I bought a pair of red pants today.

I have never owned a pair of red pants before. I brought them home and cut them off below the knee. I thought they would look better that way. They did. It gave me a great sense of satisfaction chopping them. They did start to fray and I ended up lighting my knee on fire trying to melt the nylon together with a lighter. Why I thought I could do this with the pants on is beyond me. But once I took them off to finish the job, everything was fine.

I feel very jaunty in my red pants.

I have the television on in the background. Do you believe that 7-11 is actually advertising go-go tacitos as food. They spent a bunch of money to make people want to buy toxic waste out of an unsanitary, greasy, heated cabinet next to the cash register. Corporate America sucks. No, that’s not true. Corporate America is only pandering to what we ask for. So, we suck…. generally…..80% of the time, we suck. Or, if I weren’t being so harsh, I would say, 80% of the time we take the path of least resistance.

And I unfortunately have to include myself. I do not want to. I wish I were better, stronger, faster but alas…not true. I ate FAST FOOD today! I was driving around (as I do often do) thinking and roaming when I realized that I had not eaten yet and I was hungry. Minutes before I was reminising about Coca-Cola and the good times that were had while drinking it in my youth. A Wendy’s appeared like an evil beacon in the sky. My resolve caved in the face of hunger and nostalgia and I ordered a dead cow combo meal. For shame, for shame. When I was coasting into the drive thru, I felt like I was buying herion or something. Rediculous.

I origianlly started this rant to write about why I went to the mall in the first place. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s very interesting. We had a “charting” class in school yesterday. I’m starting work in the student clinic next week, and we have to be able to somewhat tell what is “wrong” with a client’s posture and be able to write it on their chart. I thought the mall would be a great place to be able to watch people walk around natuarally and observe bad posture, pelvic tilts and rotated spines. It was almost a painfull experience. I wanted to run up to several people and just tell them to give me a few minutes of their time so I could stretch their arms or open up their rib cages. Fortunately, I had the forsight to contol myself and was not escorted out by mall security.

Interesting…I was re-reading this before I posted it. In the last line where is says “to control”, I had typed “no control”. Hmmmmm….what would Dr. Freud say?

Just don’t looovvvvvee your mac.

Is it so wrong, for a girl to sleep in bed with her laptop?

I had planned on writing some very amusing, insightful, deep and meaningful things here tonight. Oh man, oh man, oh man, it was going to be good. Instead, I talked to a drunk friend at an ungodly hour (yes you drunkey) who never should have been on the road.

that is all to report from cindigo dot com.

Two muffins are baking in an oven. One muffin says to the other, “Hey, man, it’s getting pretty hot in here.”

“Holy shit!” the other muffin replies. “A talking muffin!”

I am such an asshole. No, really, it’s true. Alma just called and here is a paraphrased transcript of the conversation:

Almie: Hey, Cindigo
Cindigo: Hi
Almie: What’s wrong?
Cindigo: Nothing. What do you mean?
Almie: You sound like you’re crying or something.
Cindigo: Wha? Me? (sniffle, sniffle) no.
Almie: Who’s there with you?
Cindigo: No one, just me and Murphy the dog. We’re watching a movie. (pause) Oh fine, I’m watching a really sappy, stupid girly movie by myself and I’m crying. And whatever, it’s a fucking Brad Pitt movie.
Almie: Shut up (as is no way)

Now I’m done and the evil television is off. I was thinking of a million things I wanted to write about. Now that I have started, they seemed to have vanished into thin air. I’m just going to go into the back yard and lay on the cement patio. I’ll look up at the sky and Murphy the dog and I will sophomorically contemplate life.

I’m watching old school X Files. I’ve been driving around in my black truck. I drove to the east side from the west side. I was going ot stop at several places, then I decided not to. I ended up going by places I used to live and hang out at. I was nostaligic and weepy. Then I drove home. Now I’m watching X Files.

Last night, in my fit of sleeplessness, I became enraged. The focus of my anger was at the girl who cut my hair. Petty? Displaced? Yeah, I know. It will grow back. But, I’ve been growing it for months. She didn’t seem to hear the part where I told her that I had been trying to grow it out, coupled with the several pictures to back up my vision.

It doesn’t look bad, and people have told me that it looks good…with no prompting and coaxing from me. The major problem that I have is, to make it look “right”, I have to put alot, ALOT of product in it, and basically, it feels gross. No more wake up, get out of bed and go for cindigodotcom. I have to spend ten minutes putting goop in it and messing it up so I look like I just woke up and left the house. If I don’t, I just look like a stupid mushroom….and really, who wants to look like a stupid mushroom.

It’s three am.

I’m not sleeping. I think there’s a song in there somewhere. I went to bed at one tossed and turned for an hour, took a shower and am here

now

not sleeping.

My jaw is clenched shut. My stomach is rumbling. I don’t have my glasses on. All of the letters are blurring together and glowing. Before I got back into bed, I went to the fridge and ate three mouthfulls of cold black eyed peas and a few bites of fish. I did this uncerimoniously, not even taking the blue plastic plate covered with saran wrap off of the wire shelf. I have class tomorrow at ten am. I’m considering not going. But I always say that, then I always go. I listen to a car drive by as I look at the clock again. Three oh eight am.

Before dinner, one of my assigned duties was to take all of the tiny, gold foiled, individually wrapped butters out of the freezer, peel them and arrange them on a small plate.

I’m tired. I’m really tired. Whenever I talk to my family I always feel like I’m preparing myself to take a punch to the head. It can get downright exhausting.

I wish you were here….of course….unless you’re someone I don’t like…then, I’m glad you’re not here because it would just add to my distress.

I went to Starbucks at 10:08 and it was closed. I felt sad. I felt sad and decaffinated. Deflated, sad and decafinated.

I wasn’t sure if decaf had one ‘f’ or two. So I just spelled it both ways. I’m sure with the energy I have just taken up with thinking and writing about it, I could have just as easily spell checked it. But really, where’s the fun in that?

I’m looking at that stupid green freaking ugly as frog. I think I might just kick it again for good measure.

I miss you….of course…unless you’re someone that….well….you know.

Jackie and Ralph have arrived. You don’t know them. I don’t think you would want to. They are old. They always comment on my hair or my clothes disapprovingly. Ralph is a retired orthapedic surgeon. He (in my opinion) has a god complex. They are boring and not fun. I hear the converstation in the other room. They are talking about Catholicism. For some reason my mother has brought up J-Lo and Madonna. What my mother knows about these two people is 0%. Everyone is being seated. My assigned duty is to pour drinks. I have to get back before my mothers starts shouting my name.

My mother keeps asking why the frog keeps chirping at random times for no reason. I did not mention that I kicked it.

I’m in Chicago. It’s father’s day, and since I made it for mother’s day, I thought I would be fair. I stayed at my sister’s house yesterday and just drove in to the parents. I’ve been here for an hour.

When I walked through the front door there was a strange gurguling chirping noise coming from the floor. It startled me and I spun around and kicked and stomped my foot in the general direction of the noise. I kicked a green cat size plastic frog with a motion sensor. I took a breath and realized that it wasn’t some sort of rabbid possum or squirel that had snuck in the house. My fight response turned into half amusement and half annoyance at the woman with whom I share 1/2 my DNA. I can’t tell if she put it there for some kind of bizarre security system, or for her own amusement.

I can hear them walking around upstairs, but they don’t know I’ve arrived. My grandma is in the living room watching Emiril. I should go say hello, but I need a few more minutes of silence.

One of my favorite things is lip gloss. I have it lying in various places throughout the house…in my pencil jar, junk drawer, car change container. It makes me feel better. My favorite one is Dr. Pepper Bonnie Bell lip gloss. I also like the sparkle vanilla, but that one usually gets sparkles all over the place within the first five minutes of application. There’s a rasberry plum spf 15 lip balm laying next to me on the table.

That’s all….I just wanted to say that.

I just finished a lovely dinner of edamame (sans pods) and a chic boca burger. Oh the protein is just coursing through my veins.

I’m listening to Charlie Sexton’s Beat So Lonely….

that’s all.

“She hesitates, but the beat will never stop.”

Oh, poor, poor Cindigo sitting on her blue velvetey futon eating her edamame. People are dying and starving around the world, but Cindigo doesn’t feel good. Cindigo is driving around suburbia in her truck with a janet jackson phone head set and a triple venti soy carmel macciado.

Cindigo is a over privelaged spoiled American white girl.

“Beat so lonely
if you let it be that way”

I guess I’m letting it be that way.

Cindigo Crankypants

I’m thinking about my former crush. I have to see him a few times a week and sometimes I feel like punching in his big fat playa’ head.

Boys, when you already have a girlfriend and a cute girl starts being all flirty, flirty with you, it is proper form to work said girlfriend into the conversation almost imediaetly. Here is an example from Comp USA today:

red shirt guy: Can I help you find anything.
me: yeah, I’m looking for a new mouse.
red shirt guy: mac? (smile)
me: yeah, mac. (smile) Is there a warranty on these (pointing) optical really expensive ones (one step closer).
red shirt guy: (picks up expensive mouse and hands it to me) one year, just bring in your reciept. (doesn’t let go of the other end of the box while I’m holding on to it).
me: actually, I already have one of these. But….it just stopped working.
red shirt guy: (smiling, definate chemistry) Do you have the reciept?
me: Well, okay, actually I may have accidentally bashed it into a table. I was thinking that maybe if I just kept it very still, it might regenerate.
red shirt guy: (laughs, pauses, then takes a step back) yeah, my girlfriend did that too. I came downstairs, and there was just a cord with no mouse on the end.
me:(smiles) I think I’m good. I’m just going to stay here for a while and contemplate pros and cons of mice.
red shirt guy: (smiles) okay, good luck.

That is good form.

Believe it or not, this is not the first time I have been insanely attracted to a big fat jackass. The first time, when I found out, the first ass had made me “the other woman”,I asked how he could do something like this. His response, “If I told you, you never would have gone out with me.” It was like three months into the relationship and nothing but pain and misery followed.

jackass

Ironically, Peter Gabriel just started playing from my randomized mp3’s.

don’t give up
‘cos you have friends
don’t give up
you’re not beaten yet
don’t give up
I know you can make it good

Thank you universe….as I go walk Murphy the dog.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts.
Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Perfect. I have struggled with the words to describe some of the decisions that I have made about people in the distant and recent past. I would go into long diatribes listing examples, weighing pros and cons of relationships, asking questions, trying to get others to cosign and validate my feelings….when all I needed was these two sentences.

I know I said I was going to bed, but I didn’t.

Random information: If you go to google and type in “if only I could make a deal with god” my site is first on the list.

Now, I’m really going to bed.

Just thought I would keep checking to see if I had officially turned gay or not.

I have a funny story about my mom thinking that I was going to tell her I was a lesbian….but I’m too tired right now. If you really want to hear it, remind me, and I’ll tell you.

I had a Thai Yurvedic (Thai massage) class today. Basically it’s like being beat up very politely. So, although I have funny and interesting stories to tell, I and my bruises are going to bed now.

The following is a letter read by Claire Braz-Valentine, author, at this year’s In Celebration of the Muse, Cabrillo College. It is worth knowing that the author is a woman of 60+ years, conservatively dressed and obviously quite talented.
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AN OPEN LETTER TO JOHN ASHCROFT, ATTORNEY GENERAL OF THE UNITED STATES

On January 28, 2002, Attorney General John Ashcroft announced that he spent $8,000 of taxpayer’s money for drapes to cover up the exposed breast of The Spirit of Justice, an 18 ft aluminum statue of a woman that stands in the Department of Justice’s Hall of Justice.

John, John, John, you’ve got your priorities all wrong. While men fly airplanes into skyscrapers, dive bomb the pentagon, while they stick explosives into their shoes, and then book a seat right next to us, while they hide knives in their luggage, steal kids on schoolbuses, take little girls from their beds at night, drive trucks into our state capital buildings, while our president calls dangerous men all over the world evil doers and devils, while we live in the threat of biological warfare, nuclear destruction, annihilation, you are out buying yardage to save Americans from
the appalling alarming, abominable aluminum alloy of evil, that terrible ten foot tin tittie.

You might not be able to find Bin Laden, but you sure as hell found the hooter in the hall of justice. It’s not that we aren’t grateful. But while we were begging the women of Afghanistan to not cover up their faces, you are begging your staff members to just cover up that nipple, to save the American people from that monstrous metal mammary. How can we ever thank you?

So, in your office every morning, in your secret prayer meeting, while an American woman is sexually assaulted every 6 seconds, while anthrax floats around the post office and settles in the chest of senior citizens, you’ve got another chest on your mind. While American sons arrive home in body bags and heat seeking missiles fly around a foreign country looking for any warm
body, you think of another body. And you pray for the biggest bra in the world.

John, you see that breast on the Spirit of Justice in the spirit of your own inhibited sexuality. And when we women see our grandmothers, our mothers, our daughters, our granddaughters, our sisters, ourselves, when we women see that statue, the Spirit of Justice, we see the spirit of strength, the
spirit of survival. Every day we view innocent bodies dragged out of rubble, and women and children laid out like thin limp dolls and baptized into death as collateral damage, and we see the hollow-eyed Afghani mother whose milk has dried up underneath her burka in famine, in shame, and her children are dead at her breast.

While you look at that breast, John, that jug on the Spirit of Justice, and deal with your thoughts of lust and sex and nakedness, we see it as a testimony to motherhood.

You see it as a tit.

It’s not the money it cost. It’s the message you send. We’ve got the right to live in freedom. We’ve got the right to cheat Americans out of millions of dollars and then just not want to tell congress about it.

We’ve got the right to drop bombs, night and day, on a small country that has no army, no navy, no military at all, because we’ve got the right to bear arms. But we just better not even think about the right to bare breasts.

So now John, you can be photographed while you stand there and talk about guns and bombs and poisons without that breast appearing over your right shoulder, without that bodacious bosom bothering you and we just wanted to tell you in the spirit of justice, in the spirit of truth……

John, there is still one very big boob left standing there in that picture.

I just paid my cell bill this month. I used 2600 minutes of airtime. Is this excessive? Keep in mind that it is my only phone.

I was in line at Starbuck’s talking on my phone to Laura (I know bougie and gross). I was trying to talk with my hand over the receiver because we were talking about lesbian strip bars. When I got to the register, I took the phone away from my ear and said to the barrista, “You hate me don’t you?”. She smirked and nodded her head slowly in affrimation.

I know my cell phone use is out of control. But it’s a disease…I have no control.

There is no such thing as cellanon.

I was just looking through some schedules of classes online that I might take in the future. I stoped and did a double take…I thought they were offering competitive wrestling.

It was actually creative writing.

Snatched from ziuxan
who snatched it from crimony and thrillkillkate

Answer the questions using the lyrics of a single band:

**Male or Female?**
I’m just a girl
I’m just a girl in the world…

**Describe yourself**
For all my niggaz livin’ in the rush
Slow it down just a notch baby
It’s goin’ be alright, it’s goin’ be alright

**How do others feel about you?**
We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn
We laughed in the faces of kings
Never afraid to burn

or

You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down
You only call me when you’re down

or

5 AM, Friday morning
Thursday night, far from sleep
I’m still up and driving
Can’t go home, obviously
So I’ll just change direction
Cause they’ll soon know where I live
And I wanna live, got a full tank and some chips

**How do you feel about yourself?**
I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, ’cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, still I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all

**How do you feel about life?**
While I crawl into the unknown
Cover me
I’m going hunting for mysteries
Cover me
I’m going to prove the impossible really exists
This is really dangerous
Cover me
But worth all the effort
Cover me
I’m going to prove the impossible really exists

**What would you rather be doing?**
Dance the night away
Party till the sun comes up
Go grab a friend, get on the floor
Come on and dance, dance, dance with me
DJ if you please

**Describe where you live**
That’s why the city is filled with a bunch of fuckin idiots still (still)
That’s why the first motherfucker poppin some shit he gets killed (killed)
That’s why we don’t call it Detroit, we call it Amityville (’Ville)
You can get capped after just havin a cavity filled (filled)
Ahahahaha, that’s why we’re crowned the murder capital still (still)
This ain’t Detroit, this is motherfuckin Hamburger Hill! (Hill!)
We don’t do drivebys, we park in front of houses and shoot
and when the police come we fuckin shoot it out with them too!
That’s the mentality here (here) that’s the reality here (here)
Did I just hear somebody say they wanna challenge me here?? (huh?)

**Share a few words of wisdom**
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

**Describe your feelings right now**
Girl I didn’t know you could get down like that
Charlie, how your Angels get down like that
Girl I didn’t know you could get down like that
Charlie, how your Angels get down like that

**What’s love**
aerials, in the sky
when you lose small mind
you free your life
life is a waterfall
we drink from the river
then we turn around and put up our walls

I received this letter from my peep/her majesty’s food taster Almie. She thought I had sent it to her as some kind of joke. Apparently one of my old friends gave this guy my URL thinking that he might like me.

Hmmm, I’m guessing he doesn’t.

I was a little creepified by the whole random email….especially the ending….but then remembered the mission statement of cindigodotcom………

Any attention is good attention <—–sarcastic comment for COMEDIC effect. Get it FUNNY.

Geesh dude, lighten up.

I’m not sure if I feel intrusive or insipid…
Leslie, I want to thank you personally for the link to Cindigo.com. It was definitely the way to get me to stop asking you about her. I thought if you liked her, I might. But after reading and reading into her website, it’s painfully obvious that you were right. I would not like her. I get the feeling that as many creative things her and I might share, I think her depth is refracted through the volume of her words. As fun as it would be to show her that she isn’t the deepest person on Earth, I doubt she could tread through an hour of my views on life and our planet. Luv ya Leslie.

To the linked filter-friends; Hello and good day. My name is Ric and I have no intentions of submitting my qualifications as a person. I find the whole idea insulting. I would be curious to find out if she arranged your links on her website as; How was it put?, “applicants to be screened by”, or something? Forgive me for sounding a little inciteful, it’s a curious defense reaction, but it just seems ridiculous to characterize one’s friends as underlings to serve as her majesty’s food-taster. Do guys actually write you and ask to be examined by you, before they can attempt to be romantic with someone who’s greatest fear seems to be intimacy?

Cindi, no offense, but there are good men out there. And they don’t want to be scrutinized or interrogated, especially by third parties. If you feel the need to mention you requirements for Mr. Right(now), you might mention something reflecting your positivity, rather than your abundant skepticism. I didn’t want to believe her, but Leslie knows me pretty well. Good luck!

oh yeah, I did want to comment on one thing;

Every young boy is a killer; God gave him that instinct to hunt for his family.
Is malice what’s needed to kill things? Is one life’s extinguishment murder? Life is to live. But not for yourself, live for us all.
The creatures that cannot appreciate life have no need for our judgement. They have no verdict for pain and suffering.
Our guilt surrounds death as hatred. An end to a life can serve us all, or at least 4-6 or your dinner guests.
The man you fear has no conscience or humility for life. The man you seek has killed or maimed small animals, but he has learned the lesson and the beauty of life and would kill or maim to protect it.
I’m sure your instincts are good. How is your heart?