Seeing Symphonies
Early evening, beautiful sunny warm evening after days and days and days of rain. I finish work, and I'm happy, my umbrella closed and in my purse. I walk towards the bus stop, walking under trees, looking up at them from underneath, seeing bits of sky thru leaves, smiling to myself. Smiling smiling smiling full of self generated content. A girl jogs by me, and she's wearing short shorts, barely to the bottom of her ass cheeks. I often check out jogger bodies. I justify the ordinary ones: "See? They jog. And look at them! Totally average. Why go thru all that pain to look average. I'll just continue not jogging..."
But this girl has a cute figure probably worth jogging for. She's probably 5' 5 1/2", in a little faded cotton sleeveless tank and short shorts. One hand is holding a wadded white plastic grocery bag, the other hand holding a leash. A multi colored pit bull jogs alongside her.
I glanced, and went about my way, then looked back. By now, I am sitting on a bus bench, and she and multi-color pit bull have run across four lanes of street. I'm watching from across the street, and it's one of those those slowed down movie moments... Suddenly I'm staring, and I see that the wadded white grocery bag is not empty. It's almost bouncing, swaying heavily. I realize it has a load of dog shit in it, but that didn't slow down her jog.
Suddenly, I'm mesmerized. It was like music--all the rhythm--steady beat of footsteps, matching accompanying dog trotting alongside, and heavy crescent shaped sway of dog shit. Everything was in rhythm. Everything was a soft steady beat. I watched this rhythmic symphony for a while, and thought, 'life is beautiful. It really is.'
Re. My Last Entry:
I can't believe I didn't recognize horniness. After all these years, I should know.
May I quote from my previous blog entry: "If I had my druthers, I'd make a milkshake with Baileys and some kind of chocolate liquer and ice cream, and I'd get really really drunk and whore around..."
If that doesn't scream horny, I don't know what does. My frontal lobe got in the way, and I rationalized my fury by examining my life thru horny/physically agitated glasses, i.e., thinking the anger was caused by my viewpoint that everything sucked. It was purely physical.
I ended up working out to release some tension. I did sit ups and butt excercises on my fit ball. Then I did a few Bikram yoga poses, sans the heat.
Now I'm too sore to screw. Exercise! Gah!
Side note: I've had my fit ball for weeks, maybe months now. I use it as a chair. I think last night was the first time I excercised on it. In doing sit ups, I thought that the extra bounce was the cause of the sit up--I mean, I bounced up, so I thought I wasn't really doing a sit up, or it wasn't doing much. I did these sort of crunch like things with my back on the ball. But apparently, it works some muscles out, as my stomach is pretty sore today.
IRRITABLE.
My boss told me that what I wrote in my previous entry was not true.
I feel irritable, have been all day. Screamed every time the phone rang, slammed things around, thank goodness I was alone in the office. It is like PMS, but I should have 3 more weeks before I'm pissed as all hell.
thought to check out other blogs as a diversion, and got all mad because other people have prettier blogs than mine. I want a fancy background now.
I feel crappy and mad.
I need to change my emotional state...Should I do sit ups, or eat ice cream?
If I had my druthers, I'd make a milkshake with Baileys and some kind of chocolate liquer and ice cream, and I'd get really really drunk and whore around and pass out. The gap between fantasy and my reality is so fucking vast it won't even echo. Like screaming into space.
Instead of drinking Bailey's milkshakes and whoring around, I'll spend my evening doing my online banking and cleaning the kitchen. The state of my life is making me so mad!!! It's a Friday night. I am pathetic.
The boyfriend has put Jaws on tv. Some girl is getting eaten by a shark as I type. Hey, I'm not mad and irritable anymore. Now I am depressed. Is that better? I can't decide. It's more comfortable, I'm so freakin' used to it!!! Now I'm mad again. Geez, it's like PMS!
Reason to Cut Back on Calories:
Did you know that if you're really fat, you can't get cremated at a regular place where they cremate people? That's right. They take you to the zoo, like where they cremate elephants. I found that out today. See? Learn somethin' new every day. (I'm afraid to post this.)
I Think I'm a Genius.
Yesterday, I was too sick to lift my head up off my pillow, and I was wishing I could get on the computer somehow without causing me pain when I had my brilliant flash of an idea. Later, I called my brother about it, explaining my idea:
"Here's my invention: A computer monitor on the ceiling, or projected onto the ceiling so you can work on the computer without getting out of bed. Without even sitting up!"
Suddenly my mother came out of his mouth: "That's so lazy!" he said, then adding, "How about a feeding tube?"
I thought about it and said, "Maybe a pee bag." (I hate getting up to pee in the winter when it's cold and I'm warm in bed.)
I think my idea is genius. And if anyone does it after reading this, please donate to the cause. I could use an economical car. I would also like an ocean view home somewhere on the west coast, preferably southern California...
And a computer that I can use while laying in bed staring at the ceiling.
Purging My Jello Guilt
My head hurts and I'm congested and I'm home from work sick. I got bored laying in bed. I stared at the ceiling thinking, "I wish I had a fat image of my monitor screen projected onto my ceiling and a keyboard on my lap, and I could surf the net and write emails without having to get up out of bed...without even sitting up...sweeeeet."
and my mom's voice entered my head: "You so lazy!"
and my response, "I'm efficient..."
I can't decide if I hate being sick or not.
The pain and discomfort suck, as does boredom, but resting feels good.
Sadly, there isn't much to eat, and I'm hungry. My boss knew I wasn't coming in today. He saw how sick I was yesterday and told me to go home early, only it got busy and I ended up staying late. So I stopped by the grocery store last night and picked up a few personal favorites, thinking, if I'm going to be home sick all day, might as well enjoy it..." I got a fresh loaf of french bread, still warm, some low fat Chips Ahoy cookies, an orange...
At the register, I discovered I didn't have my wallet(that was embarassing). So I had to go home, and I wasn't feeling well enough return to the store with my wallet. Now it's morning, I'm hungry, and I'm eating stupid things like pretzels dipped in pasta sauce and jello I made in a frying pan because it's all I have. It's cold and raining outside, and my fingers are numb because I'm eating the jello with my fingers. It's kind of fun, and I didn't feel like doing the dishes. I'm sick, you know.
While making the jello a couple nights ago, I didn't know what to gel it in. (hey! Sounds like "gelatin!") Plus I'm impatient, so I thought, "If I stick my frying pan in my freezer, it will chill, and when I pour the warmed dissolved gelatin into it, it might gel faster going into something pre cooled..." I learned that pouring jello into a frozen frying pan doesn't make it gel any faster. After I stuck it in the fridge, it took the same four hours or whatever to set.
Then I got all weird about eating jello since I don't eat cows and gelatin is made out of cows. I like to pretend because it's fruit flavored, there's no death in it, but it weirds me out anyway.
My friend Silica Lipobo was doing some promo thing for animal rights/vegetarianism, and the main spokesperson, to Silica's horror, showed up in leather shoes. Silica's attitude was like, "how could this person overlook that!"
But anyway, I've dabbled in vegetarianism, veganism, lacto-ovo, vegitan, etc., and I've come to this: I am none of the above. I try to avoid factory farmed animals because the farming methods are nightmarish and horrible. It's a personal protest. I'm going to hit them where it hurts, in the wallet. My money is not going to fund factory farming. I don't buy chicken, I don't buy pork, I don't buy beef. And I don't normally eat it.
I discovered that when I eat animal products, I feel guilty. I feel emotionally cleaner when I don't eat them. Like I can't eat jello without that twinge, and it cuts into my enjoyment of it. Then I was sort of grossed out because I had cheese earlier, and I'm thinking dead cow drowning in mother's milk, and it all makes me feel guilty and gross in my stomach. I will occasionally eat seafood, but I still feel guilty. We have a shrimp in one of our fish tanks, and he/she? is really cool. I like that shrimp. He sheds his skin all the time, he's fun to watch, and I feel guilty eating his kin.
At first I justified seafood. I'd think, "well, these weren't farmed, they only had to suffer a little while, instead of their whole lives." Then I thought about something Ghandi said about how one cow will feed a bunch of people, but a shrimp cocktail was a virtual holocaust, (something along those lines) so that kind of ruined the shrimp thing for me.
Meanwhile, I won't buy anything leather or suede, or so I thought, until I realized parts of my athletic shoes are leather, like around the toes and stuff, and I was like, "this is too hard to get around."
Then, I know I'm being random here, but it ties in...some bum tries to bum spare change off of me, and sometimes I donate, and other times I get pissed like, "You're a fucking MAN, by virtue of your having a dick, you are somehow entitled to make more money than me, fuckin' bum money off someone else you stupid fuck, I have to take the damned bus I don't even have a car why don't you hit someone up with money..."
One time this fat bum saw me at a stop sign, and he started running towards me, belly all bouncing, and I'm like, "shit, he's gonna ask for money," sure enough, he did, and I glared at him, and I'm thinkin' he ain't starving, and I said to him, "You know what? I make minimum wage!" (at the time, I was waitressing, and I did make minimum wage, but I didn't tell him about my tips.) I gave him some change. I think he felt guilty for one second, but then he was off. I hope he saved enough for some good crack. Nah, prolly weed. He was too fat to be a crackhead.
But where it ties in is taking care of the world, animals, people, whatever. You do what you do and you gotta pick and choose. I have a pair of shoes with leather on them. I ate jello knowing it has a cow by-product in it. But when I find a spider in my house, I'll put it in something and throw it outside. If someone hits me up for spare change, I'll give it to them if I'm in the mood. I don't throw away junk faxes from my work. I cut them up and make little notepads out of the clean backs of them. (some, I even copy lined paper onto the backs and make my own little junk paper notepads) I cannot live a life where I never accidentally kill something, like step on a bug because I wasn't looking down. You can only give where you have surplus. I can't give everyone money who hits me up for it. I can only pick and choose where I can give affordably. I have access to other foods, so I can make my little difference by not consuming however many chickens, cows, and pigs the average American eats in a year.
In my office, we have not had to purchase a single phone message book because I'm making them out of junk faxes. We all have our own fights to fight. What we believe is right. We can only pick and choose them. If Vegetarian Spokesperson had on leather shoes, what the hey. She was still putting out the effort to spread the word. If she was unaware of this contradiction, then she could be educated. Or she could have made that choice deliberately, in which case, it's on her.
I remember years ago, my aunt saying, "Oh, Tom's a vegetarian." Tom served chicken. Apparently, vegetarians to her were people who just didn't eat beef. In that case, she could have used a little education. "No, auntie, he's not vegetarian, he just avoids cows. Chickens are not vegetables."
One time I heard a woman asked this guy, Vic Baranco, something about recycling or taking care of the planet, and genius that he was, he said, essentially, that she harbored a very conceited viewpoint, and the world will be just fine. Our planet will be just fine. He's right. We can bomb the shit out of everything, and destroy life on earth, but eventually, things will come back. It might take millions of years, and things will have to re-evolve, but the world will be okay. It's us who need saving. We don't recycle to save the world. We recycle to save us. We need the trees to breathe. We need our land to produce our food. It's not about saving the world. Its about saving us.
Haircuts and the Asian Bubble
When I in the 5th grade, my teacher told us our hair grew at ___ rate per year. I forgot, but I recall calculating with sadness that I'd be in my early twenties before I had hair "down to my butt," which was, at the age of 10, my ultimate goal. I also remember thinking that by that age, I'd be too old to care.
Wrong. I was fortunate enough to finally reach that goal, probably one of my finer accomplishments considering it was really hard to go thru an in-between stage that lasted years as my hair grew out. And although I loved my long hair to my butt, general concensus among my friends was it was too long, it lacked shape and style, so I decided to have it cut.
I saw a Chinese girl at a Chinese restaurant with a long layered cut. It appeared stylish enough to please my friends, and long enough to please me, so I asked her where she had it done. She told me who and where and how much. I figured by virtue of my being part Asian, that style would probably flatter me as well, considering we both have round moon faces.
My boyfriend was kind enough to take me to the haircut place, and he's all, "nice neighborhood." We find ourselves in an Asian country in America. The signs have Asian characters, most everyone is of varying shades of skintone but not caucasian. I'm looking around, and to soothe my boyfriend, (because that's what I do) I point out, "Look! There's a white person!" My boyfriend's not amused. (Although I was.)
I go into this haircut place, and ask for the stylist. She's Asian. I think Vietnamese, but I am not sure.
I had called in advance, asked when she worked, etc., drove hecka far to find her, and she was a bitch. I've had a ton of service oriented jobs, and that warrants major ass kissing. But she is a fucking bitch. I'm finally being honest. I held it in before, but it's out now. She was a fucking bitch. I cannot figure out what her problem was. I think she thought I was white, and disliked me for that. What the heck am I supposed to do? Say "No, I'm part Asian..." Anyway, I got a sense of resentment from her, and heavy dislike if not hatred. She was contemptible. I was being all nice, and saying, "I saw this girl and I loved her haircut, yadda yadda,"
Or maybe she could sense I was only PART Asian, and she assumed I thought I was better than her for because I could flaunt my half-whiteness? I don't know. My friend P.W. Stain pointed out a phenomenon that I was unaware of. She said some Asian girls pulled off some kind of superiority thing if they are dating a white guy. I had no idea this shit went on, because I don't identify with Asian culture, other than occasionally using chopsticks.
The one thing I have to give the stylist credit for though, is that she saw the look of horror I tried to conceal as she cut my hair, and she said, semi-condescendingly, "It still long!" I give her credit for noticing, because I was panicked, and damn near ready to jump out of the chair as she cut my hair. My other stylists have been oblivious to that look. So anyway, the few questions she asked me were basically feeling me out to see how much cash she could get out of me. "Where you lib?"
I happen to live in a nice part of town, although my rent is cheap for the location. I knew, as soon as I mention the area, she's gonna gouge me. She then asks how often I get my hair cut, and I say,
"Not very often because I don't make much money."
(As in, "I'm poor bitch, don't try to screw me.") But then I decide to be honest, and say,
"Maybe once a year."
Which is about how often I get a haircut.
I quit the small talk because she's not interested in anything but disliking me and trying to figure out how much money she can get out of me. She asks if I want my hair styled, and I say no. For me, haircuts are a luxury item. My last haircut before her was $55, which is more than a weeks worth of my groceries. I have to sit at a job I hate for hours and hours to pay for that. So in terms of the misery I have to go thru to make that money, well, I'll skip the blow dry.
This pisses her off, and she says, angrily,
"How you know I gib good haircut if you don let me style?"
So I'm like "FINE." Style it, I don't care.
So she styles it, it looks great, I pay, I tip, (i did think it was unusual though, when I told her what the tip was to put on my credit card, she wrote it in herself rather than let me) Then when she finishes the transaction, she says, kind of meanly with a wicked laugh, "See you next year."
I paid about $15 more than what the girl at the Chinese restaurant told me she paid. Maybe she didn't have her hair styled...
Anyway, the whole experience was weird, and got me thinking about a whole lot of stuff, like filling out little bubbles in school asking me what race i was. I remember being a kid and asking a teacher's aide what do I put, because I was two things. Caucasian and Asian. I remember the teacher distinctly saying "You have to put Asian/Pacific Islander." I also remember distinctly feeling labled as 'other' when she said that, and that's when I realized the questions weren't about what race are you, it was what are you other than white. Things are getting a little better now. Now you're allowed to fill in more than one bubble, which is a start, I suppose. I think I've seen up to three race bubbles can be filled in with a number 2 pencil. But I still get the feeling the question is really 'what are you other than white...'
And for me to fill in the Asian bubble really felt odd because I so do not identify with the culture. Stick me in an Asian country and I don't fit in. I'm much taller, I'm bigger. I get stared at like a circus freak. Yet I am to fill in that bubble, and identify with them as my people... People I refer to as 'they' or 'them' because it doesn't work for me to say 'we' or 'us.'
I am the same bubble as the hairstylist, who essentially disliked/rejected me for being different from her.
But I loved my haircut. Loved it loved it loved it. For one day, I felt styley and good. I felt like I could be on a hip sit com. I had cool hair. For one day. Next day after I washed it, I could not get it to look like what she had done. I even went out and bought the same kind of hairbrush, a fat round thing with mixed bristles and holes. (costing another hour at my shit job) I am almost disappointed I had it styled, because it makes it so much harder to see it look crappy knowing what it could be, but I cannot replicate.
I am also not sorry I gave that bitch my money. She was a fucking bitch. But she worked at least six days per week. When I asked her what days she worked, she said all of them. I don't regret it. If anyone needs something, it's her. She's operating from more scarcity than I am. She most likely makes more money than I do, but she's got an accent. She's totally Asian and female in a culture where, as my boyfriend and I call them, "Hot Asian Mama's" are a really neat fetish--hey, just ask my caucasian dad. He has a collection. She's got to deal with shit every day.
At work, a superior said something to me about our postal carrier. He said, lowering his voice to me, "She probably makes $16 bucks an hour. You think maybe that job could've gone to someone who spoke English as a
first language..." I suspect he meant white.
I said, "Yeah, but she's got something on us, she's bilingual." Then I added, "Have you seen those postal tests?" Subtly hinting that she got the job on merit.
That kind of shit pains me. I've had boyfriends who have put down minorities, and I've had to say, "Um, you're dating one..."(one response I got was 'but you don't look it') It pains me. Pains me pains me pains me.
Whatever I guess. Just keep pointing out the obvious.
Yeah, but you're dating one.
S/he's bilingual. You're not.
S/he's busting their ass twice as hard as you to get half as much.
Like women.
Women and minorities, women and minorities.
My bitchy hairstylist was both. Hence the bitchiness, I'm sure.
Will I see her next year for my annual hair cut? I don't know. I'm pissed off because a good cut is of no use to me if I can't replicate the style.
But I gotta admit, I liked walking around feeling like hot shit for a day.
We shall see.
Jealousy and What I could've Said
Know how you think of the perfect thing you could have said after the fact? My back was hurting recently, and I was reminded of something that happened years ago:
I was dating Hot Surfer Dude and I threw out my back. He was supposed to come by to help me down the stairs so I could go to my chiropractor, but he flaked and never showed. It took me forever to get down the stairs, me supporting my upper torso by holding onto railings, taking baby baby steps. A few days later, I get a 2 a.m. bar's closed booty call from him. For entertainment value, I show him my back, where the chiropractor has taped me up to keep my spine straight. There are crisscrosses of tape, but the main support line is a fat peice of what looks like duct tape from mid left butt cheek to just under my left shoulder.
Hot Surfer Dude, who wasn't interested enough to help me get medical help suddenly gets JEALOUS! Of the doctor, he says, and I quote: "AAAW man! He saw your ass!"
To which I replied, as always, trying to make things better, "He's a doctor. It's no big deal, I'm sure he sees lots of ass."
In retrospect, though, years later, I'm like, 'what a buttwipe. Here's a guy who won't take 10 minutes away from drinking canned Budwieser and watching waves (at the time, I lived right by the beach) to help me down the stairs --but then gets jealous because the doctor saw my ass.'
So forever later, I thought of the perfect comeback. Instead of essentially saying, 'it's okay, the doctor sees plenty of ass,' I should have said,
"Yes, the doctor saw my ass. And guess what? He said it was
magnificent!"
Happy New Year my friends! I hope it's magnificent!
