It’s fucking seven fucking fifty four am.

fuck

I know people all over the world get up at this time and even earlier every day but…..

fuck

that is all.

It’s Friday night. I just got out of a class that started at 8:30 this morning and was supposed to go until 7:00 pm. Crikee. This same thing will happen tomorrow and Sunday. It’s crazy, both in the ungodly hour of 8:30 am and the class itself.

It’s one of those “crunch yo ass up” classes. Where when I pull my Bruce Lee / Jet Li / Yoda moves on “yo ass”. You will be stunned in disbelief. Your eyes get all wide with the expression, “What the fuck?”. Yes kids, after Sunday I will have the technology to decompress your cranium. I bet you didn’t know that your cranium needed decompressing. But fortunately, I’m here to tell you….it does…..and…..I’m just the bad ass, hard core, tough mutha to do it.

I’m hungry as hell….for food that is. Good thing I’m going to eat dinner at
Ania’s<-----segue for me to mention Ania on cindigodotcom and put up a beautiful picture of her and me practicing the afore mentioned cranial decompression while drinking beers.

I got this email a while ago.

Hi. I am moanshine and if you do a search for “moanshine” in Google this comes up……

~m

This email has inspired me to make my very first LJ poll.

Maybe if Moanshine sent me five bucks, I would change his name. I would completely delete the post for twenty. Oh forget it, don’t even vote….it’s not coming down. That’s the beauty of “this here web”, people have the freedom to ask to show you their genitals, and people have the freedom to comment on people who ask.

I’m sitting in Starbucks in the puffy brown chair listening to horrid music, with many horn type instruments. Do the barrista’s not hear this? I would point it out, but I know they would just try to be funny and turn it up.

I went over to my friend Ania’s house to get a professional….yes, she done did graduate from massage school…….massage. I was on the table and lifted my head out of the face cradle and turned it to the side for a minute to talk to her. When I turned back and put my head down, I came face to face with the two yellow tiger eyes of Ania’s cat. The cat looked at me. I looked at him. Then, very purposefully, said cat, balled up his paw into a tiny cat fist and punched me directly in the eye. I was shocked and jerked my head and torso off the table giving Ania’s temporary roommate who had come in to change clothes for two seconds a free show.

I hope he appreciated it…I usually charge for that sort of thing.

Which reminds me of a conversation that I had with GUS earlier today. Here’s a picture of gus from ten years ago, when we were young and full of youthful vitality.

on second thought, I don’t really feel like re creating the whole conversation. The jist was, he was telling me about some famous guy was arrested for paying a thirteen year old boy to have sex with him and taping it. My first response was, “I wonder how much he paid the kid?”. This was followed by Gus laughing hysterically and telling me I was terribly twisted.

Which leads me to my second official LJ poll….

One last thing…….

Does everyone know that “food processor” is not the European word for “blender”. That blenders and a food processors are two completely different items.

Amazing,

it’s fucking snowing.

fuck

Okay kids….I’ll get on the bandwagon too.

Cindy has exclusive photos
Cindy has a new 2003 calendar
Cindy is a gossip columnist
Cindy won the cute site award!
Cindy offers the best in contemporary and traditional folk music
Cindy is so addictive
Cindy has a cross referenced linked and categorized genealogy list
Cindy designs websites
Cindy discusses deaf issues
Cindy is your guide to hundreds of sites about horse racing

turquoise pleather foam
I’m looking at this coffee
anatomy books

White plastic arm bones
bending at the wrong angle
this is serious

two hundred dollars
gotten from the internet
skull without a name

flourescent lights hum
the door opens then clicks shut
a student teacher

where am I again?
where am I supposed to be?
what time is it now?

if I had a dime
falling, punching and kicking
drowning in silver

the print of my lip
processed white plastic drink lid
source of some comfort

knock over my coffee
disrupt the quietness
make me defensive

Here is an entry from last week. I am distracted by a multitude of things……

I am awake at 8:30 am on a Saturday morning. I am in a room with books, a computer, a white cement floor and the futon I passed out last night. The last thing I remember is zombiechu taking off my shoes and covering me with a multi colored afghan. I also remember calling Mr. X at his sister’s house in Chicago at some sort of ungodly hour. I was tripping over ridiculously short bushes as I shouted into the phone, “Would you still love me if I cut the eyeballs out of dead people?”

The question was in reference to a job that I was talking about with some people at the party who did it for a living. They worked for an eye bank and wore pagers. When someone died, the would go and get their eyes so they could be transplanted into living people. A noble career, don’t you think? They said the only requirements were, the ability to deal with dead people and trauma, some basic knowledge of anatomy and physiology and steady hands to cut a perfect circle. All about me, right?

I just went into the bathroom and realized that I had bright red lipstick all over my face. It was used last night on me and vyvyanbasterd as punishment for showing up with no costumes. VB and I fully intended on wearing our costumes, but after going to the parade the night before and being mobed by asian people wanting pictures and hispanic people trying to punch us through our foam padding, we said enough was enough.

The original costumes included four people: A chef, a hot dog (fucking perro calliente), an egg (fucking huevo) and me, the pickle (fucking….what the fuck are you?). A surprising number of people guessed correctly by shouting loudly, “Hey! Burgertime!” (for those of you who don’t know, it was an old school 80’s video game)

In the car on the way to the festivities, I had two complaints about being the pickle. The first being, the other three characters could exist on their own merits, while I was just a condiment. My second complaint was that, no on was going to know what I was. The second complaint turned out to be a pretty realistic prediction.

Things people shouted from the crowd:

1. “Hey….lettuce!”

2. “Broccoli????”

3. “Look at that big cucumber!”

4. An extremely drunk man ran at me with a video camera running at me screaming “OH MY GOD! IT’S A FUCKING AVOCADO!”

5. An extremely drunk girl wanted a picture. She slurred, “I knew you were a pickle man”, then screamed, “FAKE HEADBUTT!” put her hand over her forehead and bashed me in the face with her protected head.

6. When we were leaving, there was a man selling pizza from a truck. He had a megaphone. He turned it on, looked at men and said in a booming, echoing voice, “WHAT ARE YOU? A MOLDY PANCAKE?!”

Most of the night was spent with me randomly yelling, “I’M A PICKLE….A PICKLE!!!” With the chef, hot dog and egg joining in with “SHE’S A PICKLE!”

I’m so glad I used my time in Austin responsibly and productively. (Unfortunately, I do not have a sarcasm font, so, just know that if I did, that last sentence would be written in it, bolded at 64 points)

I’ve been trying to write a journal entry. I am very rusty. It’s been a little over two weeks, and already my fingers barely remember where the letters are. I am early for my plane.I thought it was leaving at twelve thirty, and in reality it was two thirty. Not that this is shocking behavior for the likes of me. Fortunately, it’s not the other way around, which has been know to happen once in a while. Now I have more time to write, and nothing seems to be flowing out of my head. There’s jazz playing over the speakers in the background. I think the horns may be blocking my creative flow. Really, right now, I’m just content sitting in this grey chair watching all of the people walk around and interact.

The flight attendants that are checking people in are talking about going to pointless meetings for hours on end. They all agree that shopping in Beijing is the best. One of the women is looks like Hillary Clinton but fat. She has on very bright red lipstick along with other pancake makeup and blue eye shadow that makes her look like she’s wearing a kabuki mask. I decided that out of all four women there, I liked her the least. Then she started singing, “high ho, high ho, it’s off to work we go” in a surprisingly soft and sweet voice, for seemingly no reason. It made me like her more.

Someone just sat down by me. I can tell he’s trying to think of something to say to start a conversation. I’m assuming he sat down because of my titanium laptop. I’m also assuming that he sat down one foot away from me when there are hundreds of other more comfortable seats available because I am a girl…..with boobs. Maybe that’s an egotistical and narsisistic assumption, but, he looks the type.

He rolled his carry on bag next to me and swiveled it so that I could see that he is a designer from the business card he has wedged behind the clear plastic cover in his luggage tag. He’s drinking Starbuck’s too. Maybe he thinks we’re kindred spirits or something. He’s yawning, shifting, getting situated and generally trying to get me to look up. Finally, he comes up with something. “Hey, that’s a really cool handle you have on your laptop. Did that come with it?” I tell him, “no it didn’t. A friend bought it for me as a present. I don’t know if they make them for a Sony Viao.” I look back at my screen. He coughs and shifts more trying to come up with something else and then settles down and starts typing.

Security has made me go to a different seat. I was sitting too close to the random screening area. They probably thought I was dangerous or something. You know….because I’m tough and all that.

My new position across from the Cinnabon kiosk and the flight arrival / departure information screens is much better. A woman has just gotten off of a service cart. She tipped the driver the dollar she had clutched tightly in her left hand and carefully and purposefully got out of the cart. She then focused on a seat two away from mine and steadily and determinedly walked a quick, straight but somewhat frail line to it. She is in her mid to late sixties. She is wearing a blue navy car coat with an American flag embroidered on the chest, an American flag silk scarf tied around her neck and an American flag printed tote bag. She smells strongly of Elizabeth Arden perfume. Although her hair is dyed blond, it isn’t brassy. It looks like she curls it, most likely with rollers. Her black plastic glasses are perched on her nose secured with a black cord attached to the arms that is looped around the back of her neck. She is wearing light blue eye makeup and white canvas tennis shoes. She is interesting to me. I notice that she has a wedding ring on her finger, but no husband in sight. I turn to my right and stare at her for eight seconds. She doesn’t notice me. I was going to ask her where her husband is. Since she doesn’t seem to want to be bothered, I won’t.
————————————————————————–
Some things I found beautiful and/or interesting today:

riding down the moving walkway behind an asian woman who had a few strands of hair out of her pony tail. The small strands of hair were blowing almost imperceptibility in an air current, tapping a rhythm on her shoulder that she couldn’t feel.

standing on the right side of the escalator behind two older “serious” people, talking about “serious” things. A brother and sister (I’m assuming) were racing their mom to the top. The mom was walking beside them going up the stairs. The boy was carrying a fluffy white teddy bear. When they reached where I was, they were blocked by the “serious” people. They tried to push through them. The man turned, frowned at the kids and turned back unmoving. I said, “Geesh, it looks like your blocked.” The boy turned his face up to me and laughed like only a child playing a game could.

More people than I have ever noticed before have ear pieces for their cell phones. It makes me smile to watch them become animated and make wild hand gestures for seemingly no reason. When they first started becoming popular it always made me wonder what was going on with these seemingly normal, well dressed, articulate people that was turning them into schizophrenics.
————————————————————————–
I have made it on to the plane. All carry on luggage has been stowed and my tray table and seat back has been put into an upright and locked position. We had all just nestled down into our seats to watch the informational safety video when all monitors went blank. A few minutes later the captain informed us of a computer failure that would take a “few minutes” to fix. Although annoying, I feel better about having the computer failure on solid ground.

I am sitting in an exit row. The flight attendant asked me to review the safety card and tell her that I felt willing and competent to operate the exit door. I felt pressure to say “yes”, but I really wanted to get more information. Was I expected to help all of the other passengers to safety, or could I rip open the door and be the first one out? I had many other questions, but I only asked that one. She looked at me with absolutely no sense of humor and said, “whatever you want to do”. I said, “okay, thanks, I can handle it.”

I have been going over the safety card. I usually don’t, but the “fire incident” is still fresh in my mind. Especially the part of the incident where I was so proud of myself for actually having a fire extinguisher and being able to access it quickly. Then in my panic with flames growing higher by the second, not being able to operate it because I had never bothered to read the directions. Not to mention getting entirely exasperated and throwing the small red canister at the fire and smothering the whole mess out with some low tech towels.

We have been here for over an hour. About twenty minutes ago the techs arrived. Have you ever had a car with a nearly dead battery? You know the sound it makes when it turns over and won’t quite catch? For the last twenty minutes that sound has been happening, along with a high pitched oscillating whine…..WEEEE-OHHHHHH-WEEEE-OHHHHHH-WEEEE-OHHHHHH-!!! This does not inspire confidence in this aircraft. I was trying to fool myself into thinking that the computer they were referring to was only connected to the video monitors. No such self denial luck. I can see into the cockpit and there is much frustrated gesturing and hand waving.

I have obtained a gin and tonic from the nice flight attendant who “broke the rules” for me. She told me not to tell anyone else back here in lowly old economy, and if they asked, I was drinking seltzer and lime. I told her fine, and I wouldn’t be bothering her any more since I now knew where the stash was. She laughed, not realizing that I was completely serious.

I am in Austin. Okay, a week ago, I was in Austin. Now I am back home.

How is it that I came here to responsibly look for job opportunities and a place to live and end up at a tower at the University of Texas in the middle of the day, dressed in a burlap sack holding a rake screaming at the top of my lungs for the death of a ficticous monster?