Far fewer centipedes.
I've never been overly fond of creepy crawly things but I've never been particularly freaked out by many of them either. See a spider? I'll probably cringe a bit and then proceed to kill it, flush it, and be on my merry way.
But I can soooooooo do without the effing centipedes I keep killing in my bedroom because each time I see one, I scream that "eww, gross, there's a big bug and it could kill me!" scream and shudder. They remind me of that icky-looking crawly thing that popped out of Buffy's "Bad Eggs" and attached itself to the backs of Sunnyside's inhabitants. Serious heebie jeebies.
When I went to bed last night, I killed one my wall near the ceiling. I couldn't sleep so instead, I flipped through my iPod for far too long, and by the time I got up to pee one last time before deciding I'd force myself to sleep, when I flicked on the light, sure enough, there was another one on the same wall, only a few feet away from where I squashed the first little bastard.
They're fucking gross. And they have far too many legs. And they move much quicker than something should for that size. My building is pretty decent but it's also an older building and there are plenty of cracks along my windowsills and a few small ones on my walls. And I'm sure the fact that this armpit of a city regularly has dew points in the summer often categorized by meteorologists as "tropical" doesn't help either.
Must eradicate the centipedes!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
oh, delightful douchebaggery...
Wherever do I start?
Opponents of abstinence-based education reject shame as a value. When it comes to teen sex, their strategy is to immediately declare defeat and insist that kids are going to have sex no matter what.
I reject shame as a value simply because it's pointless. Anyone get picked on as a kid? Called a sissy boy? Called a fattie? Called a dirtball because Mommy or Daddy didn't have a job and couldn't buy you the latest clothes the kids were wearing? Did it feel good? No. It's cruel. And it speaks volumes about the person dishing out the shame and not a thing about the person receiving it. I also am an opponent of abstinence-based education, not only because I believe kids are gonna have sex no matter what but I don't believe instilling fear into kids is the right way to about suggesting to them it may not be in their best interest to be having sex at a young age. Sure, we should be sure to explain what kind of emotions can often come along with sex but we shouldn't be telling them it's the absolute worst thing you can do in life. Human sexuality isn't a war that someone is either winning or losing. It's sexuality. Nobody's going to "conquer" it and nobody should be fighting to do so. Sex feels good. And it's meant to feel good. And what happens when these girls grow up? They're being shamed sex as teenagers and when they hit adulthood, they'll be expected to be wanton sex goddesses capable of blowing their partner's mind. Riddle me that one.
When the same girl shows up at the school clinic for five pregnancy tests in one month, shouldn't’t somebody be mocking her for it?
Seriously? So, the next time Peter Pedophile gets arrested for fondling little Timmy, how about we just point and laugh? That'll keep him from doing it again, right? It's like the death penalty. No murderer sits at home thinking, "wow, I could fry for this, I guess I'll just stay in and watch American Idol." How about someone actually sits down with that girl who showed up at the clinic for pregnancy tests and talks to her about sex and the consequences and gives her the resources she needs to make sure she's not in for a 6th test. If she's been in 5 times, it's pretty clear that she's fucking. Repeatedly. Teach her what she needs to know in order to take care of herself. And while we're doing that, how about we have the same discussion with the boy who may have knocked the girl up? Because last time I checked, it takes at least two people to have sex and both ought to be held accountable.
But I’ll take one Beverly Farms, belly-rubbing dance routine over a dozen sex-ed bureaucrats any day. It’s probably more effective, and definitely more fun to watch.
It's more entertaining to you because you're a fucking tool who thinks watching people mock others actually accomplishes something other than demonstrating the mocker's douchebagginess.
Dearest Writer of This Article: Grade school is over. Welcome to adulthood. Join us, won't you?
Opponents of abstinence-based education reject shame as a value. When it comes to teen sex, their strategy is to immediately declare defeat and insist that kids are going to have sex no matter what.
I reject shame as a value simply because it's pointless. Anyone get picked on as a kid? Called a sissy boy? Called a fattie? Called a dirtball because Mommy or Daddy didn't have a job and couldn't buy you the latest clothes the kids were wearing? Did it feel good? No. It's cruel. And it speaks volumes about the person dishing out the shame and not a thing about the person receiving it. I also am an opponent of abstinence-based education, not only because I believe kids are gonna have sex no matter what but I don't believe instilling fear into kids is the right way to about suggesting to them it may not be in their best interest to be having sex at a young age. Sure, we should be sure to explain what kind of emotions can often come along with sex but we shouldn't be telling them it's the absolute worst thing you can do in life. Human sexuality isn't a war that someone is either winning or losing. It's sexuality. Nobody's going to "conquer" it and nobody should be fighting to do so. Sex feels good. And it's meant to feel good. And what happens when these girls grow up? They're being shamed sex as teenagers and when they hit adulthood, they'll be expected to be wanton sex goddesses capable of blowing their partner's mind. Riddle me that one.
When the same girl shows up at the school clinic for five pregnancy tests in one month, shouldn't’t somebody be mocking her for it?
Seriously? So, the next time Peter Pedophile gets arrested for fondling little Timmy, how about we just point and laugh? That'll keep him from doing it again, right? It's like the death penalty. No murderer sits at home thinking, "wow, I could fry for this, I guess I'll just stay in and watch American Idol." How about someone actually sits down with that girl who showed up at the clinic for pregnancy tests and talks to her about sex and the consequences and gives her the resources she needs to make sure she's not in for a 6th test. If she's been in 5 times, it's pretty clear that she's fucking. Repeatedly. Teach her what she needs to know in order to take care of herself. And while we're doing that, how about we have the same discussion with the boy who may have knocked the girl up? Because last time I checked, it takes at least two people to have sex and both ought to be held accountable.
But I’ll take one Beverly Farms, belly-rubbing dance routine over a dozen sex-ed bureaucrats any day. It’s probably more effective, and definitely more fun to watch.
It's more entertaining to you because you're a fucking tool who thinks watching people mock others actually accomplishes something other than demonstrating the mocker's douchebagginess.
Dearest Writer of This Article: Grade school is over. Welcome to adulthood. Join us, won't you?
Trust
Recently, someone not all that close to me pissed me off by betraying a fairly insignificant confidence but still...a confidence. It wasn't the piece of information I care about at all but the thing that pissed me off was the simple fact that she acted like a friend one minute and a gossipy high school girl the second. Translation: no matter how small, it's a betrayal of trust. And no matter how small, when that happens, I tend to get super pissed.
Trust is a funny thing. Something that doesn't come very easily to me, in a lot of ways, mainly because I tend to equate it with vulnerability. Break the trust and the vulnerability spills out all over the place, which makes me terribly uncomfortable. I consider myself a pretty open person and I'm generally willing to offer up any information, provided someone asks me for it. But I also believe it's not so much the information I give you that offers up my vulnerability but the "why"s and the "how"s behind that information. I can tell you, "hey, I'm this way" but unless you know WHY I'm that way, I don't really think I've told you much.
I can deal with it when I'm the one responsible for the spillage (I'm re-watching Buffy, so beware extra "y"s and "age"s with my words) but even then, I'd rather deal with it with as few people as possible being aware of it. And when someone else takes it upon themselves to do that for me, it pisses me off. Seriously pisses me off. An anger-and-rage-"you must do something to curb this or you're gonna lose your fucking shit" kind of seriousness. I've managed to figure out the things that help me do that (exercise, a modest and entirely non-raging-alcoholic amount of wine, writing, and occasionally, talking to someone I think would be able to help). But the anger is still there until I do one of those things to work through it. And when it's there, it's there in a way that usually screams, "seriously, calm the fuck down, why is it that big of a deal?" And for me, that tends to often spill over into situations that involve tiny little insignificant things. I've broken plenty computer...mice? mouses? because my computer froze and I thought banging the mouse on my desk would fix things. It doesn't. And it doesn't make me feel better.
While thinking about this recent incident, I thought the other night about the very first time someone betrayed my trust. At the time, it was dealt with in a fairly quick and simple way. A way that seemed appropriate at the time and one I've always felt, for the most part, comfortable with. But I think over time, maybe that feeling has lessened? I'm not really sure. But I think maybe it's that big of a deal because the very first time it was a big deal, I just shrugged it off.
When I trust someone and they piss all over that, I think I get so overwhelmingly angry because I never got overwhelmingly angry the very first time I remember it happening. Correction. I never got overwhelmingly angry the very first time other than internally. I never took that anger and showed the person who betrayed my trust that it was there and that they were the cause of it.
The weird thing is that I don't really feel angry about it anymore. I don't necessarily feel like getting angry and that "taking it out on" the person who was responsible for it would accomplish a single thing. I sometimes think maybe it would help to simply say, "hey, remember when you did that? I didn't really tell you at the time but I wanted to stab you with sharp objects over and over again. There, now you know. Carry on." I think maybe physically telling the person that they pissed me off, even if I no longer feel that way, will help me not jump immediately to anger when it happens again.
I don't know. But I may just try it.
P.S. Not many people read this space and even fewer make comments. But if you're planning on commenting and you have a pretty good hunch as to what I'm talking about in the latter half of this post, I'd appreciate uber vagueness on your part as well. Merci.
Trust is a funny thing. Something that doesn't come very easily to me, in a lot of ways, mainly because I tend to equate it with vulnerability. Break the trust and the vulnerability spills out all over the place, which makes me terribly uncomfortable. I consider myself a pretty open person and I'm generally willing to offer up any information, provided someone asks me for it. But I also believe it's not so much the information I give you that offers up my vulnerability but the "why"s and the "how"s behind that information. I can tell you, "hey, I'm this way" but unless you know WHY I'm that way, I don't really think I've told you much.
I can deal with it when I'm the one responsible for the spillage (I'm re-watching Buffy, so beware extra "y"s and "age"s with my words) but even then, I'd rather deal with it with as few people as possible being aware of it. And when someone else takes it upon themselves to do that for me, it pisses me off. Seriously pisses me off. An anger-and-rage-"you must do something to curb this or you're gonna lose your fucking shit" kind of seriousness. I've managed to figure out the things that help me do that (exercise, a modest and entirely non-raging-alcoholic amount of wine, writing, and occasionally, talking to someone I think would be able to help). But the anger is still there until I do one of those things to work through it. And when it's there, it's there in a way that usually screams, "seriously, calm the fuck down, why is it that big of a deal?" And for me, that tends to often spill over into situations that involve tiny little insignificant things. I've broken plenty computer...mice? mouses? because my computer froze and I thought banging the mouse on my desk would fix things. It doesn't. And it doesn't make me feel better.
While thinking about this recent incident, I thought the other night about the very first time someone betrayed my trust. At the time, it was dealt with in a fairly quick and simple way. A way that seemed appropriate at the time and one I've always felt, for the most part, comfortable with. But I think over time, maybe that feeling has lessened? I'm not really sure. But I think maybe it's that big of a deal because the very first time it was a big deal, I just shrugged it off.
When I trust someone and they piss all over that, I think I get so overwhelmingly angry because I never got overwhelmingly angry the very first time I remember it happening. Correction. I never got overwhelmingly angry the very first time other than internally. I never took that anger and showed the person who betrayed my trust that it was there and that they were the cause of it.
The weird thing is that I don't really feel angry about it anymore. I don't necessarily feel like getting angry and that "taking it out on" the person who was responsible for it would accomplish a single thing. I sometimes think maybe it would help to simply say, "hey, remember when you did that? I didn't really tell you at the time but I wanted to stab you with sharp objects over and over again. There, now you know. Carry on." I think maybe physically telling the person that they pissed me off, even if I no longer feel that way, will help me not jump immediately to anger when it happens again.
I don't know. But I may just try it.
P.S. Not many people read this space and even fewer make comments. But if you're planning on commenting and you have a pretty good hunch as to what I'm talking about in the latter half of this post, I'd appreciate uber vagueness on your part as well. Merci.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
there goes another one
Seriously. Soon, I'm gonna have to start hoping I'm in a LOST-esque plane crash that leaves me with nothing but the earth and my own ingenuity with which to survive.
Since I can't think of a single corporation in the world that values anything about me other than the money in my purse, that's the only way I ever really feel like I can give them a big, fat "fuck right the fuck off, big evil company!"
So dearest Amazon, my letter should be arriving shortly. But even before that...and long after that...my money no longer will be.
Since I can't think of a single corporation in the world that values anything about me other than the money in my purse, that's the only way I ever really feel like I can give them a big, fat "fuck right the fuck off, big evil company!"
So dearest Amazon, my letter should be arriving shortly. But even before that...and long after that...my money no longer will be.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
it doesn't make me old if I enjoy sitting around reminiscing about the "good ol' days," does it?
My first job out of college was at Kinko's Document Creation Center. It was in Rochester and when any number of stores throughout New England / New York got jobs in their store, they were sent to us, we completed them, and sent them back. Because I've always been able to type super fast and they needed a typist for the 3-midnight shift, I took the job that paid $11.00 / hour...at that time, not too shabby for a girl with a pretty useless English degree.
The "cool" people worked the night shift.
Heidi was a short and hilariously funny goth girl; the oldest of the group. Because our boss was uptight about our work matching as closely as possible to what came in, we had to match margins, fonts, etc. and Heidi was "The Font Girl." I couldn't tell what font was used? She'd look at it for a few minutes, tell me try something, and bam, that would be it.
Ross was closest to my age and one of the two gay guys. I was kind of Grace (with much better tits) and he was Will (and just as gay). He's kind of my now-a-day-cute-co-worker; the guy with whom I can be wildly inappropriate at work.
Tom was also gay, in his thirties at the time and a big lumberjack-lookin' guy. To this day, he's one of the wittiest people I have ever met in my life and always had the greatest sense of humor. We went to his house every so often and hung out with him and his partner, Eric, who was equally as witty and crazy. Their dining room had dark, bleeding purple walls and a piano.
Heather was the ecclectic prooreader who was always dark and mysterious in black outfits, her hair always in a bun. She smoked clove cigarettes and smelled delicious.
Sara was my first girl crush. She was also my age and we got along from day one. She had fiery red hair, we took smoke breaks every hour, and the only one I hung out with by myself outside of work. Every so often after we got off work, we'd go to her apartment and sit around with her boyfriend, Rob, who was a film student, watching some crazy-ass film and smoking far too much. She was the one who first got all of us to go out one night after work and it soon became a pretty regular thing for us to go to some bar that I can picture perfectly but can't remember anything about the name other than it was named "Mc" something.
Working the night shift, we screwed off a lot and we each took turns getting to choose which streaming tunes we would listen to. Tom and I mainly loved the oldies but for some strange reason, it seems like no matter what station we were on, Spin, Spin, Sugar would come on and we'd all be lovin' it. One oldies night, Midnight Train to Georgia came on and Tom and I started singing and within minutes, nobody was working anymore and I became Gladys and Tom became my personal pip. From then on, whenever it came on, work stopped and we got our groove back on. Sara's and my favorite was Elvis' Kentucky Rain and Ross and I loved Don't Pull Your Love Out On Me because we couldn't sing the "don't pull your love out on me baby" without smirking.
I don't even know how long ago it was now but when I still kept in touch with them after moving out to Chicago, Tom emailed us that he and Eric were moving to Florida and having a going-away party that he would all love or us to attend. I emailed him back that unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to make it but was secretly planning on coming back to surprise him because I figured it would be the last time I would ever see the man (sadly, so far, that's been the case).
I drove up to Rochester so I'd get there a little later than everyone else and will never forget the look on the man's face when I knocked on their door and walked in. I don't think I've ever been hugged so tightly before in my life. It was strictly a Kinkster's Reunion so we were all there and drank and smoked and laughed the night away.
The best part of the evening was when Tom got up, gave a little toast, and turned on Midnight Train to Georgia. I don't remember where it came from but he threw a boa at me and I performed with my pip for the last time, with the full "woo hoo" train sounds and arm motions in the appropriate places and all.
I remember at one point during the night, I went out on their front porch with my drink, sat in their comfy green loungy chairs to smoke a butt outside, and Tom came out to give me another hug, and somewhere in between our teariness, we told each other how glad we were that I was there.
Every now and then, I find myself thinking about them and wondering where everyone wound up post-Kinkster's; especially when I'm hanging out in my apartment flipping through my tunage and stumble across one of our oldies but goodies. Part of me feels sad as I sit here listening but then I remember that I'm also sitting here with a goofy grin on my face, singing too loudly, and remembering what I consider to be some of the best times I've ever had with some of the best people I've ever known. And it makes me feel nothing but happy.
The "cool" people worked the night shift.
Heidi was a short and hilariously funny goth girl; the oldest of the group. Because our boss was uptight about our work matching as closely as possible to what came in, we had to match margins, fonts, etc. and Heidi was "The Font Girl." I couldn't tell what font was used? She'd look at it for a few minutes, tell me try something, and bam, that would be it.
Ross was closest to my age and one of the two gay guys. I was kind of Grace (with much better tits) and he was Will (and just as gay). He's kind of my now-a-day-cute-co-worker; the guy with whom I can be wildly inappropriate at work.
Tom was also gay, in his thirties at the time and a big lumberjack-lookin' guy. To this day, he's one of the wittiest people I have ever met in my life and always had the greatest sense of humor. We went to his house every so often and hung out with him and his partner, Eric, who was equally as witty and crazy. Their dining room had dark, bleeding purple walls and a piano.
Heather was the ecclectic prooreader who was always dark and mysterious in black outfits, her hair always in a bun. She smoked clove cigarettes and smelled delicious.
Sara was my first girl crush. She was also my age and we got along from day one. She had fiery red hair, we took smoke breaks every hour, and the only one I hung out with by myself outside of work. Every so often after we got off work, we'd go to her apartment and sit around with her boyfriend, Rob, who was a film student, watching some crazy-ass film and smoking far too much. She was the one who first got all of us to go out one night after work and it soon became a pretty regular thing for us to go to some bar that I can picture perfectly but can't remember anything about the name other than it was named "Mc" something.
Working the night shift, we screwed off a lot and we each took turns getting to choose which streaming tunes we would listen to. Tom and I mainly loved the oldies but for some strange reason, it seems like no matter what station we were on, Spin, Spin, Sugar would come on and we'd all be lovin' it. One oldies night, Midnight Train to Georgia came on and Tom and I started singing and within minutes, nobody was working anymore and I became Gladys and Tom became my personal pip. From then on, whenever it came on, work stopped and we got our groove back on. Sara's and my favorite was Elvis' Kentucky Rain and Ross and I loved Don't Pull Your Love Out On Me because we couldn't sing the "don't pull your love out on me baby" without smirking.
I don't even know how long ago it was now but when I still kept in touch with them after moving out to Chicago, Tom emailed us that he and Eric were moving to Florida and having a going-away party that he would all love or us to attend. I emailed him back that unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to make it but was secretly planning on coming back to surprise him because I figured it would be the last time I would ever see the man (sadly, so far, that's been the case).
I drove up to Rochester so I'd get there a little later than everyone else and will never forget the look on the man's face when I knocked on their door and walked in. I don't think I've ever been hugged so tightly before in my life. It was strictly a Kinkster's Reunion so we were all there and drank and smoked and laughed the night away.
The best part of the evening was when Tom got up, gave a little toast, and turned on Midnight Train to Georgia. I don't remember where it came from but he threw a boa at me and I performed with my pip for the last time, with the full "woo hoo" train sounds and arm motions in the appropriate places and all.
I remember at one point during the night, I went out on their front porch with my drink, sat in their comfy green loungy chairs to smoke a butt outside, and Tom came out to give me another hug, and somewhere in between our teariness, we told each other how glad we were that I was there.
Every now and then, I find myself thinking about them and wondering where everyone wound up post-Kinkster's; especially when I'm hanging out in my apartment flipping through my tunage and stumble across one of our oldies but goodies. Part of me feels sad as I sit here listening but then I remember that I'm also sitting here with a goofy grin on my face, singing too loudly, and remembering what I consider to be some of the best times I've ever had with some of the best people I've ever known. And it makes me feel nothing but happy.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Dear Mr. Carlin,
Although I'm not on television and today will pretty much be spent in an office, I hereby vow to say the following words at least once today. Just 'cause I can.
1. shit
2. piss
3. fuck
4. cunt
5. cocksucker
6. mother fucker
7. tits
Of course, my truck driver mouth tends to spit out most of them throughout the course of the day with the exception of #4, which I never use in reference to another person simply because I don't consider it an insult. Really, when's the last time you heard a bunch of guys sitting around saying, "you know what I really hate? Cunts. I'd be perfectly happy to never be near one again. I think I'll turn that word into a horrible, ugly insult."
Please. If you'd like to insult me, please do it a little more intelligently. K, thanks.
So really, that leaves me very little context with which to work. Which leaves me forced to be even more wildly inappropriate at work than I usually am and use it as yet another word for hoo-ha, bajingo, vajayjay, naughty bits, etc.
Fun!
1. shit
2. piss
3. fuck
4. cunt
5. cocksucker
6. mother fucker
7. tits
Of course, my truck driver mouth tends to spit out most of them throughout the course of the day with the exception of #4, which I never use in reference to another person simply because I don't consider it an insult. Really, when's the last time you heard a bunch of guys sitting around saying, "you know what I really hate? Cunts. I'd be perfectly happy to never be near one again. I think I'll turn that word into a horrible, ugly insult."
Please. If you'd like to insult me, please do it a little more intelligently. K, thanks.
So really, that leaves me very little context with which to work. Which leaves me forced to be even more wildly inappropriate at work than I usually am and use it as yet another word for hoo-ha, bajingo, vajayjay, naughty bits, etc.
Fun!
Friday, June 20, 2008
on this, the most important of days
I shall embark upon Operation Silence.
Which will involve my search for the perfect job. One that allows me interaction with others only when I want it. I will be in an environment that allows me to completely ignore arrogant, obnoxious, loud little boys trying to pump up their already nearly ready-to-burst egos.
It will involve doors that I'll be able to close to drown out distractions.
It will not involve any form of the evil that is the speakerphone.
Most importantly, it will involve the saving of my sanity.
Which will involve my search for the perfect job. One that allows me interaction with others only when I want it. I will be in an environment that allows me to completely ignore arrogant, obnoxious, loud little boys trying to pump up their already nearly ready-to-burst egos.
It will involve doors that I'll be able to close to drown out distractions.
It will not involve any form of the evil that is the speakerphone.
Most importantly, it will involve the saving of my sanity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
