya, hasn’t it? here’s a favorite by ee cummings, something sweet and shmoopy and wonderful…i love the line i fear no fate for you are my fate, my sweet. so here, take a poetry break with me now, enjoy:
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
Get thee unto your local IHOP to partake of the magic of the pumpkin pancakes. They grace us with their tastiness for such a short time each year, and I love them so, oh yes I do.
When they appear at the table, inevitably someone will say, “oooo I’ve never tried pumpkin pancakes before. They smell really yummy. Can—-” I don’t let anyone complete that sentence because the answer is “NO HELL NO, I am not sharing, you can not have a bite. I will stab you in the hand if you try.” Saturday, I bit someone who was reaching over my pumpkin pancakes…oh yeah, it’s that serious to me. GET YOUR OWN!
One of my friends sort of disappeared this year, fell off the face of the earth, incommunicado. This is nothing new with with him, but usually I reach out and maintain the contact, make the effort if he’s been silent for a while. He’s got a little something going on with depression, and when he gets down, he gets waaaaaay down.
Somewhere in April was the last time I saw him in person, and he’s always been one to show up at my office at random to say howdy and catch up for a few minutes for all the years I’ve been at my job. With the exception of some text message exchanges, I haven’t seen him all this time. I was thinking about him around my birthday, something along the lines of “that selfish mofo better not forget my birthday” but I wasn’t about to call him or text him; he needed to hold up his end of things for once without my leading him along.
The ol’ birthday came and went without a peep from him. He showed up at my office this week unannounced, just popped up outta nowhere like a Whack A Mole, so the first thing I do is punch him in the arm really freakin’ hard for missing my birthday. And I punch him again for disappearing all this time.
He apologizes and tells me how he’s been in the midst of the worst depression of his adult life, how he’s failing his college classes, got let go from his job, hasn’t been leaving the bed. Oh. Crap. So now I feel like an ass for not checking in on him, for waiting around in a stubborn funk for him to communicate with me while he’s been lost in some horrible dark head trip all along.
It was a relief to see him and upsetting all at once, but I was glad he came. His mindset wasn’t good, and after some conversation, found out that while he’s seen therapists, he’s never tried a prescription to help his depression. I am fairly anti-medication myself, so I understand where he’s coming from; I will suffer with something for years before I’ll consider taking a pill.
I convinced him to at least seek out a doctor and try something new. I followed up with him the next day to make sure he’d been to the college health center. He went, got a referral to see a psychiatrist so the psychiatrist and doctor can work together to find out what meds will work best for his type of depression. He’ll see the psychiatrist in a day or two. I’m really happy he’s open to trying something new, that he’s acknowledging that his depression is out of control this time.
I’m mad at myself a little for being a stubborn jackass and not checking in on my friend. I know I can’t fix the mess in his head and that the bad spot he’s in now has nothing to do with me, but if I’m his friend, I have to accept him, depression and all. So next time, I won’t let half a year disappear, refusing to be the one to make contact; I will accept that sometimes he goes silent because he gets lost, down, afraid, and that it’s no failure to shoot him a text message if I haven’t heard from him in a while–it’s the right thing to do.
Hey, happy birthday, old-timer. Wishing you good health and many happy returns of the day… If you’re getting senior citizen discounts, help me score some pumpkin pancakes at IHOP on the cheap!