August 03, 2005
What's been goin' on
I've been tryin' to get through to you
Has it really been that long?
I've been thinkin' about you baby
And the way it used to be
There's so many things I want to say
But will the words come out all wrong?
After all that's said and done
You're still the only one
I'm the only one for you
Baby can't you see
You're still the only one
Each and every night I pray
Hopin' there'll come a day
Baby you believe
You're still the only one Got to find a way
To get back inside your heart again
If I let you walk away
I'd be dyin' without you baby
So I'll just keep holdin' on
Don't you know that we were meant to be
But then I knew it all along
After all that we've been through
You're still the only one You're the only one for me
I'm the only one for you
Baby can't you see
You're still the only one
Each and every night I pray
Hopin' there'll come a day
Baby you believe
You're still the only one And the fire of our love
Keeps me runnin' back to you
And no matter where you are
I will never be that far away You're the only one for me
I'm the only one for you
Baby can't you see
You're still the only one
Each and every night I pray
Hopin' there'll come a day
Baby you believe
You're still the only one
Ain't no need to wonder why
I'll love you 'till the day I die
Baby I believe
You're still the only one You're the only one
You're the only one
You're the only one for me sweet baby You're the only one
You're the only one
You're the only one for me sweet darlin' (repeat) When times are rough and hard
With you is where I want to be, yeah When I am down and out, oh yeah
With you is where I'll be
Oh yeah Yeah yeah baby
The only one for me
Me
Me, yeah
Posted by: Stevie at 08:33 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I guess I thought you'd be here forever
Another illusion I chose to create
You don't know what you've got
Until it's gone
And I found out a little too late
I was acting as if you were lucky to have me
Doing you a favor
I hardly knew you at all
Then you were gone
And it all was wrong
Had no idea how much I cared
Now being without you takes a lot of getting used to
I should learn to live with it
But I don't want to be without you
It was all a big mistake
Instead of getting any easier, it's the hardest thing to take
I'm addicted to you, baby
You're a hard habit to break
You found someone else
You had every reason
No one can blame you for running to him
Two people together, but living alone
I was spreading my life too thin
After all of these years
I'm still trying to shake
Doing much better
They say that it just takes time
But deep in the night, it's an endless fight
I can't get you out of my mind
Now being without you takes a lot of getting used to
I should learn to leave with it
But I don't want to be without you
It was all a big mistake
Instead of getting any easier, it's the hardest thing to take
I'm addicted to you, baby
You're a hard habit to break
I can't go on, just can't go on
I can't go on, just can't go on
Being without you takes a lot of getting used to
I should learn to live with it
But I don't want to be without you
It was all a big mistake
Instead of getting any easier, it's the hardest thing to take
I'm addicted to you!
You're a hard habit to break
Such a hard habit to break
I'm addicted to you!
You're a hard habit to break
Such a hard habit to break
I'm addicted to you, baby!
You're a hard habit to break
For Eric.
And, my Dad.
And, Storm.
(And, Christopher, my poor stupid car.)
Posted by: Stevie at 07:48 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Still don't quite get it, do ya?
I'm glad you're willing to.... leave a note and at least try to try to fix it, but...
*siiigh*
That's sad. Sad as that is, there's another element even sadder. That'd be the second half of that sentence. Can't, won't, whatever, do it just because you know how much to upsets me to have to put up with it, not to mention that you said that you don't like it either, but you'll do it just because he's not around much anyway? Ow. So, it's still not "for us", but "because of him", or the lack thereof. owowow Other reasons you've decided to put an end to this (meaning me and my continuing discomfort) include, but are not limited to wanting it to be "okay" to be around me again, I know, and because you know, as you've already said, that you'll handle it next time he calls.
In a few months.
When you're sure to remember it, even before you listen to his latest load of shit.
In a few months, when I'll seem to have forgotten it.
In a few months, when you won't have to actually do or say anything. Geez, Duuuude.
How stupid does you think I is? "Incredibly" is the word you're groping for... Look, if I was the kind of person who deals in facades, this would all be good.
But, that's not who I am.
Facades are bullshit. You know what I mean, too, because we've talked about it before, when we drive past those estates and mention to each other that, no matter how pretty the outsides of those houses are, you never know how miserable the people in them are and how we'd both rather have a shit lookin' house with us in it than a mansion with anybody else. Well, this way of handling this is kinda the same thing. This is like slapping a coat of paint on a wreck of a car and calling it "good".
Then, trying to sell it as a real running car. While I understand these concepts, I don't really know how to do that, to live like that. I'm the kind that wants to go inside and fix the root of the problem so it doesn't become a problem again.
Kinda like most men always wanna do. So, the way it stands, you're happy with a gorgeous piece of shit car and I want what might be the ugliest frickin' thing on the road, but that'll suck the paint offa anything else out there. If we can figure out how to combine the best of both, we'd have it all, damn it. But, this, I cannot do alone and it's not your fault if this is the way you really feel and if it's not, it's not my fault I came to this conclusion, based on what you've said, wrote and this afternoon, screamed. So, we do, Houston, have a big-assed problem here. But, ya know what?
I've got too much else going on to dwell on it.
Plus, frankly, it's scares the hell out of me because it looks for all the world like the first major disparity between us and in my experience, these things are usually the harbingers of the beginning of the end. Maybe not, this time.
I can't say.
PshychO, not psychIC, remember? All I do know is that I honestly don't feel we are or I am the most important thing to you.
Neither we are, nor am I, your first though or motivation. While, at the same time, what I'm doing IS exactly that.
Mostly, it's for you, secondly for us, thirdly, maybe, for my own sense of self-worth. What the fuck is it about this guy or doing this, telling him to stop, that gets to you so much?
Da hell are you afraid of?
And, while I'm here, what da hell are you so scared of talking honestly about this, or any other matters of the heart, important things, with ME for? Yeah, I know you've never be asked, allowed or whatever, to do it before, but Jesus, man, it's all I've done my whole life. C-O-M-M-U-N-I-C-A-T-E-D. It, and having an affinity for animals and singing, is what I do.
It's what God gave me.
They're my gifts. I have to use them or die inside.
Don't you get that? It's not a hard thing to do, but first you MUST have trust.
You've got to be able to allow yourself to trust somebody, ANYBODY, enough to open up to them. And, uummm... I was, uh... I thought... Put it this way...
if yer ever gonna do that, now would be the time and I'd be the person.
Maybe this'll sound fucked up, I dunno, but, if there IS anybody on this entire planet you CAN trust, it's me, you obtuse person, you. I just hope you really, really do learn to do it before it becomes too late. Why do you think I'm even here?
Why do you think I'm doing alla this?
Why do you think I've been here all along?
Why do you believe with all your heart that, someday, I'm just gonna leave you anyway, so what's the point?
Because, you do, ya know. You still don't trust me (nor would you any other chick, I know, it still doesn't make it any better) enough to even talk to me, so the issue of you not trusting me to stay is a no-brainer. Not only is it easy to see, it's also a no-brainer, in that only someone with no brain would believe that, frankly. You need to figure out what you wanna do.
Then, let me know, okay? Is it gonna be like it is now, forever?
Or are you going to let yourself trust me enough that we can keep moving forward together? It's your call, your choice, your scab to remove. I won't let you bleed to death if you do remove it.
I also won't throw salt, dirt or germs into it. I'll heal it and make it stronger than it was originally, if you'll just let me.
See, first you have to let yourself (trust me), then you have to let me (love you), and when you do that, you'll be letting "us"...
You'll be letting us grow, learn and move on TOGETHER. Which is really all I've ever wanted in my life.
One person to have this with. So...
what do you say?
Posted by: Stevie at 07:18 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me I can't find, oh the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
Posted by: Stevie at 06:17 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
So...
Yer driving (and own) a 1988 (or 86, I keep forgetting which) Firebird. You've put THREE engines in the (damned) thing and, now, in order to pass inspection, you need to fix the exhaust, get the (mo'fackin', sumbitchin', stupid, useless, God-SAVE-me-from-"technology") computer in the (three times replaced) engine reset and God only knows what else it's gonna need done.
BUT... it's a FIREBIRD, with T-TOPS!!!! Then, you have a chance to obtain a 1996 Crown Vic with a "big engine" (anyone else hear a 440 Intercepter revvin', or is it just me?), a "township" car, an inspector (of some sort's) car, not a police car, for probably waaay less than it would take to get the 'Bird up to par. Wouldja do it? I'm gonna. I've got the "financing" taken care of already.The (dipstick) dude who bought the car at the auction hasn't had a chance to drive, hence, fuck up, the car yet, sooooo... I've got a coupla guys lined up to vet the thing for me and if it passes... If it passes, the Bird is being TEMPORARILY "retired", and GOD do I wish I mean "getting new tires", but, we all know I don't. I cried when I decided this. Which, by the way, was the day after I reamed God's ass the other day. That's when this became possible.
I hate the idea of giving up Christopher, but... I mean, OLD FARTS don't generally drive Firebirds and if they do, they don't do it well.
I do, though.
And, I don't want to be old, but... I don't see how I can sanely pass this up. I like the idea of the "big engine" and all and that spotlight on the driver's side is gonna come in REAL handy when assholes don't douse the high beams, but, other than that, I'm not too overly excited about this. Maybe that has to do with the baby duck in the aquarium sitting on the table (a recent, as in this morning, development), or the fact the a Crown Vic ain't a Firebird (though it is a Ford- saving grace), or maybe it has something to do with this one kitten who I think may die or maybe I'm just too tired or still too raw from "he's been my friend for a looong time and I'm not gonna do it", which, upon entering my ear and landing in my brain became, "I'm Norman, he's Kim and more important to me than you are, so piss off", which I realize is slightly skewed, but still...
or maybe I AM getting old. I dunno. This'll be the third white ve-HICKLE in a row that I've owned and I hate white.
Every speck o'dust shows, plus it's a BOOOOORRRRRING color. Still... Overwhelmed. I think that's what I am. Too much, for too long, with not "too much" of it being good. Not that I'm contemplating giving up or anything.
It's just that, normally, I'd be in redneck heaven with the idea of this car's gas pedal under my foot.
But, I've spent the entire time since I got my license back driving like the Original Creeping Jesus.
You know, driving like an OLD FART.
And, that's NOT just because every time I "punch it" in the Bird something falls off. For a while, I was having a hard time deciding if it's because, some time in that license-less time, I grew UP or OLD.
I went with "up". Now, I hafta go through that whole fuckin' deal again, parking the Bird. Up or old? Having to accept other certain facts (like not being #1 when I thought I was), plus parking Chris, plus all this other "responsible"-type shit I'm doing these days... it's hurting my brain. (It's also a pain right in the
(And do way much more than this "friend" has or ever will do for the person who said that thing about "friends for a long time". Sounds like "seniority" to me, a thing which I can never change, so I'm fucked, right?)
And that, comes across to me as OLD. Maybe if I didn't feel so damned many ways at once, I'd be able to know what I feel about ANYTHING right now. Mostly what I feel is exhausted, smacked down (but not out), resentful because of the smackdown and ambivalent.
Oh, and let's not forget "raw" inside, still. (Ya know... if these fuckin' people I keep being less important than amounted to a hill of beans, I think it wouldn't piss me off so much, but JeeZUS, if you could experience these "replacers", you'd think, as do I, that the people who are so important to me that I'm not as important to as the "replacements" are goddamned NUTS. I didn't matter as much to the original "him" in my life as she always has and now, I don't seem matter to THIS him as much as that HE way to hell and gone over there does and it all just makes me ill. However, I can see where situation #1 for the last 20+ years was PREPERATION for situation #2. So yeah. I'm used to it by now, but it still sucks donkey balls, if ya wanna know MY personal opinion...) I must be one of the most naive, dream-washed ASSHOLES ever born.
Where on EARTH I ever got the idea that a person, any one person, would be, could be, is, was or ever will always be... the most important person to anybody else... I don't know.
(Probably from having spent most of my life being the censored, shunted aside #2 person, watching the #1 persons having their asses kissed at my expense. Ya think?)
I guess I shoulda just took the hint when I wasn't even the most important person to my own parents.
Mom and only mom was mom's number 1.
Kim is Dad's.
(And, to further illustrate this point, may I offer the following: I wrote something that upset Kim and Dad asked me to take it down. So, I did. I, as recently as last night, implicitly asked for the same thing to be done, in a manner of speaking, for me and was refused. So, how come it's okay for me to have to "knock it off", but it's not okay to tell somebody else to do it for fuckin' ONCE?)
I don't feel like I'm #1 and there's no such real thing as two number 1's, or "co-#1's", so don't even go there.
Never have been the #1 anything, except "fuckup".
Always wanted to be, though.
But...
I'm me.
I'm not Kim.
I'm not that (motherfuckin') HIM, either.
It's "seniority" that cost me that, this time.
I think it was sex last time, because that was the ONLY thing that had to be done to/for my Dad by anybody on the planet except me and was.
Hell, I'm not even the most important to myself.
And, I know that's probably wrong of me, but 1.) I see what people who think and act like that are like and that ain't me and, 2.) da fuck do you expect after the life I've led? Most important?
pft
Try important at ALL.
Ever. (Except in certain, select situations, like if there's some random blame to be laid or shutting up needing to be done, or being the one to hafta always "just let it go" no matter how important it is to me especially if it's ONLY important to me... select situations like those that I don't personally select.)
Ever. Oh sure... I get to be "important" to people in fits and starts when they neeeeeed me for something, but that's not for forever.
That's not being first in anyone's heart or mind.
IS anyone always first in another person's heart and mind, or am I the only deluded asshole who does that, and if so, WHY? I'm not Miss Right.
I'm Miss RightNow. ("I need you now. Okay. Thanks. Now, go away.") Same shit, different decade.
Different reasons too, but it still hurts the same, just for the record. I read a thing once that said, "You may be one person in the whole world, but you're the whole world to one person."
Nice thought, but.... oh please.
Just shut up, ya know? Further, my handy dandy Oxford American Dictionary defines a friend as: a person with whom one is on terms of MUTUAL affection and RESPECT. Now, I can't say with any degree of certainty how much respect my Dad gets, but I'm pretty sure his "affection" quotient is well met.
I can, however, state with absolute confidence that this other dickhead that I'm not as important as does NOT respect or have any affection for the one who put him first, ahead of me, in this situation. I can tell. His behavior screams it to anybody with the sense to see it. Or hear it. Whatever.
The only "affection" this shitstain bestows upon his "champion" is to FUCK him with stupid, childish bullshit. He INSTIGATES shit every fuckin' time he makes contact. One of these days, he's gonna go to make "contact" and get one hell of a shock.
That's because I'm going to beat the holy hell out of him.
Seriously.
I HAD to stand by and watch my life get disrupted to the point of no return and my Dad be carted off, rarely ever to be seen again.
I'll be fucked if I'm gonna go through this shit again.
I wasn't allowed to run the disruptive person off the first time.
I will this time, goddamn it. I have never before in my LIFE tried to do anything like what I'm trying to do now (which can simply, yet honestly, be termed: being an adult and actually acting like one for a change) and the last thing I need is ANY instigating ASSHOLE to invade my HOME (home: see "refuge". Refuge: "a shelter from pursuit, danger or trouble", which this place I live in is NOT when this, or any other ulterior motive-havin' cock knocker shows up), dragging that bloodless, heartless, brainless CUNTBAG into it with him, by phone or in person.
I need all the HLEP I can get, not HINDRENCE, not bullshitistic GARBAGE, especially when it's done by someone who only ever makes contact to stir up shit, never to HELP. All he ever does is pass on MONTHS OLD information that we can do NOTHING about anyway, then he never offers to help. Ironically, most of the shit he passes on would require a lawyer to handle and he just happens to live with and somehow FUCK a moneybags FOSSIL, yet he's never once offered to help financially, let alone any other way. He says he sees all this shit going on that ought'nt be, yet NEVER offers to testify in court to it.
All he wants is to create drama.
And...
Eric lets him. I even asked Eric if he appreciates this shit this jerkoff does and he said he doesn't, yet he also said he's not going to say anything to make it stop. I didn't ask (or tell or demand or anything else) that he do it for me, but I wish he'da wanted to.
For me, for what I'm trying to do, if not for himself, which would be the best reason.
Without having to be asked, or told, or made to.
But, he won't.
He's made that clear, along with several other things. Well, wonderful.
Juuuust great.
I don't have enough shit going on, I need this guy's, too, apparently.
Yeah, cos what I'm doing isn't hard and scary and exhausting enough on it's own.
I have reserve strength hidden, just waiting for some juvenile HORSESHIT for it to be wasted on.
Suuuuuure I do.
Can't ya just fuckin' TELL????? I ENJOY this kinda superfluous, needless and STUPID shit.
I THRIIIIIVE on it.
It doesn't unnecessarily weigh me down.
It doesn't add to any load I may be carrying or shit I'm trying to deal with.
It's fuckin' FUN FOR ME!!!!!
Jesus H. Baldheaded CHRIST, if this moron didn't call here every so often to start mindless shit, I'D CALL HIM, I love it so goddamned much, right? (yeah, right) I seek out this kinda shit.
I BRING IT ON MYSELF, RIGHT????
Oh yeah, I dial the fuckin' number for him every. fuckin'. TIME. I ASK for it, BEG for it, MUST HAVE IT, RIGHT? No. Why would I when what I do ask for, or really need, this one thing, it's denied?
'Course, if I did even IMPLICITLY "ask for" this shit, I'd get it in SPADES. (I do, anyway.) And, here's the thing: I didn't even ask for what I REALLY want, which is for "JOE" to fuck completely off til his cum-dumpster is dead or the BC is or best of all BOTH OF THEM are, after which, and ONLY after which, he'll be "safe" to have around.
Noooo.
I didn't even go that far.
All I wanted was for him to be told to CUT THE SHIT. To NEVER, EVER so much as mention the BC's name to either of us ever again.
THAT'S all I wanted.
THAT'S what I'm not important enough to have.
Peace.
An end to the bullshit game playing manipulation, machinations and jealous numbfuck SHIT STIRRING he always always always haaaaaas to do. I even said, "Look, man... why can't you just tell him that if he wants to call or especially COME here and just shoot the shit, bullshit about everything else on the planet, that's fine, but for him to stop with this shit he does about HER? Don't you understand that a real friend is someone you'd not even have to have this conversation with? Just tell him to drop that subject FOREVER, that's all..." That's when I got back, "He's been my friend for a long time and I'm not going to do that...." (so piss off)... Well, I gotta tell ya...
If this dick is a "friend", I'd rather have hemmorhoids... ON MY FACE!!!! Got one in my face, anyway, don't I?
Yep.
Every goddamned time that phone rings and it's HIM, I do.
Fuckin' lowlife, dirtbag, fossil fuckin' LOSER. I even went so far as to try to understand the genisis of this thing and see what it really is now days and explain such to Eric. I said, "Dude. Maybe once, a long time ago, when you and he were in the same boat, both stuck with nasty old haggy cunts, he was your friend. But, since we've been together, we've seen him about 6 times, every time with her (his cunt) with him and all he ever does now days is call to tell you stupid, bad things that he fuckin' well knows you can't do anything about. Don'tcha think that just maybe he might be more of a jealous fucknut than a friend to you these days? YOU escaped. YOU have a LIFE now. He didn't. He doesn't. Maybe he's just jealous of you and that's why he keeps trying to fuck you up like this." Wanna hear what I got back?
(Good. 'Cause yer gonna...) "Well, you're tired, your period is here and that's all this is. Just tired and period talking..." *disgusted sigh*
Somebody just kill me now, okay? There is NO talking to him about this.
If I persisted, he'd get all defensive and start using useless words like "never" and "fine, I'll just tell him to fuck the fuck off forever" and other such inanities.
Nothing useful. Nothing helpful. Nothing conciliatory.
Just defense mechanisms that were beat into his head by... say it with me, now... the BC. He says he doesn't appreciate Joe's disruptive bullshit and I KNOW I don't, but he doesn't wanna say anything about it. Am I to just tolerate this, then?
If so, again, WHY SHOULD I?
I want one good, solid reason why I should eat this shit from this asshole.
And, how long you've know said asshole ain't gonna cut it.
I want a real reason.
Like, he saved yer life, or he's got your dick in a vise or he's actually GOOD for something besides spreading shit. (And, let me tell ya, this loser could put John Deere outta the "manure spreader" market... Christ on a STICK.) The entire time I've known this jackoff, he's not ever done anything for Eric that didn't somehow backfire or benefit himself.
"Selfless" is NOT a word he's ever heard of.
Nor is the true definition of the word "friend". Mutual respect and affection.
*snort*
Not even in the fuckin' PARKING LOT of the ballpark, let alone the ballpark itself. Then, I got to wondering: What is it that I'm not doing or doing wrong that Eric is so eager and determined to have a "friendship" with such a total asshole? One excuse he tossed out was that he doesn't have any other friends.
Dude.
You see this idiot once a freakin' year, talk to him on the phone every coupla months when he calls to start shit, and if he's your "only" friend under these conditions, I'd say yer fucked in the friend department. Which he is not, anyway.
Eric's got friends.
He just doesn't fuckin' see it. I mean, hell... besides whatever the fuck else I may be to this guy, I was his friend first and thought I still was on some level.
Pfft.
Maybe I am.
Just not on the same level as Asshole.
*sarcastic eyebrow move* But, of course. I haven't known Eric as long as he's known Assholefuckwad. I'm just a pre-menopausal, period havin', hard working/tired/insomniac bitch with the vapors. Joe's got "seniority". Ya know, I'll admit, it may have taken me a loooong while to get here, but, within a month of getting my license back, I had a job. I still have the same job and I'm about to have more of this job than I can almost handle and I'm not just doing it for myself and it doesn't seem to mean shit.
I'm also the one who is here every day, taking care of the man, and again, it doesn't mean jackshit in the face of tellin' some stupid loser to cut the shit.
WHY is that?
Just because it's ME?
How is it that not "hurting his widdle feewings" is more important than keeping him from disrupting our HOME and my psyche, not to mention hurting MY feelings in the process?
Can anybody explain this me?
Y'all?
God?
Bueller? Oh perfect.
I quit typing for a second and what do I hear?
Crickets chirping outside. Have a little irony. It's good for your blood. All I wanted was for Eric to tell him to stop it.
He flatly refused.
That's what this is about now, for me.
Not the fact that that asshole calls here, but that he's allowed to call here and come here and do and say any goddamned thing he pleases, no matter who doesn't like it. Last night, when it happened, I was so cored by it, I didn't feel like writing, even. Then, I decided that I wasn't gonna, because it'd take too fuckin' long, like it has.
Then, this morning (Tuesday morning) I woke up and within seconds, it was back. All of it hit me before I even got my eyes focused. I damned near did a post before work, it was so bad.
All day at work, I was "off".
Thank God I didn't get reamed, because yes, Mr. Bullyboy-Cook-in-a-fuckin'-diner, King of Weinie World, who was supposed to be OFF today was working for one of the other cooks, who took off.
Then, I tried to get it out by myself, before I left the parking lot at work.
Still didn't wanna go through it all.
Just wanted it to go away.
Then, I sat in my chair, where I was last night and "Hello!", it's back, bigger and more pissed off than before, so here we are. This is MY home, not Joe's.
I may not deserve much outta life, but even I can have confidence in knowing that I deserve peace in my own home.
And, if I can't have that, then I DO goddamn have a right to write about it.
To get it solved some kinda way, for myself.
Just like everybody else does shit.
FOR THEMSELVES, no matter who gets pissed about it, no matter how "not the best way to do things" it is. That much I've (finally) learned, anyway. And, right this second, me getting this thought out, "opinion-ed" by others and outta my head is more important than just about anything else.
I HAVE to do this, so I can continue to function effectively at work and here.
And, so that, hopefully, I can quit being so floored by it and pissed about it. So, Eric, I hope this hasn't pissed you off too much, but... what can I say?
I had no choice.
I was left no choice.
Just like in the situation itself. I will NOT deal with "Joe" ever again, not for one second, until such time as he knows the rules.
(Oops. My bad. Make that: the rule. There is just one, after all.)
If he can't be bothered with them, or can't even be TOLD them, that's on you two.
But... I'm out of it.
No more.
He's not welcome, with his bullshit and ancient gloryhole, in MY life, MY home or MY head.
You want him here, that's fine.
Like I said yesterday, I won't be here for it.
You can just radio me when he leaves.
If he means this much to you, I already know (and can even see) that forcing you to address him or his destructive behavior will only cost/hurt me in the end, when you choose him over me for good. And, that's a lesson I learned 20 years ago.
I won't be put through it again.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:31 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
August 01, 2005
To answer the eternal question....
"Where does she get this shit?", I give you, in all his uncensored glory, my Dad....
(This, by the way, made me laugh my ever-lovin' ass off. Thank you, Dad. I needed it.)
Hi Love,
Shit, fuck, cunt, bastard! I had just typed about a thousand words of
deathless prose to you when I hit some damned key that erased the whole
freakin' thing ! ANYWAY...I ain't read your great stuff since my last
note to you. So tonight, here at work, I decided to read my hotmail
(first time in about six days, and I get about 85 worthless comuniques per
day offering such irresitable crap as, borrow money from us, get a
college degree in three weeks for hardly any cash, try OUR pornsite, cheap!
(I ain't got nothin against porn, but there must be millions of
drooling unwashed loveless folks pouring millions of dollars into the coffers
of these guys...not to mention pre-pube computer geniuses screwing up
their future sex-lives by wallowing in this not-quite-real,
out-in-left-field view of sex. Of course, I like porn, but I only look at the free
stuff. Luckily my seventy-five year old neighbor doesn't charge me
anything...) I erased over 800 of these exciting communications. Then I remembered I hadn't read your blog since I wrote you last
(about two weeks or so)and here I am. Your stuff is so cheerful, it perks
me right up! However, through equine death, deadbeat diner patrons,
balky vehicles, periods, commas, and a host of other frustrations, your
sardonic humor and survivorness (I can make up words if I want to..)
makes your blog a great read. I'm quite proud of my two progeny with IQs
high up into three digits. (not toes and fingers, idiot..)Your stilted
ideas, undoubtedly caused by the wonderful maternal care you survived,
(although what's really wrong with your Ma sleeping with your boyfriends?
You're such a Puritan...) and the anguish they cause, are no match for
your nimble and wonderful intellect! Now, that and $2.40 will get you a
gallon of 21st century gas, but in actuality, your I.Q. is your
salvation. Wow, I sound like Uncle Jim talking about Jeeeesus. Perhaps one
shouldn't go off on a computer rant at 4.00am, but (most) of what I'm
telling you is very true. (The part about my seventy-five year old
neighbor isn't true, for instance. She's seventy-nine.... I didn't want you
to think your father was a PREvert..hanging around with old people..) By the way, I see your wacko count is up to 100015. You're gettin'
more converts than Billy Graham! Now his converts is off to Heaven, I
don't know where yours is goin'. Now, somebody brought in samples for us to run. Idiots! We've had a
nice relaxing three hours with no work. Oh well. I'll check you again
soon.... Much Love, Your pateral unit... See?
It is NOT just me. And, honestly, if I had to "inherit" bent-headed-ness from one or the other of my parents, as SEEMS to be the case, I'm glad it was Dad's kind and not Vivian's. Besides which, it'd be kinda hard to screw my daughter's boyfriends when, a.) I don't have or want kids and, b.) if I did, it'd HAVE TO be a boy or be returned for repairs and since I'm not a lesbian, that'd be awkward, wouldn't it? (Screwing my son's girlfriends, I mean. Wow. See? Yet ANOTHER reason I shoulda been a guy. Wonder who mom woulda fucked then, besides Dad and me still anyway, and every swingin' dick at the nuke plant? Probably my girlfriends, knowing my luck... Gawd.) *coupla minutes later, after re-reading this* Hey.
Don't blame me for that. It's CONGENITAL.
I swear. It is.
Posted by: Stevie at 05:32 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I'm sure it all must mean something...
I'm just not sure I wanna know what.
(Click on the EP.)
Posted by: Stevie at 01:52 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
There was a time when...
I had a handle on life.
(Kinda like a bucking rig, in fact.)
But...
it snapped off.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:20 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 31, 2005
Three weeks...
After I flipped out yesterday, then sat here reading blogs til I went to work, God decided to let me see a light at the end of the tunnel that's, uncharacteristically for Him, not a train.
Maybe.
I'm all happy that in three weeks, I get to work even more than I already do.
Who'd have ever guessed THAT would happen?
Me... excited to work MORE. Changed much, have I? In some ways, yeah.
Not s'much in others. (See previous post...) And, all it took was me, giving God the ol' "Sam Kinnison" treatment for a few.
Man, He pisses me off sometimes.
God, I mean, not Sam.
And, like Sam, I, too, am comforted by the idea that I have a close enough relationship with God to get in His face when He needs it, without fear of it so much as affecting Him, let alone pissin' 'Im off.
(I have an E! True Hollywood Story-thing about Sam, in which he says that very thing about God. I like that and the whole "why miss Heaven by an inch? If yer gonna miss it, MISS IT!!!!" thing.) Besides... GOD made me. If He doesn't like me or the way I am with Him, it's His own fault, is it not?
He made me the way I am.
He's also the one who keeps pissin' in my Post Toasties, so again... who's He got to blame besides Himself?* See, this is fun for Him.
I firmly believe He gets His Holy-jollies by fuckin' with me ever' once in a while.
I don't mind that so much as I do the fact that He just doesn't know when to knock. it. da. fuck. OFF. already. Merely hurting me is NEVER enough.
It's not enough until He's driven me to my knees and the brink of insanity, usually.
He doesn't hear me asking Him to stop, til I'm screaming it at Him and threatening to "quit before He can fire me", as it were.
It seems like, only when I'm seriously wanting the peace of death, that He backs off.
And, I think that's because He knows I'm not scared of death.
Not any more.
I'm scared of living too long.
The fucked up part is that, sometimes, I feel like it's BEEN too long already. That started when I was 9.
Nine years old, wishing that either I, or my rat-bastard mother, was dead.
Lovely, ain't it?
Thanks VIVIAN, you asshole.
(Oh, and by the way, the other half of the "*" thing from earlier is in the EP.) Anyway....
Three weeks.
Then there'll be a little more money around here.
AND, a little less of me.
Win-win situation, no? Then, not too awful long after that, the agri-tainment shit starts up, so again, hayrides, pumpkin rides and even more money for a little while. Then, some day, that cunt (the BC) in Jersey will die and there'll be nothing but good from that.
Starting with more money.
And, NONE of her, so again, win-win. All I have to do is "survive".
(See the EP to see why that's ironic as hell and making me make a face as I type it...)
Survive. Yeah.
That's alllll I have to do. So... when do I get to "live"?
Beuller?
Anyone? *crickets chirping* Ayeah.
That's about what I thought. And, ya wanna know the most maddening thing of all? I hate the kind of people who worship the Almighty dollar and do nothing but chase after it forever and here I am having to become one AND, the amount of money we need is POCKETLINT to most people.
But, it's gonna take me 49 forevers to get there.
I can't get 5 bucks together at one time yet.
A healthy $5000 or so is gonna be nearly impossible. Five grand would make all the difference in the WORLD to us.
Five grand is "play" money, it seems, for most everybody else.
People waste that much and more on thee stupidest things. (For one example of what I mean, go read this, though even I have to admit, it IS kinda cool. But JeeZUS. Five point seven MILLION. For THAT. Jesus wept. And, I gritted my teeth.)
See?
Pocket change.
And, it would change our lives, mine and Eric's, in so many wonderful ways.... I wonder if I'll ever really be able to do it. I hope so.
I want to.
I'm gonna try to. But, times like these, when I can see so many things that I can't get done yet...
flea collars, horse-fly spray, food stocked up in the freezer a little bit, new socks... little, stupid shit like that that I can't do yet... it just about wears me out. Two steps forward, one step back. That's fun when yer on a dance floor, two-steppin' with some tight-jeans-ed cowboy, but when it's your LIFE, it gets taxing, to say the least.
And, ya don't even get to hear the music. *siiigh* Oh well. At least I get a chance to try.
I hope I can do this.
Letting Eric down is NOT an option.
Neither is letting ME down, this time. I'm scared shitless and I don't even have my Storm to turn to anymore. This might be easier if I had a fuckin' CLUE as to how to do this, by the way. I feel like I don't. 'Cause, if I did, I wouldn't be in this (financial) mess, now would I?
And, I also wouldn't be flippin' out about it, right? Anyway...
Pray for me, if yer of a mind to.
I can use all the help I can get. Mental, financial... you name it. Peace, y'all.
Posted by: Stevie at 07:21 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 30, 2005
He was one of my best friends...
And, I don't believe I'm really getting over this.
I don't think I ever will.
He died when we had "house guests".
He died right when I was in the middle of loving and needing him so fuckin' much and it was about to increase.
Hell, it DID increase, but... he's dead. Wish I was, instead. A tremendous, horse-sized and shaped part of me is anyway, so what would be the difference? And Brandy? She ain't Storm.
She doesn't even try. She gives me shit, sometimes, about going places and I hafta get Eric and Action to go first, which mostly precludes me from ever being able to ride her unless Eric feels like going too and I have... had... more time and inclination to ride than he does... did. Can't do that now. On toppa which, now she's limping. Wonderful. Thanks, God, for the "help" here.
Yes, I am pissed at You.
Again. Why do You do this shit to me?
What the fuck did I ever do to You to deserve this shit?
Can't I even have one damned thing that's alllll good?
Like Storm was? As much as I like it, my job ain't it.
All it is right now is enough to keep us alive and me going back every time I can, but it's not enough to get us AHEAD. My body is still too fat and I don't eat SHIT anymore. Now, I've also got my useless, painful, maddening and hateful PERIOD to deal with AGAIN.
Jesus fuckin' CHRIST, why can't/won't my stupid uterus just dry up or fall the fuck out?
I hate being me.
And, I hate being a female even more. My car is... a mess.
I love it, but it don't love me. Storm did. I've got approximately 8700 kittens around here again, but I can't let myself fall in love with and enjoy them, because I can't KEEP them and getting to know them, then getting rid of them (even to really good people) kills me and I don't need any more of that. All I really want right now is Storm back.
I need him.
Badly. I don't have anybody around now that has the time, patience or desire to just hang out, like I did with him. It's just not there with Brandy. Probably because she's a female.
That's typical. Why him?
Might as well have been me, for all the heart GOD took from me. Why, Old Man, did You do this to me?
WHY?!?!?!!? Why do You hate me so much? First, my childhood with that insane cunt of a mother.
Then, I get to completely lose my Dad like he died, only he didn't, I just got replaced.
Then, there's every nitwit, boneheaded dickhole I tried to love and got used by.
Then, you give me Eric, but not totally.
Oh no.
Can't have that.
MUST keep him tied to that useless cuntbag WHORE in Jersey til it kills me, huh? Fine. If You hate me this much, why don't You just KILL ME and send me to REAL Hell, you Shit? Yes, I just called You a SHIT, God, and I don't care because You ARE one. Look at me.
Look at my whole life.
Look at what I'm trying to do now. Couldn't you at least have left Storm alone?
Would that have been so much to ask? Why do You hate me?
And, why do You act like You don't sometimes?
Is that just to draw me in closer?
To give me a false sense of "maybe He doesn't HATE ME", when You fuckin' well DO? Fuck, You're mean. You wanna know what I "have" right now? Weed. That's it. And, for some fucked up, stupid reason that I don't know, I'm not even using that to it's fullest extent or I wouldn't be feeling alla this BULLSHIT, would I?
No. Why don't You just gimme a break, GOD? Either that, or just leave me alone. I have enough to deal with without having to shuck and jive and play Your horseshit games, Ya know? If You don't want to help me, that's fine.
But, do You have to go out of Your way to fuck me over? Killing Storm was WRONG.
It was wronger than I can even comprehend right this minute, but I can feel it and Hell has nothing on it. And, that "Footprints in the Sand" shit?
Pfft.
If that's what this is supposed to be, I do believe You're dragging me face down behind You, not carrying me, through the sand, Dude. Just let go of my foot and leave me there, okay? I have enough sand in enough orifices to last me the rest of my miserable excuse for a life and I need Your brand of "help" about as much as I need a dick growing outta my forehead.
Or a dead Appaloosa. One of which I already have. And, unfortunately, You mean old man, it's NOT a dick growing outta my forehead, which, if I had been ASKED, I'd have chosen over being robbed of one of the best friends I've ever had. Do You even CARE about that?
At all?
And, don't lie because I already know You don't. And, another thing... about this UTTER BULLSHIT that You don't give anybody more to handle than they really can?
Could You have possibly come up with a bigger pile of pure SHIT if You'd tried? You overload me constantly.
Always have.
Always will, right? Yeah, well... bite me.
You're gonna anyway, ain'tcha?
Gonna chew on me, kick me, fuck me over, throw me face down in the dirt then laugh, just like Ya always do... always have. "Here, bitch. Have a psychotic cunt to share being a female with. Hmmm. Let me kill the first one then replace her with an exact replica. Someone who'll keep you away from the only decent parent I see fit to give you. Him, you'll have to start doing without waaaaaay to soon, plus I'm gonna give you the added attraction of it being like he's dead, for all the "relationship" you'll get to ever have with him again, BUT... he won't be dead, he'll just be in New Jersey, alive and well, having a life with everybody but YOU. You do love him the most, so of COURSE I have to do this to you. And, to make it even more fun (for Me), you have to put up with it. What're ya gonna do? I am GOD. I can do you anyway I want and you're powerless to stop Me or change it. Hell, girl, even Stevie Ray Vaughan knows that... "You Can't Change It", remember? You know that song? Heh. Bitch of mine, you not only know that song, I'm making sure you LIVE that song. I'm gonna keep you right where I've got you and always had you. Just close enough to "good" to keep you trying, but never really getting there. It's fun for me. Live with it. Or kill yourself. I really don't care." That about right, God?
That what you're telling me?
'Cause that's the message I'm getting.
Loud and motherfuckin' clear.
Crys-talllll, even. All I wanna know is WHY?????
Fuck everything else.
YOU TELL ME WHY!!!!!! I deserve at least that much, to know why I'm Your personal court jester, the fool in the belled cap who gets killed if anything goes "wrong". And, why don't I get to die? They do. Not me, though.
I just get to keep being alive, mostly hating it, wishing for peace. And, the only true peace is death. That much I've got figure out,
Have had since I was aboooout... nine.
Yeah.
That was when the first atomic bomb went off in my life, supplied by that stupid bitch who birthed me.
Woulda been so easy.
Umbilical cord around my neck.
Breech.
Stillborn. Why not one of those options, instead of this slow multi-year death You've been putting me through all along, if it's not just because this way is more fun for You to watch? Why me? Am I really good at this, or something?
Was I Hitler in a previous life?
Judas, maybe? Fuck man. Why don't You go fuck with somebody else for a while?
Leave me be. I don't hate You yet, but I will if You don't stop. I'm flat-out telling you again...
This is enough.
I've got enough.
I am as overloaded as I can be and all I see coming from You is more shit.
Just don't, okay?
Stop it.
Leave me ALONE, damn it.
If You don't wanna help me, fine.
But, for the love of Your Son, STOP HURTING ME!!!!!!! Or else keep it up and give me Storm back. Your choice. And, if You choose wrong...
Just know that I'm not ABSOLUTELY powerless here.
I CAN make You stop.
And, that crap about spending eternity in hell as a tree, or whatever, doesn't scare me a bit, but, at this point, hanging with YOU for eternity does. Good job, God. Thank You VERY MUCH for this. Why don't You just make me a fire hydrant in a dog park next time? Bastard.
Posted by: Stevie at 04:24 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 29, 2005
'Scuse me?
"The connection was refused when attempting to contact Gut Rumbles."
Wellllll....WHAT DA FUCK FOR?!???!!? Let me guess.
It's the "universal" conspiracy that I've dealt with forever.
Seeing as how I ain't been abe to read Rob for a Beatle-week, now we hafta play this shitstain game.
Is that it, Mr. (mo'fackin') Computer? Or, do you just want yer ass kicked? These things can be done, ya know. Sincerely, the way my life has been lately, what with all this intense shit I can't do much about, I'm just looking for something, anything really, that I can control, can manipulate into submission, be it a person's neckbone or your increasingly frustrating and worthless ass. Or, maybe this is just God gettin' His jollies with me again.
He does do this kinda shit on a depressingly regular basis. Or....
I have been waiting for something... an excuse?... a reason, as if I'd ever have a real one?... something to give me the balls to call Rob.
I've had his home number for about two years.
It's right in my cell, with "Acidman" as the name.
(See, I sent him my number right about the same time I found his and stuck it in my phone. That way, if he did ever call, I know who it was. Now do ya see what I mean about "being ready for a thing causes it never to happen?" I say that ALL the time and it's TRUE.) Anyway...
If I can't get there one goddamned way, it WILL be the other. Every other time I've been "about" to call him, he does a post about how much he hates the phone, cell phones in particular, and ijits who call him on them and drive him nuts and shit, so I've not done it. Til now. Got Cat's number in there too, actually. Or, maybe, it IS this stupid machine in front of me.
Lately it, along with my car, has developed certain "idiosyncracies" as it were, that are slowly adding to the pressure.
Just to go on record, they're doing this in that slow, insidious way that usually culminates into a blow-out-type reaction after a looong while, usually over something utterly stupid and unrelated.
Like...
throwing pasture gates around for hours.
Shit like that. Anyway...
the computer will NOT simply shut off, no matter that the "shut down" circle is "checked", nor by ctl., alt. delete.
Either way, ANY way, ya do it, it restarts immediately. I couldn't, last night, get updates on either Adaware or Spybot S&D and it also gave me some kind "runtime" bullshit about Mozilla. I forget what it whined at me about the Spybot update.
Adaware just sat there and the tower thing on the floor got silent.
Had to get rid of it with ctl., alt, delete. There's a coupla other things, but I can't remember them, probably due to the fact that I try so hard to ignore them in the first place, lest I go ballistic. Same with "Christopher", the Firebird.
It's Christopher because I am beyond convinced this ve-hickle is Christine's bastard son.
Sumbitch has got to have an as yet unlocated DICK on it somewhere, the way it acts half the time.
I love him but he drives me capital-N, capital-UTS: NUTS, just like those other thangs with winkies typically do.
Or, one of 'em, mostly, anyway.
*grin* Anyhoo, with the car, it's the headlights having to be "stuck" up giving the car the appearance of Groucho Marks, lacking only the cigar, which, believe me, I've thought about installing with duct tape, to complete the imagery.
Also, the right turn signal doesn't work. I can do it manually during the day, when the lights are off, but, at night, it's always on and yesterday, when some dipshit was pissin' me off, I discovered that the horn is not working either.
So, I hadda scream "BEEEEEEEP!!!!!" out the fuckin' window... *lmao* No, not really, but I did have the thought of installing this mouthy freakin' parrot of mine on the driver's side door, like Fred Flintstone did, to use him as a "warning device".
Then, I realized how much more personally satisfying it'll be to be like Robert DeNiro in Taxi Drvier screaming out the window, instead. Lucky for Murph, huh? Anyway....
Now I hafta walk away from my non-connecting-to-Gut Rumbles, piece of shit computer and get into my non-turn-signal-havin', no horn havin', possessed Firebird and go get the shit to do my nails.
Yeah.
I get to drive 3 miles to spend $5 so that I can sit here all day, removing and replacing nailtips and scraping away at them forever so I can go to work tonight and not hafta keep tacking them down. What fun. 'Course, right now, breathing is a chore, too. Oh, and soy protein.
Where do ya get that?
Is it bugs, or plants?
I know soybeans.
And, I know bugs are pure protein, so this is giving me an unsettling mind-movie.
*giggle*
Ew.
I just thought of what else is "pure protein". Yeah.
That's just what he needs.
His winkie anywhere near my teeth right now. Riiiight. (*rotflmfao, now*) Jesus... How did I get from Gut Rumbles to Eric's..... Oh.
I know. My computer started this by BEING a dick and I brought it back round to Eric's, so that must mean I'm done now, huh? Well, good. I gotta go to the stupid store. Peace
(What a concept) UPDATE 3.5 seconds later....
I can get to Gut Rumbles, now.
That must mean that one of those "theories" of mine was right, because, as soon as you expose a machination, the perp quits having fun doin' it and so, it ends.
Now... which one of them was it?
Hasta be either that universal conspiracy that I've dealt with forever to drive me completely insane, or God, which I'm starting to suspect may be the same thing, 'cause this pooter ain't healed itself, nor do I expect my car to have.
Know what I mean?
(If ya do, by the way... SEEK HELP IMMEDIATELY, for your own good and all.)
Posted by: Stevie at 01:39 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 28, 2005
I'm back...
Still alive, still broke... especially now that I've got all the damned bills, including the PHONE BILL, paid.
I'm tired as hell (just got home from work), I think I've got PMS again because if I ain't cryin', I'm TRYIN' to kill something and I'm totally disgusted with the fact that it took so long to get the phone bill paid, since it was less than a hundred bucks, for piss sakes. It was a matter of "timing".Well, at first it was anyway. Then, two days ago, it started buggin' me that I couldn't come write here, then today, the bully little GIRL-boy cook at work hadda be a dick, so I was determined to pay the phone bill, and to hell wid whoever doesn't like it 'cause they don't get THEIR money from me for now, ya know? Eric's shit is paid, the damned TV is still on, there IS food in this house (and NO, I do NOT need to know how many consecutive packs o'hotdogs this makes, thanks), none of the critters have died of anything, let alone starvation, although the horses may very well be carried away by FLIES, if I don't get to get some fly spray soon and the cats need flea collars, but fuck, man. Ya know?
Jeez. However....
I love my Boss.
Wanna know why? He asked me for ones today for the register and when he saw my pitiful little stack, he was appalled and gave me Friday nights to hostess, too, now. Whatta guy.
Such a sweetie. He asked me what was up, why I hadn't made more and I honestly didn't know why.
Today, everybody just "2 buck"-ed me to death. I don't know if it's because it's the end of the month, or if it's the weather, or what, but... today wasn't as good as Thursdays usually are. Ah well.
Whatcha gunna do?
Carry a sidearm to the table?
(OH HELL YES, please....) That would solve oh! so many troublesome aspects of this line of work.
Liiiike.... dickweeds who sit and talk for two hours before they even LOOK at the menu, the "other" dickweeds who hafta tell ya all the stupid shit they want for their meal one item at a time, thereby increasing tenfold the amount of running you have to do, the other other dickweeds who, after running your ass off, leave you "2 bucks", no matter how much their bill was or how admirably you met their challenge and didn't kick the shit out of them. A gun. Yep.
That'd do it, I bet. Bet I'd see an increase in tippage, too....
One way or the other. Anyway... I was gone for eight days. A "Beatle week". ("Eight Days a Week"? Get it?)
Not that anybody gave a half a shit, except for Deb, thank you Darlin'. I expect a TINY TURNOUT at my funeral now.
(Like I didn't before? Pfft.) Actually, I'm almost convinced I could disappear and it would go unremarked for longer than I'd like to think about and now, I KNOW it'd be at least 8 days before anybody started looking for me, in most of which cases I'd already be DEAD, soooo..... So what? Exactly.
So what. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate PMS?
Well...
I do.
A LOT. And now, I'm gonna go to the "library" for a while.
I'm assuming I'll be back in something sooner than eight days. On the other hand.... Nah.
I'll be back.
I know me. Meantime, I hope everybody is fine and stays that way. Tawk atcha's later.
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 06:59 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 20, 2005
Yo, Steve. What da fuck, man?
Why do you do this to me?
I love your books. I have 99% of them and read 'em all the time, over and over.Same with the movies of your books. But...
"Insomnia". Dude.
Why? Every time I read that (goddamned/wonderful) story, I end up heartbroken and sobbing in a way that real life rarely triggers, thank CHRIST. Or, maybe it is bits of my life every time that just trips the trigger. I don't know anymore. But, when you killed Ralph Roberts, you did something that affects me, hard, every single time. I tried to remember while I was bawling my head off this time, what might have added to the load the previous times... PMS, depression, being a fatass, whatever... but, nothing came to mind. This time, I'm wondering if the hellish month of June, coupled with the unremitting PRESSURE, may have been what did it.
I just don't know. All I do know is that every time Ralph dies in Lois' arms, it kills me.
It touches something so far inside me that I can usually all but deny it's very existance, until YOU come along and make me love Ralph, then kill him right in front of me.
Somehow, and I don't know how damn it, it's more than just a character in a book dying. I can goddamned FEEL it.
Every second of it. Part of me nearly worships you for you mastery of words and imagery and the way you make it all so real.
The other part of me wants to kick your ass for hurting me so bad so many times. But, I think that part is partly my fault.
I'm the one who can't NOT read it every so often. But, WHY DID YOU DO THAT?
Why did you have to kill Ralph, damn it? The stupid dog woulda been bad enough, ya know, ya jerk. And then... to make it a choice between Ralph and a kid?
AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! You never follow up on these things, but I hope to fuck Natalie had an utterly wonderful friggin' life, considering what it cost people, me included. You shithead. And, ya wanna know what else? The fact that this rips my heart out every. single. TIME. makes it all but impossible for me to know if that's why I freaked out, or if it is all the other shit.
'Caaaause, if it is all the other shit..... There ain't nothing more I can do about any of THAT than there is about Ralph dying, is there? *siiiiigh* Fuck. (Oh lovely. In the midst of this, a commercial just got me to do the whole "Fesh Prince of BelAir/e" rap thing.... yeah. That helped.) Anyway... Before you "retire", Steve, ya know what you need to do? Finish the fuckin' stories.
One HUGE book, with all the "ever afters" in it. Natalie.
Lois.
Helen.
Louis Creed.
Ellie.
Dennis Guilder.
Christine herself.
Was that her that got "Sander" Galton out there in California?
Did she work her way back East?
WHAT HAPPENED?!? You said once that one of the worst things a story teller can do is let the end of the story be a ripoff. Well, whadda ya think that shit all is? I don't need ya to make it a "happy" ending, so much, as at least let me know if the prices we pay (hurting over Ralph like I do for instance) were worth it. Whether they were or not. I just want to know. Meantime, even though I started out kinda pissed at you, now I want to thank you. So-
Thank you (you bastard *smile*), for giving me something besides me life to freak out over. At least with Ralph, I can just go back to the beginning and Ralph gets to live again.
If I stop somewhere, anywhere, in the middle, it's cool.
Because then, I don't have to kill him by finishing the book. Had I freaked about my life, however, there is the distinct possibility that I'd not be able to stop because there is no "going back" to be done there, is there? I don't even know if I'd want to go "back" to any of it anymore, but.... I dunno. All that's in my head now is that I miss Storm terribly.
I'd kill Brandy myself if it'd get me Storm back.
But, I would need to be absolutely certain it'd work....
(For whatever that's worth...) But, since I can't do that...
I'm going for "losing weight" for whatever good that may do her. Maybe she's just a naturally rough-gaited horse.
Maybe the bowed tendons have something to do with it.
Maybe it's her feet, which seem fine, by the way. Just like her tendons didn't stop her from show-jumping.
Maybe it's the ground.
Again...
I duuno. But, I do know that cartin' my overly large ass can't be helping, plus I hate me like this, soooo.... Here we go.
Without Ephedra.
I'm tired of waiting for it to be sold again. Besides, the Metabo-FX seems to be working just fine.
Three days so far.
And, I can list what I've eaten with the fingers of one hand. Have more energy, too. Now, if I could just DO something with it. Besides type fast. I wanna go outside.
Hell-hot out there, though. Maybe not so much in the woods though, huh?
Not in the creeks, either. Yeah.
Outside. Away from that stupid book.
Outta this contemptable chair.
And, maybe, if I'm lucky... outta my tornado-like mind for a while. Peace, y'all....
Posted by: Stevie at 01:27 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 17, 2005
What is it, Roger? What's coming that you seem to feel I need to be aware of?
It must be something, because I cannot get this song to stop playing in my head.
It is a beautiful song, but it's scaring me, because I strongly associate it with my Pop-pop and my Dad since my birthday when I got to play it for him.
from the award-winning Broadway musical written by Roger Miller... River in the rain
Sometimes at night you look like a long white train
Winding your way away somewhere
River I love you, don't you care If you're on the run winding someplace
Just trying to find the sun
Whether the sunshine, whether the rain
River I love you just the same But sometimes in a time of trouble
When you're out of hand
And your muddy bubbles roll across my floor
Carrying away the things I treasure
Hell, that ain't no way to measure
Why I love you more than I did the day before River in the rain
Sometimes at night you look like a long white train
Winding your way away somewhere
River I love you, don't you care But sometimes in a time of trouble
When you're out of hand
And your muddy bubbles roll across my floor
Carrying away the things I treasure
Hell, that ain't no way to measure
Why I love you more, than l did the day before River in the rain,
Sometimes at night you look like a long white train
Winding your way away from me
River I've never seen the sea
If you'd like to hear it yourself, go here and click on "Jukebox".
In addition to this song, you can also download, keep and play forever a few of his other, more well known, hits. I'd suggest that you also take a read around while you're there.
If you already love Roger, you'll love the material.
If you don't really know Roger, you'll come away loving him lots. Still like to know what's up with him in my head with this song, though....
(Hey Dad... where you been lately? Ain't heard from you for a (long) while...)
Posted by: Stevie at 12:35 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 15, 2005
Does anybody else notice anything "odd" about this?
I was reading some shit on here and saw a "post" entitled "I have officially seen it all". I clicked it and found this, a link to a news story.
The poster's point was the fact of the kid raping the dog, I think, as they didn't even mention anything else.
I'll wait.... Okay.
Notice anything "odd"?
Liiiike, how the dog is the headline when there were also actual CHILD VICTIMS? This putz not only raped a dog to death, he also molested one little girl and raped another one.
WTF, man? How is it that I'm the only one on the whole board (where this was posted) who noticed this?
I am the first one to mention this "anomoly". I just posted my response.
I'll letcha's know what, if anything, anybody else says. And, *certain* people in my life had me convinced for the longest time that it was ME who was fucked up....
Yeah.
Right. Peace people....
Posted by: Stevie at 10:19 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 14, 2005
So...
How yiz doin'?
I don't know why it keeps being 3 and 4 days between posts, buuut...It does seem to be that way, huh? Who'da thunk it?
Me?
With nuthin' to say?
Wow. Life's goin' on.
Everything is... as good as can be expected, I suppose. I miss Terry, though.
I still realize I'm not seeing any emails from him.
Still hits me every time. And...
ya know what else? I reeeally miss Storm, too. Brandy is a good girl, yeah, but her gaits are waaaay different than Storm's were and she's just not him.
To be blunt, her gaits are ROUGH. Her trot will knock yer boobs off and she trots 279 miles an hour before she'll lope, so THAT'S always fun... not.
It's good to have a horse, yeah, but dang. I miss Storm. In other news, as far as we know, the BC fucked up the divorce SHE asked for by not mailing the shit back to the lawyer in time.
Idiot. Oh friggin' well.
She wants it, she can damned well pay for it next time.
I don't care.
She really has zero effect (except financially) on us, so fuck her, ya know?
Fat-assed idiot. It's like, 2 in the morning and here I sit.
Awake.
Of course.
I have to work at 9am.
But...
I also had to replace 4 fingernails that refused to hold a weld... aka "repair".
They were cracked way down, near where the fake nail ends, so I couldn't get a really good patch set, so I said "screw it" and just replaced them. Got one coat of clear on them so far, about to do another, then I need to whip through the house because George is bringing the kid up here tomorrow, til Sunday.
Naturally.
Stupid cat just had six ($#@!*!!#$) kittens two days ago.
Therefore, I MUST have a child in the house.
Don't know why, exactly, just a fact. Can you BELIEVE that fat-assed idiot had the BALLS to even ASK if he could "bring a friend" again? (Meaning the BC asked George to ask us for the kid. I don't mean the kid is the fat-assed idiot. His ass isn't fat... *snicker*)
Pfft.
NO.
Fuck man, I'm having a "challenging" enough time affording myself, Eric and our critters. The kid himself is wiggin' me out thinking about trying to feed him for four days, I'm real sure I need another fuckin' mouth to feed.
Not to mention, another CHILD here, with these newborn kittens.
*rolls eyes* No thanks. Now, if that other kid was an animal....
Heh. Anyway...
I just another cat jump up here and put her head, the top of her head mind you, on the back of my right hand, making typing a real fun thing to do.
Not to mention the "still tacky" clear nail polish.
Just what I need.
Hairy fingernails. That'll look SO good when setting plates on tables tomorrow. Well, I guess I oughta go put the wet clothes in the dryer, do a few dishes and let one thing lead to another til I'm either done or outta time. Oh, and by the way, not that I think any of YOU guys would do this, but I keep seeing this and yesterday, it was it the crossword puzzle in the got-damned Inquirer, which is supposed to be this area's "best" newspaper and, the fact it's outta Philly and they made this mistake is just too much for me to take.
Ready? It's f-l-I-e-r, not F-l-Y-e-r when ya mean an annoying pamphlet or piece of paper handed out or stuck on windshields, OKAY? A F-L-Y-E-R is one of our hockey players, people! Got that? Flier- a piece of paper.
Flyer- a sucky hockey player, unless of course, you're referring to one of the Flyers from the late 70's.
Still, even the current sucky hockey team ain't pieces of paper and pieces of paper ain't hockey players, so GIT IT RIGHT, damn it.
That is all.
Thank you. Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 02:46 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 11, 2005
George Michael Dolenz...
says, in part:
Maybe I intuitively knew that the fall was going to come, and I was trying like hell to avoid it.But, you can't avoid it.
You mustn't avoid it.
If you have the nerve, you should actually use the downward momentum to gather up speed, like a roller coaster, in order to get back on top.
If only life were really as simple as a roller coaster.... I love this guy's mind and God, do I wish I was a friend of his.
I'd love to be able to talk to him about alla this recent horseshit and see what he'd say. Somehow, I just know he'd be able to see my way beyond this in a way, from a perspective, that I never could. I'd love to see the map he'd draw.
I'd follow it, too. Meantime....
back to my own "*face pressed against a tree* 'What forest?'" world.
(Yeah, back to that, maybe, but giggling, thanks to Micky.) Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 06:17 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 08, 2005
Muuuuch better....
I just did the horticultural equivalent of chugging a water glass full of nice, cold, delicious Tequila Rose, which, now that I said that, I may also do, but not a whole glass at once.
Can ya tell? *lmao* Jeez.This is fun, man. I'm usually reeeeally conservative any more, when it comes to that... my favorite-est substance on God's green Earth. (Just occured to me... if the Earth IS green... it's probably from some kind of nasty infection, the way we do things to it... *snerk*) Anyway... I've cut back my "usage" so much from what it used to be. I think I've smoked a least a coupla square miles of Columbia- the country, not the studio, to quote Micky Dolenz.
I used to easily go thru an oh zee a week.
Easily. Now days, it almost silly, it's so little by comparison.
I rarely ever roll it, either. But, I just did and, thank God, it worked.
Really, really well, too.
*grin* Before that, though, I was reading some damned thing on here, about that moron, Sammy Freakin' Hagar, almost coming to blows with Offical Guitar God, Eddie "Christ, he's GORGEOUS" Van Halen. I hate Hagar anyway, but if this is true, he is an even bigger asshole than I even imagined possible. Van Halen ceased to exist for me, except for previous albums, when Diamond Dave left.
He's a ham, sure, but, God forgive me, I love the guy.
Without him, Van Halen was just... wrong. But... Eddie?
whew
*fanning self rapidly* And, I couldn't even, ever so naturally, hate his wife, either.
I love Valerie.
Have ever since "One Day at a Time". I swear to God, those two looked like twins. I love that they named their kid "Wofie", too.
I know it's really Wolfgang and once, I even knew why, but I forget.
(Shit man... what's my OWN name?) Anyway, to recap... Sammy Hagar is an idiot.
Sammy Hagar is now an even bigger idiot.
End of story. In other news...
I wanna go outside, damn it. It's already July and if I don't get out there soon, it's gonna be freakin' February again and colder'n a polar bear's balls again. It can't decide if it wants to go on and rain or not.
Guess my telling it to piss off last night worked.
*blows on, then buffs fingernails on shirt* I can see it out there, being all indecisive and shit.
But, I know, if I go out there, especially without that hot-assed 200 lb. duster, when I get as far from the house as possible, it'll rain.
Hard. Even moreso if I'm not on a horse.
On foot, I'd probably get drowned before I could get back. These things I know. I've been through it before... (said veeery dryly, no pun intended.) Hah.
I think I just heard a tiny, distant rumble of thunder. Or else, this farm's answer to Evel Knevel just ran over something.
Again. Been through that before, too.
*rolls eyes* Ah, fuck it.
I'm goin' for it. What's the worst that could happen and DON'T ANSWER THAT!!!!
I don't wanna know. Given that I'd be involved, it defies the imagination anyway. For some reason, my brain can't let go of the idea of taking my dopey dog, April, with me.
Suppose I oughta, then. Kinda like a pistol and what Cap'n Call says: Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. Although, what on EARTH I could possibly "need" April for is beyond me.
I mean it's April, not Lassie, for shit's sake.
Most April's likely to do if I get into any kinda trouble is sit there and watch.
Then, eventually run off, gallavanting. Dipshit dog. Still, she's my hairball baby and I'd kill for her. Yeah.
Lem'me go let her hairy ass in here, so she can go with me.
This oughta be an adventure. If I don't come back soon... don't look to Eric for any help.
That knot head STILL doesn't know my SS number. *lmao*
See ya!
Posted by: Stevie at 05:12 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Wow.
Ain't done that in a while.
But, I did last night.
(And, no... unfortunately, I am NOT talking about sex, damn it.)
Mostly, it's all good.
Like, the job, my (was gonna say "equalibrium", but I think that's pushing it)... my not freaking out (yet) over all the shit from last month, not actively plotting the death of every licensed driver in this Commonwealth (as much) as I drive these mean streets and other assorted odd, yet good, behaviors like that. Things I usedta do, I don't anymore and things that never even occured to me to do, I'm doing. Well, last night I was revisited by one of my former selves. The "Enraged Warrior from Hell's Gate" version came a-callin'.
It's an impressive display, this "nano-second from committing murder" aspect of my personality, but it's also mostly useless. I mean, I can't really let myself kill anybody, so I break things.
Which is actually an improvement, in that when I first "met" this "me" lo, those many years ago, I used to hit shit.
Hard.
Many times, even.
Like, walls and cars and trees.
All that did was keep me from killing people 'cause it hurt my hand.
Always my right hand, too.
Of course. Well, after a few spells of not being able to do shit for about a week at a time while my hand shrank back to normal size and function returned, it occured to me that I'd maybe better find a better way to vent, lest I wind up crippled for life.
While I am somewhat ambitextrious, the entire planet is geared for "righties", ya know? So, I started throwing shit. Started out with cinderblocks around the yard.
I'd go outside and just throw a cinderblock, go get it, throw it again and again and again, til I was too tired to do anything else, let alone anything destructive, usually just screaming inarticulate rage the whole time.
One time, I didn't have a cinderblock, so I yanked my pasture gate, a great big long ol' thing, off it's hinges and threw that a few times.
Re-hung it when I was done and went about my business, spent. I used to get PISSED.
"Pissed" doesn't even cover it.
There is no word in ANY language that describes what I used to feel.
My biceps would literally ache to bunch up and apply pressure to throats, til whomever's throat it was (or whatever's, tho inanimate objects don't often have throats) was dead.
Now days, I mostly just itch to smack the taste outta asshole's mouths, as opposed to wholesale murder, thank God, but still.... Last night I. went. OFF. The whole thing lasted maybe 5 or ten minutes, but, daaaamn man.
I freaked. See, another of these odd things I seem to do a lot of these days, is to wanna lay on the floor, out here near the TV, as opposed to "in the bathroom with the door shut", again an improvement in my mind.
Why I don't just go to bed, I dunno, except that usually when I do this, it's because I don't wanna sleep sleep, just relax and maybe catch a catnap for a while, I think. Anyway, I was doing just that a few days back and the stupid cats upset my lidded and locked great big-assed cup of iced tea on the floor near me and I got wet from it while I was "relaxing".
I came to kinda damp and sticky and got pissed.
"Normal" pissed, in that I just bitched about it and washed the shit I was laying on. Well, the dickheads did it again to me last night.
Only this time, I had the goddamned tea in another lidded and closed cup up on the godammned table.
AWAY from me.
JUST SO THEY COULDN'T DO IT AGAIN.
Ya know? Well, they did anyway.
I don't know who it was, but SOME asshole went up there, knocked the cup over and I awoke to what sounded like a cow pissin' on a flat rock mere inches from my head. WHAT DA FUCK?
Who... what... YOU BASTARDS!!!!!!! That was IT.
And "it" was WAR! I don't even remember half the shit I screamed at no one in particular, but a lot of it was kinda like "Jewish-Mom" guilt trip shit.
Something about, "Fine. Fuck me. I don't have the fuckin' right to lay on the floor without getting soaked in tea, huh? Well, FUCK THAT SHIT" and other such insightful things.
This, while I was throwing the cup across the kitchen, throwing the cowpillows back through the service-window thing back into the livingroom along with the throw blanket (what a co-inky-dink, huh?) and getting madder and madder. By the time I was through, less than 10 minutes total mind you (and this includes Round Two, a briefer yet still destructive flare-up), there was not a cat to be seen in this room, there was iced tea slung across the kitchen floor, a busted cup laying there too, a broken empty candle jar I had miscellaneous shit in, a broken back scratcher and I was outta breath, yet still yelling.
I was gone... just gone, back to that red and black colored world where my rage is born. Landscape ain't changed much in these last hundred or so years.
Still bleak, barren and filled with negative energy that wants to suck you in, if it can.
I think when it does is when people do shit that the world is aghast at.
Like Manson or those picked on losers at Columbine. I felt it.
That thrumming power that says, "G'head. Throw it. Break, smash, destroy, kill..." And, I told it to fuck off and it did.
Mostly. But...
oh, it's a good thing I don't have ready access to firearms.
Or explosives.
Or any other fun stuff like that.
I can see me using it, or them.
Maybe not ON anybody, but using them all the same to get that profound expension of energy out and away from me. I picture myself outfitted like Animal Mother in Full Metal Jacket.
I'm standing there, enraged at what?, I can't explain, but I release it by a full throated, raw shriek from the very core of my soul while I just shoot ammo belts fulla rounds straight up into the air, yes, from my MACHINE GUNS.
Hasta be machine guns, too.
Ain't no pissant pistol or damned deer gun gonna do for this one. What happened to Eric? Didja kill 'im or something?, I can hear y'all wondering... No.
He was safe.
Hell, he's always safe, even if it's him I'm pissed at, which is rarer than hen's teeth.
I'd NEVER go after him.
It's not in me to do that.
Plus, after what I know he's been put through, I still couldn't do it, even if I could.
Ya know what I mean?
He's exempt, except for witnessing my meltdowns.
Poor kid....
*giggle* Anyway, he heard the beginnings of it, I guess.
Last he knew, I was mostly asleep on the floor, with Helter Skelter on the TV (yes AGAIN).
Next thing he knows, he hears me hollering and things landing hard in various places. He came out here, saw me and saw I was currently unarmed with anything to throw (except a handful of tea-soaked, hence SOFT, papertowels), so he came on in and started helping me clean up the tea in the kitchen, which I was already doing while still hollering at the world in general. We got that done and I was starting to come down. He goes back to wrestling or whatever, then I see my ashtray is wet, too, from the initial spillage of tea and had one more flash of rage, where I clean the ashtray, then threw it back onto the desk, breaking the candle jar and knocking the back scratcher onto the floor. He heard the glass break, but wisely, I think, elected to sit it out and keep watching wrestling. I grabbed the broken glass (and yes, got a tiny cut on one finger... karma, don'cha know), threw, no SLAMMED it into the trash can and swept everything else into the top drawer, then tried three times to pick up the back scratcher.
It kept dropping back to the floor, so I finally snatched it up and snapped it in half for re-pissin' me off. Had to use my knee to git the job done, but I by-God did it.
Fuckin' stupid thing.
How DARE it fuck with me then?
It was so stupid, it DESERVED to die.
Know what I mean? Jesus.... Anyway, I don't know if all this happened because of the shit from last month, or pressure about money, or post-terroist-visit shit, or from being awake 30-some hours again or just because I'm nuts. Too many possible suspect reasons in this case to be able to pinpoint what caused it. I'm hoping now it was because I was tired.
If that was the proverbial "last straw", then I'm good to go, because I went to bed shortly after that. If it was post-menstural shit, that's also good because that'll piss off soon. However, if it's because of all the shit from last month or worrying about money, that could be a bitch to "fix", 'cause there's nothing I can do about any of it. I can't un-do last month and I can't go kill the BC (God, why can't she be "available" just ONCE during an episode like this. Talk about perfect timing if she ever was... I'd go on and kill her for the greater good and at least be locked up for something real, which I soooo could live with). But, the money shit WILL end.
I know that, so that can't really be it, can it? It's just a little scary, is all.
Like I said, if I fuck up this time, it'll be worse than ever before, because it won't be me fuckin' just me again.
Can't have that.
But, I know it's got an end to it.
So, theoretically, I oughta be able to handle that without even breaking a sweat, I'd like to think. As for "post-terrorist-visit" behavior, Eric did predict I'd be pissy yesterday by the time I got home from work.
He was right.
In spades. But, not even the worst "terrorist visit" usually results in that kinda behavior from me.
Usually, I'm just moody and cry a lot over stupid shit. So, I don't know.
I don't know what caused this and I don't know about ME sometimes. Last night, except for the actual behavior, ain't no big deal, I guess.
I now have more room on my desk, I have another back scratcher (and Eric) and approximately 7000 of those stupid cups, soooo... the actual damge is negligable.
No biggie. Still... I'd just as soon not do that too often, ya know? I'd like to think this is yet another one of those "I'm too old for this shit" things.
It'd be the first GOOD one I've come across, if it ever is one. ('Course, I did, just this second, tell this stupid computer that it's "getting on my dick nerve, ya asshole".)
*rolls eyes* On that note...
I'm outta here for now. Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 01:32 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
July 07, 2005
I'm home.
I made it.
BUT...
I'm not done yet.
He's Polish and his accent is cool as hell.
Floor. I'm assuming he means "flour".
I dunno what he needs it for, but if any of my cats turn up missing and he's gained 50 pounds any time soon...
*grin* We're also supposed to get all but washed away any time, here. *rolls eyes* Pith off, Thindy.
And, same goes to you, Denny-caine.
We don't need y'alls shit 'round here.
We gots enough, thanks.
Cow, dog, cat, kitten, rabbit, rooster, horse....
As IF we need any more, right? Wanna know the ONLY reason it hasn't started raining here yet?
Me.
I got the stalls ready "in case", so of course, it didn't. I may just go put on my duster and wear it in total defiance so it CAN'T rain here.
It's worked before. If I get ready for it to rain, it doesn't.
However, if I wash my car, it begats an immediate downpour, just long enough to frick up my wash/wax job.
And to make mud for the cats to walk thru enroute to my windows on my car. They find that loads of fun, apparently. My car usually looks like it's been sponge-painted by a cat-obsessed acidhead or something. Multi-sized kitty prints going in every conceivable direction across the glass, hood and everywhere else they can manage. It's like... cat-ouflage.
Camouflage/cat-ouflage.
Get it? *deafing sound of crickets chirping* Aw, c'mon. That was funny.
Cat-ouflage. *silence* Lookit, man.
I've been awake since noon yestiddy.
I got no professional writers and I've been writin' my own material for 42 years and I'm old now.
Jay Freakin' Leno gets rich offa other peoples mental gymnastics and I get looked at funny for the same shit. He gets rich, I get the authorites called. Niiiice. I see how y'all are.
Uh-huh. Fiiiine.
Be like that. 'Cause see, being looked at straight-faced by people when I'm crackin' myself up just makes me laugh harder. The more they look like they think I'm knuckin' futz, the more knuckin' futz I get. Yeah.
THAT'S what's wrong wit' me. OTHER people. Of course. *rolling around on floor (flour?) laughing at myself* Anyhoo, off to the store.
Back soon. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 06:21 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Processing 0.01, elapsed 0.3445 seconds.
37 queries taking 0.3386 seconds, 47 records returned.
Page size 119 kb.
Powered by Minx 0.8 beta.