Saturday, September 29, 2007
First, I'm trying computer dating once again. I've had lots of people look at my profile posted on the dating website, but very few bites. This is fine because the two men with whom I've been communicating are both good guys, and I'd rather get to know two good men rather than an army of flakes.
The first guy is Jerry, with whom I share a love of Pink Panther movies and red wine. The second guy is Steve, with whom I share a love of reading, poetry, sarcasm and left-wing politics. I was supposed to meet Jerry for lunch today, but that didn't work out. We will reschedule our meeting. Steve and I are meeting tonight for drinks. We are both looking forward to it. After emailing back and forth for two weeks, it will be interesting to see if the intellectual attraction can carry over into physical attraction. I'll keep you posted on what happens.
I've considered how strange it seems jumping so quickly into the dating pool after Mikey's death. Sometimes it's odd to me as well, but I remind myself that I made the decision to release my feelings for Mikey two months prior to his death. Leslie, Mikey's ex, is for having a harder time with Mike's demise for different reasons. She has said to me, "You're handling this so well; how do you do it?" I always tell her, "You've got to remember I have seven weeks' head-start on grieving for him." It is as simple as that. In addition, my relationship with Mikey taught me a lot about what I'm looking for in a partner. Coupled with the realization he and I would never meet on common ground, I see now that time is very precious. So I need to go on to the next chapter. This includes finding a man I can love and who loves me too.
The Hamlet's Public Works Department has been a source of rich writing material recently. I'll give details in near future, but here is a condensed version of recent goings-on within The Hamlet:
Lady hits mountain lion on the way to work. She panics. Tries to load mountain lion in her minivan to take to vet. This didn't work.
Local high school's homecoming parade is cancelled due to wildfire.
Crazy people are running for city council and give interviews to the local press, revealing their complete insanity.
The Great White Hunter (GWH) was in Africa shooting defenseless animals for two weeks and has returned to the office. He has two CDs filled with videos and photographs of his bloody exploits, and he persists in trying to share these CDs with me. I refuse to watch and I've been polite in my refusals so far, but my patience is nearing an end. I have the sneaking suspicion GWH is needling me somehow in his persistence I view the CD, so the time is nigh to shut this fucker down and keep him the fuck away from me. Not that I dislike him or anything.
So that's about it, tonsant weaders. Thanks for your support through these 100 posts.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Someone who likes my incredibly thick, unruly hair; who isn't afraid to run their fingers through it; who likes to brush it.
Someone who'll hang out and talk with me in the kitchen with me while I cook.
Someone who'll snuggle in our soft, warm bed at night while the snow falls outside the window.
Someone who'll let me baby them when they're sick.
Someone who is always amazed by the alternate beauty and tragedy of life.
Someone who doesn't mind my obsession with Russell Crowe.
Someone who loves animals as much as I do.
Someone who can step up to the plate when it's time to do so.
Someone who realizes a person can never be known completely, yet never stops trying to understand.
Someone who is kind.
Someone who will always protect what we have together.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Did he send the seller a letter saying, "Please give me my stuff back?" No.
Did he stop by the seller's room at the casino and say, "Hey dude. That's my stuff. Could I please have it back?" No.
Did he call the LVPD and say, "Hey! Some stuff of mine was stolen and now it's being sold. The guy who's selling it is at Room X at the Palms. Could you please help me with this?" No.
In a moment of clarity, did the Murderer simply shrug his shoulders and say, "Well, shit--simply because of my existence in this world, I've caused incalculable pain to so many people. I guess I had this coming to me. I'll let this guy sell my sports memorabilia, because no one in the their right mind would spend money on it anyway. After all, I'm a lying, murdering son-of-a-bitch. It makes no difference to me if he sells it or not"? No.
Instead, the Murderer got a little entourage of armed thugs together, rushed the seller's room, and had a huge confrontation with the seller. The Murderer then made off with "his" stuff. Naturally, the Murderer was arrested and is now in an isolation cell in a Las Vegas jail.
What is it with this asshole?
I hope the Judge denies the Murderer's bail, because he needs to sit in that isolation cell for awhile. We've seen the Murderer cannot control his temper nor his impulses. It's best he be kept in a cage because he can't behave like a rational human being.
What amazes me most of all is that the Murderer was in Vegas for a friend's wedding. The Murderer still has friends? This boggles my mind. The couple that's getting married actually asked the Murderer to be their guest at their wedding? Talk about bad luck. "On our first day as man and wife, we want to especially thank our dear friend, the Murderer, for making it all the way out to Vegas from Florida. Oh, and honey? Don't let him near that knife when we cut the cake! Haha! Just kidding Murder-- erm, O.J.!"
I wish he'd just spin off the face of the earth and we'd no longer have to hear ANYTHING about him. He is useless.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
"The tests have shown that the new air-delivered ordnance is comparable to a nuclear weapon in its efficiency and capability," said Col.-Gen. Alexander Rukshin, a deputy chief of the Russian military's General Staff, said in televised remarks.
Unlike a nuclear weapon, the bomb doesn't hurt the environment, he added.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
"Hello. I'm calling about the street closure on the Avenue. When will it be open again?"
"Well, sir-- the street isn't closed. We're going to be re-surfacing it this week. They are prepping it now. If you need to get up to your house, you should have no problem getting there-- they just let you through. In fact, they're keeping one lane open for that purpose."
"I don't live in The Hamlet. I want to know how I'm supposed to park up there when I go for my hike."
"Sir, there's lots of side-streets like X and Y, where you can park your car."
Another long pause.
"Well. That's just impossible. When will there be parking again on the Avenue? I want to go on my hike."
"Next week the parking should be open again," I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.
"Thank you." Click.
My understanding of this phone call:
- This is a person who wants to go on a hike in the mountains above The Hamlet.
- He drives to get to the place where he wants to hike.
- If he can't start his hike after embarking from his car in which he drove to get to his hike, he doesn't want to take his hike.
- He won't park on a side-street near the Avenue, because it might add a few hundred feet to his hike;
- OR he doesn't want to park on a side-street near the Avenue, because it might be too hard to find a spot to park, embark from his car, and take his hike.
I am so confused. I hate these idiots.
LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- Before Kathy Griffin won a creative arts
Emmy last weekend for her reality show, "My Life on the D-List," she joked that
an award would move her to the C-list.
Kathy Griffin was pleased to win an Emmy, but her speech will likely be trimmed.
She was right: "C" as in censored. The TV academy said her raucous acceptance speech will be edited when the event, which was taped, is shown Saturday on the E! channel. The main prime-time Emmy Awards air the next night on Fox.
"Kathy Griffin's offensive remarks will not be part of the E! telecast on Saturday night," the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences said in a statement Monday.
In her speech, Griffin said that "a lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus."
She went on to hold up her Emmy, make an off-color remark about Christ and proclaim, "This award is my god now!"
The comedian's remarks were condemned Monday by Catholic League President
Bill Donohue, who called them a "vulgar, in-your-face brand of hate speech."
According to the TV academy and E!, when the four hour-plus ceremony is edited into a two-hour program, Griffin's remarks will be shown in "an abbreviated version" in which some language may be bleeped.
The program was in production and unfinished, an E! spokeswoman said Monday.
Requests for comment were left Monday evening by phone and e-mail with Griffin's publicist. They were not immediately returned.
The Catholic League, an anti-defamation group, called on the TV
academy to "denounce Griffin's obscene and blasphemous comment" at Sunday's ceremony (emphasis added).
I'll tell you what's obscene and blasphemous: those fucking idiots at the Catholic League who didn't call the Church on their obscene and blasphemous behavior while their priests were busy groping and raping the little kids entrusted to their care.
Don't you dare piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.
Driving to the office, I noticed many people had their headlights turned on. Was it a holiday I'd forgotten about?
I walked into my office, greeted by a ringing phone. It was Walt, one of our clients.
"Have you been watching the news?"
"No, why? What's going on?"
"Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center. Another plane has crashed into the Pentagon. The FAA's grounded all flights, but there's still a plane missing."
"Walt, that's not funny. Don't even fuck with me."
"I'm not fucking with you. Go turn on the news in Ed's office."
I put down the phone and ran into Ed's office. He and several others were crowded around the television. I looked at the screen, astounded. The taste of copper filled my mouth.
Ed looked at me and said, "The towers are going to fall."
"Are there people in there? Those towers can't fall, Ed. That's impossible!" I said.
"Yeah. The towers've been burning for awhile. People have been jumping," he said.
"Good God," I said. I felt tears filling my eyes. I ran back into my office and picked up the phone. "Walt. I'll call you later," I said, and hung up the phone. I ran back into Ed's office.
I was just in time to witness a tower of smoke and dust shooting upward, eclipsing the tower. I could see the lightning rod slipping downward, disappearing into the gray mass.
"That's not the tower falling. It's not. The rod must have just snapped off the building," I kept saying.
I was wrong.
I had to call Dad.
As a fledgling architect, my Father worked for Minoru Yamasaki, the gentleman who designed the World Trade Center. I remember Mr. Yamasaki as a very nice man, who always greeted us girls warmly when we'd run into the office to pick up Dad at 5:00 p.m. In those early days, we were a one-car family. Getting to go into Yama's office was a special treat, because mysterious, magical stuff was created there (we girls called him Mr. Yamasaki, of course. His associates called him "Yama", especially those who drank scotch and played poker with him).
The most wonderful thing about Yama's, however, was the model room. In it were scale models of the firm's projects-- skyscrapers (Yama's forte), university buildings, synagogues. The World Trade Center was, of course, the centerpiece. To my young eyes, it was hard to believe that something so tall and slender could stay standing. On the WTC model, teeny-tiny model people strolled across the tree-dotted plaza, admiring the fountain, walking into the building.
It was all gone now.
I dialed Dad. He answered in his serious voice. I started crying.
"Oh, Dad! Your building! I'm so happy Mr. Yamasaki's not alive to see this. How on earth could this happen?"
"T-Bone," said Dad, "Sweetheart, I've got to tell you-- for those buildings to fall that quickly, those planes must have been loaded with jet fuel. I mean-- those are fifty-foot steel girders holding up that building. The heat-- I mean, it must have been..." he trailed off.
"Dad, I love you."
"I love you too, Boo."
The remainder of that day I sat and stared at the clock waiting to jettison out of my chair so I could go home and watch CNN. Once home, I sat stunned in my armchair, cat on my lap, watching the news.
During that time I lived near a college campus, and all that implies. The nightly parties grated on my nerves, but that evening on September 11, 2001, the parties were silent. No traffic on the streets. Just silence. I finally went to bed at midnight.
I lay there, listening to the jet fighters fly overhead every 20 minutes, until I nodded off.
The next day, my brother-in-law, Bingo, said it best:
"September 11th should be called 'The Day Osama Ruined the World.'"
Friday, September 07, 2007
If you had said to me a year ago, "T-Bone, one year from now Mikey will be dead, you'll become fast friends with his ex-fiance and you'll attend Hellstrum's CD release party together," I would have replied:
"Well, first of all, Mikey isn't in a band called Hellstrum. He's in a band called Divine Ruins, and he's really excited about it. Secondly, he isn't going to die. That's ridiculous-- he doesn't even catch colds! Third, I doubt Leslie and I would have much to talk about. From what I understand, we're very different from one another."
Just an example of how wrong one can be.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Because the Redhead and I are looking for ways to fund our Jane Austen pilgrimage to England, we have made a list of possible areas of study to submit to the nearest think-tank. Once we have our "study grant" ("airfare"), we will conduct in-depth, fact-finding missions to reveal truths about why:
- The lane you are in goes slower than the other ones
- The line you are in has one person finishing their shift, and a new one with a new tray of money
- They have boots in every size except yours
- The store you go to had a big sale last week
- Having your period hurts
- If you drink too much, you'll get a hangover
- Cats will vomit on your carpet, rugs, or bed before they'll vomit on the hardwood or linoleum floor.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Normally when I'm dragging my ass I can get a good night's sleep and a decent meal and the following day, I'm full of piss and vinegar. Not so today.
Although I slept decently last night, I woke up exhausted. I cleaned my house exhausted. I got ready for work exhausted. My second job (of the dozens) usually leaves me rejuvinated, but tonight, I was a washrag being wrung drier and drier with each passing moment. I ran errands after work, picking up much-needed items at the grocery store and desperately-needed wine at the liquor store. Dragging my feet through the grocery store, I wondered how I was going to make it home and sherpa the bags up the stairs. I did get the groceries into the fridge, but I still had to cook dinner (at 10:00 p.m.) because I hadn't eaten substantively for over 36 hours. I managed to take care of that, too.
So here I am, belly full and wine glass drained.
The last week has been an autumn, and the days to come will be spring.