It seems to me a crime that we should age

I am so mad at JK Rowling. I mean, I knew it HAD to happen. It had to it was the only logical conclusion, but OH how mad it made me I don't even really have words. I know, it had to be that way and it leads to the BIG ENDING the CLIMATIC FINAL SCENE-but I didn't want it to happen that way! Course, I cried like a whiny baby and had to stop at one point to collect myself becaues it would've seemed one of my best friends had been hit by a semi before my eyes the way I was acting. But then, I've read about 7 billion pages of this silly series and honestly if I ever produce offspring I think I will look forward to their tween years just so they can start reading Harry Potter and we can share that and I can read them yet again...I'm thinking I might just start with the Goblet of Fire all over just so I can have some happy moments and pretend what happened didn't. Put quite simply I love Harry Potter. Sling names as you see fit.
Got me a nice neat check for 200 bones today and the writer wished me a good vacation and told me to be careful-etc. etc... So that fear is taken care of-I actually have a job that allows me to use my brain and pays me accordingly. Lord have mercy on us all-it's a sign of the endtimes I'm sure. I will be able to have a good couple of weeks without work thanks to that.
And I am packed and I have a decent stack of CDs to amuse myself and the XM of course. Other than that...I just wish I was on my way. I wish I was home already...You can always go home...
You just can't stay....

Lay down yr money and you play yr part

In 48 hours I'll be home.
At work we were playing (we being me and the two girls working at the time and then everyone we knew that came into the store) "If you were a character in the Wizard of Oz who would you be?" I was surprised to find that I was 'elected' Dorothy. Well, I do talk about home a lot don't I? That and I probably am the only person that works at the store to have actually been to Kansas. And the hair I guess. I should really think twice about the pony tails. We also have Toto (a rather tall fella he wouldn't fit in a bike basket) and a Scarecrow and a Tin Man. We had trouble deciding if this one chap is a flying monkey or the Wizard himself. I like flying monkey. Not that I dislike the fellow, as I think he's a good guy...but the Wizard of Oz needs flying monkeys and he's as good a choice as any. Tho you ask me any mgr is immediately either the flying monkey or the Wicked Witch of the West..due to how everyone that outranks me is immediately evil you know...Oh and that just reminded me how WDEM is unemployed and I smiled and the world is a happy place. Oh I dislike her so very very much and as her luck runs out mine becomes good. Gosh, oh golly gee a wilickers.
I simply can't say enough about how much I fancy my new gig as a tangential player in Law and Order Nashville, TN. Because it features several things I simply love: working on the computer and not talking to people-working in an environment that runs on its own special time that does not feature a dress code or a time clock-law...I am terribly fascinated by this whole process of law. It's so sensible. And of course we are dealing with me, a person that will wait around for an elevator because the staircase says "for emergency use only" rather than take the stairs which are much quicker. Yet, I have driven around town drunk off my ass-tho I'm over that since I'd rather not have my wages garnished to pay for some legal representation by my bosses. Well, co-workers. Well, bosses. Whatever, I really must come up with a way to broach the whole when am I going to see some of this cabbage topic. Cuz I could use some cabbage y'know. I'm sure the $ is coming but I am so mid-Western about asking for things, sometimes I annoy me. And I am still waiting for the moment I find out that I actually will never be paid or don't have a job or something that tells me that I will be working at *$ until the end of days-or grad school.
("Your day will come."
"Tiocfadharla." I mumbled stringing the words together
"Whatthehell?" at least I know where I got it.
"It's Irish-Our day will come."
"Something like that. Your day will come.")
And what else. Senor dogness is suspicious about the packed bags but I got out the doggy bondage gear so maybe he realizes I am not going to leave him here for an indefinate period to be taken care of by whatever stranger might be willing to spend time in his company...Like, cuz he hates that what with how he can convince them he regularly goes on 7 mile walks 4 times a day....Which he does...cuz he's doggy evil.
Luckily, I got out his doggy bondage gear (yes you read right, doggy bondage gear) so I think he knows that he is invited along. The sister is looking forward to giving him much love. Because he's missing that. Not nearly enough love for the doggy. He needs tormented-dogs like that. Reminds them they're precious.
And now I will shower and then read some of Harry Potter. I adore the Harry Potter books and I am well within one sitting of finishing the Half Blood Prince, but I've been putting it off because I don't want to go another couple of years without any of the adventures at Hogwart's. And I don't want to think that the series won't go on forever and that it's almost over.
I kinda am a loser that way I guess....Alright off to face the inevitable the end of Book 6.

Something I can feel

Updates from post previous:
His dog died. No one should have to try to do a show when that happens and so I'm not mad at him anymore. Tho really it was only pretend mad because I still got a bitchin' show and all. That's very sad and I've been annoying Sir Doggytrousers with extra lovin' since I found that out and I think I'm pissing him off. But I don't care. It's important to give doggies lots of lovin'.
WDEM has been canned from *$. Finally. Only about 9 months too late I think. But better late than never. Instant karma's gonna get you bitch. And after all that time you spent laughing at fools like me. Sure hope you don't lose yr house and yr car and yr washer and dryer during the course of yr unemployment. It's awfully sad to think of the financial hardship you'll be enduring whilst you get paid for the amount of work you've been doing for the last 9 months. You see halfwit-you do no work you get no pay. Welcome to the real world. Life's a bitch, get a fuckin' helmet. (I know it's bad taste to revel in the misfortune of others, but bloody hell, there's times when it just can't be avoided. This is one of those times. I really hope to see her running to U-Scan at Kroger on 3rd shift soon. That way I can stand there and point and laugh my balls off. I'm going to hell for that wish...
But I can't help but laugh just a little too loud at this news when it is added to this bit of news: I seem to have another gig. A quite possibly better and more fun gig and one that pays better at that. It's like-it's like that karma thing again. I think Johnny boy would've appreciated the way it played out with WDEM and all. Feck, I bet Yoko would be amused to. It's just effin amusing. The whole thing...Well, except for the part about Billy the dog. That's not funny. That's really really sad and it kind of palls the joy of everything else.
OH! And the sister is going to the Dublin Irish Fest with me. We're going to camp, and I presume she knows that the very band she left me in NYC the last time I saw them is playing. I presume---I mentioned all of this and she still came up with the idea she come with me. I'm afraid. Or it could be the California Wake people talk about for decades. Hard to say-it'll be interesting. And at least this time if she leaves me I'm only a shuttle bus ride away from a hotel and she probably won't break camp and leave but instead cool down and we can laugh about the constant abandoment in the morning. I really hope she doesn't leave me anywhere this time. Or-maybe she hopes I don't stay after she's ready to go. Kind of depends on perspective maybe.

AND-I'm running a contest for anyone that can name all of the songs that have inspired the titles for my entries. Clearly this contest will never be won cuz no one reads this damn journal (which I believe to be a perfectly alright thing-despite the fact that I do believe I'm brilliant---I would hate people to read this and then tell me that the truth is otherwise) but the contest still amuses me.

If I can't find out I never will recover

When you wake up at 4am it isn't long past noon when the tired sets in. Especially when you've driven from East Nashville to Hotlanta in a non air conditioned car listening to Live 8 on the Satellite and failing to have had a decent breakfast. A breakfast I had, but it was mediocre-his Dogness ate half my bacon. He's somewhat evil that one is. And after I gave him jerky treats. I tell ya.
SO-there I was in Atlanta. Checked into the hostel, showered and fancied up. And by fancy I mean in clothes that didn't look and smell like someone had just worn them for 250 miles in a non-air conditioned car in July.
The directions I got to where I was going were straightforward and I was told it was "so easy." So, of course, I got lost. I was driving in circles when I decided to stop for directions. And I see this bar, it looks like an Irish bar-there's a bartender-behind the bar. But it's called the Highland Inn-so I worry it might be a Scottish bar. And in that case there might be haggis involved but I'm feeling brave. Besides, luckily, I can fit in fairly well at a Scottish bar-not that I've ever been to a Scottish bar-but for the sake of argument. Why don't the Scottish get their own bars?
ANYWAY-it took some time to parallel park. I am a terrible parallel park-er-I could be the only person parking on the street and it would take 3 times re-adjusting the car. I swear to you one night in Nashville I let a drunk park my car for me-he had a can of Busch beer in one hand and was parking my car with the other. There is so much wrong with that scene. And yet...
I parked and walked into this bar-tuns out it is in fact the Irish type of bar. Pub fare, wood panelling, a bartender that knew the name of everyone in the bar. Except me-that lasted 5 minutes. In which time I met everyone in the bar and became their new good friend. Course, to toast our new friendship I had to do a shot called a Red Snapper. The Braves game was on TV and I was bored by all that. Thus the only option was drinking more beer and doing another shot. This time of some outrageously overpriced tequila-which I downed in one gulp and finished with a lime. My new friends were impressed.
They tried to teach me to speak Southern. For example-they kept trying to get me to say something like "How's yr Mama dem?" this is I guess, a common phrase. I never got too good at speaking their language and kept saying things like "How's your Mom and them?" My mid-Western drawl really popped up everytime I tried to rattle off some Southern. It just wasn't working for me. But I was having a ball. I think we did more shots. I was buzzing baby.
Logically, we had to go back to the house of my new friends for stuff and so I could meet their gigantic dog-Tank or Trunk or Truck or something with a T denoting large. They lived in Cabbage Town. Sounds like a swinging place, but all I can really tell ya is we smoked a little chatted a little the dog tried to have his way with me and then I was late for meeting people for dinner.
OH YEH! I'm supposed to meet people! People I don't know! For dinner! Wow. That's gonna be...fun...I was a bit like, you know, laid back at the time and could've come up with a good dozen ways to spend the next couple of hours before the show than sitting with a bunch of strangers eating chicken fingers. (Going to that Ben and Jerry's I'd driven by and enjoying a few scoops of Phish Food came to mind...)But you know, I'd said I'd be there...And I didn't remember where Ben and Jerry's was at, actually.
Now, I just spent a couple of hours with strangers. Really awesome strangers that welcomed me to Atlanta and wouldn't have me paying my (probably close to $30) bar tab--I left a $8 tip the bar tender was all right-he knew how to make a righteous shot to facilitate a good time at the pub. They'd had me to their house, we had a grand time you know.
SO-the people I was to meet for dinner before the reason why I was in Atlanta. It wasn't quite as much fun. Now-everyone was quite groovy. Nice people all around. Until some news comes down the line-news that there has been a change of plans. Someone had a "family emergency" (sick dog? that's what the semi-official word seemed to be) and wouldn't be playing. And here is where my mind really went into boggle mode-a group of people had come to see said someone and they weren't even kind of interested in seeing Jerry Jeff and they wouldn't be going to the show. People that had driven anywhere from 5-500 miles for the show were there just to see himself and had no interest in seeing the headliner.
I was really flabbergasted. There's no secret as to my fondness for himself but dammit-I was there last night to see JJW. When I bought the tickets over a month ago I was not even sure that anyone else was playing. I was interested in seeing JJW I was really excited about that and had been thinking about how awesome it would be to see him live after hearing all the songs all those times. It was Jerry Jeff I was there to see. Anything else was just a nice side dish, but it wasn't what I'd driven for.
But these people, people who go on and on about their kind of music and supporting the musicians and this shit-they found out their boy wasn't playing and sold their tickets or counted them as a loss and just tossed them if nobody wanted to buy them. Sure, I know that some folks were going to get comped for one reason or another (tho I am good at getting listed I never got into that with this scene, not that I haven't at one or two points-but it wasn't really a big deal in this case. For whatever reason that may be) But these people who were going to get in without paying-some of them that had driven quite the distance-they were UNWILLING to pay to see someone that-IMO is one of the greats out there these days or any days. They'd driven a few hundred miles, were staying at an $80 a night hotel and wouldn't drop $30 to see a legend. I was stunned then, and even after close to 24 hours to reflect I remained stunned. Who thinks that way. Reminds me of about a year ago when another show by another band was cancelled-again in a city where there were things to do to amuse oneself and people had litter because their evening was ruined and they spent the night in their hotel watching cable because they'd driven to see so and so and when so and so cancelled everything else just seemed meaningless.
When I got home I was equally amazed to discover that even more people than I had first thought had decided to not go to the show since our man was home with a "Sick dog" and maybe a victim of "Nashville traffic" (funny, I made the trip, I didn't see any problems.) Now, I don't wish a sick pup on anyone-you know I love my Mr. Man the most and if he'd been under the weather my plans would've altered right away. As dogs are babies and need much lovin and everythign stops for them. But still, people would change their plans for an evening of music because the opener cancelled? A-freakin-mazing.
BECAUSE-JJW was amazing. He was just up there with his guitar playing songs and telling stories. He played a short set-essentially he opened for himself he played
that song he's best known for second. Then the rest of the night he just played whatever the HELL he wanted to. It was awesome. I really loved it and had a wonderful time.
I especially loved when he played one of my favorites I kinda got teary cuz it reminded me of the sister. We sang it one day-for no particular reason other than we were just talking about good songs. JJW was really great last night. He'd been screwed too, after all and he gave the crowd a show that was something else really. He must've played close to 2 1/2 hours and that's pretty good for an oulfella. I am just so glad I was there and able to see this show and I really had a wonderful time. I would like to add one couple didn't throw away or sell their tickets, they stayed and had a really good time. The singalongs ruled-the audience was lit when we were supposed to sing and sing we did. I love sing-a-longs.
The show ended and I went back to the hostel. I brushed my teeth and fell into a very deep and restful sleep. I thought I was having trouble sleeping but when I woke up it was 9:45am. And I don't sleep that late at home, so I'm thinking I slept well.
I had some coffee and donuts and a bowl of oatmeal. Talked to a lady doing geneology on her family and a guy from the Netherlands working on getting a student visa. Then, I went on a search for a Bobby Fuller record. I need a Bobby Fuller record in the next 24 hours or I will wimper sadly-I'm obsessed. I've gotta know Who killed Bobby Fuller It's really worth googling-or you know going further down that badly beaten and doused in gasoline road here dead in yr car road
Oh I got sidetracked. This was about Atlanta. And the cancellation and the show I DID see and then I got to talking about the first person to record "I Fought the Law" and that' really how it goes.
When I got home Senor Doggy was glad to see me and all was well on the homefront.
And that is all.

Everything means less than zero

Ever conversate with someone and all the conversation you're enjoying yourself and having a lovely chat and then you get off the phone and start thinking "wow, what asshole thing did I say this time?" Every time I talk to anyone on the phone (or in person for that matter) I have a similar internal dialogue with myself. Like, just this evening-I had a clever chat with a list person. We talked for about an hour and a half and all the while I'm thinking about all the fun bits of information we're sharing with each other and how I don't really even know this person but we have this THING in common so we're getting on grand. I even shared a rather embarassing story (but I knew it at the time-see, so I knew I shouldn't be proud of this story-and I'm not but I still share it it's that kind of story-it involves Jager-nuff said). Yet, as soon as we were off the phone, even after getting our plans to cross paths on Sunday before JJW I started thinking "what asshole thing did I say? I said something so unbearably stupid I will be blacklisted for life. What dumbass thing did I say?? Oh, I am an eejit and I have proven it by my stupid actions before even seeing the people in the flesh."
Is this normal? Is it a pretty regular reaction to think that after having a pretty good conversation with someone you come over all self conscious and start to think that there is something that I (you, the person in question) said that at the time seemed inconsequential but in reality it's the biggest moment of idiocy you've ever participated in? I swear I live in a constant state of-oh my God, did I say something I didn't realize I was saying at the time. This even happens when I'm conversating with people I know-I'll talk to people Im friendly with and at the end of the call I'll wonder what stupid friendship ruining thing I said during the course of the conversation.
I live in a constant state wherein I assume all I ever say is the wrong thing. Do I only say the wrong thing? Or do I have issues of a whole 'nother sort? Maybe, I just have some kind of social anxiety disorder that leads me to believe I have less than zero social skills. Then again, maybe that is the sum total of the skills I have.

Seasons spinning round again

Right about now I should be heading over to a show at the Cafe. But I don't think I'm going to. First of all I'm tired. Quite worn out-I've been on "play" for about 13 hours now. Second, I'm a little stranged by the day. And third, I'm plenty buzzed and I would hate to bring it down with a less natural time.
See-here's the thing. I was at work 2 days ago. Must've been slow or something-I can tell you it was 4:20, cuz I made a crack about the time and there I was wasting my time at work. There was a customer in the store, bearded, flip flop wearing long haired dude of the lawyerly profession. He said he was a lawyer. What did I know tho-maybe not. Nor, did I care. I said something about law very interesting I wouldn't mind going to law school-probably more of a career than being a folklorist. Yadda yadda blah. You get the conversational gist.
Cut to-today. In walks lawyerly dude. With an entourage. Sez me, "Hey, you're back."
"We came to see what a folklorist looks like."
"Well, at the moment frazzled and tired. Do you want a drink?"
"No, we just came to see a folklorist in her natural habitat."
"I'm pretty sure folklorists are naturally habitated somewhere other than in an office building downtown.
"Maybe, anyway-we're off to get rum drinks at the bar in the alley. Feel free to join us."
Since I had met these people maybe 5 minutes ago I decided that I should drink with them. Because who doesn't love rum drinks? Silly people is who.
Right-so I'm meeting strangers for after work drinks-like ya do. Then they said we should go back to his condo at the extremely expensive high rise condos. And that seemed as logical as anything else I was doing. To the extremely expensive high rise we went.
In this time-I learned their names and their games and general situation. While I'm sure it is not the usual way around things one has to get to know people somehow and what better way then sitting in the living room of the apt/law practice. Honestly, on Law and Order this would've led to an assault. There was no logical reason I was running around downtown with these people I did not know and they were buying me drinks and then I was smoking their quite high grade left handed cigarettes and y'know-listening to (I suppose) unreleased Muzik Mafia tracks.
ANYWAY-I trusted that these people would not cause me injury. I have no idea why-as we know how I am. But I did. Then I mention home and the last town I lived in before moving here-dude pauses "You lived in *name of town*?"
"For a while I did, but I grew up in..."
"What was yr address?"
I told him.
"I ilved on such and such road. In North Hill."
He was born in the town that I had off handedly referenced as where my cousin was a cop. He has people from the fried chicken capital of the world. (WHich, he mentioned-by name, not by reputation on his own without prompting. He also knew the zip code in the aforementioned town.) That's strange, do you not agree.
Other things were discussed (of course, because when you're born in the same hospital as someone you want to speak with them about things) and all in all I found the evening to be one of the more interesting I have had of late.
SO-while I would probably have a really good time at the Cafe the night I had seems to me that it needs to stand alone for it's complete randomness-these people actually came into work just because I had intrigued the bearded dude to an extent that he wanted other people to encounter me. I accepted drinks invitation for no reason other than to NOT go would've been foolish. I went to the second location. All in all this should be a very frightened and angsty post (or a footnote IN the Post-yknow) instead I'm just thinking-uh...wha?

We'll have to change our jaded ways

But I've loved these days...
As I decided to add yet another entry I thought that something very profound and meaningful would spew forth from my fingertips and onto my Big Lots purchased Memorex keyboard. Within one word I realized that that was not going to happen.
There's nothing particularly insightful into what I'm thinking.
Here let me tell you:
Rescue Me is a very excellent show. People should watch it. If I could afford cable, I certainly would. But I can't. So I rent the DVDs. One day I may purchase the DVDs. But until then I'll just rent them. I think Denis Leary is some sort of spokesperson for some kind of person. Some very fucked up angry addicted kind of person. Interestingly enough I have surmised that he has created a character having little if anything to do with his actual personality that has actually transcended his own existence to become a "type." I find this fascinating. The ability to create for oneself an alternate persona without giving up yr actual personality. I think I might look into this. It might be useful at some point. Maybe some point in the next week or so.
I am also thinking that I spent 5 hours watching TV on DVD when I could've been doing something productive-what I might've been doing I have no idea but I am sure there is something more productive I could've been doing. Course, I don't really care.
Also on my mind-actually that's about it. My brain has really had enough of functioning-except for the fact that I am fairly certain my CD player is posssessed, as it is playing CDs that I know I did not put on there. That's a bit distressing-I own no CDs that would think it is a good idea to rhyme "coyote" and "peyote"-tho it is a fairly good rhyme. If you're going to get rhyming technical. Maybe this is a hallucination-why do my hallucinations insist on reading poetry? I don't really understand poetry-well, less it happens to be accompanied by a guitar at the very least.
Oh-never mind-it seems I'm listening to Billy Joel...which only leads me further to believe I'm having a breakdown. Billy Joel never sings about peyote. Cocaine, heroin, pot, whisky, champagne, beer-yes. But not peyote. Great. I've gone insane. Well, you heard it here first kids. I'm off my gourd. Super. And just when things were going so mediocre, too.
Speaking of Billy Joel, I just happened to glance at my copy of the New York Times Book Review from last week-which, I had thrown on top of my washing machine sometime around last Tuesday with the theory I would eventually get around to reading it-like ya do. SO-turns out there's a new book on the Piano Man by-some guy-I didn't read the review that well. I was very excited until the reviewer panned the book calling it "workmanlike" a description that I am fairly sure isn't good. It's great if you're reviewing car manufacturing-but probably not when talking about a book. Thus, I will read the book if it turns up the the NPL but I will not be any time ordering from amazon.com. I did get a strange and poorly torn (I should've maybe looked for scissors, in retrospect) picture of the Joel circa 1970 with long hair and a moustache and looking rather like an extra from the Let it Be photoshoot. So, like, the night's not a total loss. I knew I'd saved that book review for something.
I suppose at some point I should wax poetic that I had managed to forget something that I thought was ultimately important a year ago but until it was pointed out to me quite bluntly (tho accidentally) I had complete managed to forget that this day was anything other than the day my benefits paid in and the day before my electric bill is deducted from my checking account.
There's nothing to be poetic about. There are no great emotional disturbances, except maybe a few caused by a couple of real intense moments on the aformentioned DVD. I have other things to worry about. I didn't even TXT a message. Hell, what would that do but raise my phone bill?
Things change people change and what seems the most important thing in all of the world becomes a distant memory in the span of time. Hell, a year from now I may've realized Rescue Me is a shite show that didn't hold up for the second season and I'll have moved on to some other distraction or maybe I'll even be engaging in human contact (don't count on it-I foresee no complete personality change in the works). I will at this point in one year either have or be within weeks of having a master's degree, maybe even be searching sincerely for a better job or working a straight gig on the 15th floor Monday thru Friday and paying the lease on a new car.
Okay. That won't probably happen. Not all of that anyway. Probably some. Some of what we expect always happens, tho so much we never do does as well.
Life's like that. Isn't it.

Joining the world of missing persons

I am much too good at being alone. I can go for days and days without feeling any great urge for human contact. On a real streak I can go for approximately 3 days without speaking to anyone-save possibly a halting and brief conversation with my mum or da just to prove to them that I am alright and to myself that I still have to carry on conversation. Meaningful conversation doesn't appeal to me, neither, in fact does casual conversation. At times I find myself marvelling at the fact that many people thrive on interaction-call people just to chat or strike up conversation without feeling a choking sensation as if the very act of speech is painful and I understand some people even spend days and nights with a person or people thus necessitating communication on some level.
Course, it should be noted that my job requires me to speak, be social and friendly with dozens, possibly even hundreds of people on any given day. I do not count this. It's automatic-for the people. That being the case it is obviously necessary that I speak and carry on conversation with these people. As failing to do so would most likely result in the loss of my job. While I am no great fan of my job I am fond of food and shelter so I do what I must. And it's much better now, what with working downtown. In the course of an 8 hour day I can easily carry on 25 conversations about the weather, 15 conversations about the road construction, 30 conversations about what ways were spent passing the time the previous night or weekend. Not to mention the rare and strange conversation that borders on having something vaguely resembling substance-I should say I'm lucky enough to have maybe 1 of these a week--and that the substance is usually no more substantial than a comment relating to a recent horrifying world event. Most of my time is spent throwing out random Napoleon Dynamite quotes and cleaning splashes of milk off my glasses. It is not an environment that really inspires closeness. It is in fact an environment that causes me to shut down and lose the power of speech within 5 minutes of locking the door. Nothing causes temporary muteness quite as much as forced inter-action.
I can spend days and days alone and I in no way feel lost or sad. Being alone inside my thoughts is the safest place for me. No one disagrees, no one will yell at me if I eat too much or spend an entire day laying on the couch watching soaps and no one asks me if I had a good weekend. I had a weekend. It was neither good nor bad. It simply was. I watched some movies. I watched some crime shows. I went to a couple of clubs. Is there a reason why these things need to be group activities?
The sister has on occassion said to me that doing things alone is "sad." And she doesn't like to do things alone because she doesn't want to project that level of sadness. Oddly enough I do not feel "sad" which I assume she uses to mean pitiful. I don't feel sad when I am alone. I feel sadder when I am with people whose company I in no way crave or enjoy. (Mind you, there are people who I enjoy being around, people who are intelligent, wild, or funny that I am always pleased to see, if not hang around with_I am not talking about these people. These people know who they are) It makes me sad that there are people who believe our interactions are in some way important or vital. It strikes me as very strange that people think I will want to see them after I sober up and in the light of day. I am only attractive on a barstool in the neon light. And then I am only attractive as the night wears on. The men that are attracted to me are not ever attractive to me on any level other than providing me with a little bit of entertainment before I slink off alone and spend the latter part of the evening reading. It should be mutual. I really must think that it's mutual or else I am truly a very lousy person.
It is distinctly possible that I am a very lousy person. In fact it's more than likely. Which might be why I spend so much time alone-because the other option is facing that I am bad to people. People who probably do not deserve to be treated rotten. That's how I treat them. I let them buy me drinks or food or provide a conversational source for a few hours and then if they ask for a number sometimes I give my real digits and sometimes I don't but I never answer. Because the time is over. Maybe we watch the Sox game on TV or we pretend to be interested in the band playing for tips but after that 2 or so hours is over so too is my interest and I move on and go home. Trying to rekindle that interest is a waste of time. Unless the other person has a time machine there is no way I'll be intrigued enough to spend more than maybe another few minutes with whatever momentary fascination I might've had.
Sometimes it seems the only answer is that I am bad. Then again, if I were truly bad maybe I would drag the suffering out for long periods of time. Weeks, months, years until the realization that I am upleasant comes as a striking blow and there is much gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands. I'm protecting myself. I've been burned and it still is a righteously unpleasant sensation. Some people can be hurt and move on in less time than it takes me to decide where I think I should put my couch. These people astound me and I am being genuine when I say that I do not know how to wrap my mind around having this ability. I think I wish I had it. Sort of going all Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-alternately wiping out memories whilst being completely controlled by the distant knowledge that something is not quite right about what's going on. I can't move on because I can't remember what's holding me back.
So I spend my days off not being. Acting like a non-entity. Silent, in my mind, vacant and watching hours of television or random websites.
There's absolutely nothing normal about me. I do believe I'm a bit fucked up, you know?

And she was

Since leaving work on Thursday I have dedicated myself to appearring to not exist. This is so far not working out very well and I can only assume that the main cause of this would be that I am still inclined to go out in public where I will inevitably see people I know and then feel obligated to either a)dive behind a tree and pretend I did not see them or b)engage in conversation.
Due to the battle my sinuses have been conducting against my body I have been in a strange haze for the last two days that is only exasperbated by the double dose of NyQuil I took last night before falling asleep. The NyQuil hangover is nothing to be trifled with. Whereas one can awake from a night of swilling vodka and tonics and feel like death on Twizzler legs it is still possible to function at a pace that is semi-convincing that nothing out of the ordinary is going on. And, should you be me then in fact, nothing out of the ordinary would be going on as that's a pretty regular state of being . Except the vodka, I don't drink much vodka. It erases too many memories of the previous night. Oh, now, of course, the same can be done on beer and brandy and whisky but vodka does it with such swiftness and completeness that it is a little too terrifying to deal with on an ordinary Tuesday. Best saved for special occassions.
And yeah, I have been trying unsucessfully to appear to not exist. My first attempt failed, when on Thursday I walked into a local club and was instantly recognized by several people who then instantly helped me get into a horrible state of drunkeness. In my defense I hadn't eaten much and was fighting either the worst allergy attack of my life or the naggingest summer cold I've had all year. Two days later and I'm still not sure. Right, so, there I was having had maybe 5 (maybe and I think 3 is the right number to be honest) drinks and I was so fucked up I was sure I would pass out on the street as soon as I left the club. So, of course I initially agreed to go to the bar next door. In a rare and desperate grasp at clarity my brain forced me to state that I would be going home RIGHT NOW! Despite protestations that I lived 5 minutes away and I hadn't had near as much to drink as everyone else and that I was being a pussy I stumbled to the door wishing everyone a good eve and on the way home nearly ran my car off the side of the road when I either a)almost fell asleep at the wheel or b)realized that there was a cop sitting at the stop sign at the next block and if I got stopped I would lose my license and probably end up in the Davidson County Jail or maybe c) I somehow managed to do both of these things simultaneously. Amazingly neither of these things happened as the cop turned away from where I was going and my internal dialogue's interpretation of events is highly more dramatic than what is actually happening.
One could theorize I came very close to making myself non-existant on Thursday night but I really think that the 12 hour work day and the fact that I got home in time to see my 21st hour of wakefulness strike might have contributed significantly to my state of mind. Not that I wasn't shit faced mind you-I was, and I take full responsibility for my idiocy in this situation. I should've just stayed home and watched Will and Grace. Hindsight, is, as they say, 20/20.
for the second time in a week I woke up in a ratty t-shirt with the covers wrapped around my legs with only the vaguest idea how I had gotten there. The first time was caused by a rather long day sitting outside drinking free beverages at yet another local bar's 2 year anniversary. In that case, however, I am almost certain that I sat and watched TV for a couple of hours after getting home andbefore going to bed and that leaves me to think that the reason I didn't remember undressing and actually crawling into bed was I had fallen asleep on the couch rendering the latter part of the evening boring and not worth remembering. Sadly, many of my nights are like this. I will wake up the next morning and have absolutely no memory of how I spent the evening for the first hour I am awake. When the evening begins to re-assemble itself in my brain I will rememeber I had tuna and tomato for dinner, watched soem incarnation of Law and Order and fell asleep during the Andy Griffith show just like I do roughly 3-4 nights a week. Not only am I a lousy cook without cable I am also so boring my life causes temporary amnesia.
AHH but I was on the subject of my attempt to blend into the crowd. Yesterday I awoke full of life and ready to face the day and do something fun. Except for the fact that I couldn't breathe and it hurt to swallow and every time I spoke more than 3 consecutive words I collapsed into a coughing fit I was feeling great. Also I was exhausted but unable to sleep. I laid on the couch for 3 hours watching children's programming on PBS (my thoughts on that would fill another long and equally self-absorbed entry) I eventually gave up and spent several hours making uninformative and uninteresting phone calls to my mother, watching daytime TV and conversating non-sensically withing the realms of cyberburbia. Then I napped off and on for maybe 4 hours. Waking up I gave in to the urge to take OTC drugs that make me wonky as hell and act in an irrational manner similar to that of people on high priced street drugs in order that I may be able to breathe for a few hours. Then I drove to Shopryland to see Dale Watson play at the Plaza.
Somewhere in the 5 mile drive I rationalized that I needed an extra large Chick-o-Stick and a pack of Necco wafers. Not wanted mind you, NEEDED I became much agitated in the parking lot of the mall due to the fact that fuckin motorcycles were taking up full spaces thus leaving me to park in a space just about 2 blocks from the Williamson county line. And I was extra agitated by the fact that the sumbitch that rearended me the other week and is playing all sorts of fun asshole games with the insurance company had a REALLY GOOD parking spot and was probably out eating at Jillians and having a gay old time thinking he'll never have to pay a dime of insurance. OH and did I mention the 45 year old counter guy at Hollywood Video was rude to me? Now, I admit I probably looked and sounded stoned out of my mind, the DayQuil was fucking with my head pretty royally and I had convinced myself that I was actually shrouded in a net of gauzy mist that moved with me wherever I went and protected me from being unwillingly seen or harmed in any way. I should probably not take DayQuil. Right so he was rude to me because I asked whether or not there was any way to find out if a movie was on the shelf before driving over only to find out that it wasn't (no, I doubt I phrased it quite that well, I probably said something like, "Uh, like, the movies? If it's not in, is there, um, a way to check before I come...in? Could, I call?") His response, set me on edge however as he said, "It's first come first serve ma'am." Not being in a Q haze I would say that was a reasonable response but at the time I actually had to sit in my car and compose myself and talk myself down from going back in and asking him what the fuck he was thinking being so fucking rude to me and I'ma a paying customer with honest questions and then I probably would've ended up in the Davidson County Jail. A lot of my fantasies end with me in jail-usually alone in a cell in near darkness sitting on a wooden bench staring at my hands while somewhere someone plays a mournful tune on the harmonica. Of course, I don't need to tell you that my mind's camera pans back on this and the scene slowly dims to complete blackness. Not only do I only have a couple of mental plotlines to work with but they all insist on being cliche.
Where was I? At the Opry seeing Dale Watson. Or actually, first I saw that I had missed the first set by the first act so I just set up my chair and went to the mall. I hate malls, I hate shopping, I do not get any great pleasure from purchase as most purchases are fraught with the knowledge that unless what I'm buying is toilet paper or gasoline I do not NEED IT Not unlike the purchase of the candy-even those there was need not having it would not in any way render my life undesirable to continue. But, I do not enjoy shapping because there simply is no extra cash for such events. That coupled with the fact that malls draw me in for the same reason they repulse me-the conspicuous consumption and the noise make me sick, the parade of the young, perfectly attired and the horrifyingly thin intermixed with the not so young and embarassingly overweight and badly dressed I feel the not very original feeling whenever I go into Opry Mills that one day Jesus is going to show up and run down the walkway knocking over the carts selling personalized necklaces just like Ted Neeley in Jesus Christ Superstar. I kind of would feel bad if I missed that.
Anyway, I went to Barnes and Noble and very confusedly and feeling as if water was rushing around my ears and that I might drown very soon stumbled around trying to find Chuck Klosterman's new book. And I suppose that it is becaues I bought that that I am writing this. Because, really, if he can get praise for writing about the women that he loves and a road trip that essentially seemed to boil down to having no meaning and the lot of drugs he enjoys doing and where and with whom then I can write about my Friday nght in a Q induced roll.
It is obvious now that I wsa trying to act like a person that is trying to act like a person who is acting normal. It is also obvious, that I failed. I sat and read for the first hour of the show until it got too dark to see. I was drinking herbal tea in 85 degree heat and gnawing on strange and unpleasant candy all the while. I also had positioned my folding chair right on the very edge of the main walkway so that everyone who had to go pee or get a fruit smoothie would have to walk right by me and then I have to pretend I didn't see them and hope that they didn't see me because at the time I was relatively certain I had lost the ability to speak. Not only had I lost my ability to speak I was becoming more and more certain that I was invisible and that nothing I did would seem at all strange. Luckily, I couldn't come up with anything strange and I just sat in my chair with my head lolled lazily against the back of the chair looking as if I might at any moment fall into a deep and long lasting sleep.
While all of this was going on I was able to determine that I was able to pick out by name about 15-20 people in the crowd. Most of whom I have carried on long and terribly interesting and life altering conversations with at one time or another. Some of whom I would even consider to be friends, or at the very least, regular drinking buddies. So, my only recourse, since I knew all of these people and they would likely all offer a polite "hi" if not an invitation to conversation was to try very very hard to blend in with the crowd of tourists as they filed out of the plaza and into the parking lot. I can tell you that while no one said anything to me I felt several eyes cast in my direction and I couldn't help but wonder if I was imagining this (as the stoned are paranoid) or if I wsa actually being watched and people were wondering what the hell I was doing skulking out with my head bent down and pace quick. Thank goodness no one spoke to me as I do not believe I would've been able to say anything-which would've been uncomfortable.
When I got home I took the hound out and fearing that I would wake up convulsing with coughs and unable to swallow I opened the bottle of NyQuil in my kitchen cabiinet and mis-dosed myself swallowing half of the bottle in the process. I slept REAL GOOD last night.
In fact, I might still be asleep right now