Eleven more days

I’m going to buy my iMac on July 11th and then there will be a post explosion.
I dont want the $1,500 dollar laptop anymore, the one I want costs $1,800.
I weighed the pro’s and con’s, my mind is set. One of my friends told me mac’s are good for graphic designing which is a big pro even tho she was trying to make it sound like a con.

Eleven more days until I wipe out my bank account!

My photo art

Old notes from high school

In leiu of blogging, I have been reading a fabulous feng shui book entitled “Clear your clutter with feng shui,” and watching Hoarders. I’ll say that one more time; I’ve been reading how to clear my clutter and watching the show Hoarders.

I’m a malleable person, soft and easily persuaded into most things. I get easily hooked and addicted to sensuous activities that highten my aesthetic pleasure. So, naturally I was swayed into gutting out my entire bedroom yesterday starting from 10 in the mornin’ till 2 at night.

I cleaned out EVERYTHING. I didn’t think I had so much stuff, but it was stuff that I would see everyday, but not see. It’s hard to explain – I would see it, but care so little about what I was looking at that my brain didn’t recognize the item.

When you stare at something for a long time, details blur, stuff smears together or downright dissapears from your periferals. Like when you look at your old marti gras beads you aquired by doing god-knows-what, still wrapped around one of your dusty lampshades. Your brain doesn’t see them, all it see’s is a lamp that can be turned on.

During my frenzied cleaning spree, I came across old notes from high school. Not the kind you write down while listening to teacher, no. The kind you write instead of listening to the teacher. Back then we didn’t have texting, so we would write a note and fold it up into a rectangle or square and pass it to a friend. I have accumulated four plus years of notes given to me from friends and ex-boyfriends. Four years, nearly 1,000 notes.

Those are my feet on the safe I stored all my notes in.

I taken out the folder marked 1994 and thumbed thru it. I was thirteen-fourteen years old and my best friend at that time was Mmmmm…..I shouldn’t say her name, I’ll just call her Peg. Me and Peg were inseparable. She didn’t allow me to be friends with anyone except her, which was fine with me for a while since I had no other friends. And she would order me around like I was her puppet – that’s what my parents called me, her puppet. But then she would squeeze me, hug me and love me and I loved the attention. But she would hug me so much that it made my parents nervous. She would cuddle with me on the couch when watching movies and hold my hand in public, you know, that sort of stuff.
We were young, too young to drive, so we hung out with my mom a lot. My mom would take us everywhere she went – grocery shopping, cosco, K-mart, and as long as we knew nobody in the store, Peg would have me hop on her back for a piggy back ride. I found this to be embarrassing as hell and I always refused at first, but then she would get upset, so I would ride her back and start laughing hysterically out of the ridiculousness.
We fought so much. Every single day we would have vicious fights with each other that only worsened as we got older. But we still hung out together. We were seriously codependent. Once we got into high school, the friendship was doomed. I started talking to more people, she would talk shit about my new friends and cause fights with everyone.

We used to write in a notebook and pass it between us during school. She would get mad when I didn’t write as much as her, or answer all of her questions.
Here’s an excerpt from our notebook. One of our friends claimed to be suicidal, but peg still gave her a hard time.

Our fight in the middle of science class was our last. She stormed out of the room never to return. A few days or weeks later, she dropped out of school altogether.

I never heard from her again until she friended me on facebook a few years ago. Here’s a picture of her freshmen year I think.

After Peg, there was Kurt. We lived in walking distance from each other, so would hang out a lot. We hung out a lot until he got weird. Here’s one of his notes.

That’s pretty innocent for the most part, but they get increasingly strange. Here’s one he wrote me after pretending to kill me (which seriously almost made me wet my pants).

And here’s his ultimatum letter;

Continued on back….

He also wrote me saying if I didn’t go out with him, he would jab a nail through his temple on new years day. That note I don’t have, I gave it to his mother. That’s around the time he was leaving threatening voice messages on my answering machine. My mom wanted to call the cops on him, but I told her no.
Then rumors were going around that he was going to stab me in the hall on my way to class. I never told my mom about that, but she ended up calling the cops anyway.
I gotten a very strange message on my answering machine of someone breathing deeply and making evil growling noises, so my mom blamed Kurt and played the tape to the cops who agreed it was disturbing and decided to put a restraining order on Kurt.
But those frightening sounds on my answering machine were not from Kurt, they were from my mother! I figured out a week later, when it happened again, that it was my mother asleep on the phone. She called me to wake me up for school in the morning and fell asleep after she dialed.
Anyway, he ended up self mutilating himself and went to a mental hospital.
Do I feel sorry? Yes of course I do.
After Kurt, there was Brian. He was 21, I was 16. It taken me two weeks until he started annoying me by telling me how much he loved me. I tried picking fights with him to break up with him, but that didn’t work. Here’s one of his;

And there was Doug. I really crushed Doug and still hate myself for it, but I was a kid who never experienced heartbreak. I never knew just how much I was hurting people.

Here’s another letter from Peg I forgot I took a picture of;

I had a really turmoiltulous (is that a word?) high school career, and that’s just grazing the surface.
Thankfully I had my normal friends to cheer me up.
I threw away all notes except the ones from Steph. I put about two or three hundred notes from her in a shoe box, and mailed them to her.

Okay, I’m done. My laptop stopped working halfway through this post, so I’m on my iPhone. My eyes are killing me. Unfortunately this will be my last post until I get a new laptop. I can’t blog on my phone, I just can’t.

My new painting

I painted this oil on canvas without any instructions or tips because I thought I was going to be a painting prodigy, but it turns out I should invest in an instruction book or two.

The regected cartoons

Blogging before work

I was going to write a really awesome post today, but I can’t.  I spent too much time trying to get my computer to start up and I ran out of time.

Not blogging is making me crazy!  My stats are floundering, not that they were ever superb, but yesterday I only got 12 hits!  12!  I’m back at square one.

On break

I’m at Starbucks on break with my ghetto, drugged up, homicidal laptop.  I isolated the problem it’s been having and figured out it’s a power cord dilemma.  My battery is so shot that my laptop only works when it’s plugged in, but now my power cord has visible wires that spark whenever I plug it in.  I have to twist the cord in a pretzel position for the connection to work.

It’s a pain, but there you have it.  The new laptop I want cost’s $1,500.  And I’m sure what with tax and an extended warranty, we’re looking at a good $2,000 in all.  Is it worth it?  I don’t know, all I know is that I want it.

I have 46 unopened tip envelopes saved up.  I would like to save 100 tip envelopes, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for that long.  I’m going to try my patience for three to five weeks.  July 8th, or July 22 I’ll have it.

Anyway, shit.

Sorry I haven’t been writing.  My mind has been elsewhere.  And sorry my last post was a drunken ramble.

Boring boring boring, this post is boring.

I don’t have any time to write anything good.  Good takes time.  Good things have to be made love to.  Whenever I make love to my blog, I make sure to wear my rubbers, rubber gloves that is.  You can never be too careful.  I’m paranoid now after massaging that herpe lady.

Why would a herpe infested person get a massage?  I’m people, too!  I’m not some sterile machine that can’t be contaminated.

 

 

Alone in rhode island

I’m writing to you on my little keyboard in Rhode Island because we don’t have internet here.

I’m only on my third or fourth beer, I’m doing good. Not getting out of control yet.
I’m all alone here. I’m sitting on the porch over looking the water. It just so happens to be facing west, which makes for spectacular sunsets.
I’m listening to Cat Power radio on pandora .
I wish you can listen to what I’m listening to. It fits this scene perfect.
I seen my very first lightening bug of the summer. When I was a kid I tried collecting them in a jar, but times have changed. You’d be lucky to see two.
Times certainly have changed because when my mother was a kid, she and her friends would collect them and then rip them apart for their bioluminescence. They would smear the neon glow on their faces and play cowboys and indians or some shit. She’s old, thats how kids played back then – killin stuff. And they say video games breed violence…..
Tonight I watched the movie Hancock, as I do everytime I come here. Next on my list is Harry Potter and the prisoner of Askaban. And im going to learn the ancient art of watercolor.

I’m on my fourth or fifth beer. Cripes, I got to pee.
For those of you who don’t know about this cottage I’m at, well, it belongs to my Dad and his two remaining brothers.
One of those uncle’s is always down here mainly to booze it up. Last time I was here, he was here acting like a guy in his twenties, begging me to go to the bar with him.
My drunk uncle has three kids who are all around my age, all with kids and loud barking dogs. And they all love going to the cottage. There is no restraint to who and when any of my family members will show up. They can very well show up right now.
I wish there were stars out. I love catching a buzz and watching the stars float across the sky like connect the dancing dots.
Huh, the theme song for House is playing on pandora. I never knew it was an actual song. It says it’s by Massive attack and the song is called Tear drop. Tear drop on fire.

I had a horrible day in work yesterday. I can’t write about it now, it’s too fresh. I need to wait four weeks. Four weeks is when I’ll find out if I contracted herpes from one of my clients. I never saw pimple’s like those before, and I touched them. Half-way through the massage I realized what they may be.
I’m a girl who never had a cold sore or a cavity in her mouth and here I am rubbing stinking herpe’s. Cripes.
Yesterday was such a bad day. I have a little bit of hyperchondria on top of it, so it kicked in big time.
I purelled my hands and arms so much that my skin felt tight and dry.
When I got home, I watched the show, Hoarders, on Netflix. My hyperchondria was so bad that I started cleaning.
It turns out that I’m the opposite of a hoarder in that I throw all my shit away. I’m 31 years old and I hardly have any shit. How the hell did I get 18,000 in debt when I have no shit?
Ohhh, I like this song. Pixies, where is my mind.
I stopped at Walmart on my way here and picked up a bunch of Lean Cuisines.
Tomorrow I’ll eat all five lean cuisines and then go on an adventure ride on my brothers scooter.

He bought a brand new scooter and he doesn’t mind me riding it. I have my motorcycles license which I got on a whim – that would be a whole other post.
Oh, another great song. Billy Holaday’s rendition of Night and Day.
Ahhhhh…..to sit back, drink beer and listen to some old-ass song while gazing at the ocean – it’s actually a huge pond connected to the ocean, but the breakway is pretty far off so i don’t hear any loud waves crashing – perfect, I tell you.
Gadzooks I gotta pee again. My Grandpa’s spirit is still alive in this cottage. His spirit must be infiltrating my body making me have to pee all the time lilke an old man.

You know what I really want to do? I want to finish reading The Road Less traveled. I got a lot out of those first hundred pages. I re-read my post that I wrote on it and it blew my mind. I forgot I wrote all that.

It’s only 11 pm, I won’t let this be my high point of the night. I’m going to head inside and start my little watercoloring kit that I got from the book store across the street from my job. It was pouring out so I thought it would be good to wait out the downpour in Barnes and Noble before I got on the highway. Fifty dollars later, it was still downpouring. The cashier told me I was cute. She kept asking me questions, and i kept thinking good and hard for the answers, which she thought was cute, Which makes me reinforce my theory that cute and stupid go hand in hand.

I’m on my sixth or seventh beer. I lost count a while ago.

I might have a lean cuisine now. They look so delicous sitting in the freezer.

Tomorrow I’ll take some pic’s of the cottage for you to see. It’s nothing big, but it’s spectacular. My gramps made it with his own two hands – and with the hands of his four sons. Who makes houses nowadays? Me and my brother would’nt be able to make a bird house with our two brains put together.

Okay, I have to let this out. I hate, HATE, house sitting for my brorther and his dogs. He never asks me, his girlfriend asks me, and I have trouble saying no to her. How can I get out of house sitting without hurting anyones feelings?
To house sit once in a while is fine, but they have me doing it every month! I hate it, no, I loath it. When I got back to the house yesterday, there was a big shit with some pee left on the floor. I was going to leave it for my brother, but didn’t.
It was the icing to a very bad day. It was a bad day, but I still made $125 in tips from six clients, which is great because I want to buy the Imac pro. My laptop is about to kick it. I can feel it.
Its 1118 pm. I’m going to go in and watch harry potter, maybe watercolor, I don’t know. My hands are cold. It’s chilly here.

Whaa-tsshh!!

I’m a girl who loves to do sound effects. Once I get a particular sound effect in my head, I have trouble getting it out. Usually I whistle. I whistle when I least expect it. I whistle when I give a massage, grocery shop, order a soy latte.

Today, my sound effect is “whaa-tssshh!!” It’s the crack of a whip. I’ve been using this sound effect today on my clients.

The room would be quiet, the lights turned low, my client about to fall asleep from luxurious relaxation, and then here comes my “Whaa-tsshh!!” As I whip the sheet off their back.

“Whaa-tssh!!” As I uncover their leg with deadly, stealth precision.

“Whaa-tsshh!!” As I pump lotion into my hand from the bottle swinging on my holster. I pretend I’m a gunslinger from the old west.

“Okay Jeffrey, ready to turn over onto your back?” Jeffrey languidly goes to turn.

“Whaa-tsshh!!”

I have to go back to work. Guhhhh……

Four more desperado’s to slather with lotion and whip.

“Whaa-tsshh!!” I fold my laptop and stuff it in my bag.

“Whaa-tsshh!!” I wipe myself.

“Whaa-tsshh!!” I flush the toilet.

Dirty Sanchez

Image via Wikipedia

I don’t talk about sex much with my friends.  I figure they don’t want to hear about it, and it’s not polite to discuss the pro’s and con’s of a dirty sanchez over dinner. I mean, is it sexy to have a poop mustache?  Are there benefits to it that I’m unaware?  Wouldn’t it attract fly’s to my face?

No, I have never had a dirty sanchez or any other sex involving my poop, or anybody else’s poop for that matter.  My idea of a fun night in the sack is to eat popcorn and channel surf while my boyfriend goes down on me.  I don’t mind being nude, but some snuggly flannel pajama’s would be a nice touch.  No part of that scenario involves fecal matter.  It can, however, involve Xbox.

But what I’m wondering about is, do people actually perform Cleveland steamers?  Is it a real thing?  And do girls openly talk about these topics with their friends so they can compare stories and take notes?

“There’s nothing in the world that compares to getting your chest crapped on girls, you gotta try it!  Can one of y’all braid my hair?”

Is this how girls talk to each other?

Maybe I’m just prude, but I don’t talk like that.  I would have trouble with doing something as easy as playing the rusty trombone.

At least I can say I can still kiss my mother with this mouth.  I shouldn’t touch her though.