Postscript

Second Notice:

Dear Pet Products Store Catered to Soft Hearts Like Me,

You have not replied to my recent letter.

I find this troubling on many levels, not the least of which is that I have bought so many useless things from you and your horrid, spawning retail chains that I probably financed the new store in Frozen'roid, North Dakota.  

I am compelled to send you another urgent missive.  I am quite upset and find you guilty as about to be charged.

When you charge $42** for the pheromone things YOU NEED TO PUT A DIRECTIONAL ON THEM SO THAT I DON'T PLUG THEM IN UPSIDE DOWN AND THEN ALLOW THE OIL TO DRIP THROUGH THE APPARENTLY GOLD-FUCKING PLATED INNARDS AND CAUSE THE HOUSE TO SMELL LIKE BURNING PLASTIC WHICH MAKES ME REMOVE THEM SO THAT THEY DON'T SET THE HOUSE ON FIRE WHEN I'M AT WORK AND BURN MY PSYCHOTIC CATS TO DEATH.

Which doesn't sound all that bad, come to think of it.

It was expensive and they are ruined and it is all because I'm an idiot and wasn't thinking and to be honest with you, THAT NEEDS TO BE SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT this time.

Kindly respond and tell me who I can scream at,

Salome

**EACH!! 

Deliberately Cryptic, in Other Words FLY

;) CLP is the only one who that title may resonate with.

CLP, you called me! I did not answer because

WELCOME TO
SALOME'S RUINED WEEKEND
OF EMOTIONAL TORMENT.

I can't talk about it.

My time, she is a-biding.

Sometimes when the worst thing happens

the world just opens up

like the throat of an opera singer

then the hope pours out

So here's to hope

and here's to the fat lady

sharpening her teeth.

Correspondence File: 1/11/08

Dear Coat Manufacturers (Everywhere):

For the love of Pete, will you please make coats with well-sewn buttons? I mean, honestly.
Listen, I know you can't possibly imagine how many times a person can get out of their car and actually HOOK the button on the inside of the driver's door, nor could you anticipate when someone (such as myself) might buy a coat that just(barely)fits and wear the goddamn thing anyway, because you feel funky and cool in it, even though the simple act of taking a sip of coffee some morning might snap the back buttoned thing off in its tracks, but fergodsake, I am a repellent to buttons over here, and if the 2 year old in your sweatshop can't sew a button tightly you should imprison her whole family.

Because I never remember where I put them for safekeeping,
Salome

p.s. When I die, I will be remembered as the lady that had "many random buttons in schizophrenic proliferation among personal belongings." And it will be all your fault. Please call Larry King and explain my life.

Dear Unfathomable Multi-Locale Breakout,

We've already been through this. Listen, sebum glands. I've had it. If you freak the fuck out three days before an important meeting ONE MORE TIME.....I'm going to plunge my face into a bath of pure glycol. I KNOW it is an important meeting. I was up until 3am last night, wasn't I? I'm well aware of the general all-purpose FREAKOUT going on in my brain. I would expect YOU of all body processes to give me some support. You must be friends with the Sudden-Unexplained-Alarming-Bloat. I hope you're proud of yourself. Big Important Meeting meets Fat Teenager with Lack of Sleep Twitch. Nice.

Alarmingly Using The CAPS LOCK,
Salome

Dear Pet Products Store Catered to Soft Hearts Like Me,

Do you really have to be so expensive? Listen, I'm not so infatuated that I don't know that all the products I buy are because I think a domesticated animal is a human family member. But listen, they are, she is, and I CARE. If they need me, I AM HERE. Even though I have the most pampered and coddled cats since Egypt, I still look for ways to liquidate my savings. But $42 EACH for the pheromone thing that MIGHT make Lucy stop stalking everything in the house and Leo stop peeing on my dirty laundry? That is outrageous. The new brush I bought because their old brush is, well, old? Highway Robbery. $10 a month per cat for the Prozac that will allow these freakazoids to just FUCKING CHILL FOR A MOMENT WITH ALL THE DRAMA, COULD WE PLEASE? Unbelievable. You are sucking me dry.

When I Die, I Want to Come Back As My Cat,
Salome

Dear Finny,

My dear. My darling boy. You are still gone. I know you're not coming back. And I can just about type this without breaking open like the fury and pain of the sea when it hits the shore with intent to kill and spatters into mist. Just about. I am profound with the lack of you. I was at Petco tonight, honey. At the place where the cats who need homes are, my heart raced and my spirits soared, if only just to find you. If only just to see you now, seven long and heartbreaking months, and scoop you up and say FINALLY. Finally, honey you're home, and everything that happened we will laugh about, at night when you and I curl up in bed and we are mom and boy. Today I gave your favorite toy to the stray that my heart wouldn't let me hold out on. She liked it, but not like you did. She won't bring me the felt lightning bolt with the bell I painstakingly sewed on it, drop it in my lap to say, "Here. Throw this, I feel like playing. I feel like chasing this and bringing it back to you so you can throw it again and then we'll be having fun together." I cried about you on New Year's Eve. I had cold medicine and then tequila and then champagne and all of a sudden I was all red-face and snot, crying to Lakshmi about you. You are just a cat, I know, but I am just a human, and you brought my life so much light. When you left, or died, or were taken, joy just stopped for me. I am trying to coax it back, but this house is filthy with memories of you. I can't go in the garden, it breaks my heart. I can't stop stopping in my tracks when something reminds me of you, and it is like you just went missing. I can't let you go, little man, my heart won't let me.

Be Safe and Please Don't Ever Forget That I Love You, That I Always Did and Always Will,
Mom

Cacaphony

While getting older isn't the worst thing that has ever happened to a person, I quite like the tiny wrinkles around my eyes when I smile, I am increasingly annoyed at my stomach's decision to form a second set of cleavage just under my boobs.

I am devastated at my body's inability to recover from drinking three or four too many. What used to take hours to get over now takes days. Days that I remember the next time. Who ever thought I'd be wary or cautious?

What is cool, at the moment, are the cracks that my body is doing. I'm sure they're a harbinger of some serious arthritis medication in my future, but for now I'll revel in them.

Elbow crack - so satisfying when I do the sweeping circular arm-movement to elicit them.
Ankle cracks - loud pops that feel so good.
Knee cracks, or wait, kind of more like grinding, which is really not an appealing sound.

Neck cracks that sound like they MEAN something.

I'm going to take this old thing one day at a time. And right now I'm just going to shut up and listen to the symphony.

oooh, a music Meme!

Thanks to Jonathan:

Rules...
1. Put your iTunes on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer
3. You must write down that song name no matter what

Results...

Q. What would best describe your personality?
A. ONE - U2
Wow. A favorite. A favored, favored, heart favorite. I have always been enthralled with the vulnerability, self-doubt and strength in this song. At least that's what I've always heard in it.

Q. If someone says it's okay you say:
A. Come Away With Me - Norah Jones
Hmm. There's a bunch of songs on here from these DVDs a friends was passing around full of pirated music. This isn't a song I put on my iTunes because I loved it. But I do like Norah Jones. I would say that this could be relevant because if someone tells me it's okay and it clearly isn't....I would help them anyway I could. I can't stand to see someone hurt or hurting. I have to try and help.

Q. What do you like in a (girl) GUY? (I had to change gender to be relevant to me)
A. Rewind - Paolo Nutini
Something that sparks me. I like the flames, I like the flood, I like the passion. He sings, why can't we just rewind, why can't we just rewind, why can't we just rewind? And I know what he means. I always want it to be like it first was....I always want the fire. I like a guy that keeps that alive for me. Thank you, Pope. You're the only one that ever has.

Q. How do you feel today?
A. I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself - White Stripes
HOW PERFECT IS THAT? Rock on. I have an achy sinus thing going on, but a lot to do and that frenetic energy that comes when you are at the last countdown of a deadline. I'll be working all weekend, and I'm prepared for it. I expect some greatness. Unless I develop a full blown cold, which is seeming ever more likely. I'm doped to the gills on cold medicine, though.

Q. What is your life's purpose? (Dude. This is pretty heavy stuff for my music collection.)
A. I Know I Know I Know - Tegan & Sara
To write like these women, sisters from Canada. I'm floored, I'm flattened into the cracks of the earth when I hear them. I want to write things that resonate instantly with people, like their words do to me.

Q. What is your motto?
A. King of Pain - The Police
Woah. It is my destiny to be the King of Pain. So interesting. I saw The Police in concert in Seattle from box seats (in one of the luckiest episodes of my young life). I was breathlessly waiting for this song, which is my favorite, has been since I was a little kid. When I was a teenager I would make up words to this melody and make my cousins laugh. I would definitely say I carry a lot of pain, and choose to inflict it upon myself if my well runs dry. I'm more comfortable in a realm of hurt than of health. Makes no sense, and I should probably go to therapy, but there you have it.
-What am I saying, Probably go to Therapy? You all read my blog, you KNOW I need therapy.
(p.s. I have been to anger management and it was totally bullshit.)

Q. What do your friends think of you?
A. Coconut Skins - Damien Rice
Boy I have no idea on this one. I love Damien Rice, but this album (9) has not caught me. This is probably only the 2nd time I've heard this song.

Q. What do you think of your friends?
A. In Da Club - 50 Cent
Erm, yeah. I guess, you know, you guys can find me in the club. Judging from this, I am an arrogant sonofabitch with an EXQUISITE hook. I can't help but feel like a badass when I sing this song alone in my affluent white woman car. I also love to dance to it, completely without rhythm, in da club, when I'm hammered.

Q. What do you think of your parents?
A. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Elton John
I can't even begin to describe the complex emotions that thinking about this question and then hearing this song come on has evoked. You can't put me in your penthouse, my future lies beyond the yellow brick road....I feel like I've accomplished a lot, and mostly to show them that I could. I'm not as happy with all of these things as I thought I would be. I was happier doing a lot of writing, wearing thrift clothes and LIVING more.

Q. What do your parents think of you?
A. Screenwriters Blues - Soul Coughing
Whatever they think of me it has never sounded like this.
This song points out the soulless nature of Los Angeles, and I guess maybe that fits. They never held much esteem for the things I wanted to do with my life. They still don't, but tolerate me talking about it now, because I did everything they wanted me to. First.

Q. What do you think about very often?
A. Doin' Time - Sublime
Hahaha. This is a fun meme. Sublime makes me happy, makes me move and makes me think. Right now I think about work very often. Does not relate to this song. I think about Finny a lot. Thinking about the Pope happens everytime a synapse fires. I think about everything all the time. Which is why I can't sleep, smoke, drink too much (though not at the moment) and generally explains almost everything that you read here.

Q. What do you think of your best friends?
A. Freakshow - Ani DiFranco
Don't be offended. Listen: "Life in the circus ain't easy. But the folks on the outside don't know. The tent goes up and the tent comes down and all that they see is the show --Life under the big top is about freedom, is about faking, there's an art to the laughter there's a SCIENCE. And there's a lot of love and compliance -- we can make something bigger than any one of us alone." Perfect song.

Q. What do you think of the person you love?
A. Hype - Tegan & Sara
This song at once encapsulates knowledge, guts, power, faith, sensitivity and strength.
Excellent way to describe what I think the Pope is capable of.

Q. What is your life story?
A. Common People - Pulp
Okay, forget the lyrics on this one. Listen to the music. Go along with it, be drawn by it and when the music swells to the crescendo, go there too. Be at the zenith of how that makes you feel, do everything you can do to feel that way - to think like this, to live a life that rises up and swells like a soundtrack, like an ocean around you. THAT is my life story.

Q. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. What Goes Around.... - Justin Timberlake
Hmmm. So I want to be a cheater, or the talented recipient of same? Not applicable.
So I'll just tell you. I want to be a working actor or a writer. Or I want to own a pub. I want to water my many plants, laugh with my many children and have wrinkles from smiling. I want to be free and I want to be happy and I want to be at peace. (and I'd like to be thin with naturally curly hair and big boobs, while I'm at it.)

Q. What do you think when you see the person you love?
A. Lola - The Kinks
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. The pope is undeniably a real man, over 6' tall and handsome. But the sight of him makes me weak in the knees and has since the first time I met him.

Q. What is your hobby/interest?
A. By Your Side - Sade
Well.....maybe not so much.

Q. What will they play at your funeral?
A. Puttin' on the Ritz - Taco
FANTASTIC! I'll make a note to have everyone wear white gloves.

Q. What is your biggest secret?
A. Proud Mary - Ike and Tina Turner
Hmmm. Which part, though? Cleaning the plates or popping the tang?
On a cross-country drive, alone, with broken A/C in mid-summer, I BECAME Tina Turner, singing this song at the top of my lungs, over and over, through Nebraska going 90mph. That was fucking awesome.

And we're done.

A Photo Montage of Joy

My niece Lolobird.

My mother-in-law. She's as awesome as she looks.

Lolobird and Littlebird. Nieces.

Happy New Year!

Well, in grand Salome fashion, I rang in the new year with good friends, good food and a really awesome firework, all of which I viewed through a blur, as I quickly got way too drunk to be understood, and finished the night crying to Lakshmi about Finny.

I miss Finny, still.  You can read about him here, here and here.

(Many thanks to Lakshmi, who sat up and patiently listened to my incoherent weeping.)

We woke up at 1:30pm, with burgeoning colds and ravishing hangovers.

I am up off the couch, where I've been laying prone for many hours, watching a marathon of the Intervention TV show I'm so fond of.

I got up for one very important reason:  to post hello and go to bed.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Especially ALEX!

Congrats and my sincerest wishes for happiness.

(and the obligatory, "It's about time!!")

No posting until the New Year

I've had an incredible holiday season, which I'll write about.

I've found a bit of peace just recently and I think this is something that will stick.

I will come back in the New Year with pictures and the like, but just now I am reveling in the gifts, both material and spiritual.  

And I want some time and space to reflect on them.

Love you guys, check back in a few days.

Happy New Year!

Happy Holidays!

We leave at the crack of dawn for Sacramento and my in-laws for the holidays.
BUT WAIT!

Before you gasp with mock horror at my plight - I LOVE my in-laws.
I'm looking forward to the trip!

And with that cheery news, I leave you the disgruntled residents of our house, who will hold the fort down and shed all over everything these next few days:


And, turn your head, because I'm tired and can't figure out how to straighten it:

A Hundred Different Ways to Say Cold

So, Arctic.

This is what I do. I feel something. Something I can't bitch about, effectively anyway, something I can't ask for help with, something that I'm struggling with.

So I attribute it to something I CAN describe. And then I write it down.

So typically this would be a poem. And it might yet be.
This is me, trying to figure it out. If I can quantify it, I can deal with it.
If I can wrestle it to the ground and name it, then I can overcome it.

I feel like I'm in a snow wasteland.

I'm bundled in snow clothes. I'm slowed down, I move stiffly, and with none of the grace of myself. Everything hurts. The sun on the white expanse burns my eyes. They sting and tear, anyway, because everything is frigid.

A movement is clumsy and doesn't go the way I thought when I moved.
Remember when you were out in the snow, all bundled up, and you were running after someone else, and they moved faster and you just slogged behind?

And you were breathless with the exertion, all muscles screaming and yet chilled, stinging with the exposure?

Trying to catch up.
Everything I say sounds ridiculous. I'm several yards behind and I can't remember where my home is. I can't see my home anymore. I don't know if I'll ever find it again.

There are a hundred ways to say Help. There are a thousand to say I'm sorry.

I can't find the words, I don't know who to say it to and I can't catch up.
Everyone is so far away that I'm not even on the horizon.

And I know this, but the faster I move the more I stand still.
Like when you were a kid, the sledding down the snowy hill was exhilarating, but getting back up was agony, and you wondered why you were outside at all?

And I'm freezing, here.
I don't know what to do.

For the first time in a long time, I don't know what to do.

I am no ski bunny.
I'm a lumbering, growling Yeti and I just want my warm hole with no one around to remind me that I'm a figment of their imagination.

Hey, I'm Fashionable!

I have a tendency to get sucked into really awful reality TV.
One of my current guilts is this absolutely inane show called The Real Housewives of Orange County. This is a reality show that follows very wealthy vapid women in the day to day of their exorbitant lives.

They are Botoxed, Breast-Augmented and tucked into horrifying Barbie dolls.
Frightening, because no matter the expense, you can't rewind time.

So they are falling plastic faces, and huge boobs in tight shirts that look lewd and incongruous. And they are stupidest women! Not sure that they're actually very stupid, but everything that is important to them is so trivial!

There was a whole episode on whether one of them should get false eyelashes. Like eyelash extensions. Unbelievable.

Anyway, they are showing promos for a new horrifying reality show, which is called Millionaire Match-Up or some such crap. There is a very earnest, very wealthy (with requisite botox and silicone) trying to match up horrifyingly stupid rich men with equally atrocious fake and stupid women.

The whole thing, the whole post, is to say that in one scene the matchmaker is wearing a shirt that I have. Unquestionably it is the same shirt.

And that pleases me somewhat. That I have the same shirt as a millionaire matchmaker in Los Angeles.

But what pleases me even more is that I bought the shirt at Nordstrom Rack for $16.00 a year ago.

:)

I'm working on a post, I've been having some hard times for the last few months, and I'm trying to work the whole thing into an image, because that is how I quantify and articulate something is really bothering me.

I can't put this on a boat (as I usually do) I can't put this onto a guy (which is another favorite).

This time it is arctic.

I'll write more later.

Alive Alive O

Yes, dear readers, I survived the plague that befell me.
It took a couple days, and on the first day my cold was a niggling, "uh oh," when I woke up that morning to a noseful of yellow snot.

On the second day of head cold my virus gave to me, deep throaty chest pains, and a noseful of yelll llo snot!

Just kidding. I'll get serious here.

The second day of my cold I parked myself on the couch and watched everything that the TV had to offer. Wasn't much, but thank God for DVRs.

The third day I rushed into work and completed something that needed completing, and then came home and promptly passed out clothed on the couch, under a warm blanket and two very warm cats, sleeping on my back (hated position) with my mouth open.

Which meant that every few hours I'd wake up and clack my desert mouth shut.
A mouth without saliva is no fun at all. Similar to a town without pity. Oh, what that can doooooo. Sorry, can't stay on track, because I'm ALL BETTER NOW and that feels just SUPER!

The fourth day I woke up and thought, "no way in hell."
I went back to bed and slept through the entire work day.

I'm better now, went to work this morning and by 3pm felt like myself, which was, bitchy, irritated and going 90 miles per second, even at rest.

Welcome back Salome, the world missed you. How it spun on its axis, we'll never know.

Sick

And, lo, the plague has struck.
After several months of dodging all sick bullets, I am felled by a powerful head cold.
I dropped something today and bent down to pick it up. In seconds, my head filled with such snot and pressure that I'm surprised it didn't pop.

I have what is the stadium wave equivalent of a headache, random and fleeting, and circling around my head. I no sooner blow my nose than my immune system replenishes it.

I just now spread lip balm all over my upper lip, which is raw and cracking, and for good measure, smeared a large quantity under and around my nostrils, which have been ravaged by Kleenex.

I am, in short, miserable.

Update on the Awesome Spontaneous, Exactly the Right Thing To Do Purchase

He's taking it back.
Our close friend owns a computer shop north of us and has promised to build the Pope a supercomputer for the same price.

We trust him implicitly, he has never steered us wrong, so we're taking the Pope's new machine with Vista back in favor of a custom-built PC with XP.

Anyone (and I mean Jonathon here) have any experience or advice about Vista?

I have to bake 90 cookies tonight.

I will need more wine.

Yes It Is

We were at Costco tonight, picking up a birthday cake, present, and the Pope wandered into the computer section.

The Pope is thrifty to the point of near-miserliness.
He has about 10 shirts, 6 pairs of pants, 3 jackets and 2 pairs of shoes.
He typically drives cars that I can run faster than, and much more quietly to boot.

He doesn't buy stuff.

He's had the same computer for the last five years, and ever since I've known him the thing has taken a week to open the Internet Browser, and 13 years to close a file.

It was, as they say, time.

He found one he loved, there was a $150 rebate on it, and after checking the bank balance, we had the money easily and both of us had just received additional large checks to deposit.

I said, "Buy it."
"Maybe," he said.
"Buy it!!" I insisted.

All of a sudden he turned 13 and his eyes lit up with glee.
He asked serious questions of the Costco employee, but the corners of his mouth kept tugging up in the telltale grin that marks an elated Pope.

He put it in the cart and as we walked to the cash register I said,
"This is why you work so hard at a job you hate. This is why EVERYONE works so hard at jobs they hate."

"No," he said, "I work hard like that for us."
"No," I said.

"You work that hard so that you can buy something you want, let alone legitimately need."

Call me crazy, but we live a comfortable life. We've got money for things we need, and mostly we have the money for anything we want. We're not extravagant, we don't have to have the newest, latest gadgets, and once in a while it is prudent, and sane, to buy the first thing you see because you just want to.

TAGGED

The Rules

Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. I am addicted to sparkling water. I drink almost 2 liters of it daily.
2. I can't drive in snow. Or even ride in the car in snow. I freak out, frightened.
3. I sucked my thumb until I was 15.
4. My grandmother died in my arms when I was 24.
5. My dad told me once I have the highest IQ in our family.
6. I used to perform spoken word around Santa Cruz, CA and had a couple people record me.
7. I am allergic to dried apricots. They cause an asthma attack. But not fresh, canned or jellied apricots. Those are fine.

I'm tagging three blogs and then requesting that these people comment with their randoms:
CLP, SKROLL, LAKSHMI and JULIE.

Platypus King
Clan Buchanan
Xela

p.s. SEND ALL MEME TASKS MY WAY. I LOVE THEM.

When the World Is Wet It Smells Like Worms

Did you miss me?
So funny that the month of November tinked by like tiny grains of sand against glass, and then here I am three days into December like I blinked my left eye!

To Recap:

December 1.
The Pope is home from his business trip and Yay!
It snows in Seattle, lovely big flakes that charm and enchant us.
We go to breakfast, braving the snowy roads. We see many accidents but are safe, because the Pope is carefully and thoughtfully driving.

**Note. The reason I hate the Pope's driving is because he is careful and thoughtful. And that does not fit well with my driving skills, honed from my "Bat Out of Hell" manual.**

....aaaand SCENE!

Welcome to the end of NaBloPoMo.

I was driving home today, and was fixated on getting to Trader Joes and buying a eucalyptus wreath. I thought it would be a modern update to the season, and I love the way it smells.

I didn't end up buying it, because it was dried, like you'd find in a flower store, and the berries were glued on it, with sloppy glue-gun work and all.

There were regular wreaths there, too, but I despise regular wreaths.
And the reason is this:

My freshman year in college, I went home for the winter break (from California to Ohio). I was expected to get a winter job, and did. I worked at a wreath-making operation, I don't remember where. We stood outside in these huge plastic warehouse tents, and although it warmed up, it was never really warm. Ohio is bitterly cold in the winter. We could not wear gloves, because it impeded our dexterity. The base of the wreaths is a double layer of green wire, stretched into a circle. You take the evergreen branches, which were pre-cut, mostly, but still needed to be de-twigged into the proper "lie" on the metal frame. You would place an evergreen strand on the metal wire, and take thin green wire from these giant spools to secure it. You would do probably 30 times per wreath, and we made about 30 wreaths a day. It was agony. By the end of the day your hands were cracked, tacky with pine and bleeding. The smell of pine is very antiseptic after a while, and the whole thing is pretty miserable. I worked there for a week, and then quit in search of more comfortable pastures. One thing that was illuminating for me was that I actually worked with a girl that I had gone to junior high with. She'd married badly, right out of high school and they had a daughter. Every day her husband would shuffle up their cute kid and pick Angie up. What was illuminating to me was that I was home for about a month on my Christmas break, and this was Angie's life. Not making wreaths, of course, but small-time seasonal jobs to make ends meet. And this was a story for me, something to blog when it crossed my mind, 11 years later.

I moved from the wreath place to Ken's Nursery & Crafts. (help me out here, CLP, am I right on the name?) It was still (of course) Christmas time, but this time I was sent to help the plant arrangement people. Now, in Ken's Flower Shop, there was a clear ranking of placement in the store. You had different departments. There was sales, and they had their manager, floral arranging, with their own, dominatrix bitch of a manager, and the plant section, the lowest on the totem pole. The manager of the plant section was a guy named Gary, who was in his early 50's and lived alone, except for his African Grey Parrot. He adored the parrot, and had suffered from colon cancer, and had had many surgeries. We connected instantly, oddly enough, this young girl in college with a pierced nose and Gary, who'd been at Ken's for 10 years. I had a blast in this department. We were a motley crew of losers, and we'd laugh and talk and turn out planter arrangements up a storm. The poinsettias came in and I was given the task of making poinsettia arrangements in the store. While I loved making the displays, and got creative and stacked and tiered and made glorious huge displays, I began to despise poinsettias. They are fragile, fragile plants, and a careless twitch of your hand can decimate an entire stalk. They also need to be watered - nearly daily. They were a complete pain in my ass, which is probably why the new girl got out of the work area and into the shop.

To this day I think of Gary when I see a poinsettia. We wrote letters for almost a year after I went back to school. He was my friend. He was a good guy and I think we both brought some warmth and cheer that season, to each other.

But I still hate poinsettias. I would never have them in any house of mine.
(plus they are poisonous to cats!)

Why Not?

Tell Us About Yourself

Name: [redacted for secrecy] Call me Salome.
Birthday: 8/23/74
How old do you act: Not sure, I feel like I'm 25 and I feel like I'm a hundred.
Zodiac Sign: Leo/Virgo cusp
Current location: Seattle, WA
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color and Length: God who knows anymore. Fading red w/blonde streaks and a good inch of gray at the roots.
Height: 5' 8.5"
Your Heritage: Irish/German/English/American
What’s Your Middle Name: Marie [not redacted for secrecy, that's the real one]
Shoes You Wore Today: Black Suede Boots. I almost always wear boots.
Your Weakness: Pride, Impatience, Insecurity about my intelligence
Your Fear: Spiders
Have You Ever Ridden A Mechanical Bull: No
Do You Want To: TOTALLY!
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Find some peace.
First Thought When You Wake Up: WHAT? You'vegottabekiddingme!
Best Physical Feature: Eyes
Best Character Feature: I Care.
Who Is Your Bestest Friend: You know who you are. (all of you)
When Is Your Bedtime: around midnight
Your Most Cherished Memory: Finny.
Pepsi or Coke: Neither: Sparkling Water is the only carbonated drink I will consume.
McDonalds or Burger King: Burger King - McDonalds with those damn tiny onions!
Single or Group Dates: Married, so go ask someone else.
What Is The Last Song You Sang: [redacted because it will be a secret song on my Salome2007Xmas CD]
Does Playing A Guitar Make A Girl/Guy More Attractive: TOTALLY
What Is Your Biggest Pet Peeves: Stupid people, cracking gum, whistling, or anyone not respecting my right to silence.
Do You Drink: See Heritage, above. What do you think?
Ever Been Drunk: ohmygod. (wipes tears of laughter from her eyes) That would be a big yes.
Do You Smoke: Yes. But I'm trying to quit.
Do You “Smoke”: Ha Ha. Used to, but it was a long time ago and I've not ever been crazy about it.
Do You Sing: I do, but it is not something most people would be able to listen to without bleeding.
What Color Underwear Do You Have On: Black
Do You Want To Go To College: I have a BA in Modern Lit, with Honors. I desperately want an MFA in Creative Writing or Theatre. Someday, when I've made enough money, I will go back, and get it just for me. Just for me.
Have You Ever Been In Love: Yes.
Do You Want To Get Married: I am married for the second time and think this is the last one for me.
Do You Believe In Yourself: Yes. In some ways so strongly. No. In other ways that I wish I could.
Do You Believe In Others: Yes, mostly. I have a few, close dear friends that I believe in. I believe in my family, too.
Do You Like Thunderstorms: Love them.
Do You Play an Instrument: I can tinker with Piano, but only snippets of the most basic learner songs.
What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up: I want to be at peace with myself.
What Country Would You Like To Visit: Africa
How Many CD’s Do you Own: Tons. But I'm all over iTunes now.
How Many DvD’s Do You Own: I think about 3.
How Many Tattoo’s Do You Have: None.
How Many Piercings Do You Have: 5 active. Total previous piercings are: 9 on various areas.
How Many Things In You Past Do You Regret: Too many to even begin to think of.

Favorite Shoes: Boots. Not any that I have now, but I have had some in the past that I loved. 20-eye docs, those brown ones from Value City that I wore until they fell off of me. I do really like the leopard print heels that I wore to my wedding.
Favorite Radio Station: NPR
Favorite Drink: For which occasion? Sparkling water for majority. Alcohol for other majority. Coffee every day. Lattes.
Favorite Car: Honda CRV (so far, I've not had many cars)
Favorite Place: Too vague. I love my parent's house. Sitting there with them, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.
Favorite Song: Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers. I saw them once, in Vegas. They were incredible.
Favorite Movie: Memento, Godfather I and II.
Favorite Moment: Taking a bow onstage for Laundry and Bourbon, when they were cheering and screaming my name.
Favorite Color: Purple
Favorite Meal: Chicken DoPiaza (can't spell it, and haven't been able to get it anywhere except England)

In a Guy/Girl or Man/Woman I Like
Favorite Eye Color: Brown
Favorite Hair Color: Black
Short Hair or Long Hair: Medium to Long
Height: Very tall, taller than me.
Body Type: Lean-ish, muscular, but not hardbody. I'm not precious about body fat. (Glass house and all). I'd like to see muscles, but I'm content with some belly.
Does Ethnicity Matter: No.
Piercings: Sure.
Tattoos: Sure.

“Bed Side Manner”
Do You Think You Are Attractive: Sometimes. But not physically. More mentally.
Are You Attracted To Someone Who Does Not Know It: No. My husband is well aware that I find him very attractive.
Would You Like To Be Someone’s Fantasy: Not really, I'm not available for fantasies, so that is more cruel than exciting.
Hunter or Hunted: Both, either, the hunt is what is exciting!
Do You Kiss With Your Eyes Open or Closed: Closed, mostly.
Ever Kissed Someone Of The Same Sex: Yes, a couple of times. Not for me.
A Little or A Lot Of Tongue: In between, but use it like you know what you are doing!
Older or Younger: Older
Top or Bottom: Both.
Lights On, Lights Off or Candle Light: Preferred is Candle light or pitch blackness.
Do You Like To Cuddle After: Yes, sometimes.
Do you Like To Cuddle In General: Not particularly. I'm not the cuddling type.
Trimmed, Shaved or Let IT Go Wild: Trimmed/Shaved.
Him / Her First or Second: Her first. Always HER FIRST.
Have You Ever Had Bad Sex: Ohmygod, who HASN'T?
Have You Ever Had Sex With Someone And Regretted It: Oh please. (wipes tears of laughter) Definitely. Welcome to my 20s.
Ever Have A 3Some, 4Some or More-Some: Yes. It was in turns awkward and hilarious. Not hot at all.
Does Sex = Love To You: Wow. It used to, when I was very young. But then I got older, and learned that it doesn't. But then I married the Pope, and re-learned that it does. And it is so much much much different and special when it DOES = love.

Right NowRight Now, Who Are You Thinking Of: The Pope, my husband.
Right Now, What Are You Listening To: The first draft of my Salome2007Xmas Mix. (god I sound like an ad)
Right Now, Do You Love Some One: Yes
Right Now, Does Someone Love You: Yes
Right Now, Do You Know Where Your Mechanical Bull Is: :) Some dive bar in Texas.
Right Now, Is It Raining: No, thankfully, because it is so cold it would snow.
Right Now, How Many MySpace Friends Do You Have: None. I despise the Myspaces and Facebooks, won't join them.
Right Now, Are You Happy: Yeah.

Blogging After Work - Day 2

Ladies and Gentlemen, here you have day two of me rushing home and blogging before anything else. BEFORE WINE, even.

I worked late tonight, so there was no traffic (except the exit lane of death that is a mere seconds into my commute, which by the way:

Hey, Asshole, in the Starlite Tours Van:

I AM going to get in, sir, whether you kindly let me or not. I can see that there is abominable traffic, and you are irritated (nice touch with the visible sigh and the head shaking), but I HAVE to get over, because I'm not going to the Key Arena tonight, or any other place downtown. I will remind you about the EVERY OTHER CAR yielding on the freeway rule. And if it isn't a rule, so what? It is just WHAT YOU DO. So, either you are going to let me in, or I will force my SUV ass right onto your bumper to prove a point. Because whichever insurance ends up being liable for this, you will lose your job. You think I don't know how that works?

I Know Some Things,
Salome)

Anyhoo, no traffic. So as I'm flying along the dark freeway, I wonder what CD is in Disc 2 of the radio. I think it is [a particular singer who shall remain a secret], but I'm not sure, and she's a finalist for the Salome mix, under eclectic (but so extraordinary) Salome songs that I'm sure everyone else will hate, but I am determined to include as she sings with the voice my heart would have if it could talk. So, I push Disc 2 on the radio, to switch over, but that takes SECONDS, which is far too long, so I look up at the CD holder strapped to the visor. and I go crosseyed trying to read the titles of the CDs in there. In the dark. While going 60 on the Freeway. You are starting to see why my husband is scared when I drive. I realized my idiocy in nanoseconds and brought my eyes back to the road, chuckling a bit.

It is a wonder I am still alive.

Update on Today's Post:

1. Under bed thingy does not fit under bed. Shit.
2. I bought a brand new bedspread in EXACTLY the same color scheme as the old one. Sigh. Pillows all match, but the fresh look is not there.
3. Why, when you wash a duvet cover, does it cease to fit the #$%*!@#$$ down comforter! Shit.
4. Lakshmi, we will bake the cookies together, with many martinis, and it will be joyous.
5. Heidi Klum is way too pretty. I think she's a robot.

Journal/Thoughts/Letters

I didn't work out today.
I know what you're thinking, and it isn't that.
(laziness you are thinking she is very lazy which is why she is so fat)
But that is not it!

I had things to do.
Seattle, however, decided to throw a curveball and rain whilst very very dark.
An aside, a rant: WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD TO SEE THE GODDAMN ROAD?
Am I getting old or what? I'm squinting and swearing, and jerking heavily to the right when I find I'm so totally not in my own lane. Sucky eyesight.

I heard once that entire cities/states were going from a bright white streetlight to an orangey/amber light so that the glare of the lights did not interfere with astronomers trying to see outer space. Which, cool. But the next time I get sideswiped because you need infrared goggles to turn into Target, I'm fucking suing Uranus.

Get it? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I crack myself up.

I stopped by the library, because I reread a book I've read 13 times last night when I couldn't sleep, I got a book they held for me (Bury Me Standing - about Romany people called Gypsys. I never knew Gypsy was a derogatory term, but apparently it is) Did I ever tell you how I had my wallet lifted by a Gypsy in Prague? My exboyfriend wrote a song about it. I'll tell you sometime.

But not now, because after the library I needed to go to BigLots. My husband has blogged about BigLots before, but I absolutely love the place. Really cheap junk. And that is all I need to say. How can you not love it?

I needed a $10 gift for a cookie exchange (Lakshmi I got mine!) and an under-bed container for my summer clothes. I also needed four small cans of peaches, some chocolate orange treats, and something to carry the 90 cookies I need to bake for the party. I cruised around BigLots until,

Dear Lady with the Screaming and Inappropriately Roaming Toddler:
Jesus Christ, Lady. Will you keep an eye on the diminutive god of discord over there? If he screams because he can't see you one more time, I'm going to the duct tape aisle and I will attach him to your leg. I was musing over chocolaty orange things and your demon came screeching to a halt near the cookies and threw them, bag after bag, onto the floor. THAT is why everything you buy at BigLots crumbles out of the package when you get it home. It is people like YOU. Listen, the ladies at the front have 30 people in each of their checkout lines, and they're ringing up things without pricing, and they sure as hell can't find the originals in this pigsty called a bargain store, so THEY CANNOT BABYSIT! That is NOT the point of a BigLots, my dear. It is so that I can buy a lot of junk for not so much money. In peace.
Judging by your Belly, you're going to have your hands full. Might I suggest Winn-Dixie?
Salome

Then I drove to the gym. No place to park. Drove around to park in back, but then remembered the ominous warning we were given when we became members. Don't ever leave valuables in your car and we are not responsible regardless. That and the signs posted all over the parking lot, as well as the locker rooms which say, Don't ever leave anything of any value, even to the most cracked out crackhead, or you will never see it again and we are not responsible. Thank you and wipe the machines after use.
So I drove around to the front of the gym.

I parked and got out of the car. I looked in the window and saw that all my favorite TV elliptical machines were in use. Whereupon I decided it was a sign from God that I am not supposed to work out today.

I quietly squinted and bitched my way home and now here I am with a brand new bedspread and something to stop the Vesuvius of clothing that has erupted from my overtaxed closet.

I will post pictures once I am done. But not before. I don't want you to know how much of a slob I truly am.

salome

Intervention

Have any of you seen that show, Intervention? I just watched two episodes, Sylvia and Ryan.

Sylvia is an alcoholic, and ohmygod. Next time I joke that I'm an alcoholic remind me of Sylvia. It was heartbreaking to see what this woman's life was like.

Ryan was a wealthy young man with an OxyContin addiction. He was totally out of control.

Sylvia went through the intervention, agreed to the treatment center and has been sober a year. You could tell she wanted help desperately. She was such a cool cool lady.

Ryan went through the intervention and (totally and completely high) agreed to the treatment center. He was kicked out less than 1/4 through the program and transferred to a lesser one, closer to home. He left that after 2 weeks and moved to LA. He is still using.

Heartwrenching.

I got some news over the weekend that was awful.
I'm going to respect some privacy, even though you couldn't possibly know her, but just trust me when I say that a woman needs your help. Think of a pretty redheaded woman and say a little prayer that she will be just fine. She needs some good wishes.

I hate NaBloPoMo

I don't have anything to say today.

Tired, ready to go back to work, done with the endless days of my own thoughts.

I will say this:

Salome will be preparing a Carcharodonna 2007 Holiday Mix CD.
Let me know if you want one, you can email me at carcharodonna@mac.com.

Email your mailing address.
It will include recent hits that I'm liking, as well as some of my rather obscure music tastes.

That is all, and it counts because I posted it.

My Wild Self

www.buildyourwildself.com

What I Am is What I Am is What You Are or Why

You're The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe!

by C.S. Lewis

You were just looking for some decent clothes when everything changed
quite dramatically. For the better or for the worse, it is still hard to tell. Now it
seems like winter will never end and you feel cursed. Soon there will be an epic
struggle between two forces in your life and you are very concerned about a betrayal
that could turn the balance. If this makes it sound like you're re-enacting Christian
theological events, that may or may not be coincidence. When in doubt, put your trust
in zoo animals.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Thanksgiving

We just got back from an awesome Thanksgiving.
We have these friends, Lakshmi and MGM, that invited us to their family's Thanksgiving Dinner, which was lovely and welcoming and warm, with good food and laughter and family. Then everyone left and we drank a lot, played games, listened to music and spent the night.

And then today, they didn't want us to leave!
You know the old adage, houseguests are like fish, they start to smell after a while. Or something like that.
But we woke up this morning and were invited to spend the day with these awesome friends, lounging around, eating, and generally just being part of a truly loving family and casual weekend (or holiday) day.

We watched TV and talked aimlessly, and stayed in PJs until about 4pm.
We had a wonderful time, and couldn't have felt more at ease and more at home.
I couldn't possibly have had a better day.

We drove home and the Pope turned to me at one point and said,
"I love them. I love each and every one of them. Dearly"

And I couldn't agree more.

I hope everyone gets to have a friend like Lakshmi at some point in their lives.
She makes a move away a very very hard choice.

I am truly thankful for all my close friends.
In this day where the meaning of the holiday has morphed from what you're thankful for to what you've managed to ingest, I remember what the day is for.

Thanks for what you have.
I'm tremendously grateful for what I'm lucky enough to have.

CLP, Skroll, Gaia and Lakshmi.
You make my life so much brighter.

You make my life so whole.

For CLP

you asked for this a long time ago
ESTIMATION
December 7, 1993

There are two worlds.
That of the Pretty Ones
and that of the Real.

Everyone wants to be a pretty one
no one wants to be Real.

It's a fair shot, they'll tell you
EVERYONE CAN BE A PRETTY ONE!
some of us believe that 'til death.

The pretty ones laugh at them for that.
All their lives they'd tried to convince
WHO?
themselves and they almost believed.
But no one else did and this they knew.
So they catered to and worshipped on
The Pretty Ones
and they told us we should, too.
EVERYONE CAN SERVE A PRETTY ONE!

Where there are pretty, ugly can be found.
Of this group I found myself.
I knew this to be true.
They'd convinced me well.
I let them connive me, deceive me, torture.
and all the while I asked myself,
WHAT'S SO GODDAMN PRETTY ABOUT THIS?

Watch my friends go down over the coals
Daily Hourly Every Grade

How was 7th grade, darling?
Did you get over that nasty compulsion stage?
sorry we made you feel so bad, but you had to get over it
Don't you know?
YOU TOO CAN BE A PRETTY ONE!

THEY'RE FULL OF SHIT!
I yell, and I mean it.
I've watched them all my life
Step on people, and watch them bleed
See hearts break and watch them weep
Laugh all the while, the chosen few
I've watched them all my life.
They told me I was nothing.
Didn't care what I had to do.
Broke me, too. For years
Anytime they could
Any way they could

AND WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?
No one wants to go against them!
Everyone secretly hopes they'll eventually fit in.

And my ROARING, SWELLING, OUTSTRETCHED
middle finger, THRUST up the nose of the
PRETTY ONES

Lifts the hearts of all those bound
even as they purse their lips and disapprove.

FUCK THIS! I yell
And hope that someone hears.

Even as I join their ranks
gain their trust
An insidious REAL among all
THE PRETTY ONES

How my mask slips every now and then
As my passions torment
and torment and torment

I walk among, my eyes not blinded
my brain unclouded

I walk among, but I'm unaffected
I DON'T BELIEVE ANYTHING THEY SAY

He who suffers remembers
and I will never forget.

And I refuse to play their game,
their methods I detest.

In a battle of wills
they'll never forget
I'll turn these mirrors around.

On all THE PRETTY ONES.

They'll run into that night screaming
consciousness shuddering
all support beams crash loudly down.

Then those beautiful nothings
will crawl from every part of the woodwork
and stand on the decay.

I told someone once
DON'T YOU EVER UNDERESTIMATE ME

but he wasn't listening.
If I could see him now
I'd sweep my hand over all the blessed wreckage
and show him
REALITY.

My Favorite Picture From Our Wedding

Correspondence File: 11/20/07

Dear Wimp in the Mazda,

Listen, I am not your personal lane-change buddy. I let you in on the scary, breakneck change-lane requirement that heralds the beginning of my nightly trip home, but that doesn't mean that we're friends. It is a hard change, immediately upon entering the freeway, because in about 25 feet the lane becomes exit only. And the cars are solid, bleeding brakelights in the three adjacent lanes. But this act of kindness, seeing you panic and fret at the wheel and delay getting over until it was nearly waay too late, doesn't mean I'm a kind-hearted soul. In fact, all it does mean is that you don't have the sack required to be on the freeway this time of day. So hemming and hawing and braking your ass off until I get in the other lane, and then cheerfully putting your blinker on as soon as you see me? Nice try, but forget it. I suggest you double your stress, quadruple your daily caffeine intake and practice being a complete and total bitch each day. Then, and ONLY then, can we be friends.

Best,
Salome

Ah, the Dreaming

One of the really fun things about quitting smoking, besides the stress, irritability and general sense that you don't know what to do with yourself, is the dreams you may have on the Nicorette patches.

An example of strange things I've dreamed since Friday night:

* My supervisor's wife died and he came over to install carpet in our house.
* I was late for the bus at an amusement park, and ran onto it only to find it was an olde tyme saloon on the water.
* I moved into my college apartment only to discover it was my old condo, only to discover that I had only used one of the three floors available to me. In the dream, I was crestfallen to realize the place was bigger and cooler than I had ever known.
* I rode my bike from Santa Cruz, CA to Toledo, OH (which was 10 minutes) and all of a sudden realized there is this whole community of people who commute to work other than driving cars. And they were like really nice hippies! Fantastic, until
* We rode by a dead girl on the freeway and all stopped to call 911. She was really dead.
* I was fired from the Scotland opportunity because I had asked for two vacation days. My PM for the Scotland job spent hours with the payroll company trying to figure out how to fire me because of it. When questioned, she said that I was completely replaceable, that for every one of me (she held up her hand, her index finger up- then made a cutting motion with her other hand, as soon as she had no fingers, she popped all five back up) there are 5 more people who are more qualified, better for the position, and care more. At this point, after so much worrying in real life about this, I said, "Listen, if I'm not the one you want for this, that's fine." At which point she completely backtracked. The whole thing was exhausting. Dreaming it, and living it for the past several months.
* I was in Ohio, at my family's business, and everyone wanted to ask about biotechnology. "Tell me what's new with this biotechnology," they all said to me. In the dream I was searching for water, I was so parched I could not speak, I drank every beverage and glass and can of soda in sight. (note: I had gone to a toga party that night, and in preparation for how lame we thought it would be, Lakshmi, the Pope and MGM (fka DB) had all had a bunch of drinks. I had three jello shots which were pure vodka at the party, so indeed, I was dying of thirst, and this dream, I believe, was my body's way of saying, "Wake up, fergodsake, and take a drink of water! We're going to be in a LOT of pain in the morning." I did, and yet was still in pain in the morning.

Because that's just the way I roll.

Journal Entry 6/10/02

June 10, 2002

I wanted to.
I wanted to take you under my wing, to Amazon w/ blue-hair your troubles away.
You were desperately searching to belong somewhere in this room of lithe pulsating bodies and skimpy, designer sportswear. I’m searching to belong there, too. But I’ve got Claudia. She jokes and laughs my way to comfort with her in-shape-ness.
There was a time when I would have taken you on with much more commitment than I gave to you today. But that was a long time ago, and I’m a far different person now.

I always tired of the work it took to keep an adoptee in comfort. I ritually hurt the person out of my presence, out of my circle, out of my sight.

So I’ve learned a little. From the broken bones of those before you.
I offered you a smile. A tight, taut beckon into this world. Come here, I said.
Come here, and we’ll turn this around. We’ll turn this around to a welcoming, laughing group of women bound together in our beauty myth. Bound indelibly by the cottage cheese on our thighs. I hate the lithe women in skimpy sportswear as much as you. I know you’re probably a kinder, gentler soul.

But take it from me: toughen up or get the fuck out.
There’s no place for kind, gentle souls anymore.

The thing about being vulnerable is that SOMEONE will take it from you. Someone will reach up and rip out your neck, just because you offered it. There was a time I thought myself a martyr. I would offer up my neck for all those who were yet unable to. That lasted about as long as my 25th birthday. Then I hardened, and gasped through torn larynxes, bled through torn carotids, until I fashioned a new throat. A new voice. A louder one, with an edge. Now I’m aghast to say that if you offer your neck to me, I’ll take it from you.

Because I can.
Because you asked me to.
Because there is no other way to help you here.

But then, I’m here and there’s no help for me, either. Train wreck. Avalanche. Barfight.
So I guess there’s not much left out here. For either of us to take, much less share. I wish it had all been different. I wish I set out on a nicer, smoother path. I wish I didn’t fall and then turn around and curse the branch that tripped me. But I do.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing most of the time. I can’t shake the feeling that all my friends are going to turn around and call me a fraud. I can’t shake the feeling that they’d be right. I can’t find anything at all that I’m genuine about, except my love of words, my cats, and being on stage.

My marriage is unsatisfactory and I can’t afford to do anything about it.
The life I want to lead is on a shelf somewhere.
I work over 40 hours a week and still live in constant fear of being fired.

I am nastier than I seem to be.
I’m nicer than I think I am.
I wish I were someone else.

I’m always somewhere else.

Despite

For Jonathon: The secret code is the date drawn and my maiden name initials. :)

It is Friday

And yes, I'm having a margarita.
I know, I know, I know, the calories. But fuck it.

Today was a horrendous day. So horrendous I'm not even going to allow it the satisfaction of blogging about it.

Instead, I'm going to be all over the place on this blog, because there are things I want to say. I have things I'd like to ask. Little things, items I've been pondering.

Like this.
Exactly how successful does the media think this type of covert act will be, now that they've displayed a working method all over the internet? Surely the Culor Tyme tattoo parlor is going to lose business, probably there are some violent reprisals on the way. This is something that bothers me greatly (among a vast array of other items) about our media today. A successful sting operation, the cover story on CNN for the day. The method WORKED, assholes. So why do you out it and prevent it from working again?

Which is more important? The breaking of the story or the solution to the ever egregious gang and drug and violence issues that are breaking our country from the inside out?

The media is its own machine, led by itself in a vicious cycle of ratings and Gracie Awards. We Americans just sit there at our TVs, being force-fed this propaganda, buying duct tape to prevent terrorism, eating low-fat food because it helps your heart, until you find out it is loaded with High Fructose Corn Syrup, which, you guessed it, causes cancer. (kidding, it doesn't cause cancer...yet, but it isn't good for you and doesn't do what it is supposed to).

The media declares WINDSTORM 2007 in Seattle, the same day the extent of the "windstorm" is that my neighbor's trash can blows over. They have a graphics team, they have live coverage, they interrupt Oprah, fergodsake, to give us the update on exactly what is NOT HAPPENING.

I have to interject here, because I DESPISE Oprah. I'm sorry guys, I think she's an egomaniacal, enormously self-absorbed megalomaniac. She's got these legions of fans who hang on her every word, quote her, bring her up in conversation like she is their best friend, spewing forth every idea, cliche and trendy shift in thinking like it was the word of God. I've tried to watch her show, when an actor I like is on it, and every statement out of her guest's mouth gets turned around to relate to a personal experience of Oprah's. She has 15 seconds show, and then 4 minutes of commercials. If she was ever cool, it was a long time ago. She's a multimillionaire now, and still tries to appeal to the "everywoman," even though no one I know would throw a hissy fit if Hermes didn't open the store after hours for them.

She did have a cool book club, though. Really great authors. I totally recommend checking it out (not the current one, which focuses on acknowledged "classics," but the earlier one, the original) because she gave first time authors a huge platform, and some of them are now my favorites.

I know I've tangented away from my earlier media rant, but I'm not going back. I'm moving on.

I have a memory that keeps circulating with me. It was my wedding weekend one short year ago (and some months).

Skroll and CLP were here, and they were staying with us, along with three other people in our tiny house and somehow it was just awesome the whole weekend, not crowded, not awful, I have no idea how that worked out, being as how I am generally so irritable and all. Skroll and CLP made breakfast together. My two best friends, making breakfast together, and laughing and getting along all on their own. It was about 6 shades of terrific. We all spent almost every free moment sitting out on the back porch, smoking cigarettes and drinking and just.....hanging. I keep going back to this memory. Over and over. Randomly, with no context to anything I'm doing now. Usually when I'm stressed out. I go back there and love it again. I go back there and feel again, for a second, how great that was, and how I was just about the happiest I've been in a while.

Then the last thing. I want you to comment on this, if you can....

Who am I to you? What is it about me that is most vivid when you think of me?

Here is who I am, to me:

• Crazy, stupid hair. Never looks good, never looks right.
• Blue eyes that eat all my eye-makeup, all the time. But not soft, blue eyes, not warm, not welcoming. Eyes that can blaze like fires, pierce like lasers.
• Tough. Very very very tough. The only person who hurts me is me.
  
• Smart, but not in the ways I want. I'm sharp as a tack, but not philosophical. Not well read, not well spoken. Wasted any inherent talents I may have had by focusing more on life experiences. I'm not naive, not in the slightest, but I wish I weren't so cynical, I wish I weren't so jaded about everyone.
  
• 90 miles a minute, even while sleeping. I have no grace. I have no grace at all.
• Ruined. I think I'm ruined, polluted. Full of vices, very very little joy or beauty.
• Funny. Coarsely, though.
  
• I'm aggressive, too far from ladylike to even pretend. I'm rough.
• I'm a trainwreck. A bar fight. An avalanche.
  

Who am I to you?

Ode to the Argh!

I thought I would write you a short list of things that pissed me off today:

• Middle of the night, stray cat desperately trying to get out of the house. All cats have been placed under house arrest (see shutting the cat door permanently) in an effort to keep the stray cat's eye problem stable and healed before she goes outside again.
• Woke up too early, then snoozed too late.
• Hair sucks more today than usually.
• Sweater I used to like I now hate. Tore it off of me as I was getting ready to walk out the door and went back for better shirt.
  
• Coffee - milk was not hot enough. I was drinking cool latte by the time I got to work.
• That #$!@%^! bridge was up again. Did I get on the freaking boat schedule or something?
• People (hundreds of them) walking past my office and whistling. Guys, shut up!
• Computer connection intermittently kicked me off today.
• Everyone
• Everything
• Life
  
• Itself
• Nagging sore nose, bespeaks a cold? Or just winter chap? I don't know, but it should figure itself out quickly because I'm tired of wondering.
• Drive home. Idiots flood the streets every time I try to get home.
• Rain. Intermittent drizzle and pour. Seattle, you suck sometimes.
• Daily posting. Sometimes I just don't FEEEEEEEL like it.
• House is messy. Where are my goddamn elves?
  
• House is always cold. We can't figure out how to set the digital thermometer right. It has almost been two years. Yeah, yay for us!
• Nothing to eat, shouldn't have wine because I'm going to go work out. Blah Blah Blah.
  

This is When You Know You're a Parent

I always wonder if I'd be a good parent. Will I know when to take them to the doctor? Will I just instinctively know when something is wrong enough to rush them for help?

I know it seems like a weird thing to worry about, but I'm such an ostrich about my own health issues I just feel like I will ignore something serious, or wait too long to attend to it.

Last night when I got home from work the Cleo had a runny eye. Just a bit of eye snot, streaking down from her left eye. Like gummy tears.

We went and worked out. When we got home, her eye had swelled dramatically and the eye snot was now yellow and bright green. Her whole eye was red. I scooped her up and we sped to the all night vet hospital. Her poor eye, guys. It was HUGE. There appeared to be a huge lump under it, the membranes swollen, and she could barely blink it, it was so full of gunk.

They saw her almost immediately, and she was such a champ! Such a brave vet kitty! We were so proud! The vet gave her a numbing eye drop and then irrigated her eye with saline, and used about 10 gauze pads to wipe away all the snot. It was a really gunky eye. He dropped a bit of dye in it, to check for corneal scratches, and when it was confirmed she didn't have any, he gave her some antibiotic ointment (in her EYE, oh barf!) and sent us on our way.

So I guess I've answered two questions, here. One I mentioned at the beginning of the post, and one that my heart has been asking these last four months.

Am I a good mom? I think so.
And do I love Cleo? Is she part of my heart?

Yes, absolutely.
I saw her, hunched and miserable, but still so loving and sweet, and everything in my body responded and said, "Oh Honey!" Oh Honey, come here. You need help, and I will find it for you. You need fixing, and I will get you fixed. You need love, and come here, honey, right into my arms. I will fix you and protect you from all the harms that could come your way. You are my baby girl.

Worrying About Carcinogens Causes Cancer!

I listened to a story on NPR this morning about the vast quantities of carcinogens in our everyday items. Everything is loaded with carcinogens, the plastic our food comes in, the shower curtains made from vinyl, kids toys (plastic or fabric) EVERYTHING!

I was goofing around on the internet today and happened upon an article of natural makeup, and the best natural deodorants.

* I have to interrupt my rant to tell you my experience with "natural" deodorant. In college, I was determined to eliminate the aluminum my armpits were choking under, and switched to the Crystal deodorant. It quite simply does not work, in fact, I think it adds a large quantity of "reek" to the body's natural mechanisms. I supplemented the crystal with Tom's Apricot Underarm Freshener, which, when applied to the crystal, made my armpits foam and smell like apricots. Until I even thought about sweating, in which case my foamy armpits REEKED. The lady reviewing the deodorants gave a pass on both the above mentioned items, except she had not tried them together. I should email her.

Everywhere you turn, it seems, someone is trying to tell you that whatever it is you are enjoying, or not enjoying, cancer lurks just beyond. So I have made my own list of what causes cancer, because we honestly don't know and these things need to stop:

• Snapping/Popping/Chewing Loudly on your gum CAUSES CANCER.
• Jingling Keys in your pockets when you stand up and talk to people CAUSES CANCER.
• Whistling has long been known to cause cancer in 9 out of 10 rats.
• Failing to Yield will cause instant death from an aggressive form of malignant irritability.
  
• Listening to country music causes cancer of the art-appreciation gene. Typically it can be removed, so you may then go on listening to the godawful warbling sap.
• Smoking causes cancer, yes, but telling me to put out my cigarette causes me to hate you.
• Tight jeans cause depression AND CANCER.
• High heeled shoes cause lumbar cancer but you will look gorgeous while dying.
• Exercising causes massive malignant tumors that can only be mitigated with lots of margaritas. It also causes your breasts to shrink which can cause depression usually associated with tight jeans.
• Asking me to do anything causes me cancer in my bitch-gene. Yes, it is hereditary.
• Yowling at me for no apparent reason, Lucy, causes cancer in the part of my heart that remembers to feed you on a regular basis. It does. I'll print out the study and show it to you.
• Computers cause cancer of the brain, and redirects you to Perez Hilton's site, overandoverandoverandover just to see if he's updated anything snarky.
• Stupid people cause cancer of my patience.

I hope these warnings have helped you.
Remember, everywhere you turn, cancer is waiting for you.
Right now they're saying a glass of wine a day is good for you, but tomorrow it might just be the thing that offed you. You would do well to follow my example: do not drink a glass of wine a day. Drink four.

When Salome Was Wild

I know I mention it, the hair colors, the nose ring, the lifestyle.
I know that one person reads this blog who actually knew me then.
She knew me with the colored hair (right, CLP?)

At the very least, she was in somewhat contact with me during the wild years.
But for the rest of you, here are some pictures:
(as always, click on the picture to see full size)

I used to go to the Walgreens in downtown Santa Cruz, CA, a mere blocks from my house, anytime I changed my hair color or when the mood struck me. Above are some of the results. Keep in mind that these four strands range in time from May 1994 through July 1994. Here are a couple photos from a movie I starred in for a college acquaintance:
And here is me circa 1995 in what is possibly my most favorite Halloween Creation ever:
The Doll:

From my Prolific Drawing Book

Have You Met The Pope?

My husband has entered the blogosphere.

Even if you think you know him, let me assure you, you don't.
He's deeper than you can imagine.

If you've ever asked yourself why is Salome married to the quiet, studious Pope?
(or maybe more appropriately, why did the quiet, studious Pope marry the loud, angry and generally all-over-the-place Salome?)

I fell in love with my husband, not only because he's the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on, but because he thinks about things like this.

He married me because frankly, I think he was afraid of me.
Or maybe I bring him joy.

Journal Entries Redux

7/30/03

I have not had a cigarette in over 24 hours.
The monkey leaps from my chest, scampers up my back
And launches from my shoulders in search of fire and tobacco.
Chattering and screaming like monkeys do.

I have not called him and my fingers and brain are itching
How many times can you pick up the phone just to see it be normal.
Achingly, depressingly normal.

So you know you have to do it.
Set yourself afloat in this big, beautiful city
Alone again.

You didn’t even really LIKE him.
But he showed a modicum of interest and
You flailed in the calm waters
Like a drowning
Thing.

Stuff your head with someone else’s words
And try to build your own.

The monkey thing, that’s a good one.
Funny and you can see it and the screaming and chattering part really breathes.

So many bad writers out there.
There’s got to be a place for me.