December 18, 2003
Grammatical question...
Isn't the past tense of 'plead', pled? All I ever see is 'pleaded', which just feels wrong. It's awkward, like saying 'standed', instead of 'stood'.
Anybody get this?
Posted by: Stevie at 03:51 PM | Comments (50) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I hate Star Trek. I only ever saw one episode that didn't make me leave the room screaming and that was "The Trouble with Tribbles". They were cute.Okay, so what's the point?
I've been wondering this for-friggin'-ever and I assure you, I'm not sitting here with a gun to my head, or anything. I just wanna know: What's the point (supposed to be) of being alive in the first place?
First of all, ya don't get asked, ya just get born. If yer lucky, you have a least one sane parent. (Like my Dad.) Then, you get to spend the next 18 or 20 years or so living one way. You get used to it. You have a family, rules, traditions, security...If it ever really does, being alive then kinda makes sense. But....
Then ya get tossed out into the world and who can ever really be ready for that at all, let alone when you are saddled with an insane bitch for a mother, especially when you're a female? Once 'there', you have to struggle every day to stay alive. Mostly people work at jobs they hate, to make enough money to eat, so they'll live, just so they can do it again the next day, ad infinitum, until you die.
So what's the fuckin' point?
Posted by: Stevie at 03:45 PM | Comments (52) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 17, 2003
You guuuys....
I can't read the next post (down there) without laughing my ASS off at myself. Jesus.
I just wanted to say "Thank you" to you guys for the strength I have to be able to see the utter absurdity and the humor in this shit. Every one of you and Eric and my Dad and Norman have given me that tremendous strength in the last day and a half.
I love you for that.
And, you know who 'you' is, right?
(hears everybody ask-saying "me?"...yep. You.)
Posted by: Stevie at 11:25 AM | Comments (45) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Unbelievable.
I have somehow managed to join the ranks of the 'newly unemployed' and I barely even had a fuckin' job.
Remember I mentioned that I was going to be and had even started, painting this house that George and his boss Jamie were fixing up? Well.....
First of all, it took about three weeks from when I first looked at it, for Jamie to get the paint and shit to do the job. In the meantime, he's allegedly telling Bill (yeah THAT Bill-Eric's boss is Jamie's father-in-law) that he wasn't too happy with me, before I was even ABLE to start, because I hadn't started yet, when I had nothing to start with. That shoulda been my first clue. Instead, I laid it off on Bill trying to start shit, as usual.
I go there and from the outset, was warned very seriously about not getting any of this white-ish paint on this beautiful black (with designs) carpet. So, I was careful. I didn't get any paint on that carpet. I was doing a good job, I know I was, at a thing I don't really 'love' doing to begin with.
There was really only one or maybe two rooms where all the patching and sanding had been done. I was painting around the 'still wet' spots as it was.
I think I was only there maybe three times. I had two rooms upstairs and the upstairs hallway done and three quarters of the kitchen done and .....
I just found out this morning, from poor George (having to be the one to hafta tell me this) that Jamie has decided he doesn't want me to finish, because I'm too slow. 'Unproductive' is what he (Jamie) called it.
Wanna know the strangest part of it all for me? It's the MEN around here who suck so bad. The wives of the guys who do this mindless shit are pretty cool. Bill's wife takes in babies who need a home. She's done this with literally hundreds of kids in her life and she's a really nice lady. Jamie's wife is pretty, she's funny and nice and she even rides her own Harley. (Now I see why...)
After a lifetime of trusting men over women, I feel like I'm in some kinda parallel universe on this stupid farm, or something. Around here, the men are the useless assnugget fucktards and the women are the humans. Odd.
It better not infect Eric or I will hang up my jock. And, I repeat: I HAVE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT. Okay? God? Ye Almighty Deaf One? Can Ya give me a freakin break here, please? And, no, not one of my limbs or my mind. If Ya don't want to help me...fine. Just leave me alone then. Go find someone else to be Job the Second in drag.
Bully. Sincerely, but with a real attitude,
me
I'mina go bake something. Now lets's see. Should it be another cake...or my brain? Hmmm. I just baked a cake last night, soooo I guess it'll just hafta be 'my brain' this time....puff, puff, inhale....hold...and release. Yeah, that sounds like a wiener of an idea to me.
I'll be back.
Giggling, I'm sure. Peace.
(Know where I can find any?)
lmao
Posted by: Stevie at 07:58 AM | Comments (48) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 16, 2003
The Marine has landed...
The Marine being my brother, Norman. He and Dad just left. I had called Dad yesterday because I was at the end of my rope with nothing left to make another knot out of.
I was spilling everything into Dad's ear when he mentioned that Norman was home for a while too and that they'd come up today and they did. They got here this morning. We spent most of the time trying to figure out exactly where I took that sharp turn to 'left field'. Was it when I was nine and my mother dropped her 'divorce' bomb on me outta the blue? Was it when the first few of the what turned out to be over a hundred people that I knew or loved started dying on me? (This all happened during my four years of high school. After that, I quit counting.) Was it when I started smoking weed? Or did it happen more gradually than that...so gradually, by so many different events that I didn't really notice it til I was already there?
Then, as Bruce began dumping me and I started finding out WHY, I took all the pills I had, which probably amounted to about the dose load of extra strength Sominex or something. I drank a beer to make sure it'd work. (Siiigh...)
Then, I called for help. (Not that I really needed anybody to watch me sleep...) But, the fact that I did call made me realize that I didn't want to be dead as much as just not in so much pain, anymore.
I cruised along for a few more months after that incident as best I could, then one day I found myself sitting in Dad's bedroom with his .357 in my hand. All I could think about was a phrase I had read in some book about cops, about cops eating the gun after they reach their saturation point for the shit they have to deal with everyday. The author said that they 'blow away all the memories and guilt in one berserk flash..." It sounded so easy. It sounded so peaceful. What stopped me that day was the idea of it being Dad's gun. I didn't want to hurt anybody but myself...least of all him. And, it would have been bad enough me using his gun, but the idea of him having to clean what little brain matter I may possess offa the ceiling was just a bit much.
That gun saved my ass not too long after that. But, before that happened, I had that same gun on me the night I found out for sure about my mother and the boyfriend she eventually moved to Florida with. I chased his ass clear into the next county, to his Uncle's house and had that gun loaded, hammer pulled, aimed at the center of his chest. I shoulda shot him. Then her. But, I didn't.
I was so busy not losing his ass going there that I really had no idea where I even was, let alone how to get the hell outta there. So, my shitty sense of direction saved his skanky ass. It was enough for mom to know that I'd done that. She knew to leave me the fuck alone. And, she did.
That gun saved me the one time a boyfriend thought that he needed to put his hands on me. In an abusive manner, I mean. After screaming at me for a while and tearing off his light cotton, sleeveless shirt (which made me laugh), he carried me into my own house over his shoulder like a fireman, or something. Once inside, I got away and ran to Dad's room. I slammed the door and locked it, got the gun, shook the bullets out, hid them under a pillow, flipped the chamber closed and got on the phone to the State Police. I'm sitting there, with the phone on my shoulder, gun levelled in both hands toward the door that that asshole was flinging himself against to get in to get me. (He was flipping out so bad because I'd smoked a joint in my own backyard. My Dad knew I did this and if he was okay with it, Tim fuckin' Parks wasn't gonna tell me shit, ya know? Especially not in my own house.)
So, there I'm sitting, listening to the phone ring and him bouncing offa the door. I even remember the conversation I had with the cop who answered.
All those guys knew me because they were really good buddies with my neighbors 'adult child'. His name was Carty and I don't really know what it was that had happened to him, but his life revolved around his police scanner and all those guys at the Woodstown Barracks. I got to know them because of him and having them called on me for (not knowing better yet and) riding across crop fields on my pony. It was no big deal, or anything. They just needed to let me know how to do that kinda stuff without doing damage or pissin farmers off. Somehow, that turned into years of me alla time making these guys cookies. Mostly Tollhouse and Peanutbutter cookies. At any rate...they knew me.
So, when I called all I had to say was "Hey, it's Dawn (I spelled that wrong on purpose). I need you guys bad." "Whatcha need, Honey?" "Well, that depends on how quickly you get here. Right now, I only need an asshole removed from my house but if he gets into this bedroom before y'all get into this house, I'll need a bodybag." "Oh shit...."
The Woodstown Barracks was less than...5 or 6 miles from our house, depending on which way ya went. We hung up and I sat there, still hearing numbnuts banging off the door and just as I saw the cop cars overheads turn onto my road, he got in. I never moved. I just sat there, knowing the cops would be there in seconds, holding that gun aimed...at his crotch. He busted through the door and advanced toward me...then realized what he was seeing. He made this mewling noise, dropped both hands across his crotch and backed outta the room. Right into the hands of two Troopers. God, what a beautiful sight that was. I had him removed, showed the second Trooper that the gun wasn't actually loaded and Dad's permits and shit and it was over. So was Tim. Jerk. I wish the endless desire to end the pain (as in my 'suicide ideation') would have stopped as easily. The only other overt thing I did along those lines was to 'come back to myself', as it were, one morning in my apartment, after my first marriage had ended (we're still friends to this day) and see that I had been 'picking', not slicing, at my arm with a regular razor blade. I even had some ice there to try to numb it. It didn't work. The pain from that is what 'woke me up'....I called Dad then, too. I can remember quoting some Springsteen lyrics to him.
"Every day ends in wasted motion, just crossed swords on the killing floor. To settle back is to settle without knowing the heartache that yer settlin' for...just waitin to see some sun, not knowing if that day'll ever come...." Jackson Cage.
(Fuckin A...I got goose bumpy just typing that...)
Dad was tuned in enough at that time to pick up on and fully understand the song "Pressure" by Queen on his own. I remember him talking to me about that. About the song and what it was saying and him being worried that that was how I felt, which I did. Still do. Always have.
Sometimes I'm amazed at just how much one person can fuckin go through and not just drop dead...other times I'm appalled at how much shit we have to bear. The only other time I sorta scared myself was this one day when I was cooking something that required a deep layer of oil in a frying pan. I remember wondering if it would kill me if I just leaned forward and put my face into the hot grease. I didn't even start to do it, but the fact that it didn't scare me to consider that scared me. Except for one other incident of waving an unloaded pistol around in a fit of pique, I've not tried it again. But, yesterday....that was bad. Things have changed here a little and some of the pressure is off. We're not moving now and, for now, Crane'll just have to do without Eric. There couldn't be a worse time to do this anyway, than now. Later in the year, the closer to September, really...the better. But, for now...I can kinda breathe again. I feel like I live inside of a fist. It is always clenched. It's usually a tight enough clench that I feel like I can't take a deep breath. I can deal with it, but it is wearing and highly uncomfortable, at best. Then there are the days the fist clenches much tighter...like a fist squeezed in anger. Those days are sooo hard. Those are the days when it seems futile to even try to breath, let alone get anywhere. That's when I firmly believe that dead has just gotta be an improvement. But, I really do know better. It would be sorta like killing flies with a shotgun. Because, ya see, for as heart and backbreaking as this load is, I have the sneaking suspicion that it's all just stupid bullshit. And, that's before reading other people's blogs and seeing what real problems can be. From this, I surmise that my real problem isn't the shit that constitutes being alive as much as it is my view of it, which I believe is skewed because of a real chemical imbalance inside my brain. I had asked what good it would do to take a pill when it wouldn't change any of the shit I've had to go through. Now I understand that, while it indeed won't change one iota of the shit I've had to eat, it could very well give me a different and more real perspective on it all.
Still, I have a slight problem right now with being able to get the help I need. I need at least my license back. I'm told there's a free clinic that'll help. Now...I have tried that before and those places say 'free', but then they start wanting to know about any possible sources of income that you have any access to at all. I don't play that shit. You say free, it better be that. Free. You want money? Go dig up my fuckin mom and go dun all my ex's. They are who 'helped' me get this way, let them be the ones to pay for it.
Eric has paid enough. Maybe not cash, but he's paid all the same. Much like I have. Just not for as long. Yet.
I'm not adverse to the idea of obtaining help or meds or whatever. But the first lie I see'll send me out the door at approximately 99 MPH. Mention money, I'm gone. Eric's checks are only $53.00 a week as it is because of the child support/alimoney payments. I'm supposed to suck up that last bit? I don't think so. Matter of fact...I know NOT.
Annnywayyyy...
I am still here. I am....okay. Someday, I hope I'm actually 'well', but 'okay' is fine for now.
We don't hafta move, Crane'll not get their hooks into Eric any time too soon, Dad and Kim want all of us, Geroge included, to come to their house for Christmas and Dad keeps saying that it would be so good if I did live in Jersey so I could go to his house 3 or 4 days a week and just hang with him and Norman. Wow. Just being told that helped more than I can say. I may not be able to do that because of my stupid license/job thing, but being told it would be okay, it would be nice, it would be allowed to happen....just hearing that helped a lot.
Ahhh...I could go on forever...like that's news. I do have more to say about a few things, but...frankly, I hear the 'library' pretty much screaming my name right now and...I wanna think this other stuff through a little more with my new, more relaxed brain. (Now, normally a 'relaxed' brain could be a not necessarily good thing. Figures in my case, it's just what I need.) I shall return....
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 09:27 PM | Comments (45) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 15, 2003
Man, I want to but...
I just don't have the...whatever to. Dad said I oughta blog about how I feel but, for as simply as it could be stated (I want to be dead now...I've had enough), the REASONS are sooo complex and tangled and deep that I just can't. I will say that it is no one persons fault. It's not that I want to get away from anyBODY...now, 'anything' might just be a different story...but it ends the same, so who cares?
The reasons have to do with my mother fucking my boyfriends, my boyfriends tossing me aside for her, losing my Dad to Kim so completely and the 20 years of not feeling like I belong anywhere or TO anyone, the fact that I don't have a job, or my license to get a job and we have NO MONEY for anything and most of all...the fact that I am me. I fuckin hate that. Hate it.
Eric wants a Christmas tree. I could do without one. He found some chick online here who "still believes in Santa Claus...mushy huh?" "No...not at all. It's just something that lives in your heart..." Yeah...that I don't have. It doesn't live in me anymore. It was murdered years ago. Along with any self-esteem, hope, joy of just being alive (a chore-at best) or anyway to see things except realistically. Which sucks.
The only reason I've calmed down on the idea of just going somewhere and dying is that my brother, Norman, just lost his best friend in the world last week to a freak shooting incident. I'd hate to think that the reason this kid hadda die when he did was to keep me from doing it now, but...it worked. For now.
Hell, I doubt I really even want to be dead dead...I'm just sick of feeling nothing but pain and fear and...always just waiting for the next 'thing' to happen.
The few good memories I do have only serve to remind me in depth how much I don't have anymore and can never have again. Like my Grandparents house on Christmas and a FAMILY there, too. Having to look at a Christmas tree with nothing under it and nothing to even be put under it...just too much. I know that that isn't really what Christmas is all about, but jeez. I couldn't do that even if I wanted to. No choices here.
I'll never have anything like my parents had it when I was growing up. No real Christmases, no family-even if it was kinda fucked up-no traditions, no...no nothing. Just a huge cat toy that blinks and sheds needles.
I went to get Eric's Copenhagen last week and they were giving away free little brass spittons, so I got him one. I wound up crying over it because I was sooo happy to be able to get him anything at all, even if it was free. At least it has "Smokeless tobacco' engraved on it.
They gave me two other ones, too. So, I guess I got him three gifts. Three free spitoons.
At least it was something, right?
I just want a home (even if it's a cardboard box as long as it's a real HOME), not to wind up in one...especially not the one with the rubber walls. One question: Besides for the sheer fun of the torture aspect of it all, why does God take a kid like my brothers friend...so young, fulla plans, was gonna be a cop, etc. ...or a John Lennon, neither of whom wanted to die and both of whom were such much better people than me...talented, loved, useful and 'worth it' and he makes me stay when I wanna go?
(I won't even mention my (dead) goat...) I'm sorry this doesn't make more sense. For whatever it's worth, it makes no sense to me, either.
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 04:57 PM | Comments (50) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 14, 2003
Hey...
Yeah, I actually am-sporadically, anyway-cleaning the house.
Got all the tiny pieces of chewed wood, the dishes (the pile of silverware weighed more than I do, fer fucks sake), most of the wash...still have the refrigerator (what an innocent word for a place where so many items are developing the ability to growl and snap at you), the half a bale a straw from the now indoor bunny cages, more wash...and the (cue 'doom' music)...mudroom.
If I survive all that (debatable), I wanna bake a cake. Actually, I'd like to just sit down and eat a container of cream cheese icing, but...whew. That'd be...energizing, wouldn't it? That's actually good, though...energy to work off the icing.
Hmmm. I think I just invented a new diet/excersize program. Who's with me?
This''ll make Richard Simmon's 'Deal a Meal' look like...a stupid idea. Oh wait. It already does...damn.
Well, hell, it's still a good idea I've got.
Posted by: Stevie at 10:24 PM | Comments (42) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 13, 2003
I know...
It's not the 'hundred things' list I keep wantin' to do...but it is a step in the right direction.
Thank you Jane. (She finds some of the coolest shit...)
LAYER ONE:
-- Name: Stevie
-- Birth date: April 30, 1963
-- Birthplace: New Jersey (shaddap...just shaddap...I already heard 'em all, thanks. And, Bruce Springsteen can bite me too...Don't even get me started on Bruce 'Fucknoodle' Willis...)
-- Current Location: Bucks County, Pa.
-- Eye Color: Hazel
-- Hair Color: Dark/Strawberry blonde
-- Height: 5'8"
-- Righty or Lefty: Righty
-- Zodiac Sign: Taurus LAYER TWO:
-- Your heritage: German/Welsh/God knows
-- The shoes you wore today: Barn boots, Harley Harness boots.
-- Your weakness: Swedish meatballs...especially ones named Eric.
-- Your fears: Being without Eric, dying slowly. (Which is redundant...)
-- Your perfect pizza: Domino's Cheddar Cheese Bacon Burger.
-- Goal you'd like to achieve: Finding a job to get into completely, with good pay, like at Wellacrest. No more 'Wallys', though. Don't need that shit, thanks. LAYER THREE:
-- Your most overused phrase on YIM: lol
-- Your first waking thoughts: Gotta PEE! MOVE, DAMN IT!!! (to all the animals)
-- Your best physical feature: Hair, boobs, voice.
-- Your most missed memory: Uncle Henry's farm and my first Appaloosa, Diablo. LAYER FOUR:
-- Pepsi or Coke: Pepsi...better yet- Mountain Dew.
-- McDonald's or Burger King: Mickey D's-ALWAYS.
-- Single or group dates: Ummm, neither. Doubt highly that Eric would like that much.
-- Adidas or Nike: Neither-I done told ya...Harley boots, man.
-- Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Git that nasty-assed powdered shit outta here. Brewed, Dude.
-- Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla, with a banana under it.
-- Cappuccino or coffee: Both...an I.V. in each arm, please. LAYER FIVE:
-- Smoke: What?...Yeah. And cigarettes.
-- Cuss: Fuck no.
-- Sing: Constantly
-- Take a shower everyday: Without fail
-- Do you think you've been in love: No. I know it.
-- Want to go to college: Hell no.
-- Liked high school: Mostly.
-- Want to get married: Done it twice. Third time's the charm, right?
-- Believe in yourself: No.
-- Get motion sickness: No way.
-- Think you're attractive: Nope
-- Think you're a health freak: Yeah...and I also think Acidman is a humble kinda guy and the Barbie twins had real talent and that Jim Morrison is still alive. Are you nuts? Health freak...riiiight.
-- Get along with your parent(s): Sure. Always have gotten along with Dad. I get along great with Mom, too, now that she's DEAD.
-- Like thunderstorms: Could give a damn, unless the power goes out. Then, I don't.
-- Play an instrument: Depends on yer definition of 'instrument'... LAYER SIX: In the past month...
-- Drank alcohol: Probably.
-- Smoked: Duuuuh...yes.
-- Done a drug: I repeat....
-- Made Out: With whom?
-- Gone on a date: Noooo...now quit asking that.
-- Gone to the mall?: I don't do the mall. I hate shopping.
-- Eaten an entire box of Oreos?: No. But, I'll put a hurtin' on some Chicken in a Biscuits.
-- Eaten sushi: No. I look like a FISH, do I? That's shit is BAIT, thankyouverymuch.
-- Been on stage: Oh yeah. Karaoke, anyway.
-- Been dumped: Siiiigh. Getting married the third time...ya think?
-- Gone skating: No. That's kinda hard to do without ICE...thick ice. 'Weeks-in-the-making' ice. Ain't been cold long enough. Yet.
-- Made homemade cookies : A few (hundred) times.
-- Gone skinny dipping: No. But I have 'hung out' in a deerstand. Literally.
-- Dyed your hair: No. I don't DO that kinda shit.
-- Stolen Anything: A few hearts...maybe? LAYER SEVEN: Ever...
-- Played a game that required removal of clothing: Yes
-- If so, was it mixed company: Yes
-- Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: oh, Gawd, yes.
-- Been caught "doing something": Yes
-- Been called a tease: Yes
-- Gotten beaten up: No
-- Shoplifted: No
-- Changed who you were to fit in: Not one fuckin' iota. LAYER EIGHT:
-- Age you hope to be married: All of 'em.
-- Numbers and Names of Children: Zero and "Someone Elses".
-- Describe your Dream Wedding: Outside. Horseback. Massive party.
-- How do you want to die: Instantaneously.
-- Where you want to go to college: I don't.
-- What do you want to be when you grow up: Still alive?
-- What country would you most like to visit: Germany...again. LAYER NINE:
-- Number of drugs taken illegally: One, but I've 'done' a metric ton of that. Shit would cover all of Columbia...or Mexico...but not Canada. Sorry, Sweetie, but I hear y'all are having problems in that area...
-- Number of people I would trust with my life: 1 (at a time, anyway...)
-- Number of CDs that I own: 200+
-- Number of piercings: 2. One in each earlobe.
-- Number of tattoos: None
-- Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper?: A few.
-- Number of scars on my body: A few small ones
-- Number of things in my past that I regret: What Jane said...which was *sigh*...let's not even go there, m'kay? Okay. Now, I'm gonna go....
Damn it.
Posted by: Stevie at 08:51 AM | Comments (47) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Honestly...
Well, at least I can admit it when I have a problem....see the comment.
And...you jus' hush up.Posted by: Stevie at 06:40 AM | Comments (46) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
My brain...has melted...
My God. I just spent the last about 6 hours IM-ing with Paul while he walked me thru installing and using Adaware. There was sooo much shit in this computer, I'm surprised it worked at all.
MyGod!
Now...heh.
Shoulda done HAD it done before 'now'...lol. I'll be back...
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 06:17 AM | Comments (48) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 12, 2003
Alrighty then, ya smartass...
Siiiigh. Seems Eric woke up fulla piss & vinegar today. He's been off the last few days because of his back. He broke it twice riding bulls and if he fucks it up one more time...it could be bad. Permanant bad. So, he's been in the house. The 'I-still-ain't-cleaned-it-yet' house. The house in which the livingroom looks like a hangout for beavers on crack. See, we have a fireplace and ever since last week, when it 'foul and filthy four-lettered worded', we've had wood in the livingroom. We've had wood ALL OVER the livingroom; on the floor, on the furniture, drug through pretty much every. single. room. in. the. house. That is because of the dogs...a.k.a. the beavers on crack.
They must think that we are just the nicest Mommy and Daddy to have brought them such a huge and never-ending pile of chew toys. These assnuggets are more efficient wood shredders than...I don't know what. Lord. Place looks like a HUGE fuckin' hamster cage or something. This, in addition to the usual mess that can be created by 292 animals and two men. I am blameless, here. (*ducks, assuming lightening bolt must surely be enroute*) Well, I'm not as bad as all them. (Put together...)
Anyhow...I mentioned a while back that I haven't been in the best of frames of mind lately, so the house has gone to hell. And, Eric's been 'stuck' in it because of his back.
We were discusssing the intelligence (or lack of) of going back out to work today. I, being the "screw that, your back is more important than anything they're doing" type, was arguing for taking it easy. He, on the other hand, after being asked if he was going to be out there for the vet check (vastly different from milking and feeding and the usual shit he does), got all retarded on me and decided to chance it and go on and do his regular job this afternoon. I explained to him the various reasons why this was a dopey idea. He then said...and I quote: "Yeah, but I've already been off for two whole days..stuck in the hou....rut-roh." as he looks up at me. Slowly.
Me: "Oh Lord, look out...he's threatening to withhold sex, now...", smirking.
Him: "What sex?" Ooohhh, so that's how he wants ta play, hum? Okay. Time for another Eric story, I see. This one, I call: "The Poor Little Snake" It is true. (Teach you to bust my nads, Son...heh, heh, heh) Once upon a time, there was this poor little unco-ordinated, slightly klutzy snake. He lived in the woods. His favorite thing to do was lay around in a tree, sleeping, dreaming little snake dreams, while the sun warmed him. One day, the clumsy lil snake woke up and went to stretch. When he did, he slipped. When he slipped, he fell outta the tree and when he fell outta the tree, his day went to hell in a huge-assed hurry.
See, when the poor little (not an anaconda here, folks) clumsy snake fell outta that tree, not only did he get all embarassed and shit, he landed on this big, bi-ped, screaming-like-a-girl, creature. The thing the poor widdle snake landed on leapt up and began shrieking and flailing about as if he was on fire.
The poor defenseless and now utterly confused, disoriented and probably dizzy little snake flew off into the brush. Just as he was about to thank God Himthelf that he thurvived...he didn't. He got his poor lil snake head blown off just FER BEING CLUMSY. Poor little thing. His parents musta been mortified. Twice, even. Once for him being so klutzy and second cause he was DEAD.
And, that huge shrieking thing he landed on? Well, that one ran screaming after blowing his head off. The other hige bi-ped creature who was there too just pissed himself laughing. The End. There. Got any more smart remarks, there, Cheeky-Boy?
Yeah.
I didn't think so.
Posted by: Stevie at 09:34 AM | Comments (53) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Ummmm...
Anybody lose the brass end to a firehose?
I happened to find one along the edge of the driveway just now when I went out to get the mail and paper.
Friggin' thing is heavy.
Icy-assed COLD, too.
Posted by: Stevie at 08:52 AM | Comments (46) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
My goodness...
I just got to spend a while bullshittin' with a nutjob who wouldn't know a great artist if John Lennon bit him square on the ass.
He's actually very cool. And...he kinda looks like Kevin Costner. Mind you, I only saw one picture and the Kevin Costner I'm referring to is 'Tin Cup', but in my (thin) defense, that is my favorite movie of his...
Fear not...I ain't done with him yet. I'll get him there. Somehow.
Watch me.
BWAHAHAHA!!!
Posted by: Stevie at 07:33 AM | Comments (49) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 11, 2003
Hey...
(Good time to post this, right after I get done directing 'someone' to the top post and all, but jeez...I gotta.)
Does anyone else hear the dog barking at the end of "She's so Fine"? It's in the fadeout. Weird.Posted by: Stevie at 11:59 PM | Comments (43) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Yo, Mr. Likes-to-live-Dangerously...
Posted by: Stevie at 11:31 PM | Comments (45) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
While I work on the 'techy' part...
Comments: John's turn! (Yes, another comment/post)
Holy crap. No wonder that didn't get me any spiffy angry referrer traffic. Somebody beat you with a stick or something. Relax. You can leave it. I ain't 'fraid o'the blogosphere. Yes! I'm the guy who makes the "air jackoff" motion when people start talking about Lennon. There. That oughta do it. :-P Posted by Mad William Flint at December 11, 2003 05:49 PMrotflmao...
Alright, Smart-ass...give me time. I'm trying to compose a suitable response here. (I get to learn new techy-shit, too...oh good. This shouldn't take TOO long...siiiigh) (PAULLLL!!!!! I need you. No, not McCartney...) In the meantime, you may take comfort in the knowledge that I'm sitting here typing in rythym with "Yellow Submarine" as I work my through the "kick ass from the first track to the last" Beatles 1 CD blasting through the headphones. 'Elanor Rigby' just showed up and we're on our way to Penny Lane, now... John Lennon was a genius!!!! Paul McCartney oughta be leaving lip-prints on John's butt, instead of teethmarks, btw. (Now, THAT oughta do it...lol)
Posted by Stevie at December 11, 2003 10:53 PM
P.S. John says to tell ya "All ya need is love..."
*kissy-face* Posted by Stevie at December 11, 2003 10:55 PM
Posted by: Stevie at 11:00 PM | Comments (42) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
John's turn! (Yes, another comment/post)
Oops, I did it again...(Aw Key-riste...somebody PLEASE kill me. I just quoted that skeezix Brittany Spears and I like her even less than I do John's murderer.)
Anyway...I get this one tiny lil comment and wind up with another 'diarrhea-of-the-keyboard-induced' post. I've changed my buddy's name to the initials, which I also used in the body of the post. Yeah, I know he kinda 'outed' himself, but he did it in the comments...not out here, so I'm just wanting to be careful still, okay? (I don't fer the life of me know why people suggest doing posts in the 'draft' form first, when the comments section seems to work sooo well...lol. Besides, out here, I get to add my bold or italics for emphasis, which I don't think I know how to do in the real comments section.)
Comments: Now for something completely odd... Heh. I knew there was a reason I haven't heard from you in the past few days. :-P More once I wake up. Posted by MWF at December 11, 2003 12:53 PM
Hey Sweetie...I wasn't avoiding you or anything. Especially not 'cause of this silliness. I admit that, yeah, I did skip about a day here, but it had to do with the utter assholery of the contests and numbers and their affect on people. (In other words, when Donnie said he was quitting, I said 'fuck THIS' myself for a bit.) Plus, either I'm developing several distinct, seperate personalities or I've got PMS like a bitch, right now. And, whichever it is, it ain't your fault...I honestly wasn't (and I'm still not) 'pissed' or in any way 'negatively emotional' about yer comments in reference to Mike. I will, however, also admit to wondering why you so dislike John Lennon, buuut...that's okay, too. Really. It is.
(Oh God...I can feel another 'explanation' coming on...lol. Aw fuck, here we go...)
About John...I don't think he's God. First of all, that would be a step down for a guy who was 'more popular than Jesus', wouldn't it? (That's a joke, a joke I say, Son...) But, really, what John was was a uniquely gifted individual, able to do things with words and music that most other people can't even begin to do, who was muredered-shot in the back, no less-at the young age of 40, fer Christs sake, by a fat, useless, jealous, utterly stupid yet sane (enough) piece of sub-human shit for no discernable reason, whatsoever. That is what made him into a deity. Not me. And, that had to happen, because of the fame Chapman got for killing him. If that loser is now 'famous', John must be elevated to the next level to keep Chapman in his place, which is about 2000 levels under the soles of John's boots. After he's stepped in dog-shit.
And, these aren't my rules...it just seems to be what has happened here. If what that goober Chapman wanted was to expunge John from the face of the earth, he failed-miserably-because all he managed to do was turn John into a legend who transcends even death. But, hell, we're not stupid. If we were, it would have also made Yoko into some kinda hero, which it did not. Matter of fact, it is my considered opinion that if that asshole Chapman REALLY wanted to hurt John while escaping the wrath of John's (real) fans, he'd have shot HER instead. But, that's not what he did and I personally can't stand having to even acknowledge the assholes existence without 'mentioning' John's superiority to that waste of sperm, flesh and oxygen. (Chapman, not Yoko, altho I can see how someone could confuse that.) That's all. I liked John before he was murdered, but after that-BECAUSE of that-I've read more things and spent way more time than I would have just thinking about John and all of it, thereby making him even more real, human and personal to me.
(So, fuck you, Chapman...ya didn't rid the world of John Lennon. And, as long as I'm alive I intend to keep it that way. Fuckin' PUNK-ASS.)
Oops...sorry. Almost lost it there. But...at Chapman...not you, MWF.
As for Chapman's insanity, or LACK THEREOF...he was sane enough to hold jobs, acquire handguns and all other manner of shit. He's also sane enough to die for what he did and until he does...this won't end. The longer that piece of shit lives, the bigger John's legend gets. And, I really don't see anything really wrong with that concept.
So, yeah, in a way, you're right. John shouldn't be made into a 'God' and probably wouldn't be to this extent, if he hadn't also been murdered like he was, which he deserved even less than any "God-status" that was conferred upon him on his death.
Kay?
(Seeing as how I'm giggling right this second, this seems like a good time for me to shut up. Besides, I hafta go post this now...lol. Yes, somewhere in the previous half hour this, too, morphed from a comment into a post.) Dear God,
Please don't let anyone
get me started about
OJ any time soon, okay?
I don't think there are
enough aspirin in the world,
let alone this house.
Thanks,
me Speaking of this house, I think I'mina go clean it now. I shall return. (Again and always)
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 05:19 PM | Comments (48) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Oh Lord...
I just found this and haaad to share it. God, I love that grrl.
Comments: Not to even mention the fact... Dear Stevie, I like you So Very Much, and not just because you link me. Your growth in this medium has just been incredible. You were a bit stumbly when you started (as we all were), but you consistently put out worthwhile content these days. In short, 'You's Purdy Niftaaay', and (my favorite, personal motto) 'Fuck All Naysayers'. Thank you and good night. Warmly,That Jett Grrrl Posted by Jett at December 11, 2003 04:07 AM
Oh yes, and: You Totally 'Get' It. Posted by Jett at December 11, 2003 04:08 AM
Thank you ever s'much Kind Lady. I just kinda cringed when I read this, because I just posted this...this 'manifesto' that gave even me a headache.
So, other peoples, I'd like to hereby reserve Jett's right to modify or simply rescind these wonderful sentiments when she gets a load of the load I just posted.
That is all. Posted by Stevie at December 11, 2003 06:55 AM
Posted by: Stevie at 07:00 AM | Comments (42) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Now for something completely odd...
I said in my comments a coupla days ago that I was going to do a post in response to a particular comment, because I had too much I wanted to say for it to qualify as a mere comment...lol.
Then, crap avalanched on top of me all of a friggin' sudden and I just...had had enough for a few minutes. Hell, I don't know why but lately, I seem to have two basic moods...fair to middlin' and pissed. I'm never the most 'cheerful' or 'perky' (gaaaaggg) or 'chipper' person I know to begin with, but I'm usually able to maintain some kinda equilibrium. But, here lately...
Anyway, while I'm in the "fair to middlin'" area, I figgered I'd better go on and do this, before I go back to Pissedthefuckoffville. Ya know?
I have no anger or animosity toward the author of the comment and to be sure this can't be misconstrued in any way as a personal attack, I'm not saying who it is. He can, if he wants, but I'm not trying to start a shit-slingin' contest (I HATE contests...remember?), so I'll leave it at that, okay? Good. And, awaaaay we go.... (I'm the italics...as if ya wouldn't be able to tell.) I'm usually in the same line as you. But I've gotta say: Look at the way he treats his children. Yeah...I have been thinking about him and his kids. First of all, I hope you aren't referring to that lame example that just everybody had to gasp over of him holding his baby over that railing. I mean, cheez-whiz, man, I see people do way worse than that nearly everytime I go....anywhere, really. Parents smacking kids-really HARD- for acting up, yanking 'em up by the arm, slingin' 'em around and shit...I'm sure you've seen it too. Now, that HAS to be worse than what Mike did. That's done in anger. Mike wasn't angry or trying to hurt, or discipline the kid. He was showing him off in an admittedly awkward way. And, Jesus...Mike is otherwise so friggin' 'normal' that that incident should be shocking?...yeah, okay. Second thing about his kids...Now, I know NOTHING about how pedophiles think, but it seems to me that IF Mike was gonna do that kinda shit, he'd...God forgive me...keep it in the family. I mean, who's gonna turn him in that way? Him? Know what I'm sayin'? It just doesn't make sense for him to take such a huge risk like that, especially after what he went through before and seeing as he has kids of his own, now. (I'll be right back. I need a shower, now...*shudder*.) Yes he probably had the worst of all childhoods, much of it is even on record. But at some point we are responsible for ourselves and can't blame things on our upbringing any more. You're right...to an extent. I've heard this before and I cannot understand how, if you're raised by substandard human beings in the first place, you're supposed to have the 'tools' needed for just such a self-fix. What? You think Joe Jackson took time out of his 'stage-fathering to the nth degree' to make sure little Mikey and the rest of those boys had the mental skills to repair the damage he was doing? Siiigh. Please. That cocksucker was too busy chasing the almighty dollar to give a rat's ass who he destroyed in the process, as we can all plainly see. As to what did or didn't happen, hell none of us know and we'll all believe what we want to believe. Truer words have never been typed, Darlin'. Sad, ain't it? But that man is sick very very sick. Who he's become is not ok any more. Agreed and agreed. However...at exactly what decibel does Michael Jackson have to shriek to get help? First of all, this is a situation that has been ongoing for years...years. He's needed help longer than I have, fer piss sake. Then, we've got judges locking up people like Robert Downey Jr. "for his own good, so he can get rehabbed" and Charlie Sheen and even that assnugget Leif Garrett get inventions done for 'em and Mikey? Ah...fuck Mikey. Let's just all stand around and watch him jitter apart. Then, when his behavior becomes outrageous enough, we can use that as 'proof' of accusations of criminal behavior. People, please. The outward manifestations of Mike's 'sickness' are SYMPTOMS...not evidence or proof that he's a pedophile, okay? That's all I'm sayin'. I just know somebody's gonna wanna say something about all his money and all the help available, but to that I'd say: Hanging around with that dipshit Elizabeth Taylor is no way to get 'helped'....she's almost as nutso as he is. And, again...you're expecting a man who was never taught otherwise to see this in himself and be able to know how to fix it. Not fair, I tell ya. Not fair. (Please believe me on this one...I KNOW.) And about freaks. Lennon was wrong. Most of the public actually knows pretty well what it's like. Jesus. I hope to God you're the one who's wrong about that. If the 'public' has any idea at all of how painful it is to be singled out, targeted and labelled a freak, the 'public' sure is an evil, malicious, heartless lot for continuing to do it. (And, I'm not depressed, I'm RIGHT to stay in the house alla time...) Please...if you are indeed correct about that, would you tell me, or just try to explain, 'why'? I really need to be able to grasp an understanding of that. Okay...I'm done. If I got a tad 'vebally vehement', I'd like to point out that it was not directed to the commenter. Every time I got an attack of 'shithouse-mouth' it was directed toward either Joe (Fuck I hate that guy) Jackson or that twat (oops again) Leif Garrett. Lem'me go see if I said anything else...Well, I did call Elizabeth Taylor a dipshit, but that's hardly 'harsh'... Anyhoo...I'm more interested in getting my points across than I am cussing, right now. Not that I can help it when it comes to Mike's (fuckin' asshole of a) father, anyway...You just know the guy's gotta be a piece of shit, if I, the original and very fervent ManFan, hate the sumbitch. And, for some reason, I really, really do. A lot. I'd not only not piss on him if he was on fire, I'd throw gas. He is evil personified. If Michael Jackson is punished for child abuse and his dad isn't...that would be THE most unjust, horrific example of the system gone wrong that I ever want to witness.
(Warning: Tangent Ahead)
I wouldn't, however, be a BIT surprised. After all, we're feeding, clothing, housing and fuckin' supporting John Lennon's murderer. Why? Dear GOD, somebody please tell me WHY that murderin' asshole is still alive. And, how is anyone supposed to have any kinda faith in this 'system' of ours, anyway?
(Specialized little rant here...)
Did any of ya's ('the public' is who I'm 'talking' to here) stop to really think about why OJ ran? And, noooo, I'm not even gonna go there. I'm just asking if anyone tried putting themselves in his place. Or even just tried to imagine what he was dealing with. I know I woulda been completely freaked the fuck out and scared...of the cops. Whether I really did it or not. Think about it. Even if you have no documented history of Domestic Violence, when a spouse is murdered, the first one blamed is the surviving, or last, spouse, if you're seperated. Even if you don't live with the victim anymore, you are still considered a suspect until cleared. Yeah, that is sooo close to "Innocent until proven guilty", isn't it? Yep. So, your spouse is dead, murdered, you have two small children and you KNOW the cops will be up yer ass, more so with any hint of DV in your relationship. What the fuck, man. What's a person supposed to do? You just want to try to start to deal with the fact that your 'person' is dead, which is devastating unless you're mortal enemies, which OJ and Nicole were not. That right there...dead significant person in your life, is traumatic enough, let alone having to try to prove your innocence at the same time. And, just how do you do that...prove you didn't do something? Ever had someone lie about you, like, say...in high school. Maybe say they fucked ya when they didn't? How the hell do you prove something even that simple? You can't. I know. So....how do ya prove innocence when the cops and DA are hell-bent on proving you did do it from the git-go? On top of which, you lived a skewed life because you're a celebrity. Those people don't know how to behave 90% of the time, in simple daily living. So, again, we expect what we consider to be 'normal (again-whatever the fuck that word means) behavior from a not 'normal' person.
Christ...did it ever occur to anybody that we're the ones who create these creatures in the first place? Talk about deifying people. Jesus. We take regular, same-components-as-us people and make them 'special' and kiss their celebrity asses, then expect them to act like we would in ANY given circumstance. Well, how intelligent of us. And, guess what else? We've done it with more than one person and repeating the same behavior and expecting a different result is the very definition of insanity. Okay? Does anybody besides me see a pattern emerging here? Think about it...just who is it, really, who's fucked up? Them, for being so 'special' or us for makin' 'em that way?
(We now return to the Original Tangent, still in progress...)
We've got that soulless piece of shit, Mark Chapman alive and well, when he outright MURDERED John...shit, there's a dude named Robert Oakley Marshall on New Jersey's death row right now for murdering, or having murdered, his wife, Maria, for insurance. When the fuck is stupid New Jersey gonna get around to killin' this asshole? Probably sometime after they get the scam they call auto insurance straightened out. Yeah, right after we have honest politicians to choose from, the Beatles get back together and hell is a Frigidaire dealership. It'll probably be the day BEFORE we instiutue a truly 'just' legal system.
Not to even mention the untold number of truly innocent people who are locked up right this minute.
I'm just a regular, fallible, mortal person and even I don't trust 'the system' to do right by me. I can't even begin to imagine how I'd be thinking (and I use that word loosely in this context) or acting if I were a celebrity. God...it boggles the mind. (Off in the distance, a train is heard approaching....Oh! I do believe it's the next train to Pissedthefuckoffville. Looks like I'mina hafta start packin' up here...) Really, I had no idea I was gonna go on this long. Sheesh. And, I'm not even sure that all of that makes sense, but I promise you it is all related in my tangled little brain, somehow.
I just wish people would lay off other people if they don't have absolute knowledge or proof of...wrongdoing. I mean, damn, the world is a jagged-edged, hurtful enough place in itself, without us adding to each others loads and as one who has had to drag around other people's shit for years, I just want to say that it's not fair, nice or necessary. For me, or OJ or Mike or you or you or you. The world is NOT gonna knock it off. I know that. I also know I can't stand it anymore. The one thing I don't know is what the hell to do about it.
Any suggestions? Peace (Where are those aspirin?)
Posted by: Stevie at 06:42 AM | Comments (45) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Exactly....
See? I linked her before I saw this...THIS is what I was talking about in my previous post.
She nails the 'allegorical' part of my post AND manages to prove what I was saying about substance being what matters, not numbers. I have no idea, nor do I care, what Jett's ranking is or how many hits she gets a day (altho I'd bet it's a huge number seein' how beautifully she writes...). I'll be reading her for as long as she keeps writing because she has the heart, the soul, the depth...how could I not?
They don't measure ANY of the important stuff....
Posted by: Stevie at 12:43 AM | Comments (44) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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