Goodbye, Freedom.

With the 4th of July a few days away, I thought I'd bitch about a different kind of freedom, one that I am about to rip from myself, one that I have mixed feelings about, one that has nothing to do with our country's birth, 230 years ago. (231 years ago? What's the math on this?)

So I took a walk today, as usual, and found myself in a really odd mood. It wasn't the usual happy-go-lucky, skipping and whistling, totally self-sufficient & self-confident mood that is more characteristic of my personality. No. Today, for the first time in a long time, I found myself hating everyone. Not just that. It gets worse. I was hating myself, hating everyone that almost bumped into me, hating the fucking kids, hating the fucking dogs, wanting to kick puppies and all that shit. Nice, right?

No, it wasn't. It wasn't nice at all. I mean, I operate on a fairly steady level of combined cynicism and humor. Today though. Today. Sheesh. If I had a gun, it would have been fired. People would have been dead.

But then I got home to Khan. He licked my face and snuggled up against me, and then I felt better.

So, mental episode aside, the point is that as I was walking along today, hating everything, I realized something very important. I need a job. And I'm not talking about a random freelance gig. I'm talking about a full-time, 10-6, pants-suit-wearin' soul-sellin', full-on "J" to the "O" to the "B" (with benefits, please).

What I've discovered about myself is that I have no discipline when it comes to spending. I see it, I want it, I buy it. And this goes double for when I'm in moods like this. Shopping makes me happy. I miss the days I'd be sad and pop off to Sephora for a cool new lip gloss or facial lotion. Those were good times. Sadly, though my freelance work is okay, I am not getting paid the dollar amount it takes to A) get a MacBook Pro, B) shop until I smile, C) drink whenever I want to (or when I am called to), and D) travel. Since I have pretty much decided that each of these things is an absolute requirement for my existence, I of course will have to create a steady, positive cash flow. This, dear reader, equals JOB. I suppose, if my head were in a different place, I could scrounge up more work, but I just don't want the hassel right now.

So, after this year's American Holiday, I will be carrying my portfolio off to some headhunters and will be starting with the serious kissing of ass. Goodbye to my long afternoon walks. Goodbye to my local lunchtime and coffee friends. Goodbye to the late nights and sleeping until noon (well, that may be a good thing, actually).

Fuck.

30% Indifferent.

Okay, okay. One more. (Thanks to the Evil One who sent this on.) And that's it! Only because it's such fun. And I don't feel like divulging anything personal at the moment... eh, it's all a just a colossal stinkpile of decaying fishrot anyhow. Who wants some? Show of hands! Anyone? Anyone? Nah. Fuck it.

Oooh. I just totally killed a "waterbug." Eight feet from my bed. Sweet.

You Are 70% Evil

You are very evil. And you're too evil to care. Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

How Evil Are You?

Fecking special.

As per Oxford Thesaurus:

Special. adj. different, distiguished, exceptional, extraordinary, important, infrequent, momentous, notable, noteworthy, odd, out-of-the-ordinary, red letter (day), remarkable, significant, strange, uncommon, unconventional, unusual.

You know who you are.

Geeking out is hard to do (for us girls).

Geeky things are generally reserved for folks of the male persuasion. Certainly, walk into any comic book store and you'll find a handful of men (or boys, depending on location of said comic book store, day of week, and time of day). Rarely will you find the lone fangirl, coming in on that one specific Tuesday of the month that "her" title comes out. No, usually, if you see a girl at all in a comic book store, this girl is accompanying her geeky boyfriend.

The audience is clear: boys and manboys. There are very few things directed at women. And by women, I mean women who like boys and manboys. Let's forget Xena: Warrior Princess (which I was a TOTAL dork about, BTW, even haunting "Xena Night" at Meow Mix once a week and collecting the action figures. My favorite? Callisto.) Let's also forget that Batwoman is coming out of the closet as a lesbian. The true dorkiness of the comic/sci-fi/fantasy world has almost always been reserved for the XYs.

The fangirl problem is one limited to a very specific aspect of merchandising. One can be a complete fangirl, to the point of going to Star Trek conventions (like, at the Valley Forge convention center in PA, because that was the closest one on that particular ST tour. I'm not naming any names). One can collect comics and read them religiously. One can collect movies and soundtracks and tv shows and graphic novels and figurines and pretty much everything that is available with a price tag.

The explicit aspect of merchandising that poses a problem specific to the fangirl is the clothing. Which, in a word, sucks.

I have given up with the t-shirts that are awesome, but only come in large and x-large. (These have since become pajamas, or worse, trash.) I have given up on finding any clothing that is cut for women that isn't cutesy or totally inapproriate or is obviously made for women who are more interested in the fact that it's "cool" and strappy, rather than what it stands for.

So, on June 28, I will don my PINK Superman shield girlie t-shirt and groan. I'd wear my strappy Superman cami top, but the theater is usually too cold for strappy tops.

Why can't I have an authentic reissue t-shirt? Just a plain effing t-shirt, in blue please, or even white, with a shield logo or the original movie type treatment? Why can't my t-shirt actually be a simple girl version of the cool ones they have for the men? Why must these people think that girls only buy things if they are strappy and/or pink?

Holy effing update:

Just after I finished this, one of my friends sent me a link to a cool non-pink, non-strappy ringer tee for women on eBay. I just bought it. If I get it before June 28, I will be filing that pink t-shirt at the bottom of my t-shit drawer.

My fine young son has turned out gay.

Ever have one of those days? Where your best friend dumps you for no reason, a cabinet falls on your head, you have random family members calling you to tell you that you shouldn't hurt people, your car catches fire, you get deliciously bruised about the midsection, you get hit by a car, someone steals the tassels off your bike, and you stub your toe?

Ok, it wasn't all one day. But it was this weekend. Most of it, anyhow. Actually most of this all did happen in one day. Funny.

I guess it could have been worse. All of that could have happened plus I could have lost my legs. Or something equally unpleasant. Well, as luck would have it I still have my legs. And my arms. And other stuff that comes in twos. Maybe except for my kidneys.

I was in attendance at Kalli's kitten gathering yesterday, where the conversation unrepentantly turned toward the morbid. Fueled by necessity, of course. No, not about kittens.

Me: You mean, I can sell one of my kidneys for how much?
Her: I checked it out this week, actually. The going rate is around $8,000.
Him: It seems a little low..

I'm daydreaming about throwing my body into the black market. $8,000 would help me out a lot. I wonder what a set of tonsils is going for these days? Heck I don't need 'em, and I've been meaning to get rid of them anyhow..

Khaaaaannn!!

My little guy is so freaking cute. I was away for an overnighter, and when I returned, he greeted me at the door with his bright green/yellow eyes and small little voice and followed me around until I picked him up. He wouldn't let me put him down. Ahhh, to be needed and missed. It's a wonderful thing.

So, quid pro quo: here's a post I was working on not too long ago, which I had since forgotten about. It's an interesting counter-point to the shitstorm I experienced yesterday. Keep in mind that my vehicle has since become a junker and awaits the tow truck of doom up at my parents' place.

A good day.

So, in a few weeks, it will be four months since I've moved into my palatial Estate-on-Willow. This number is significant not only because it this the first time in my short life that I'm going it alone, it also represents the longest I've gone without a boyfriend. The previous four month excursion from relationship-land was the time spent between #1 and #2. In general, I don't like being alone. But now that I am, now that I truly am, I'm finding it easy to slip into.

I find more meaning in the mundane. Things I used to not give a second thought to I now consider carefully. Take, for example, the mommy mafia or the dog poo. Honestly, when I was out west (20 minutes west from here, to be exact), I didn't give a rat's ass about the moms. Or dog poo. Maybe dog poo a little. It's just not something I considered. I was more worried about what I was going to make R. for dinner. Or did I have enough time to go for a run before R. got home, or would R. be mad if he came home and I wasn't there. Or is R. going to be proud of me because I __________. You know, I make R. out to be totally controlling. He really wasn't. I was, however, a huge pain in the ass living a perfunctory lie. But I did genuinely want to make him happy. Great. But what about me? Well, that's what brought me here. And now I'm finding beauty in the banal. And if by beauty, you think I mean obsess, bitch, complain, observe and write about it all? Then you, my friend, are correct.

Anyway, with my four month anniversary approaching, I took a look around today and noticed my life. Before a few weeks ago, I felt like a ghost, an imprint of myself floating around town, looking for my home. Living alone in my apartment was an empty experience that left me wanting to leave it all the time, hence the drinking and constant socializing.

I don't mean to sound braggarty, but I realized today that I am "blessed" with a lot of things other people don't have. (As other people are "blessed" with things I don't have.) And don't think for one second that I don't appreciate it all. I feel extremely grateful about all aspects of my life. I have a lot to work with, and plenty to do. It's fucking fantastic.

So, I just slapped a "permanent" parking sticker on my truck. And as I was walking home from that, I almost passed my building because I realized they had finally installed the railings on the front stoop. The message was clear. I felt the embodiment of permanence tapping on my shoulder. Hello? You are here. You're not going away. You are real. I'm still smiling.

It was a great day.

Interesting that, while I still feel somewhat blessed, things can turn so quickly, and my once-cherished feeling of permanence has turned like weather.

Life is impassively modulating, with no regard to anyone's plans or feelings. And while I realize this, I will cling to moments of permanence, those moments I can define and understand. And while it all might kick me in the ass sometimes, I am still grateful for it all. The falling cabinets. The new staircase railings. The friend drama. The more-than-friend drama. The people I don't even know drama. Khan. If that's his real name.

Nothing is set in stone.

Baxter is sooo gonna get it.

Today: got cat.

Went with K. on a delightful excursion to some major retail chain stores around a very rain-soaked North Jersey. Last stop: Bergen County Animal Shelter. We looked at cats. And kittens. There were lots of them. Every single one of them broke my heart a little.

After much debating and sadness and "what do you think?" questions directed at various persons in the immediate vicinity, I finally settled on this black-and-white big-eyed beauty. (This is the photo from the shelter.) He's 11 months old and has white whiskers. After having spent much of the afternoon behind my toilet, he was persuaded to come out for some food, and we've been snuggling ever since. He gives kisses and likes to put his arms around my neck to get his face right up next to mine. Damn. This is better than a boyfriend. Well, almost. Ok not really. But the snuggly thing is freaking cute as hell.

As of now, his name is still #54455. I have devised the short list of new possible names. Here they are (Feel free to comment, in email or otherwise. Don't bother telling me what a huge dork I am; I already know this.):

Darth Vader
Miles Davis
Baba O'Riley
Guildenstern
Henry
Roger Thornhill
Willow
Schroedinger
Khan Noonien Singh

I tried to avoid the obvious: Romeo, Mittens, Guinness, Socks, Puss N Boots, etc. I think this is a good thing.

I'll post later about how amazing this all is in detail, but the short version is that for the first time in about 3 months, I'm not out studying for my alcoholism exam, I'm completely exhausted, and it looks like I'll be getting to bed before midnight. If you know me, you know that this is pretty extraordinary.

Bee hives and mouse holes.

NO, I wasn't stung by a bee. But my body has fallen victim to an outbreak of hives, the likes of which I have never seen before. The smaller ones are growing and connecting to the larger ones. The larger ones are now giant blotches. There is one giant blotch that now takes up half my back. Small ones are appearing in all sort of places, like my earlobes. Yes, I said earlobes. I took some Benadryl yesterday and seriously got STONED. My body felt weighted, my movements were slow and deliberate. I had to force myself to walk across the room, each step an effort not unlike walking in waste-deep water. That stuff is awesome. I'm going to take more tonight, just because. Maybe I'll go for broke and drink some beer on top of it. Yum. So I took the legal stoney-stuff and although the hives went down a little, they are all still there. Even worse today.

I had hives only once like this before in my life. It was about a week before I got married to R. I noticed little bumps all up and down my arms. The bumps grew and spread out and connected and became blemishes (not so large so as to take up half my back, but bad enough). Never having had anything remotely like this before, I was a little concerned, especially considering I was supposed to have been looking spectacular in a week. The really interesting bit to this story is that they stayed with me throughout the wedding and disappeared the day after. The day after.

Hmmm. I wonder if stress causes hives? Am I allergic to stress? Am I under a lot of stress? I was waaay more stressed out last month. So why am I getting them now? Maybe I am allergic to the sun? Blah!

So speaking of sun, there is none right now. The sky has turned a deep greenish grey and promises to douse me at any moment. I hear the rumblings of thunder in the distance and I'm so excited I could.. uh.. I could .. jump? That's lame. Spit? No, that's mad. Uh... I'm so excited I could... do cartwheels! Ok, ok. Lame, but I'll take that for now.

One of my favorite things to do is watch a good storm come in. Sadly, since I live in a shoebox sandwiched between a laundromat and stuffed in the back of the building, I don't really get to see anything unless I go outside, which I will do in a moment. I'm gonna go for a drive.

Before I take off though, I would like to inform you, dear reader, that I found Baxter's little secret passageway. He is NOT living under my bed as I thought (giving me the greatest pleasure of being able to actually sleep). Turns out, he was using the bed as cover as he made his way over to his large mouse hole. Yes it was large. I found it today as I was moving shit around in preparation for painting. So, I stuffed some aluminum foil in there. Who knows if that will help anything, but at least he ain't coming in for a while. And now I can finally sleep. Sleeeeeeep. Zzzzzz. I'm getting all excited just thinking about how tired I will be later. So excited, I could do a cartwheel or two.