come on come on come on

Oh god I miss this thing, I miss recording inane thoughts and occurrences, whether or not anyone gives a shit.  I have felt so much like writing but not here, not on this machine, not now that I just want to fix the html.  

My computer's done, I'll get it Tuesday.

retarddd

SERIOUSLY, I AM NO LIAR.

I guess I'll just have to re-edit everything in Firefox and hope it looks okay in Safari too. When I get a computer again.

I've been aching to write about everything, there are lots of things. Sometimes every thing is way too significant and I have to frantically write down why or I feel like I'm falling.

god-dam-mit

Discovery: my blog apparently looks like absolute shit in Firefox and Internet Explorer. I don't know who actually patronizes my rambling but if it's all ker-textity over the background image and is generally difficult to read, it shouldn't be. This will hopefully be amended. Fuck. FUCK. It feels like going through a day feeling all foxy and then going home and realizing that the "lip balm" you put on actually had a really white coloration and you look Frosty the Hobag. This is a true story.

My laptop has been in the shop. In the meantime, I have:
· Read Logan's Run.
· Quit the bakery.
· Started the semester.

All of it is very very interesting but as a human who has been closely entwined with this great inter-net since I was 12, it's good to get away sometimes.

motivated.

Awaaake, why am I awake so early.  Up at 6 with heat and thirst, laid there worrying about myself, not in a "really worried" way but just a mostly worried way:

"Am I okay"

"Am I going to survive today"

"Did I do a stupid thing in public recently"

"Is it normal to drink yourself to oblivion to fall asleep every night"

"etc."

Formulating a plan, starting when I am done writing this:

Shower and dress.

Eat egg sandwich on sourdough english muff.  

Drink coffee.

Go downtown and deposit my check.

Buy books for Fall semester/pick up parking pass.

Maybe sit around campus and read a book/be terrified of all the douchebags who have come back.

Drop off laptop for keyboard replacement.

That's all I have; I work at stupid dumb job at 2.  Apparently I'm going to be training two middle-aged women who are replacing me.  What the FUCK, I was so angry when I was told this, being relatively competent at the job does not mean I'm fit or mentally prepared to train anyone.  After this weekend I'm completely done.  My boss was kind of begging me to stay on as "seasonal" and come back and work every once in awhile, but the more I think about it the more it seems pointless.  I made myself comfortable with it for the summer, but I need to get the hell out of that place.

the painting: a self-reminder

Today Antiques Roadshow probed me into doing something I've been meaning to do for a long time: research the artist of the only painting I own.  It was a very generous gift, I saw it in a show that was in correlation with a play at LCP and loved it immediately, and my then-boyfriend gave it to me later.  It's dark and bright at the same time, colorful and crayon-like and dreamy and intense, with a big white moon glowing in one corner.  

I'll get a photo of it sometime soon, for illustration.  

Anyway, the signature has always been illegible to me, though I knew it was a local artist.  It took about half an hour to track down the play I saw it at, then use all of my cunning to find a Journal Star article about the play's opening, which is the only place I've seen the art show mentioned.

The artist is Robert Esquivel, and all I know about him is he went to UNL, is married to a photographer, and is showing in Gallery Nine in November.  

I'm fantasizing about going and running into him and telling him how much pleasure I've received from his painting over the years, and how when I was on mushrooms looking at it made birds sing in my head, but in reality I'll probably just go to his show and look around and feel that special wonderment of recognition.

dless qless appleless youless

Yesterday the coffee leapt from the mug onto my keyboard, some keys no longer work, some important keys.  I'll probably have to take it in to get another keyboard replacement very soon but for now I'm using a giant clunky bluetooth one sitting on top, like a keyboard wheelchair.  Or not like that, think of your own simile.

Dreamed of a house in the country, ecstasy, shame, admiration, ecstasy, shame.

Jauffre is kneading my bare thigh and it hurts but I'm not moving for some reason.  I like when the prick of a claw in your leg makes a twinge in your upper arm.  Electrical connections, etc.

 

so I don't ever forget

Last night I was driving to party and was stopped at a light on P Street.  Across the intersection in front of me drove on of those giant roving food-trucks you see at fairs and events and such, and on the side in huge letters it said:

HOT BEEF SUNDAE

along with what I assumed were photos of the atrocity: wads of what I assume was beef and mashed potatoes/gravy with cherry tomato on top like a pert nipple on a dripping, meaty breast.  I don't know, it was just so brazen and pornographic that I laughed for like five blocks.  

I think I need to Google it now, just so... just so you know.  Here I go.

Okay, I'm back.

Tags: 

Hot Beef

Sundae

hide it

Went a little crazy last night from circumstances what ain't need blogulatin'.

Dreamed of strange hotels and gentle blue-black beetles the size of your palm that sparkled in the sagebrush.  Dreamed of shame.  

I was an hour last for work today because my alarm failed and I didn't wake up until A. called me at noon.  It was okay, though.  It was not okay when I had to write on a cake and the girl was really disappointed with my relative sucking at it, I always want to cry and explode when that happens, the "... Oh." and the pout.  And the reluctant "It's okay..."   A British lady here "on holiday" cheered me up when I helped her find a cake for her daughter, though.  It was no occasion and the daughter "just likes cake."  The cake had cinderella on it because it was the only small white one we had in the case.  The lady and I laughed about it.  

It is strange that there will be no more dealing with cake soon.  I've been trying to memorize the small things I won't have again; the feel of a donut.  The twist-tie.  The mop.

  

dna gravy

I've never been able to help getting into the Olympics when I have a chance to watch them.  I think this is thanks to my mom, who is very reverent and enjoying of them for whatever reason (she text-messaged me earlier expressly to tell me she was watching them [!!]) .  

It must have been 1992; I have a memory of watching Kristi Yamaguchi win the gold and then my mom helped my brother, sister and me put on our own little "olympics" where we "skated" (or danced with fury) around the living room (my brother's had lots of "karate" moves) and then she ceremonially presented us all gilt-plastic medals on red, white & blue ribbons we got in a kid's meal or something.  I had to get the gold, of course, because my childhood was often me asserting dominance over my eager, kind little sister.  I no longer feel terribly about this because the roles have switched, really, and I'm kind of more chill about most things than my siblings.

I never have trouble watching televised sports competitions from boxing to fashion design, but the Olympics have such a collective energy behind them that they force those memories to be made, you know, like "where were you when Kennedy died/9-11/etc.?"  

I am troubled by the continual breaking of World Records.  Most developed nations are supposedly getting massively obese, but these select few are getting faster and stronger.  I sense a divergence of species, where the branches split.  Fatties mate with fatties and athletes mate with athletes (or supermodels, naturally).  In a few thousand years the chromosomes will be adjusted; lines will be drawn.  

My only comfort is feeling my personal insignificance in this long, futile, fertile animal chain.  

how did I not know

that this came out in June:

Probably because they haven't put anything out since 2002.  This isn't one of those cunty "look i am cool music cool cool" posts this music just really means a lot to me, it feels me, I got it, it's mine now, it is good.

golden

I was just smoking on the porch, reading, and the little part-time-custody kid from this building was walking along the sidewalk below my balcony.  He looked up and saw me, then right as we were adjacent, he belched loudly and said "Excuse me."  To me?  To whom?

I finished my last summer class today.  I am going to miss watching an old movie every morning, it was kind of backwards but cathartic.  I'm sitting here feeling like I have something pressing to read or write soon but I don't, and my brain and body tensions are all confused.

Finally, it's my week-long summer vacation. (sunglasses)  

tranquil

Am sitting on campus near Andrews, between the weepy Chaparral Mulberry and the Contorted European Filbert, watching and listening to the buzz and hum and chirp.  I don't know if I've mentioned it but being on campus this summer, even for the brief times between class and work, has been a balm.  It's going to be difficult when all of the students return and tramp all over everything.  I'm being completely selfish and wrong when I feel like I'm more entitled to enjoy the nature of it but I appreciate on it so hard every day I guess I do feel I've earned it.

European Contorted Filbert, Corylus avellana 'Contorta.'  

Also known as "Sir Harry Lauder's Walking Stick." UNL campus.

These branches are probably dead, but they look the most interesting.

Update: The whole time I was writing this I saw a woman through the trees sitting next to the silver tree.  When I walked by, it was apparent she was meditating.  College. :)

Also of note: I can now use my NCard to buy Runza and Planet Sub.  This is very welcome and dangerous news.

summer now it isn't anything

CAMPUS CUT LIPS BROOMSTICKS THICK WITS SPIDERSILK SKIES WHISKEY NIGHTS BUZZLEBEES DRAGAFEES BIRDLECHIRPS SHORT GIRLS WITH JANGLESTRINGS TIGHT THIGHS LOOSE SHOWS SLOW STEPS CARS SHINING CARS SICK GORGE AND PURGE NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA PONYTAILS BROKEN NAILS FEVER LIFTED KARMA SHIFTED PARASITE SATED CRISIS ABATED.  

tired

Last night I dreamed about that entry I just posted about needing a vacation badly, in the dream I realized that I had actually been out of town just a few weeks before (not actually true) and that I was being selfish and whiny by wanting another break. 

Then the dream turned into one of those where you're running in a massive marathon of some kind and while you're not winded or tired it's incredibly difficult to run faster.  

My life is pretty much pointless self-flagellation and working hard without going anywhere huh.

Really not really no really not really, things are going well.  I'm just tired and tired and tired and fat, I feel really fat, I hate feeling fat.

vacate

Lately more than almost anything I just want to GET THE HELL OUT OF TOWN for awhile, for a week or so.  It's been so long.  It's not gonna happen, is it.  

girl anachronism

Right now I have a very strong desire to experience every single era of human history.  To see each unique time period in the prime of my life.  Thinking the thoughts I as an individual would think under the circumstances.  

Sometimes I get lost and dazed in these vortices of deep thought.  You know what I mean.  It's pretty ridiculous but I work with it.

learning

Cultural education night.

Falun Gong

Persecution of Falun Gong

Key points of interest: Religion-like "system of cultivation' based on meditation that sprang to enormous popularity in the '90s, government crackdowns on peaceful protests, mass persecution including torture and organ harvesting.

This world, man. 

things again

Hunger is a way to blunt feeling, the mind becomes obtuse and acidic.  

I'm tired of playing dumb for everybody.

But if I just tell the world everything I know right off I think I would seem like a cunt, to myself even.  

And I don't even know if I'd be able to.  I've fashioned myself into something socially acceptable but that does not make me socially capable.  

There are rhythms to conversation, there is talk and there is talk, a question and a statement and a reaction and a statement, we converse to learn about each other, to help each other, or to teach each other about ourselves.

I will not go on.  

How can I go on.

Why would I go on.

The opening ceremony in Beijing was something to behold, completely not what I was expecting.  

If I lived in China, I'd have some Chinese children.

I will mention that everything is going pretty great right now.  I'm hesitant to mention it, fearing jinx, like how Little Honda's speedometer will be working fine for a time and when I congratulate her for it it shudders and thuds back to zero.  Right now I'm looking at this happiness out of the corner of my eye, like she's got a knife in the folds of her skirt, but she's so so pretty and I want to dance with her so very much.

New bed.

There is a new bed where my old four-poster used to be, it is not really new, but it is sensational.  The new bed will make my joints happier, they pop and creak in the morning or when I stretch, I'm guessing under years and years of adolescent soccer and dance.  

I can't really write okay lately,

but it'll cycle back around here real soon.

Maybe I should just post pictures in the meantime.  

Here is a comic I did not draw please enjoy it.  It is tiny because blogger software is retarded, I am sorry.

funny

I mentioned the guy who sits in front of me with dreads and then I went to class this morning and he'd cut them all off.  This amused me and I decided we should have a conversation after class with cigarettes and it was awkward, and I forgot to ask the usual questions such as "What is your name" and etc.  

Mostly I was excited for him because while we watched the movie he would run his fingers through his short hair, feeling the strangeness of it.  

The nervousness in others is a comfort; I always see it from above even when I'm entangled in the thick of it and humanness is funny and cute for awhile.  

I am lucky it happens so often.

I saw a girl take on a blue mailbox today and it was really fantastic.  

ghhhhhhhh

Man sometimes it is the morning and I would just rather not deal, not with getting up and showering and drying and clothing myself and making coffee so strong it eats away at my stomach lining the way my other drugs eat at my liver and lungs and getting all my shit together and getting in the car and smoking a cigarette I don't enjoy and burning my mouth on the coffee and parking on Charleston and walking 10-15 minutes on the same route every day and sweating and being really bored by the people walking by and getting to class barely on-time and watching a really decent old movie and staring at the dread-y head of the guy in front of me who I think has a slow plan to strike up a conversation with me someday because he keeps borrowing my pen very cordially, very cordially, and when the movie's over I wander in a slow circle around Andrews and smoke and watch the buzzlebees and butterfrees who drone and meander in the flowerbeds, and some more people bore me, then I either go change in the bathroom and go to one job or I've gone home and changed and gone to the other, then I work, then I come home, then I cook food, then I sit around and eat and drink because during all this time I haven't eaten or drank (besides the coffee).   

This is really boring to read probably but man I don't know, for the past few days I keep sitting down to write something in this thing and I get going and going and pretty soon these entries turn into epic, detailed accounts of such as my childhood or stupid shit like this where far too many details are chronicled in attempts to (FOOTAGE LOST)

and it's boring, and stupid, so I just close the browser window.  But here's this one I guess.

trash anger

So we have some neighbors (possibly several different people) who, for the past few weeks, have decided that it's too taxing to lift the lid to one of the two dumpsters here and instead have started just dropping their garbage off right in front of the dumpsters.

WHAT THE FUCK.

STOP DOING THAT.

WHAT

WHAT THE FUCK.

How can I punish these people.  Throwing their trash away for them so I don't have to look at it doesn't teach them anything, and leaving a bitchy anonymous sign is... bitchy, as is talking to the apartment manager.  I SEE THEM DO IT.  They just stroll out there and toss their trash half-heartedly at the dumpster area.  FUCK YOU PEOPLE.

These are things I get really angry about before I've smoked.

breaking up

I just cleaned up cat puke that consisted of the neatly severed head and body of a wasp in thick, viscous mucous.  

The human is a stupid animal in that the brain can override the body, which is why so many people get off on painful stuff (jogging, tattoos, piercings, writing papers, s&m, etc.) because it is taboo in regards to nature.  Maybe.  I'm just saying shit.  I guess what I wanted to acknowledge was that the human puking mechanism still works pretty well; it is admirable.  You can work through some injuries but vomiting is never something you can really halt once the body has decided it would like to.  

But then there's bulimia.

(just kidding we're not going there right now)

Yesterday and today I've told people at the bakery that I'm quitting (last day is the 24th).  R.'s being a drama queen about it and doing his same Mr. I-Know-All schtick that would be more annoying if he weren't usually right about things.  I told my main boss today and made him so sad he couldn't look at me.  I'm not exactly "sad" to be leaving since that place is a dirty rule-laced minefield of corporate smiles and serious threats for minor uniform infractions, in short, I am not "down."  But I do feel a sadness for the bakery folk, those sticky warriors, los guerillas del pan.  I'm honestly sad to be leaving them, and a place where I'm comfortable with the routine and the people recognize my effort and are kind to me.  

I'm waxing too long on simple emotions.  I have to write a five-page paper by 10:30 a.m. tomorrow and still have to read some stuff, best get MOVING.  But first I will eat, a scramble, it goes like: you sautee chopped onions and garlic in butter or olive oil, then you throw in hash browns and brown them while adding seasoning (i like salt, pepper, a little curry powder, and cumin; sometimes rosemary).  Then: you put sausage in and let that brown.  Then: you scramble hell of eggs up in it and top it with shredded cheddar cheese.  I WILL DIE OF A HEART ATTACK no I will truly die by drowning, I don't know why I know this, it is just a feeling I have.  The the sweet, peaceful death of water appeals too strongly to my lazy nature.  There are plenty of pocket-stones readily available.  etc.

Siiiiick.

Yesterday at the bakery I was doing my thing when I heard this odd hissing noise, like Darth Vader, and looked up to see an extremely old man hobbling down the aisle in front of me with his respirator.  He stopped in front of the donut case and the following exchange occurred:

Old: What's a "fried cinnamon roll?!"

Me: Well sir it's like a donut, just a cinnamon bun that's been fried and we frost some of them!

Old: WHERE ARE THEY?

Me: (looks at case, where old man is pointing; the tray for them is empty) It looks like we've sold out of them for today sorry about that!  We have-

Old: Where do you get the price of NINETY-NINE CENTS?!

Me: Ha-ha-ha well the corporate office makes the prices and I'm not quite sure how they decide but the price for those is actually fifty-nine cents see that sign is for-

Old: That's SICK.

Me: ....

Old: (volume of voice rising) That's SICK.  That's just SICK how they think they can charge that for a DONUT who do they THINK THEY ARE?   THAT'S JUST SICK.

Me: Sorry about that sir. (walks abruptly away while he continues to yell at my back)

Old: SICK!  etc.

Doing pretty well other than old people hating me.

Putting in my notice at that job, decided today.  It's just impossible for me to keep working there once full-time classes start.  I like the people I work with but I'd much rather spend my time at the office, you know, helping people with disabilities, instead of being screamed at by them for minor inconveniences regarding baked goods.