14 04 2010

So every now and then a completely earth-shattering notion seeps into my consciousness: Our lives revolve around rocks. One rock, in particular: gold.

Does anyone else think it’s completely mind-boggling that damn near every stress incurred in human life pertains to the perpetual need to hoard rocks? That some thousands of years ago, someone determined that a shiny yellow rock was currency? And that now, those many thousands of years later, the entire makings of the world’s ins and outs can be narrowed down to one element on the periodic table??! a ROCK?!???!!

I truly can’t wrap my brain around it. Rocks are why we get up in the morning and go to jobs we hate. Rocks are the primary stressor in the human psyche. Too often, rocks determine our happiness or lack thereof. ROCKS.

It’s just absurd. When the world as we know it teetered on the verge of collapse last year, it really hit home with me that this economy, this show that we put on, the plumage we flaunt like so many work-worn peacocks, is a complete farce. If an alien race was to look in at humanity, what would it see? Smoke and mirrors. The world turns for the people on it not as a spectacle of celestial amazement, but as another damn day to earn a few more rocks.

When did this happen?

When did life as we know it turn from a gift to a chore?

And how, exactly, did the world’s economy blossom into the Emerald City of Oz?

When the stimulus was passed and the United States borrowed 700-something billion dollars from China, where did that money come from? How can the Federal Reserve simply print more money? Don’t we need rocks to back it up? No? Sooo… I guess that means the rocks that we DO have, tucked away a few miles from my Kentucky home, are somehow worth less?

And, really, what IS the price of gold? Who decides this? And why does it have a price to begin with? It’s a DAMNED ROCK!!!

This shit makes my head spin. I’d be perfectly happy with a farm and a cow, building a cabin from logs and mud, growing my own crops and living off the land. Who’s with me?

I don’t need yer steenking rocks!!!



13 04 2010

Sometimes only Futurama quotes can truly capture the madness that circulates in my brain. It’s late (well, not really late, but that word is redefined the further one proceeds into her 30s). I’m nowhere near tired. My brain is twitching from all the anti-skin mayhem drugs it’s been fed. The kitteh sleeps beside me, content to taunt me with all her cute. I blew the dust off this thing because I realized that my creative outlets have dried up. I haven’t played my piano in well over a year, there’s nothing to sing about, and my waistline is doing a convincing job of keeping the oven mitts at bay. So yes, writing it is.

So this is Southern California. Every now and then it hits me that the vast majority of my loved one are thousands of miles away. I think the drugs are doing a pretty good job of making that notion abstract. I’ve been thinking about kicking the headpill haze for a while. Seems like the buffer provided by SSRIs are more of an oilstreak across the glasses of my emotions. Feigned ignorance may be bliss, but if one can’t even appreciate bliss, what’s the good in it? Garden State. Yes. I’ve been way too happy with white walls.

The crudely animated space lobster on the TV makes far more sense to me than Fareed Zakariah. Is that wrong? I’m in my early thirties and married and all that. Shouldn’t I be concerned with worldly goings-on? Nah. I’ll leave the politics to my non-citizen husband. There’s an alcoholic robot to appease me.

So yeah, nothing profound today. Just reminding myself what it’s like to write. I’m sure the inanities of life will inspire me soon enough. Until then, it’s your resident whackaloon, signing off.


24 11 2007

I promise, I’ll get back to being funny really soon. But I just have to unload some shit first. Bear with me. I am a girl, after all.

I’m a weirdo. I’ve never seen A Christmas Story. I’d much rather read a book than watch TV. I’m a classically trained opera singer who’d sooner be swilling bourbon and screaming the blues than be twittering away onstage at The Met.

I don’t know how to date. I have no fucking idea what to do. I did the whole laid-back, chill, be with someone for the company and hope it turns into the love of your life thing, and I ended it because it didn’t. That was the longest relationship of my life, by a LONG SHOT, and it never made it past the knock-on-the-door-when-you-come-over stage. I chose to be alone rather than be taken and unfulfilled.

And here I am, on my first Friday night as a single woman in nine months, sitting in front of a computer screen.

Why, you ask?

Because I’m terrified.

PETRIFIED, truthfully.

I have no idea what to do. I don’t even know where to begin. I always freak guys out because I’m so ballsy and straight-forward, and I don’t really do the “play up to their egos” thing. I mean, what the fuck is that, really? Men have treated me like shit most of my life, and while I don’t play the victim anymore, I’m not about to act all submissive and fragile just so they’re not scared of me. I have a HUGE personality, and I pretty much steamroll most people I meet without ever intending to do so. I’m strong and I’m smart and I’m funny and a lot of people can’t keep up with me. A lot of people just don’t GET me, and they certainly can’t begin to HANDLE me.

But goddammit, I’m scared.

What if the next 15 years of dating end up like the previous 15 years, if not worse? What if I fall right back into the old pattern of unrequited yearning for men who adore me as a friend, but just don’t see me as their “type?” What if I’m (gulp) alone for the rest of my life because I just don’t know how to go about this dating thing?!?!?

What if staying with someone who isn’t right for you really IS better than being alone?

What if all this fucking crying never stops, and I grow old and tired and bitter?

Goddamn. I need a drink.

More than that, I need to be screeching my lungs out into a microphone because that’s how I need to get this shit out of my system. I’m a musician, and I haven’t touched my piano in at least 6 months. I haven’t wanted to play.

And I don’t want to play this stupid dating game, either. I just don’t understand it.



19 11 2007

It was a bad day before I got out of bed.

Then this

My friends A and A were kind enough to repair my specs well enough for me to drive to work tomorrow.


I should have stayed in bed.