I think Im going to be grey by the time I turn 25. Watching a friend get her hair cut this past weekend I spotted a grey hair. And yes of course I told her. She is 25 1/2. Yes that half is important. Think of all the crap you've done in the past 6 months, compared to the next 6 mo.!
This grey thing isn't bad because it's grey. It can absolutely look gorgeous, and sometimes sexy on certain people. Its bad because its circumstantial upon the amount of unwarranted stress in this way too easy life of mine. I mean, why do i have reason to freak out? Im not living on the streets addicted to heroin. I don't know why that popped into my head.
This hair cut happened in Portland, Oregon. Home of all things green, no sales tax, and the freshest air Ive breathed in awhile (accept in or around public places, including bars, let me just say, aughhhhh!!!!!). The fact that ive visited Portland twice in 2 months kinda bums me out. I much would have rather spent that $230 ticket on a flight to Colorado (a place Ive never been) to go skiing, drink cocoa with Baileys, and soak in a hot tub surrounded by snow. Instead, I was sharing a twin bed in a hostel, eating way too much bar food, and didn't shower for three days.
Hostels are interesting places, where completely different rules apply. I woke up at around 3am to go pee and there were people sleeping everywhere. On the stairs, on the floor, on a small 70's style upholstered chair. There where tents in the backyard and some dude making pancakes. The sign read all you can eat for a $1. The hostel reminds me exactly of what it was like waking up groggy the next morning to the aftermath of an enormous house party.
Portland was a great time and I did enjoy my vacation away from the city. I hope it rejuvenated me enough for the upcoming Halloween festivities. Im going as a Sailor in the Navy, and am genuinely looking forward to wearing my ugly golden velvet pants.
someruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckussomeruckus
titleless
This city is a close, tight knit, supportive, creative, intelligent, progressive, sometimes dirty, sometimes clean, loud, busy, and very very small city. It is full of characters. From the CEO in the elevator, to the UPS lesbian carrying boxes across the street. The characters make up this city. They are also, sometimes the only things you can count on. The one stability in all this craziness.
From the teeny tiny homeless woman, who I can guarentee is always at the top of the 24th BART station. To my drunken neighbors on their stoop. Its that fact that I walk down 7 blocks and can run into 4 people I know. Sure, its the small, but packed neighborhoods that we live in, where we spend our time, that of course we are going to run into someone we know. But it even goes beyond that.
I have had the same courier come to my office, more than a few times. I have stood next to the same woman in line at the lunch place (with the really amazingly delicous veggie sandwhiches) on multiple occasions. I have seen the same security officer, looking bored as ever (probably wishing he could be spending his time watching the playoff games), guarding the bank on a daily basis.
It is not that fact that I will run into someone I know. It is the fact that it is entirely probable. Its not that fact that I know the security officer, or the UPS woman, or the guy at my deli. Its the fact that I know they are there, and I can rely on their consistencies. Their actions, movements, personality. These are the day to day interactions that become habit. I know to place my food on the weight rather than the counter to save the check out person time. I know which guy at Walgreens is an ass and which one is the nice one. I know what time of the day to go to FedEx, and which FedEx to go to, based on who's working, and who's actually going to help me.
As much as my life can get routine. As much as I can feel uninspired because of lack of time to fulfill my creative or personal needs (whatever the crap that means). As much as life can seem to much like a record, it's the comfortability of the consistencies of the day to day that continually makes me step back, and smile, and appreciate LIFE, in its everyday. Because really in the end, that is all we are really doing. Its interaction, and relationships, and building upon who you want to be, for yourself and to others, that makes you the consistency in someone else world. That makes you the character. That makes them step back, and appreciate Life.
And no matter what. No matter how much I feel down, or throwing a pity party for my god damn self. There is one thing this city and this life is not. And that, is boring.
From the teeny tiny homeless woman, who I can guarentee is always at the top of the 24th BART station. To my drunken neighbors on their stoop. Its that fact that I walk down 7 blocks and can run into 4 people I know. Sure, its the small, but packed neighborhoods that we live in, where we spend our time, that of course we are going to run into someone we know. But it even goes beyond that.
I have had the same courier come to my office, more than a few times. I have stood next to the same woman in line at the lunch place (with the really amazingly delicous veggie sandwhiches) on multiple occasions. I have seen the same security officer, looking bored as ever (probably wishing he could be spending his time watching the playoff games), guarding the bank on a daily basis.
It is not that fact that I will run into someone I know. It is the fact that it is entirely probable. Its not that fact that I know the security officer, or the UPS woman, or the guy at my deli. Its the fact that I know they are there, and I can rely on their consistencies. Their actions, movements, personality. These are the day to day interactions that become habit. I know to place my food on the weight rather than the counter to save the check out person time. I know which guy at Walgreens is an ass and which one is the nice one. I know what time of the day to go to FedEx, and which FedEx to go to, based on who's working, and who's actually going to help me.
As much as my life can get routine. As much as I can feel uninspired because of lack of time to fulfill my creative or personal needs (whatever the crap that means). As much as life can seem to much like a record, it's the comfortability of the consistencies of the day to day that continually makes me step back, and smile, and appreciate LIFE, in its everyday. Because really in the end, that is all we are really doing. Its interaction, and relationships, and building upon who you want to be, for yourself and to others, that makes you the consistency in someone else world. That makes you the character. That makes them step back, and appreciate Life.
And no matter what. No matter how much I feel down, or throwing a pity party for my god damn self. There is one thing this city and this life is not. And that, is boring.
Showers
Has this thing turned into me just bitching. Jeez, I hope not. And on that note, let me continue with another pet peeve of mine... hair in the shower.
Why?
Why?
Why?!!!!!
How difficult to put that shit in the drain. The garbage. Anyplace except the tile walls. This is especially frustrating in a public place, such as this gym showers. Such as this morning.
Why?
Why?
Why?!!!!!
How difficult to put that shit in the drain. The garbage. Anyplace except the tile walls. This is especially frustrating in a public place, such as this gym showers. Such as this morning.
Television
I ran across this post on The Stranger's website. For those of you unaware of one of the best news sources of all time (ok maybe the greater northwest), The Stranger hails from Seattle.
This article is about "retarded" women on tv. Or rather, how the television programs portray women, to be, well, retarded. And by retarded the author is referring to reinforcing the stereotypes of women, and that "women are only interested in three things: believing whole-heartedly in psychics, boning cowboys, and getting married (preferably to a cowboy)".
With his list of show references, I can somewhat agree with him (although completely as a guilty pleasure, am extremely looking forward to Samantha Who? Hello Christina!).
Instead of "retarded" women, I would like to comment on the stereotypical marriages portrayed on tv. Kink of Queens for instance, although surprisingly funny, is an up and down conversation between beautiful wife, and the overweight, unmotivated husband. Ultimately the husband is a great guy, with a big heart, a want to succeed. He lives to make his family proud, but somehow can't do it without the guidance of his oh so wise wife. I can't think of the other shows which portray these same dynamics, but there are about 5 of them on re-runs daily. Which I happen to catch when im home, gorging on booze and television, rather than working out.
Since when did families consist of tight, fit, athletic, beautiful women, and homely men. Who decided its ok for husband to let themselves go? Im not talking about anyone in particular, but i find it a common trend in marriages around the country.
There is my 2cents, and I don't even know why im talking about this.
This article is about "retarded" women on tv. Or rather, how the television programs portray women, to be, well, retarded. And by retarded the author is referring to reinforcing the stereotypes of women, and that "women are only interested in three things: believing whole-heartedly in psychics, boning cowboys, and getting married (preferably to a cowboy)".
With his list of show references, I can somewhat agree with him (although completely as a guilty pleasure, am extremely looking forward to Samantha Who? Hello Christina!).
Instead of "retarded" women, I would like to comment on the stereotypical marriages portrayed on tv. Kink of Queens for instance, although surprisingly funny, is an up and down conversation between beautiful wife, and the overweight, unmotivated husband. Ultimately the husband is a great guy, with a big heart, a want to succeed. He lives to make his family proud, but somehow can't do it without the guidance of his oh so wise wife. I can't think of the other shows which portray these same dynamics, but there are about 5 of them on re-runs daily. Which I happen to catch when im home, gorging on booze and television, rather than working out.
Since when did families consist of tight, fit, athletic, beautiful women, and homely men. Who decided its ok for husband to let themselves go? Im not talking about anyone in particular, but i find it a common trend in marriages around the country.
There is my 2cents, and I don't even know why im talking about this.
Pee II
Second solution: nanotechnology. Combined with the toilet seat in order to detect what some refer to as "droppings" this technology would then be linked to the stall door and a secure locking mechanism. This would automatically prohibit exit from the stall if some idiot decides he lacks the muscles to contain his piss until he is only halfway done unzipping his pants. No clean-up or thoughtful aiming...no exit. I wouldn't be opposed to having to ask the janitor or another restroom occupant to unlock the door from the outside. Embarrassment is the quickest teacher.
Pee III
Second Opinion: It is not only women who are vexed by the shamelessness of men (neigh, boys) these days, so I have a few thoughts on the matter. One is a sociological abstract behind the roots of this issue; The modern man is trapped within his own world. He works in a small office, eats from a small paper bag from a drive-up window because he naturally lacks the culinary skill to deep-fry something at home, and can't act himself because these days there is too much pressure to not exhibit the natural characteristics of manhood. It is no longer proper to objectify women, he must hold it in. He can no longer piss in the street, the woods were all cut down due to increased paper use because women demanded entrance into the workplace. The modern man is forced to betray his carnal instincts everywhere he turns and thus when faced with time alone in the stall, his subconscious mind explodes in contempt for this overtly feministicationalcentric world in which he is trapped. The result of which spurts, sputters, and flows forward in unrestricted and uncaring warmth anywhere but where his condemned mind is aiming. Sometimes I have hit the ceiling.
Pee III
Recently I said enough is enough, and stood up against this ridiculous seat shooting when I witnessed it firsthand. He was shameless, door open and everything. I didn't stare but didn't have to in order to glimpse that he was clearly looking straight ahead and slightly up and was standing about a foot to the right of the the center of the bowl. Enough is enough. "what the shit are you thinking man! Even if you clean that up people will still have to sit on it!", deep breath and then I launched into a terrifying slew of vocabulary I learned from prison. Clearly terrified, because I often sound like a gigantic uneducated and crazed bully (Mike Tyson esk), he mumbled something about how sorry he was, how this and that, and how he couldn't help it...blah blah....that he was blind. At which point I noticed that during this episode he was trying to find his guiding stick that had fallen into the corner. I was apologizing as he was shaking and saying he was so embarrassed while we walked out the door of the building, at which point he said, "enough is enough" and jumped in front of a bus and splattered.
I felt like shit that evening, and you should to! Don't kill blind people by being mad about wet toilet seats. They are the ones that pee on the seats I learned. I mean how could I have thought it was just due to disrespect and laziness from my fellow man. It is only blind people, and we need to cut them some slack. (or we could always build them their own bathrooms)(it wouldn't cost much electricity)
Pee III
Second Opinion: It is not only women who are vexed by the shamelessness of men (neigh, boys) these days, so I have a few thoughts on the matter. One is a sociological abstract behind the roots of this issue; The modern man is trapped within his own world. He works in a small office, eats from a small paper bag from a drive-up window because he naturally lacks the culinary skill to deep-fry something at home, and can't act himself because these days there is too much pressure to not exhibit the natural characteristics of manhood. It is no longer proper to objectify women, he must hold it in. He can no longer piss in the street, the woods were all cut down due to increased paper use because women demanded entrance into the workplace. The modern man is forced to betray his carnal instincts everywhere he turns and thus when faced with time alone in the stall, his subconscious mind explodes in contempt for this overtly feministicationalcentric world in which he is trapped. The result of which spurts, sputters, and flows forward in unrestricted and uncaring warmth anywhere but where his condemned mind is aiming. Sometimes I have hit the ceiling.
Pee III
Recently I said enough is enough, and stood up against this ridiculous seat shooting when I witnessed it firsthand. He was shameless, door open and everything. I didn't stare but didn't have to in order to glimpse that he was clearly looking straight ahead and slightly up and was standing about a foot to the right of the the center of the bowl. Enough is enough. "what the shit are you thinking man! Even if you clean that up people will still have to sit on it!", deep breath and then I launched into a terrifying slew of vocabulary I learned from prison. Clearly terrified, because I often sound like a gigantic uneducated and crazed bully (Mike Tyson esk), he mumbled something about how sorry he was, how this and that, and how he couldn't help it...blah blah....that he was blind. At which point I noticed that during this episode he was trying to find his guiding stick that had fallen into the corner. I was apologizing as he was shaking and saying he was so embarrassed while we walked out the door of the building, at which point he said, "enough is enough" and jumped in front of a bus and splattered.
I felt like shit that evening, and you should to! Don't kill blind people by being mad about wet toilet seats. They are the ones that pee on the seats I learned. I mean how could I have thought it was just due to disrespect and laziness from my fellow man. It is only blind people, and we need to cut them some slack. (or we could always build them their own bathrooms)(it wouldn't cost much electricity)
Pee
Ready for something random, and really quite disgusting?
You go
to use the toilet. And for us women, we sit on the damn thing. Yes, the
seat which was intended to bear the brunt of our asses. The place of
peace and quiet (up for debate), of solitude, of complete relief whenyouv'e been holding that urine for 2 1/2 hours in the car and all you want to do is get it out.
You
go to sit down, and what happens. There's piss, all over fucking thing.
Now, I just don't get it. How difficult is it to make it into the bowl.
We say men have bad aim. Oh no. We can't hit the dang thing when its 3
inches from the faucet (yougettin me).
Us, women, have
learned from these years and years of public restroom participation,
that we never sit. EVER! You don't know what gross liquid could
possibly touch those buttcheeks of yours. You always, always hover. If its a long one, you may get a bit tired, but god forbid you get sloppy and lazy for a mear second. You're screwed.
Even when I am hovering, I would like to be hovering over a clean seat. Even if im
not going to touch the thing, I would at least like to think that no
germ std covered pee aura can come up and bite me in the butt. If not
for the sake of my own sanity, I like to hover over a clean toilet seat
for one reason, and one reason only. THE PEOPLE BEHIND ME IN LINE.
Yeah, them. Those strangers I will never probably see again. The people waiting at the bar, in the restaurant, on the hill at Dolores
park. The people who will think, once I have left the restroom and am
on my merry way, that I LEFT THE PISS. That I left the pee. Like a
welcome parade to the toilet.
"Why hello there. We've been waiting for you. Go ahead, hover, just try not to let your thighs touch me. I dare ya."
They'll
accuse and judge me, in their minds. Even if I never see them again I
will always be known as the girl who left the drops. Who Didn't wipe. Agh! It grosses me out just thinking about it.
And so, where does this leave me? Where does this leave you? Is it my responsibility to clean up someone else's..."droppings"? if I leave it, will you leave it?
To provide some possible solutions to this question I have come up with a solution. Time sensitive
pee. Yeah. When you pee, its for the most part yellow, or almost clear,
if you've been a good girl and have been keeping hydrated. What if the
longer pee stayed around (unflushed for instance, where it gets swallowed into the abyss, and we don't have to imagine
where it ends up) it would change colors. It could start yellow, turn
to green, blue, then purple. I wouldn't have to wipe. I wouldn'tahve to worry about the person behind me. Its blue, she knows thats not my mess. My inconsiderate self. Ahh! Genius.
Lesson of the day: People, please wipe. Please keep that porcelain thrown clear of anything thats not meant to touch it. Its just common courtesy.
You go
to use the toilet. And for us women, we sit on the damn thing. Yes, the
seat which was intended to bear the brunt of our asses. The place of
peace and quiet (up for debate), of solitude, of complete relief whenyouv'e been holding that urine for 2 1/2 hours in the car and all you want to do is get it out.
You
go to sit down, and what happens. There's piss, all over fucking thing.
Now, I just don't get it. How difficult is it to make it into the bowl.
We say men have bad aim. Oh no. We can't hit the dang thing when its 3
inches from the faucet (yougettin me).
Us, women, have
learned from these years and years of public restroom participation,
that we never sit. EVER! You don't know what gross liquid could
possibly touch those buttcheeks of yours. You always, always hover. If its a long one, you may get a bit tired, but god forbid you get sloppy and lazy for a mear second. You're screwed.
Even when I am hovering, I would like to be hovering over a clean seat. Even if im
not going to touch the thing, I would at least like to think that no
germ std covered pee aura can come up and bite me in the butt. If not
for the sake of my own sanity, I like to hover over a clean toilet seat
for one reason, and one reason only. THE PEOPLE BEHIND ME IN LINE.
Yeah, them. Those strangers I will never probably see again. The people waiting at the bar, in the restaurant, on the hill at Dolores
park. The people who will think, once I have left the restroom and am
on my merry way, that I LEFT THE PISS. That I left the pee. Like a
welcome parade to the toilet.
"Why hello there. We've been waiting for you. Go ahead, hover, just try not to let your thighs touch me. I dare ya."
They'll
accuse and judge me, in their minds. Even if I never see them again I
will always be known as the girl who left the drops. Who Didn't wipe. Agh! It grosses me out just thinking about it.
And so, where does this leave me? Where does this leave you? Is it my responsibility to clean up someone else's..."droppings"? if I leave it, will you leave it?
To provide some possible solutions to this question I have come up with a solution. Time sensitive
pee. Yeah. When you pee, its for the most part yellow, or almost clear,
if you've been a good girl and have been keeping hydrated. What if the
longer pee stayed around (unflushed for instance, where it gets swallowed into the abyss, and we don't have to imagine
where it ends up) it would change colors. It could start yellow, turn
to green, blue, then purple. I wouldn't have to wipe. I wouldn'tahve to worry about the person behind me. Its blue, she knows thats not my mess. My inconsiderate self. Ahh! Genius.
Lesson of the day: People, please wipe. Please keep that porcelain thrown clear of anything thats not meant to touch it. Its just common courtesy.
beauty etc...
Ran across a blog the other day. Notes From a Raging Hapa Dyke (hope she doesn't mind that im linking to her blog). One post, titled Full Frontal Fat Phobia, sparked my attention. I don't feel me commenting to her post is of much importance. So instead I will leave you with the most current Dove ad - Onslaught. Which could say more than I ever could.
On another note, Raging Hapa Dyke's post titled Cunt Quilt Rock will definitely get some comments from me. But thats for another day.
On another note, Raging Hapa Dyke's post titled Cunt Quilt Rock will definitely get some comments from me. But thats for another day.
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