disneyland

Disneyland. Ha. What a crock. It all seems so fuzzy to me now, my memories of that hot and sticky place. I don't remember much- just a few things like the humidity, the sun burning our poor New England pale-asses, the food court where we ate hot dogs and sat at the disgusting plastic picnic benches that are attached to the tables- the hundred or so of them crammed under that one giant roof- there was a sweet smell of ketchup lingering, and flies and bees buzzing around every open garbage can- the sides of the building were open all the way around, and on the outside edges of the roof were tiny sprinklers every 20 feet or so- they sprayed a very fine cool mist of sewer water I'm guessing, with the nozzle positioned at an angle that would be sure to hit the 3 or so of the lucky tourists passing by- this was not nearly enough to cool anyone off- by the time the water spritzed out of that tiny nozzle and those teeny pinholes, it would be warm nearing hot and instead of refresh it would simply disgust. I also remember getting the beast from Beauty and the Beast's autograph AND pic. Sweet. I think I also got the ninja turtles signatures but who gives? Not that I was particularly fond of that Beauty and the Beast movie tho- I think I've seen it once to be honest. I'm more of a Cinderella girl- well, not literally, but you know. Anyway, Disneyland was a bust, for me anyway. I hate the humidity, I hate large groups of human beings- like swarms of them, flocks- and I hate sticky things, like door handles and ride seats and safety bars battered with gum and boogers of small fearful children. I do however remember spending quite a substantial amount of time on that ride that is just these swings all lined up like on a carousel, and it spins and all the swings go way out and around and around, and you just let your legs dangle. I remember that one- my favorite. I also remember a horrific experience going through the It's A Small World ride. Too many robotic dolls and wooden eyes and raggedy ann type stuff. Not for me.

dear twitter. you haunt me so. i have become physically stationary and
simply lazy since i met you. we dont know eachother very well yet, but
i feel as though we are connected somehow. some strange electric
connection. something so futuristic. yet so real. so current. so right
now. u feed me this delicious garbage. appetizing me every click of my
heart. your every word seems to spring from your total and complete
desire to shock me. perhaps to lure me into your tangled web of lies
and humility. no matter how it sometimes hurts, I just cant seem to
let u go. to sign off of this chirade. disconnect from you competely.
i love you too much. and i am addicted to you. you had me at tweet.

well fancy that

im blogging this post through my gmail on mobile web. you see this way
i can write a lot and dont have to worry about the character limits.
what exactly is a character limit. LIMIT. this is not the limit. there
is no limit. the sky`s the limit. fancy that. shmancy. im writing in
the dark and growing sleepy. this happens every time. must start
blogging in daylight. that`ll make things much fancir to fancy in all
of your fanciful expectations.

Well that just sucks. i cant post using my mobile web. only through email. or OR i can text. but BUT if i text it gets broken up into separate posts cus poopie.

when will u realize being realized is not as real as u realize? does
that even make sense? i have decided to use my mobile email to blog as
opposed to the texing format i have done twice already that DIDNT
work. i spent like 20 minutes blogging last night and it was a good
one too... it was in reference to the 24 tomato plants i transplanted
into my vegetable garden over the weekend. now i know you are bummed
out that it didnt get posted and u cant read all about the tomatoes
but... there is a delay on ny lg dare keypad and i have to stop typing
long enough for the software to catch up to my speedy record breaking
texting capabilities. also the return button does not work and for
some reason when i email on my phone the question mark that is usually
there is not on the qwerty pad. interesting. this is a bullshit post
to be sure it works properly before i take the time to actually blog
about important or even slightly significant material. toodles.

today my fish is dead. He passed away sometime between the hours of 8 am and 11 am. Peacefully i hope. I came home from an early day at work and as i popped the cap of his fish food to place 4 tiny pellets gently on the surface of his home i discovered his lifeless body sunken to the bottom resting on the shiny mermaid stones. I flushed him away immediately after my greusome discovery and then emptied and cleaned his bowl. I feel no saddness for his untimely death and i wonder why there is this line between what creatures we feel for and the ones we dont. Who made this line and what does it say about us? Its just a fish. But a life indeed. A cat is just a cat but on the other side of this line. Why?

Here is my first Halloween pumpkin carving of 2008! I chose to do the Edible Arrangements logo and I should have sent these photos to the big guys at the corporate office but as usual I chickened out.

I used an Xacto knife kit and a regular kitchen paring knife to cut the rough edges and for the small holes (grapes) I used 4 inch wood screws. I used a screwdriver to screw them into the pumpkin and then with pliers I yanked them out which was very efficient in clearing a nice clean hole as the flesh grabbed onto the threads of the screw. I used a teaspoon to scrape out the top layers of flesh for the daisies thin enough to allow light from the candle to shine through.

I wasn't as pleased with this end result in the daytime but once night arrived and I could really see it as it should be- it was worth the 3 hours it took to create.

Here it is

Lake Wintergreen

I think you like me. Actually, I know you like me. You pretty much say you how much you like me. With your eyes- the ones that I don't see- the ones that I don't remember- the ones that mean nothing to me. You say it with your body- the one that I have no desire to hold- the one that I don't want next to mine. With your hands- the ones that don't interest me- the ones that I barely glance at- the ones that I don't want touching me. You like everything about me- the more I Act like myself- the person I usually withhold from those I want to impress- the more you like me. I think if it weren't for the fact that I nearly despise everything about you, we'd be perfect together.

----------
Sent from my Verizon Wireless mobile phone

The Facebooktubespacelist Virus

All this texting.. this facebook.. this myspace.. blogging.. googling.. hotmail.. yahoo.. gmail.. youtube.. itunes... All this nonsense. This makes no sense. I have lost my senses. When will I come to my senses?

I feel as though I have become devoured, taken over, owned, if you will, by all this nonsense.

Why do I feel the need to know what everyone is doing all the time? All the time. Five, six times a day. Sometimes compulsively every hour. Why am I glued to this chair? Why are my fingers always clenching my cell phone? Why am I always checking, then rechecking, then refreshing? Why is everyone else doing the same EXACT thing? All day long every day?

What happened to phone calls? I never talk to anyone anymore. I don't remember what my closest friends voices sound like unless I'm physically in front of them. I forgot what I used to do with the 4 hours, at least, spent in front of this very screen. I forgot what it was like to not know. Everything. Anything. Everyone. I can't think of a single soul I haven't searched or myspaced or facebooked or texted or IM'd- not a single soul I've ever met has gone unsearched. I have thought of every person I have ever known and then facebook searched them. Added them. But really do I ever even talk to them? No. Some yes but the majority no. So why must I add them to my little rapidly growing list. I look at these lists sometimes. My facebook friends. My myspace friends. My buddy list. I ask myself "Out of all these people, who do I REALLY want to talk to or be friends with?" and most of the time its less than 10 people. Seriously. What's the point of all this? Is it status? Is it just like high school? Yes. It really is. This facebook thing.. whats everyone doing where are they now how ugly have they gotten who has how many babies whos married whos divorced whos in prison who died who changed for better who changed for worse. Its like a high school reunion ALL DAY EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. I wish now that I could go back and really think about who I add, because it would be rude and silly of me to delete them now. I can't say "nah, I changed my mind.. dont really wanna be ur facebook friend anymore." but why lie? why pretend i even care what someone i went to nursery school with is doing with their life? its fun to hear that once in a while "oh wow thats neat. good to see he/she is doing well" and thats it. thats all i need. thats all anyone needs.

the point is, there are some people u just don't really need to know anymore. and some people u can say "ok, yea. this person i'd like to keep in contact with." and that's it.

why am i afraid to have only 30 friends maybe on my list. why do i look at my list and say 85 is not nearly enough. most of these people have at least 100 if not 3 or 400. its silly really. but i suppose they are the ones who lie. to themselves really. cus how can anyone really have that many honest friends? they can't. ever.

i am seriously entertaining the idea of just doing a facebook/myspace/buddylist cleanup. thorough. just buh-bye. nice to know ya. dont really need ya. maybe we'll run into eachother at the supermarket. that would be super. say hi to your mom for me. merry christmas. happy holidays. cheers to your life.

That's all i got for now. time for bed- but i gotta check my facebook first to see if anyone changed their moods or added a new friend i possibly overlooked myself.

some people are incapable of

some people are incapable of loving. some people are incapable of being loved. but i've yet to know someone incapable of love at all.

I Think It's Chronic

I'm pretty sure I have chronic swimmer's ear.

I had it first almost two years ago I think. A relentless itch, deep inside my brain. Juicy yellow dripping out while I slept.

In the mornings, I'd find little stains on my pillow, and dried crust inside and around my ear canals. I'd spend the entire drive to work, about twenty minutes, picking and flaking away at the dried golden crust until they were all clean and clear.

The rest of the days, I'd try to avoid shoving my fingers inside to relieve the relentless itch.

Seriously, this is the most obnoxious itch you can imagine.

I'd twitch all day until I'd find myself alone to scratch my itch, or itch my scratch, however you put it.

Some days, I'd shove the q-tips too far inside, and cause an air pocket, which would leave me deaf in that ear the rest of the day. For months I remember going around and telling people to speak up since I was deaf in one ear.

I finally wound up with a slight infection and decided to go have it checked out.

The doctor gave me some oily drops to use twice a day to cure the swimmer's ear. Swimmer's ear is what it's called, even though I haven't been swimming since I was a teenager. I wound up with it just by taking showers. The water just stayed in there for some reason.

Anyway, I followed Dr. Kagan's orders and used these oily drops twice a day, sometimes three, and eventually the itch subsided. Temporarily, of course. Until the next shower.

This went on for a year or so. I started getting lazy and forgetting to use the drops and got used to just always having an inner ear itch, and some subtle deafness from time to time. I'd just wait for it to go away on it's own.

One time, I had to go back and Dr. Kagan performed this irrigation thing on me.

He used this stainless steel plunger that looked like a giant syringe.

He made me hold this plastic bucket under my ears while he flushed warm water in each ear about a dozen times. This plunger caused the water to shoot out at least 100mph into my skull, which left me squirming on that spinning doctor's stool. It didn't hurt so much as it felt like a fire hose was shoved into my brain and turned on full blast.

That sure put out the fire.

Afterwards, I lifted the bucket up to the light and the Dr. and I examined the floating bits and pieces of infected golden yellow ear wax. This was an excellent remedy for my simmer's ear.

For a few months, I was cured.

Now, randomly, I will feel that itch creep up on me again, and I still can't help but to dig inside with my q-tips.

These amazing cotton- tipped sticks.

I take them to my room by the handfulls, and gently twist them back and forth deep inside each ear. I pull them out and I always check to see what color. Sometimes yellow. Sometimes brownish. Sometimes even a pink yellowish, which means I've gone too deep and caused irritation to the point of bleeding. The feeling of this twisting is utterly incredible.

I have even done this in the mirror to see my facial expressions. The faces are much like a dog's when you stick your finger in their ear to scratch and they tilt their heads and their eyes roll back and they twitch a little with relief. Then you remove your finger and stick it at their face and they always smell it. Sometimes they even lick it after they smell it.

I do this same thing in the mirror. The faces. The head tilting.

I always look at the cotton tips to see what I've pulled out, and I always smell them too.

Though, I have yet to lick them.

just checking

i check to see if their chests rise. I check to see if they breathe. I always look to see their bellies rise up and down to be sure they are still alive. I do this with grammy and dad. I dont do this with anyone else because no one else falls asleep at random times during the day. I occcasionally glance over at them in the green chair. That green chair that no one else sits in. Its one of those recliner chairs. The kind that makes all that noise when they yank that lever to open the leg rest. It pops out into mid air and your feet flop up and then down landing softly on the green fabric. Its that ugly forest green. We have this color because it was the only one in the furniture store that was on sale, probably because no one else wanted its ugly forest color. You sit in this chair and then before your feet hit the cushiony green fabric, your eyes are closed and you've corked off. I always check to see your chest rise. I look to see your diaphragm fill with air, and then out again. I check if youre still alive

On shit

These sewers run underground around the entire city. Cities upon cities all over the world with sewer systems. People shit and flush it down and with the gallon of water it travels farther than you'd ever imagine. Your shit, my shit, everyone's shit, has traveled everywhere. Anywhere. Public restrooms. Restaurant toilets. Hotels. Theme parks. Libraries. Hospitals.

If I could track all the shit I've flushed away at Dunkin Donuts across New England, that would be something incredible. Is my shit in Portland still? Or has it made it's way down to the Hamptons in New Hampshire? Is my shit soaking in a pile of other shit that maybe includes some famous person's shit too? Is my shit decomposing with Paris Hilton's shit? Does Paris Hilton even shit? I will assume it comes out covered in diamonds and fur.

The point is, shit is something we hardly think about past the bowl. Once it squeezes its way into that dark ceramic hole, we no longer think of it. Our only thoughts are "I have to shit" then "where can I shit?" and then "go down, go down.... ok good." and that's it then its gone forever. Into the sewer systems. This amazing other world underneath the grounds we walk and drive on. We all drive above our own shit. All day long. Unless, you live in the suburbs, where you have septic tanks.

This is where my thought came to me, sitting in my mother's window seat, reading my Chuck Palahniuk book. I stopped to take in the disturbing chapter I had just read, and as I gazed out into the back yard from the second floor window, I noticed the small round slab of concrete in my yard. This is the lid to our septic tank. This is where they stick that giant tube attatched to the huge tanker truck and suck the shit out of our overflowing pool of waste.

I play frisbee and catch in that yard. I lay out for a tan in that yard. I do all these things without even noticing I'm doing them on top of my own pile of shit. How crazy is that?

And.. who these people are- the ones who work for the septic tank cleaning business.. the ones who hold onto the giant suction hoses with those eagle-proof gloves on.. who are they? and what to they tell people who ask them at a cocktail party "So, Mark. What do you do for a living?"

Do they respond "I suck shit out of peoples back yards." or do they have some fancy code name for it? Like "waste management" or something? I wonder these things.. but I'm just too lazy to look them up.

Taking a different route.

You said "I'm not talking to you!" and when I replied "I'm sorry, I must have misread your mouth pointing at my face while sound was spilling from your lips." you simply raised one eyebrow- the left I think- and pursed your lips together and turned around- facing west I'm almost sure- leaving me stranded in the corner- completely out of the social loop, once again- trying my best not to appear as though I've just been left stranded in the corner- completely out of the social loop, once again.

And as I lingered there for what must have been about 20 seconds in silence, it hit me. You are the worst friend I've ever had, and as of last night, we are ex-friends.

And when I woke this morning, feeling betrayed for the umpteenth time, I decided I should take a different route this time.

This time I will keep you. I will keep you near, and dear, to my once warm but now bitter and cold heart, and I will use you. I will use you in all the ways you have used me. This time I will purse my lips. This time I will raise my eyebrow- the left one even.

This time you will linger in your corner, out of this loop.