reality keeps giving me swirlies

i don’t know why these things didn’t really dawn on me earlier, but this week they’ve hit me like, well, like cold water in the face. only— it's a certain kind of cold water.

i’m aging. dunk

spider veins. drying skin. cellulite. gray hairs. dunk

i’m old enough to be someone’s mother, and in a few years i’ll be too old to become anyone’s mother. dunk

i’m alone. dunk, splash-gasp, dunk

i’ll be so busy with work that this won’t be changing anytime soon, or perhaps never. dunk-dunk-dunk

i am not as wise, centered, patient, kind, humble, generous, honest, merciful, gracious, loving, or, well, godly as i could be.
dunkdunkdunk-dunkity-dunkdunk-FLUSSSSSSSSHHHH!

it's not a light-hearted post, but at least the image is kinda funny.

i'm not nervous

really, i'm not. i'd tell you if i were. you know i would.

but suddenly i do feel kinda sick. tremulous, weak, almost nauseated but not quite. my heart... hang on, let me check my heart... no, regular rhythm, so it's not because of my heart. and suddenly i have to go to the bathroom. i feel like laying... lying... lay—dangit!... i feel like being horizontal. see, i can't even talk/write.

what's going on? i don't have time for this. i need to iron my outfit.

i haven't ironed in a year (thanks to scrubs. or maybe no thanks to scrubs).

funereal taupe

today i awoke to find myself devoid of any hope (or faith) that my dream will ever be realized.

i stayed in bed with a pillow over my face (because the sun streaming in the through my closed blinds was so bright) and tried to think about what this means for my life and how i will behave and believe differently, but my thoughts kept straying toward black/burgundy-or-purple/gold vs. blue/silver for curtains. waking up just enough to focus, i reminded myself of my prior resolution, one i made years ago to help me face this possibility— and i simply do not feel the resolve nor the inspiration.

i cannot even bring myself to mourn over the death of my dream. perhaps it is because it has been a long time dying, and finally coming to terms with it is not acute or surprising.

so instead of black, the appropriate colour is taupe. a bland, passionless, dingy, inconsequential, neverending taupe.

retraction

i take it back.
it wasn't wrong. and so i don't apologize for it.
muahahahahaha!

i would just like to say...

... how very me my blog is becoming. in appearance. finally.

fruity goodness

lots of people take pictures of strawberries


because they really are beautiful.

the colour of my failure

today it is magenta. magenta because it is glaring, in my face, obnoxious, and yet not important enough for me to take seriously. and because it is so hot outside. after several many gallons of gas, multiple wrong turns to get to nonexistent destinations, traffic jams, and near-accidents i am still without having attained my goal.

all this talent and these personality traits and i can't get this one thing done.

fortunately it's neither necessary nor time-sensitive.

och! magenta!

strange things... #5

s.t.i.h.d.w.p. #5 requires no explanation.


but now the question is, what do i do with them? throw them out? seems like a shame. but they are five years old.

throw them out it is. at least i have the photo as proof.

alone

sniff, sniff.

where is everybody?

now that i think about it

we were in the third grade, and open house was coming up. mrs. cross (“because i’m cross as a bear,” former deputy sheriff, friend of the family) put us to work getting the room presentable. she put c.j. to the task of cleaning off the big wooden desk in the corner. she sprayed it with pledge or whatever and handed him a folded up ‘rag’ to dust with.

c.j., not quite the class clown but kind of a joker of a boy, cocked his head to the side. he held the rag up in the air, and then ceremoniously unfurled it to reveal that it was a pair of very large, dingy men’s briefs. bvd’s.

at the time i (age 7) considered him irreverent for doing so.

but now that i think about it,

it was really funny.

the next best thing

decorating

damn.

you know what would look awesome on that floor of mine?

a piano.

strange things... #4

roly-polies.

bunches of dead roly-polies.

they are also known as pill bugs, for those of you too mature for that rhyming name.

as i sold my couch and the nice people took it away, a little roly-poly graveyard was revealed. and since nice people were over at my place i vacuumed them up as quickly as i could, because, you know, it was gross. so i don't have good pictures to show you how bad it was.



that's all i got.

strange things... #3

the third strange thing i have discovered while packing is this dragonball z calendar.


the end.

my situation, part ii

my situation

strange things... #2

s.t.i.h.d.w.p. #2 comes from back in the days when i was a scientist.

it is a map of the human genome, published in science when they first finished the mapping project. big enough to put up on your wall. i had felt compelled to keep it, but not to display it. it stayed folded under my dresser (the one in which i found the fork).

compelled no longer.

ouch

it's getting close to 3 am, and as i hang up the phone i am finally confronted with the growing emptiness of my place. everything seemed fine and the same before, despite the lack of furniture, while i was caught up in my tasks ("because i'm so used to living in clutter," i told camodidi), but now with the chanson d'hiver playing and the lack of distraction (winding down for bed) i suddenly really feel the aloneness acutely. slight fear and severe loneliness seizes my heart. this makes me realize that i have not felt this lonely in a long time, which makes me realize how fortunate i have been over the past years. a heartfelt "thank you" to those have been friends to me and loved me. as for tonight's loneliness— i'll shake it off. i'm headed bedward, and am setting the alarm to get an early start on a frighteningly busy but fleeting day.

strange things... #1

and with my triumphant return,

let us begin this series entitled

strange things i have discovered while packing

hopefully it will prove to be entertaining, and if not, then i hope that at least the things do qualify as strange.

s.t.i.h.d.w.p. #1

just now i found a plastic fork, in its original plastic wrap, in my underwear drawer.

please do not judge me for this. as you should be able to tell from this post, i was surprised to find it, and i think it strange that it was there.

stay tuned for the continuation of the series.

paws

yep. i'm taking a itty-bitty blog break. see you again in 3-9 days, if i can keep myself away from the blog.

right now i am feeling...

... nauseated.

seriously. i'm about to puke. i'm waiting here with the barf bucket in my lap.

(won't puke in toilets. splashback.)

window shopping

okay this is so bad i should totally be packing up my bedroom but instead i am looking on the web at things like this

how awesome is that? i will answer myself; that is completely awesome! i am even more enamored of the marshmallow bunny:

voffel the one-sided puppy is also quite quite cute.

och. procrastination. sonic calls. cherry limeade! coconut cream pie shakes! oh i'm so bad! a thousand pricklepoints (tm) to anyone who helps me focus and pack up my place! i am dead serious, people!

selling points

... so i said, "it's a queen-sized bed, medium color wood, iron scroll work at the top."

she said she would take a look, 'cause she needed a new bed, and i need to sell all my furniture.

and then i said, "if it helps, i have no pets, i don't smoke, and i'm single, so, you know, nothing, um... nothing happens, you know, in that bed."

as i say. pathologically honest.

nerd alert: formulas for dating success

okay.

a guy i went to medical school with told me about this first one. i don't know whether he made it up or not, but i think it holds true.

where
D = probability of getting a date,
At = attractiveness,
Av = availability,
S= standards.

the fun comes in when you begin adjusting your variables to fit each particular person. as you can see, a person with a high level of attractiveness will have a high D. a person with a low level of attractiveness will have a lower D, but if their degree of availability is quite high, this may compensate for it. of course, no matter how attractive you are, if your availability is zero, you're hosed.

i personally have the most fun playing with the S variable in the denominator. like this:

so you see, as your standards get lower, indeed as your standards approach zero, your D will increase, approaching infinity. likewise, if your standards get ever higher, your D asymptotically approaches zero.

now here's one i've been working on for people who are already in relationships.

where
R = success in the relationship,
C = things shared in common
D_m = degree of density of the male, and
I_f = degree of insanity of the female.

i find this one rather obvious and self-explanatory.

while we are on the subject, there are some things i've been wondering about love amongst my blogfriends and blogacquaintances. i wonder if the babbling dweeb is in love with his seattle "friend", because not many men his age take such photos of women as his (the black and white ones) unless they love them. i wonder if d and t are in love. he did propose to her in a blog comment after all. i wonder if nick is as in love with valancy jane as she is with him, seeing as he never ever mentions it. and i wonder if anyone will ever be in love with me, despite the fact that i am not an oscar mayer wiener (snicker).

the end.

imaginary audience

part one: they were watching me

i was getting a haircut. the woman in the stylist's chair next to mine was looking at me. where was her stylist? she had been looking at me too. they had been looking at me and whispering to each other.

surely not. aren't i past this adolescent developmental stage, jean piaget? why am i so paranoid?

the stylist returned with swatches of fake hair in her hand. she held them up in the air, sort of in my general direction. "this color is similar. there's a little less red to it. and this one is deep and rich, with a little more red. what do you think?"

they were looking at me. evidently the woman had requested to have her hair dyed to be the same color as mine.

part two: she was watching me

i like chick-fil-a. it's yummy. as i enjoyed my waffle fries i noticed her looking at me. i did not make eye contact. i just kept eating, thinking, no, bunny. she's not looking at you. she's just looking around, and you were in her line of sight for a minute.

she stood up. she was pregnant. i was surprised by this. i don't know why. she came to my table.

"pardon me, did you go to [insert name of dead president] high school?" no, i did not. "oh, it's so weird! you look so much like this girl i went to high school with. you have the same mannerisms and everything."

part three: they were watching me

evidently on wednesday afternoons there are a lot of old people shopping at the mall. make that old women shopping at the mall, and their husbands (also old) sitting on the benches at the mall. and sitting outside fitting rooms. and sitting in the food court. and i mean old like septugenarian old. i tried to tell myself, don't be silly, they're not looking at you. but 1) twice before people were looking at me and 2) these dudes they were so totally blatantly and obviously watching me walk by. i want to say "ew," but i suppose this is a free country, and looking isn't a crime, and in their minds men don't remember that they’re old when they're looking at girls.

still, ew.

part four: they are watching us

if you have gmail, have you noticed the way that the sponsored links on your sidebar change according to the content of the e-mail message you are reading? i find this greatly disturbing.

best gifts

i don't usually get much stuff for my birthdays.

this year has been a record, of sorts.

first, from saara, a gift of jewelry (!), one that is thoughtful and carries significance regarding our friendship, which is special to both of us. our friendship is special, i mean. of course the bracelet is special too, and pretty. oh and there was dinner. and a surprise call with a birthday song, that being the birthday song.

then, a letter:

Hi [Bunny]!

Funny about birthdays, about the fact that we all get one day that's more important than all the rest; the ownership of that one specific date that will always be special.

For your birthday, I wish that you would have a happy day, full of good thoughts and nice people and beauty and joy.

I am glad that you are my friend, and I like how modern technology enables me to keep tabs on your life and your thoughts, even though we sit several thousand miles apart. In a more perfect world, I would be able to have you over for coffee and pie (preferably a large chocolate cream pie with loads o' flavor and riches). I'd sing you "Happy Birthday" and throw confetti. Then, of course, we would go see Dave Brubeck and chill over a glass of some crazy-good vintage wine, and talk music and stuff. I'd admire your perfect shoes and attire, and you'd use thoughtful sentences full of colorful adjectives and metaphors. We'd close the evening with a walk through warm night air, under stars and amiable atmosphere.

That's what I'd do for your birthday if you were here or I were there.

I miss you.

[Puffintoad]

and so you see, having friends who know exactly what i'd like best for my birthday has made all the difference.

fightin' woids

mmmmmhm.

oh yeah.

i see you winding up.

and to that i say,

bring it. oh briiiiing it.

just do it here and not at the prickly pineapple. the prickly isn't the right venue.

y'all gots problems

every day i shake my head upon checking my sitemeter and finding out how many people come to my blog to read the post i wrote in march about feet.

well, i didn't until someone pointed out that it's probably foot-fetishist people who are specifically getting onto search engines and searching for feet.

dude. not cool.

karma

i don't really believe in "karma".

something sort of bad happened to me this morning. someone mentioned that because of "karma" something good will happen to make up for it. yeah, right.

oh, but look. i picked up an individually wrapped plastic knife from the cafeteria for breakfast. on closer inspection, i see that there are two knives accidentally included in the package. "see? karma."

okay. so a bonus plastic knife.

thrilling.

i've come close multiple times on my carpeted stairs at home, but today it actually happened, and at work, on the marble.

i just fell down the stairs.

and while, yes, my ego is bruised,

it hurt my knees more.

ouch : (

enough

alright, folks.

i am done with it.

enough of y'all have dropped some rather unkind hints about my body habitus. "anorexic," "emaciated," and "ethiopian" (which is just plain un-p.c.) are freshest in my mind.

come on, people. i am not.

there is unhealthy thin.

(pics of lindsay lohan, nicole richie, and lara flynn boyle ganked from the internet)




then there is me.


hahaha just kidding! here's me.


(shut up. i know i'm no beauty queen. it's a touch embarrassing posting the picture but this point is worth making. the photo is undoctored except for the blotch over my head.)

"ladies", you may spare me your comments unless you plan on apologizing to me.

get a grip on reality, girls. it's not my fault that you don't like your body. and now i'm going downstairs to have a piece of cake.

haves and have-nots

the little boy wanted to help.

he went to his bedroom, paused, and then remembered. from underneath his bed he brought out a potato chip can. he shook the can and listened to the jingle. he turned it upside down, and seven pennies fell out.

he frowned, but only briefly. putting the pennies back into the can and the can back under the bed, he made a plan.

so after that, at school, instead of using the change his mother had given him for an extra snack, he saved it. he found some change every once in a while as well. he found all sorts of ways to save a little money here and there.

after a short while, he had one hundred cents. excited, he showed his mother. she smiled at him and told her she was proud of him, and asked if he would like to exchange his coins for... she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a shiny silver dollar.

oh! yes, please.

the next day he raced home from school. he stopped in the kitchen to say hello to his mother, and then grabbed his stepstool, which he proceeded to drag up the stairs, thump thump thump. he went into the bathroom and washed his face. he combed his hair. he glanced briefly at his father's aftershave, then thought better of it. he put on a clean white shirt and a pair of pants without any holes, and his shiny black shoes.

i'm off, mom! she kissed him on the forehead and watched him ride down the street, one hand on the handlebars, silver dollar clutched in the other.

he reached the address he'd seen in the paper. can you show me where to find the Man Who Takes Care of the Money? i want to help.

a nice man in the lobby walked him to the elevator and pressed a button too high up for the little boy to have reached. the boy felt his stomach go down, down as the elevator went up and up and up. the nice man walked him from the elevator to the secretary's desk. this young man saw the paper and wants to help, he said. the secretary smiled and nodded, and took the boy's hand and brought him into the office of the Man Who Takes Care of the Money.

hello, little boy.

hello.

what can i do for you today?

the boy looked at the Man Who Takes Care of the Money, who was puffing on a cigar. behind him was a pile of money. a large pile of money. a pile bigger than the boy, so big that he could not see the top of it, perhaps bigger than his house. his jaw fell open. he looked down at the silver dollar in his outstretched hand.

i wanted— i wanted to help...

the Man Who Takes Care of the Money removed the cigar from his mouth and said, thank you. he took the silver dollar and dropped it onto the pile. clink. then he sat back down and looked at the boy who continued to stand there, staring at him.

yes?

but...

yes? he blew a few smoke rings.

but i wanted to help.