This morning while eating eggs at a local Coney Island, I was positioned at the counter, in the middle of a waitress conflict. I think it revolved around the night waitresses, who are “trifling ass bitches”, not refilling or cleaning things that the day waitresses think that they should. It was an interesting half an hour of human observation.

I’m hungry. I’m so damn hungry, that all I have the energy to do is lay the side of my head on this wood floor and type this entry with one finger. Murphy the dog has the entire house to be in, and she chooses to lay across my legs and lick the floor. I am sucked in by her cuteness…until ….she starts farting….which she is doing right now. Dog/human bonding time is now officially over.

Although, to be truthful, she actually doesn’t have the run of the house since I decided to move the futon to the other bedroom and wedged it in the hallway. This has separated my house pretty much in half. I’m still not quite sure what to do about that particular dilemma.

Just so you all know….I am still looking for a personal supervisor. So, if anyone is interested, just let me know. The applications have been flooding in, but I’m having trouble deciding. I’m very particular you know.

Job duties would include:
*Listening to my dumb stories ad nauseum.
*Making sure I do not fall off things or burn the house down.
*listening to my crazy schemes politely, then skillfully diverting my attention to activities that would cause less bodily and emotional harm.
*eating food with me.
*not letting me walk out of the house if my hair or outfit looks dumb.
*giving me pep talks when I inevitably come home and fling myself on the ground crying and saying things like, “I just can’t take it anymore”, or, ” WHY, WHY, WHY is life so hard?”.

You better hurry though. I’ve been swamped. I scan through hundreds of applications a day. I’ve narrowed it down, but I’ll give it a little more time…you know….just to be sure.

I know you’ve seen this a thousand times. Even though it’s a corporate, highly effective tool to get you to buy shoes…..I love it.

Every time I watch it, I want to go buy a basketball.

*although I cheated because I really wanted to be Grahm.*

Find out which But I’m A Cheerleader girl you are.

As we have observed in experimental results, adequate tactile stimulation in general and appropriate sensory feedback in particular are absolutely crucial for the avoidance of this self-destructiveness, and so are periodic episodes of successfully resolved stress. Furthermore, it is the two former conditions (adequate stimulation and appropriate feedback) which provide the learning and the neurological bases for any successful resolutions. The unfortunate thing is-and for some individuals it is disastrous-that adequaate stimulation and appropriate feedback can be difficult to comeby in our culture.

Deprivation dwarfism, ulceration, depressed immune response, high bood pressure, and suicide by glandular secretion are merely the most extreme distortions of the normal development of essentially sound genetic materials. All degrees of deprivation or unresolved stress produce their corresponding degrees of aberration and maladaption. And these aberrations often develop just as if they were themselves genetic flaws, because they have no discernible cause-only a lack of a subtle but decisive cause for optimum health. Many of these conditions seem to be congenital only because this lack does its work quietly and slowly, and because we are never given the opportunity to compare our present condition with how we would have been had we not suffered that lack, of which we may not be aware.

I’m sitting at Starbucks talking the ear off of my friend Rob. He is supposed to be working, and instead is poliety sitting here listening to me manicly talk about nerves, reflexes and other physiology.

I was just sent as a Starbucks minion to another store to pick up espresso beans. This store had run out. Espresso beans are not something to be out of at Starbucks. I imagine if the lack went on for any amount of time, the jonesing masses would rise up and attack. Or not…..maybe I’m just talking about me.

At the other store, they made me a drink with four shots of esspresso….which I drank. Now, Rob has made me another drink with three shots of espresso…..which I am drinking. No wonder I am talking like a newly converted crazed religous zealot.

Imagine a high piched whining sound accompanied by a rythimic and fast throbbing….now you are in my head.

Since I’m on the subject of addictions, I tell you something that I am proud of. I haven’t turned on my television since I got back from Austin. It’s been about three weeks. I canceled the cable the day I got back. I almost turned it on last night, but instead, listened tothese archives.

*cindigo pats herself on the back and exits stage left*

Just one of these times when I manically yell, “That’s so crazy, it just might work!”

I would like it to work.

I was prepared to (and actually did) go to bed at a decent hour so I could get up for class tomorrow bright tailed and bushy eyed (me so funny). Unfortunately, Murphy the dog began to make these “ACCHK, ACCHK” noises while obsessively licking the floor and the futon. Since my new bed is the futon, and my new bedroom is the living room….I was awakened. I’ve let her outside where I can see through the window that she is licking the dirt out of the potted plants. I’ve got to believe her doggy instincts are leading her to do the right thing. So, instead of sleeping, I will sit up, stare out into the rainy darkness of my back yard and wait for Murphy the dog to puke.

Such a glamorous life I lead.

To all non live journal users….this might be boring….so feel free to skip this paragraph.

Most of the time, when I add someone to my friends list….they add me back. From what I have read in other people’s journals, this is pretty much the “nice” thing to do. Now….don’t get me wrong….I like the attention….but, when I came to the realization that people were adding me to their friends lists just because I added them…..the warm fuzzy-o-meter went down a few micro volts. Please people…..if you skip over my entries, every time you see my icon….take me off the list….my feelings won’t be hurt. Then I can be sure that my one dimentional, icon, words on a screen, internet friends are really my true blue one dementional, icon, words on a screen, internet friends.

On to other more interesting news:

1. I had a sick fantasy about shooting a guy in the head with a nail gun. I was going to explain why….but I’ll just leave it at that so you will think I’m crazy and dangerous.

2. I just finished coloring 12 crainal nerves. In my anatomy coloring book….not in my head.

3. I am drinking a soy carmel macciado. I went to a Starbucks that I had never been to before.

4. I’m listening to Radiohead.

Hymen breakers is exactly that - Young young girls getting their hymens broken

Click HERE to see their Hymens Shatter and Stretch

What the hell is this spam? Shatter and Stretch….OH….MY….GOD! Wrong, so, so wrong. Jane said I should call the police. We then laughed and laughed as we imagined what would happen after I called 911. I won’t bore you with specific details…use your imagination….it would be funny don’t you think?

I might just print out the page and drop it off at my local precinct. Those big fat white cops would really get out of the doughnut shop for this case. But, on second thought, if I did that, in the long run, it might impede my ability to write the word “fuck” as many times as I please in my own personal forum. So, once again I guess I will sacrifice young virginal hymens for my own personal adgenda.

*”once again”…..like I’ve sacrificed hymens for adgendas before…ummmmm…..well okay maybe once.*

Okay, after thinking about it for a while I did start to feel bad. I went to the site, and if you scroll down it assures you that all “models” are over 18. So, now I am guarenteed to get more scummy spam from internet sleeze. But not good sleeze. I would end up being bombarded by really scummy sleaze. You know….there’s that very definate clear line that we follow so everybody is clear on what is pornographic or not.

For those of you who haven’t joined “my notifylist”, here’s a sample email of the extra, value added bonus material you have been missing. Why, you ask do I want people to sign up? For the same reason I sometimes try to “like” girls. It’s a complete narssasistic need for everyone to love and pay attention to me. Men, women or robots even…..cindigo craves the external validation. Call it a deep character flaw, a inner cavernous hole filled with high fructose false emotions, a deflection from the real issues, a deep fear of true intimacy….or call it what ever you want…..just sign up, so I feel warm and fuzzy….okay?

Unless you’re my parents. And if you are my parents and you are reading this…..then you are big fat liars, because you promised that you would not read this.

I hope you know that I have IP tracking software.

I know you don’t know what that is….but just know…..I have it.

Now on to the bonus notifylist material:

Cindigodotcom

Hi peeps,

I’m in Chicago, and something horrible has happened.

*insert dramatic music here*

My parents located and read my entire journal.

*insert more dramatic music here*

I guess I sent them an email and forgot to delete the web address in the signature file. The thing is, I never would have known, except that they signed up for notifylist. DUH! Imagine my horror at that particular email.

You have 1 message:

YOUR PARENTS KNOW ALL OF YOUR DEEP DARK SECRETS, AND WILL PROBABLY USE THE INFORMATION AGAINST YOU IN SOME WAY OR ANOTHER. ALL THAT FUNNY, BUT NOT FLATTERING STUFF THAT YOU WROTE ABOUT THEM….THEY READ.

Although I’m (almost) over it now. I’m just going to pretend that it
never happened and keep writing about getting stoned, being depressed, wanting to be gay and what ever other lewd and obnoxious things I do.

Rock on peeps,
*sigh*
Cindigo

P.S. to my real paternal sista’ sledge: Mom asked if you had a journal. I said yes and gave her the URL because I wanted to deflect the heat off of me…….(joke…..I’m joking…..okay, put down the frying pan….put down….the…..AHHHHHHHH…..CLANG!)

Oh bloody hell. I just saved over this incredibly funny rant, that I just don’t think I have the energy to re create. I wrote it earlier this morning, and right now I’m feeling about as funny as….funny as….errrr…..ummmm….well, I’m feeling about as funny as something that’s really not very funny.

Things that are not funny:

Road kill
crack babies
AIDS
heartbreak
blood loss
war
famine
petulance

Things that are funny:

.
.
.
.
see….nothing in the funny column. I’m at my grandma’s house, and that’s all I have to say about that.

I am once again at the home of my birth. Well, actually, I wasn’t born here, in the house. I was born at the hospital, but I won’t go into minutia.

I was talking to a friend today. He said, “you can have adventure, and you can have comfort, but rarely do they both meet”. I said, “hmmmm”. I am usually not very comfortable, so I must have taken the first choice. No, that’s not right. I know I have chosen the first choice. But damn, comfort is so comfortable. Can’t we create a comfortable adventure. Okay, who’s in? I would like to create a comfortable adventure….any ideas?

I’m in Chicago again. I didn’t get in until one thirty am. My step dad insisted that my mom and he stay up and wait for me. I know he was trying to be nice, but I felt annoyed. Then I felt guilty for being annoyed. Then I felt angry and manipulated into trying to rush in getting there so they wouldn’t be sitting up until all hours of the morning. When I finally did get here, the lights were on, but all the doors were locked. After banging on the front door for a while, I just dropped all of my stuff and sat in the middle of the landing, annoyed, tired, cranky and an assortment of other self centered emotions.

They finally allowed me entrance, and we ate left over chicken.

I’m sleeping in the one room in the house that isn’t air conditioned. I made the sacrifice for the most comfortable bed. See, I can’t even get through one paragraph without changing my mind….adventure, comfort, adventure, comfort. Yes, I forwent the adventure of the living room couch for the comfort of the soft bed. Or, you could say, I traded the comfort of the central air, for the comfort of a cushy mattress. Or, you could say…..Cindigo……shut the hell up already.

Okay, fine, enough said on that subject. Here’s a better one…..

For whatever reasons, psychosomatic or physical, my allergies kill me when I am here. My face has broken out in blotchiness and I feel like someone has stuffed gauze down my throat.

I know, sometimes I share too much, but it makes me feel like we’re having an actual conversation.

I just took the garbage out. That’s reality…not a metaphor….in case you were wondering.

I know that I have brilliant and interesting things to tell you….only, I can’t remember them right now. So, in lieu of that, I will write some uncensored, random and bad (bad meaning bad, not bad meaning good) haiku:

what time is it now
it’s much later than you think
i don’t have a watch

i wish i was tall
then i would get some respect
not like things are here

sounds from the kitchen
i am the only person
maybe it’s a ghost

there is a monster
he lives under the futon
i call him leroy

i heard fairy tales
just like other little girls
that’s child abuse

bitten kanker sore
it hurts like a fucking bitch
seems to never heal

processor humming
it’s too late to be awake
i won’t go away

i think about you
and then i think about me
i think about you

there are x people
thinking that the you is them
but only i know

I wrote this when I was 16. Funny….doesn’t seem like I’ve changed all that much.

Nice crack about my mom having “wrinkles and bags”. Such the charmer….even back then.

this masterful image….. sincerely proves…..my intense and blinding happiness….love of human kind and…..the true desire to bring joy and sunshine to all I come in contact with.

I thought I would stay along the lines of cute animals and drugs. Because isn’t it common knowledge that when those two things are combined…hilarity ensues. 2 funny picture posts means that I feel great. If I felt any better, they might just put me away because of the gaiety and joyous nature that is exuding from the core of my being.

I’m feeling much better today. See, I’m posting funny pictures from ratatak.

Funny=feeling better…..right?

my pants are black
my earrings never come out
I have a highly flexible sense of discipline
I learned about the physiology of spiders this morning
my kitchen is dirty
my heart is bruised
I have a burn on my finger from cooking
my metal lampshade is bent from when I dropped it on the floor
when my friends make fun of me, it’s not funny
my grass is not long
I am going to take a shower shortly
my cat is old
I am old
I try to have good posture, but it doesn’t always work
I am still thinking about getting my nose re pierced
I’m lonely but not hungry
angry but not tired
my coffee, half finished is sitting on the kitchen counter
I left the back door open and now there are flies everywhere
I miss my dog
I need supervision
I want supervision
my thoughts are not always nice
my attitude is not always good
I don’t want to inspire
I want to be inspired
I don’t want to teach
I want to learn
I don’t want to suffer
I want hugs and kisses
I want to be “the most important”
sometimes I am charming
most of the time I am alone
I am not charming when I am alone
I like to write
I like to read
I like to eat in restaurants
……Now I am taking a shower

Flour and many other carbohydrates become explosive when they are hanging in the air as dust. It only takes 1 or 2 grams of dust per cubic foot of air (50 or so grams per cubic meter) for the mixture to be ignitable. Flour grains are so tiny that they burn instantly. When one grain burns, it lights other grains near it, and the flame front can flash through a dust cloud with explosive force. Just about any carbohydrate dust, including sugar, pudding mix, fine sawdust, etc., will explode once ignited.

When you hear about an explosion in a grain elevator on the news, this is what has occurred. A spark or a source of heat has ignited the dust in the air and it has exploded.

1. Why are upper crusty rich people called “blue blood”? Blue blood is blood that doesn’t have oxygen in it. This doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe “blue” is for icy cold bitchiness.

2. What IS peroxide?

3. Another theory that I came up with for Texas being the “lone star” state. USA=50 stars on the flag. Texans, those rugged individuals want a lone star, a nation unto itself.

I have no choice but to think about, 4. The “Dream Cruise” . It’s that time of year again. Once a year for a week, classic cars and the dumb asses who own them converge on Royal Oak and the surrounding areas. It is a nightmare. The streets are clogged, crowds of drunk morons are sitting all over 24 hours a day while people drive three miles an hour up and down Woodward, the main street normal people need to use to get anywhere. It’s sponsored by the lame oldies station and car companies. For most people who actually live here, it is annoying and getting worse every year.

I wanted to make shirts that said “I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING CAR!” In fact….I still might. Although I might get my ass kicked. It might just be worth it.

(p.s….I would like to add….for the record…cindigo does not think that all people that own classic cars are morons. She in fact would not mind owning a vintage truck. BUT, in this particular case, during this particular week…ALL PEOPLE WHO PARTICIPATE IN THE WOODWARD AVENUE DREAM CRUISE….suck.

If I were a christian, or had no sense of personal responsiblity, I would think that for a few moments today, Satan or one of his evil demons, possesed me.

and that’s all I’m saying about that……

I was going to write another bit of zainy Austin-ness. But first I have to tell you that I’m not so cranky as yesterday. The universe put three mom like women in my life today that completely inspired and cheered me on. It was exactly what I needed. I’m really liking this “ask and ye shall receive” karma I seem to have going on lately. I wonder if it extends to large cash gifts?

On to the zainy story:

3:21: Jamming to AC/DC Back in Black. How is it that the majority of the population in the south wants to hear and talk about sports and god?

5:15: I just slept for 20 minutes laying across the front seat. The only reason I woke up was because I was baking like a chicken in the oven of my black truck. Because of this, I had developed a severe headache and my tongue seemed to be superglued to the roof of my mouth. I decided it would be in my best interest to get a McFlurry (TM) <—fake ice cream chemical crap w/ crunched up oreos. I’m writing this entry from the shoulder of I-56. Bon Jovi (random radio, not from my CD collection) is blasting in the background as I am trying to recover from puking an entire McFlurry (TM) from the open passenger door onto the grass. The stress, the chemicals, the headache…..cindigo dot com’s stomach just couldn’t take it NO MORE.

It didn’t help matters that there had been a particular semi that has been honking at me throughout the day. The first time he did it, I thought that maybe something was wrong with my truck, or something had flown out of the back. The second time, later on in the day he did it again. I foolishly looked to my right. He waved and started making kissy faces. I sped away, disgusted, while having Thelma and Louise type fantasies in my head. The third, and most infuriating time was, yes, just now, while I was puking McFlurry onto the grass. HONK! HONK!

I’m listening to the processor, listening to the street sounds. The cat is sitting close. The light is hurting my eyes. I have a thousand Doritio’s poking at my stomach. I wish I was not here. I wish I was someone else. I wish I had a magic lamp that wouldn’t play Jedi mind tricks with me.

We were smoking the pot….it made me all sullen. Sullen is not attractive. I have more Austin hijinks to write, but not now. Now is the time at cindigodotcom where we bitch and moan and latch on to the pointless dead horse of inhumanity and injustice of existential existence and beat it.

“THUMP! THUMP! SQUISH! OH, THE INHUMANITY AND THE INJUSTICE!”

There, I feel much better now.

No, I don’t really feel better. But, I thought that would be a nice clean end to an entry. That little bit of baby poop wrapped up in a pamper and thrown out in the trash. Because I feel like a big baby.

I want my mom. But not MY mom. Another mom….like a t.v. mom that will listen to me and have deep words of wisdom that she will offer to me that will inspire me and help me to get off of this stoned sullen pouty trip that I am on right now.

Where is Mrs. Garret when you need her. Carol Brady….911 emergency.

Random story that just came into my head:

When I was little, I used to pretend that I lived at the League of Justice with the Superfriends. They would go out and fight crime and basically, I would just live there and take care of stuff while they were out. But it was okay, because, they were never gone all at the same time. If Batman was out kicking some ass, Wonderwoman was always available. If Wonderwoman was flying around in her glass plane with her lasso of truth, Aquaman always had a joke and a smile. Besides cooking and keeping the Leauge of Justice tidy, one of my jobs was to help run the super computer with all of the colorful square buttons. I don’t really remember specifically what I did with the computer. I think mostly The Green Lantern or somebody would call on it like a videophone, and I woud take messages for other Superfriends.

I really liked fake living there. It was nice. Gee, i just though of something……making your way in the world today takes everything I’ve got. Taking a break from all my worries sure would help a lot. I would like to get away. Because, sometimes I want to go where everybody knows my name, and they’re always glad I came. I want to be where I can see, troubles are all the same. I want to be where everybody knows my name.

to Austin v.2

4:41 PM Cracker Barrel restraunt / I-56: I remember eating here once and having a strong opinion about this place. I can’t for the life of me remember if it was a strong good opinion, or a strong bad opinion.

Before I left, my stepfather warned me repeatedly of the dangers of the road. The first few comments were fine, even a little endearing. Then as usual, he just kept going. As if his perpetual comments about “the climate of the day” and ” the foolishness of a woman alone who would be stupid enough to stop at a rest area” were not enough. He brought out the newspaper. He had taken the liberty the night before to circle in red marker, every instance of violence in the Chicagoland area. He then gave me pepper spray while somehow bringing “THE JEWS” into the picture. But really, I guess he has a point about that last part. Look what those heathens did to our lord and saviour…I shudder to think what kind of carniage “THE JEWS” could reak on a frail, innocent like myself.

5:32 PM: Aaron Nevil is on the radio singing about how great milk is…I’m switching to a CD. Yes I know it’s corporate rock….but sometimes it’s a guilty pleasure.

Sometimes, I feel the fear of
Uncertainty stinging clear.
And I can’t help but ask
Myself how much I’ll let the
Fear take the wheel and steer.

It’s driven me before, and it seems to
Have a vague, haunting mass appeal.
But lately I am beginning to find that
I should be the one behind the wheel.

Chorus:
Whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there
With open arms and open eyes, yeah.
Whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there,
I’ll be there…

So if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of
The hive
Will I choose water over wine and hold my own
And drive?

It’s driven me before and it seems to be the way
That everyone else gets
Around.
But lately I’m beginning to find that
When I drive myself
My light is found.

(Chorus)

(Would you kill the Queen to crush the hive?)

Would you choose
Water over wine…
Hold the wheel
And drive?