Please, please, let them cast some beautiful amazonian as my first true love... Scarlett.
G.I.fuckingJ.O.E.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Santa is a strange man
Ah, the horror and allure of that stranger in a strange suit, propped up in the middle of the mall.
I have two memories of Santa's lap.
One, from when I was small. I remember crying, because I was left alone on the lap of a strange man. I remember being told not to cry and instead smile for the picture. I remember the hyper elf trying to snap a picture between my screams.
The other memory of Santa's lap is from highschool... and group of us piling around him for a group photo. How cute! Yeah, I was the one rubbing up against his lap, trying to give Santa a hard on... for the sheer perversion factor. Tee hee!
Happy Fucking Holidays!
I have two memories of Santa's lap.
One, from when I was small. I remember crying, because I was left alone on the lap of a strange man. I remember being told not to cry and instead smile for the picture. I remember the hyper elf trying to snap a picture between my screams.
The other memory of Santa's lap is from highschool... and group of us piling around him for a group photo. How cute! Yeah, I was the one rubbing up against his lap, trying to give Santa a hard on... for the sheer perversion factor. Tee hee!
Happy Fucking Holidays!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
And sometimes, I wish I was Catholic... I don't know why
Normally, someone dies... you write about their death... and their life.
I think we all know that I am not normal. So instead, I'm going to write about an obsession of my life, Catholicism.
I was raised in a Free Will Southern Baptist home. My mother was raised Methodist, but that was not something that was discussed openly. You know those Methodist, they're just one step away from being papists. Being raised in an environment where ritual was the devil and veneration of the virgin Mary and any such ‘saints’ was considered idolatry at its finest… is it any wonder that I developed an obsession with all things Catholic? Besides, as everyone should know, orgasms taste better with a rosary shoved in your mouth.
Prior to my Japanese school girl obsession, there was my little catholic school boy obsession. Hey, when you’re growing up in the south east, the idea of altar boys is pretty exotic… and totally fell in line with my overriding need to seduce and corrupt. Oddly enough, yes, I have landed myself with one Jesuit trained catholic school boy. But, I can hardly say I’ve corrupted him. It was a mutual corruption of acceptance.
I’m rambling. I do that. My point.
Yesterday I attended my first actual Catholic… thing. Was it a mass? A funeral mass? Something. Catholics have names for every bloody thing and I can’t remember them all. I’m too busy asking John why people keep bowing at the front of the church. And why does that priest have a throne? Wait… I shouldn’t call him priest? Monsignor? Jesus fuck… too much shit to keep straight.
On the Monsignor. I liked the guy. He seemed genuinely concerned and loved filled and kind. And when he spoke, if I took out all the references to his God and Church… then I could really get behind his message. But, I had no fucking clue what a Monsignor was. So, I asked Mr. Jesuit Trained. His response? “He’s a level 10 priest.” And yes, that did actually explain it all to me.
On baptism. Catholics sprinkle and call it a baptism. In the world I grew up, if you didn’t come up choking from under the water, you didn’t love Jesus enough. But that priest… Monsignor… slung his little tiny water sprinkler mace around and called it a second baptism. It was a right pretty speech and a nice bit of ceremony… but all I could think of was teaching those altar boys how it’s done by holding their heads under water in the fountain. By the way, crazy baptismal fount (aka Jesus’ Eternal Water Fountain)… made me want to pee the whole time.
On altar boys. I don’t know. I thought they’d be sweet and cute. Likely to lead me to dirty thoughts about confession booths. But first of all, they were baby boys. Hey, in movies they aren’t THAT young. And… they were creepy. Seriously. Creepy. Their expressionless faces. The way they moved without direction or seeming thought, just silent and obedient without any of the usual signs of life in a kid their age. I found it utterly unnerving. C’mon… just shuffle one foot. Something!
On the magic book of spells. That’s what I’m calling the book the Monsignor carried with him and read from. It was not a bible, that’s for damn sure. But the cover was pretty and he was always marking the page he was one with one of those ribbons. And all I could think was, “He’s checking to see if he memorized enough Cure Lights for the day. He may have to convert one of those Sanctuaries.”
On speaking in unison. Catholics LOVE speaking in unison. And I am not talking AME church testifying or calling out. No, hive mind speaking in unison. Every time I thought I’d caught on to when to speak, they’d do something else to totally throw me off. How do you know when to say “Amen” and when it’s “Oh lord hear our prayer” or some other random thing? They busted out the Lord’s Prayer at one point. Great, I thought, I got this one. I know it. But then they stopped before the end… and THEN threw a Hail Mary in there. At that point, I was fairly sure there was a sign over my head that said, “Girl without lips moving is Baptist.”
On the Eucharist. Whoa. There was some crazy shit going on there. Kneeling before taking bread out of a box. Singing a song to the bread. And when it was finally a communion with real wine (Welch’s Grape Juice has always been the taste of Christ’s blood to me), no one drank it! Thankfully, I didn’t have to cause a scene or be a hypocrite… and instead of taking communion I was simply blessed instead. I’m pretty sure that means I will burst into flames if I step inside of a Baptist church now.
On transubstantiation. This led to me making a totally inappropriate comment to John during a funeral mass. Or really, during any mass. “You know, I’ve taken communion before… but I’ve never tasted the actual body of Christ.” Fighting back the giggles between us was so hard. And then saying ‘Body of Christ’ stuck that damn song from South Park in my head. Faith +1!
On kneeling and bowing. I get it. God is really cool and we should kneel to his coolness and bow before the image of Jesus twisting horribly on the cross. Except… listen… God doesn’t live at the front of the church. And the kneeling… well… listen, my mother slapped me once for the way I took communion, tilting my head back like I was giving Jesus head and loving it. So, it’s no wonder that while in the middle of all that damned kneeling for God… it was all I could do to fight the urge to put my knees shoulder width apart, head up, eyes down, shoulders straight, wrists crossed at the small of my back. That… is how you really tell God that you love him.
On the censer. You know, I always thought this would be one of the coolest parts of mass. The priest swinging this cool censer about and the scent of incense filling the church. But, I also always imagined that the incense would smell… different. I don’t know, like Baby Jesus burps or something. But instead, it just gave me flash backs to smoking up in Shawn’s basement and playing Playstation all night. Dude, who let the hippies into mass?
On the hymnal. Which they referred to as a song book. Oh dear god! I thought white Baptists sounded unhappy when singing. At least their hymnals are full of blood and gore and the fear of demons. But this was… Eddie Izzard, Dressed to Kill, making fun of the C of E.
Now, I am certainly not knocking Catholicism… at least not any more than I knock any organized religion. But the culture clash was just leading me to amusing observations. And, my presence there and John’s growth away from the church, led him to view things as an outsider for the first time. I think it really clicked on a personal level for him, what Protestantism was about. It reminded me that though I’ve grown a whole hell of a lot… my roots are still my roots. And it made for a long interesting (and stupidly funny) conversation on the ride home.
I think we all know that I am not normal. So instead, I'm going to write about an obsession of my life, Catholicism.
I was raised in a Free Will Southern Baptist home. My mother was raised Methodist, but that was not something that was discussed openly. You know those Methodist, they're just one step away from being papists. Being raised in an environment where ritual was the devil and veneration of the virgin Mary and any such ‘saints’ was considered idolatry at its finest… is it any wonder that I developed an obsession with all things Catholic? Besides, as everyone should know, orgasms taste better with a rosary shoved in your mouth.
Prior to my Japanese school girl obsession, there was my little catholic school boy obsession. Hey, when you’re growing up in the south east, the idea of altar boys is pretty exotic… and totally fell in line with my overriding need to seduce and corrupt. Oddly enough, yes, I have landed myself with one Jesuit trained catholic school boy. But, I can hardly say I’ve corrupted him. It was a mutual corruption of acceptance.
I’m rambling. I do that. My point.
Yesterday I attended my first actual Catholic… thing. Was it a mass? A funeral mass? Something. Catholics have names for every bloody thing and I can’t remember them all. I’m too busy asking John why people keep bowing at the front of the church. And why does that priest have a throne? Wait… I shouldn’t call him priest? Monsignor? Jesus fuck… too much shit to keep straight.
On the Monsignor. I liked the guy. He seemed genuinely concerned and loved filled and kind. And when he spoke, if I took out all the references to his God and Church… then I could really get behind his message. But, I had no fucking clue what a Monsignor was. So, I asked Mr. Jesuit Trained. His response? “He’s a level 10 priest.” And yes, that did actually explain it all to me.
On baptism. Catholics sprinkle and call it a baptism. In the world I grew up, if you didn’t come up choking from under the water, you didn’t love Jesus enough. But that priest… Monsignor… slung his little tiny water sprinkler mace around and called it a second baptism. It was a right pretty speech and a nice bit of ceremony… but all I could think of was teaching those altar boys how it’s done by holding their heads under water in the fountain. By the way, crazy baptismal fount (aka Jesus’ Eternal Water Fountain)… made me want to pee the whole time.
On altar boys. I don’t know. I thought they’d be sweet and cute. Likely to lead me to dirty thoughts about confession booths. But first of all, they were baby boys. Hey, in movies they aren’t THAT young. And… they were creepy. Seriously. Creepy. Their expressionless faces. The way they moved without direction or seeming thought, just silent and obedient without any of the usual signs of life in a kid their age. I found it utterly unnerving. C’mon… just shuffle one foot. Something!
On the magic book of spells. That’s what I’m calling the book the Monsignor carried with him and read from. It was not a bible, that’s for damn sure. But the cover was pretty and he was always marking the page he was one with one of those ribbons. And all I could think was, “He’s checking to see if he memorized enough Cure Lights for the day. He may have to convert one of those Sanctuaries.”
On speaking in unison. Catholics LOVE speaking in unison. And I am not talking AME church testifying or calling out. No, hive mind speaking in unison. Every time I thought I’d caught on to when to speak, they’d do something else to totally throw me off. How do you know when to say “Amen” and when it’s “Oh lord hear our prayer” or some other random thing? They busted out the Lord’s Prayer at one point. Great, I thought, I got this one. I know it. But then they stopped before the end… and THEN threw a Hail Mary in there. At that point, I was fairly sure there was a sign over my head that said, “Girl without lips moving is Baptist.”
On the Eucharist. Whoa. There was some crazy shit going on there. Kneeling before taking bread out of a box. Singing a song to the bread. And when it was finally a communion with real wine (Welch’s Grape Juice has always been the taste of Christ’s blood to me), no one drank it! Thankfully, I didn’t have to cause a scene or be a hypocrite… and instead of taking communion I was simply blessed instead. I’m pretty sure that means I will burst into flames if I step inside of a Baptist church now.
On transubstantiation. This led to me making a totally inappropriate comment to John during a funeral mass. Or really, during any mass. “You know, I’ve taken communion before… but I’ve never tasted the actual body of Christ.” Fighting back the giggles between us was so hard. And then saying ‘Body of Christ’ stuck that damn song from South Park in my head. Faith +1!
On kneeling and bowing. I get it. God is really cool and we should kneel to his coolness and bow before the image of Jesus twisting horribly on the cross. Except… listen… God doesn’t live at the front of the church. And the kneeling… well… listen, my mother slapped me once for the way I took communion, tilting my head back like I was giving Jesus head and loving it. So, it’s no wonder that while in the middle of all that damned kneeling for God… it was all I could do to fight the urge to put my knees shoulder width apart, head up, eyes down, shoulders straight, wrists crossed at the small of my back. That… is how you really tell God that you love him.
On the censer. You know, I always thought this would be one of the coolest parts of mass. The priest swinging this cool censer about and the scent of incense filling the church. But, I also always imagined that the incense would smell… different. I don’t know, like Baby Jesus burps or something. But instead, it just gave me flash backs to smoking up in Shawn’s basement and playing Playstation all night. Dude, who let the hippies into mass?
On the hymnal. Which they referred to as a song book. Oh dear god! I thought white Baptists sounded unhappy when singing. At least their hymnals are full of blood and gore and the fear of demons. But this was… Eddie Izzard, Dressed to Kill, making fun of the C of E.
Now, I am certainly not knocking Catholicism… at least not any more than I knock any organized religion. But the culture clash was just leading me to amusing observations. And, my presence there and John’s growth away from the church, led him to view things as an outsider for the first time. I think it really clicked on a personal level for him, what Protestantism was about. It reminded me that though I’ve grown a whole hell of a lot… my roots are still my roots. And it made for a long interesting (and stupidly funny) conversation on the ride home.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
How do you know?
How I know we are insane:
We now own two Xbox 360s. Why? So that it's easier to play Rock Band on the big TV. We don't have to move the system, just the hard drive.
How I know we are in love:
(A conversation last night)
Me: You know how when I get PMSy I get all cranky and annoyed at the world and in a bad mood?
Him: Yeah.
Me: And you'll notice I am in a good mood.
Him: Yeah.
Me: Well, this month... instead of the bad hormones... I got the good hormones. But you probably still want to be careful. Cause if you touched me, I'd likely just rape you. As in, ride you and break your spine kind of fucking. Seriously, I would destroy you.
Him: Do you mean that in a bad way?
Me: Well, no. You'd die with a really big smile. But, you would die. It's just... instead of festering ball of seething rage... this month I am a burning ball of ravaging fuck.
Him: (laughing) That needs to go on your blog.
We now own two Xbox 360s. Why? So that it's easier to play Rock Band on the big TV. We don't have to move the system, just the hard drive.
How I know we are in love:
(A conversation last night)
Me: You know how when I get PMSy I get all cranky and annoyed at the world and in a bad mood?
Him: Yeah.
Me: And you'll notice I am in a good mood.
Him: Yeah.
Me: Well, this month... instead of the bad hormones... I got the good hormones. But you probably still want to be careful. Cause if you touched me, I'd likely just rape you. As in, ride you and break your spine kind of fucking. Seriously, I would destroy you.
Him: Do you mean that in a bad way?
Me: Well, no. You'd die with a really big smile. But, you would die. It's just... instead of festering ball of seething rage... this month I am a burning ball of ravaging fuck.
Him: (laughing) That needs to go on your blog.
Monday, November 12, 2007
I can't stop laughing
Seriously.
Remember when I said I was the sort of person who can take joy from the misery of miserable people?
That is totally me today. God, I love it when willfully stupid people get it in the ass. All together now, everybody sing, "But I'm the victim".
Remember when I said I was the sort of person who can take joy from the misery of miserable people?
That is totally me today. God, I love it when willfully stupid people get it in the ass. All together now, everybody sing, "But I'm the victim".
Friday, November 2, 2007
I cannot fucking fathom it
You know, some people are just jackasses. Some people just have shitastical judgment. I know I stick my foot in my mouth plenty. So, I'm just going to clear a few things up. Just for anyone wondering. Just in case you were curious. Just so you don't have to ask, though you probably fucking should have before opening you giant fucking mouth. But here goes...
Now I am a a certain kind of asshole. I will rip people to shreds for being stupid. I will delight in the misery of miserable people. I generally feel that people who aren't at least trying to be honest with themselves, aren't worth the oxygen they breathe. I am willing to put the desires of my beau ahead of the comfort of others. And I don't apologize for being me.
Now, here's the kind of asshole that I am not. I don't care what your race is. I don't care whatever the fuck goes on between consenting adults. I don't give a fuck who you worship. And I really don't think that your height or weight has fuck all to do with your value as a human being.
So there, just in case you were wondering what sort of asshole I am.
Now I am a a certain kind of asshole. I will rip people to shreds for being stupid. I will delight in the misery of miserable people. I generally feel that people who aren't at least trying to be honest with themselves, aren't worth the oxygen they breathe. I am willing to put the desires of my beau ahead of the comfort of others. And I don't apologize for being me.
Now, here's the kind of asshole that I am not. I don't care what your race is. I don't care whatever the fuck goes on between consenting adults. I don't give a fuck who you worship. And I really don't think that your height or weight has fuck all to do with your value as a human being.
So there, just in case you were wondering what sort of asshole I am.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Sometimes it's not so easy
Prejudice works in odd ways.
Preconceived notions. They happen. It’s a part of how our brains work. With the mass of stimuli out there, our brain likes to put things in little boxes. Neat little labeled boxes that make the world easier to sort out. Now yes, I grant you… there’s quite a difference between your brain deciding that all fire is hot and that all Mexicans are dirty clown car packers… but stick with me… I’m going somewhere.
I grew up in a world where I was a numerical minority. And culturally, the line between black and white wasn’t nearly so important as the line between native to the land and outsider. I will admit, I’ve had preconceived notions about things here and there, and have done my best to be aware of these thoughts. To try to compensate for my prejudices. It’s the little things, like taking a deep breath and thinking to myself, “Now just because he is pissing you off, it’s not because he’s a yankee. It’s because he’s an asshole.”
Preconceived notions. They happen. It’s a part of how our brains work. With the mass of stimuli out there, our brain likes to put things in little boxes. Neat little labeled boxes that make the world easier to sort out. Now yes, I grant you… there’s quite a difference between your brain deciding that all fire is hot and that all Mexicans are dirty clown car packers… but stick with me… I’m going somewhere.
I grew up in a world where I was a numerical minority. And culturally, the line between black and white wasn’t nearly so important as the line between native to the land and outsider. I will admit, I’ve had preconceived notions about things here and there, and have done my best to be aware of these thoughts. To try to compensate for my prejudices. It’s the little things, like taking a deep breath and thinking to myself, “Now just because he is pissing you off, it’s not because he’s a yankee. It’s because he’s an asshole.”
Friday, October 19, 2007
Why I love my friends
Highly educated, low brow humor.
The lovely mix of perverted minds and too much knowledge.
How, you ask, does one mix quantum theory and dick jokes?
Simple. Schrodinger's penis.
The lovely mix of perverted minds and too much knowledge.
How, you ask, does one mix quantum theory and dick jokes?
Simple. Schrodinger's penis.
Friday, October 12, 2007
And there was much rejoicing!
Nancy arrived this week. All big and black and daring me to touch her.
It was awkward at first. A stranger in my home. Just sitting there, top off and waiting. But slowly, carefully, John helped me to take care of her. To get her settled in. And most importantly, to make sure everything I needed fit right inside of her.
Then... finally... I got to touch her button. She purred.
Yay new computer!
It was awkward at first. A stranger in my home. Just sitting there, top off and waiting. But slowly, carefully, John helped me to take care of her. To get her settled in. And most importantly, to make sure everything I needed fit right inside of her.
Then... finally... I got to touch her button. She purred.
Yay new computer!
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Whose Fish?
We used to do logic puzzles like these all the time in like 2nd and 3rd grade gifted and talented. So this was a fun flashback for me.
It was also a fun way to kill a little bit of time at work.
Who owns the fish?
It was also a fun way to kill a little bit of time at work.
Who owns the fish?
Friday, September 28, 2007
Stuck in my head
Today I am amused.
Also, I have a song stuck in my head.
These things are not a coincidence.
History repeats itself
Coiling down into the future
When it's one second to twelve
The hands touch and follow deeper
History repeats itself
I didn't learn, I wouldn't listen
I couldn't see the books were on the shelf
For my good sense, I never missed 'em
Wish I was standing by the shore
Feel the wind blow in my face
See the waves roll in for an encore
They take a bow, they know their place
I do not want, I do not feel
I've turned away in myself
I can't find anything that's real
But history repeats itself
- A.O.S.
Also, I have a song stuck in my head.
These things are not a coincidence.
History repeats itself
Coiling down into the future
When it's one second to twelve
The hands touch and follow deeper
History repeats itself
I didn't learn, I wouldn't listen
I couldn't see the books were on the shelf
For my good sense, I never missed 'em
Wish I was standing by the shore
Feel the wind blow in my face
See the waves roll in for an encore
They take a bow, they know their place
I do not want, I do not feel
I've turned away in myself
I can't find anything that's real
But history repeats itself
- A.O.S.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Context Matters
Hot:
Feeling rebellious and dangerous because you did not wear panties to work today.
Not so hot:
Feeling disoriented and tired and therefore forgetting to wear panties to work today.
Feeling rebellious and dangerous because you did not wear panties to work today.
Not so hot:
Feeling disoriented and tired and therefore forgetting to wear panties to work today.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Bad Day
It's a bad day. It's a no patience day. And that's just a bad day all around for everyone else.
See, that's what people get off on about me. Patience. Acceptance. I'm the Mother-fucking-Theresa of deviant thought and action.
But not today. Today, all you little flowers who come to me. Come to me begging, "Unfold me. Bloom me. Show me who I am." Today I want to crush you all. Stomp you under my boots. Fuck off and die if you haven't got the strength to find out for yourself.
Today I'm just too tired of being your haven. Your refuge. Of holding bloody hands and understanding the crimes. Tired of whispering righteousness back into your blood. I know, I know. A day or two from now, something will happen to completely renew my stores of patience and faith.
But not today.
Today I want to file my teeth and grind all your pink vulnerable parts to blood.
See, that's what people get off on about me. Patience. Acceptance. I'm the Mother-fucking-Theresa of deviant thought and action.
But not today. Today, all you little flowers who come to me. Come to me begging, "Unfold me. Bloom me. Show me who I am." Today I want to crush you all. Stomp you under my boots. Fuck off and die if you haven't got the strength to find out for yourself.
Today I'm just too tired of being your haven. Your refuge. Of holding bloody hands and understanding the crimes. Tired of whispering righteousness back into your blood. I know, I know. A day or two from now, something will happen to completely renew my stores of patience and faith.
But not today.
Today I want to file my teeth and grind all your pink vulnerable parts to blood.
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