Lucy
Now that I'm down to only 2 readers left, I can start posting again.
No, it's nowhere near as conscious a decision as all that. I just haven't had the energy to do it lately, and I'm not strictly speaking of the physical kind of energy. Anyone who knows me knows that when I write I largely stick to the
truth. More often than not I like to embellish the trivial events of my life, which is just a fancy way of admitting that I bought and use
The Bedazzler. By way of warning, do not attempt to bedazzle your adult parts. And asking strangers,
"Does this look infected" is not the way to make friends. I mean, it's
A way, but those people waving their camera phones at your itchy, red adult parts are not the kind of friends from whom you can borrow money or hitch a ride to the beach. Usually they want to stop to see this guy who one time got them some weed
(or was it 'shrooms?) and he's got XBox but we promise we won't stay long. His mom just got home from a double shift at the hospital, so keep it the fuck down, and she's going to fucking feed the fucking neighbor's fucking dog to his python if it don't fucking shut the fuck up, right fucking now. She's out of Reds and not in the best of moods, so can you chip in for pizza?
Where was I? Energy. Right. I just don't have the energy to be imaginative anymore. Also known as writer's block. I'm open to suggestions...
With A Little Help
Lonely Hearts Club
Hi, my name is Tex. I'm a blogger.
All: Hi Tex.I've been blogging regularly for over 2 years now and I think I've decided that one of the worst things about being a blogger is having other people read it. The problem with that is that, as I've stated repeatedly, I mostly write to be read, not for me. But sometimes, like now, I can't help but write for me and there are things that I want to record that cannot, or should not, be read by others. Yes, sometimes I work things out in my head before I ever start typing. But just as often, like now, I start typing just to see what materializes. It's kind of like a Rorschach test or word-association, where I'm compelled to type whatever comes to mind. It's not exactly like that, because I just got side-tracked for 20 minutes looking up how to spell
rorschach and then looking at a bunch of inkblots that all remind me of vaginas.
(Ed. note: Extensive testing has revealed that his MMPI scale-7 is off the chart. Sometimes we're afraid to come into the office with him.)What's on my mind, you ask, other than vaginas? Well, if you have to ask, then I know you weren't paying attention to the first paragraph where I said that I couldn't tell you because of who might read it.
Got To Get You Into My Life
Interviewer: So we really liked your resume and I'm glad you were able to come in.
Me: Uh huh.Him: We think you'd be a really good fit and we're prepared to make you an offer.
Me: Yeah, I don't know about the whole work-life balance thing.Him: Ok, we've got a great subsidized cafeteria, a health-club and, of course, free parking.
Me: ...Him: Did you have any specific questions?
Me: See, I'm just not sure that I can get here before 10am. I mean, I can
but I just don't want
to. I suspect that will be a source of tension between us.Him: I see. We do ask that our employees work a full 8-hours from 8-5. We're prepared to offer you a salary upwards of $75k.
Me: You must be up out 'cho mind. *walks*
I'm Only Sleeping
Interesting connection I just realized: When I feel the world is dull and grey, that there's no color in my life and nothing gives me pleasure, I over-eat. I've gained about 5 pounds in the last 2 weeks and I think it's because I'm trying to get pleasure out of food where there is no other pleasure to be found. I just love to eat food
(as opposed to the alternative) so it stands to reason that if I'm trying to compensate for other displeasures, I'd eat more.
Something that makes me sad: Deleting someone's number out of my phone, email out of my address book, and bookmark out of my favorites. On the bright side- a full bag of kettle chips.
Subliminal message: While in an email conversation today, composing a lengthy response, I wrote "
I don't need to worry about me" when I obviously intended to write "you". The mind plays funny tricks sometimes. Sometimes I'm just stupid.
But not as interesting as my friend with whom I can't have a conversation that doesn't include at least one Freudian slip. While discussing New Coke vs. Coke Classic
(granted, an outdated conversation) she mentioned that she likes old Cock better. So have one and a smile.
In My Life
What really happened to the flowers:
I think
Sass gave me her blockage, and it's a good thing her comments aren't working because I left a HUGE string of obscenities
(I got really creative) that thankfully didn't post.*
Last week I joined a two-week class at the
Museum called 'Sketching in the Galleries'. It is geared for adults and is supposed to be an introductory class. Although the instruction was introductory, I was the only one who had apparently never produced gallery-quality art. I left class the first evening in a foul mood, not having mastered sketching after 2 and a half hours. The evening of the second class started out really bad, since it had rained quite a bit and was still drizzling. [Cue the impossible traffic] In Houston, if it's raining
(and also if it isn't) you basically can't get there from here. Doesn't matter where you've started. Doesn't matter where you're going. You can't get there from here. So I started the second session in a mood and, still not having mastered sketching after
another 2 and a half hours, I left in a worse mood. It was all downhill from there and I have been profoundly depressed since then. No, of course the fact that I should never be allow to wield an art-pencil isn't the only reason. The dull, grey menace just happened to rear its head right about now and it sucks. The silver lining
(you have to really want to see it) is that although I suck at sketching I can do calculus. I should be pretty happy in another couple of weeks though. That's how these things work.
*kidding Sass, well not about my blockage or that your comments aren't working
Nowhere Man
"The things a man has to have are hope and confidence in himself against odds, and sometimes he needs somebody, his pal or his mother or his wife or God, to give him that confidence. He's got to have some inner standards worth fighting for or there won't be any way to bring him into conflict. And he must be ready to choose death before dishonor without making too much song and dance about it. That's all there is to it. " --Clark Gable
Yesterday
3 Quicktakes today:Latest job interview did not go well. I called the interviewer "sugartits" and I
may (I have been advised not to admit anything) have pinched her cute butt. Nobody teaches you not to do this stuff in school!
The roses were not well-received. I took them instead today to the mall and handed them out to the first twelve strangers I came across. Several ladies wanted to know what I was selling
(me!) and one wanted to tell me about her personal relationship with Jesus. I'm drinking the beers alone, which may explain the next paragraph.
So the followup to the fantasy at the bottom of
this post (after I pick her up and twirl her around) is at a dark nightclub a few hours later and involves sliding my left hand slowly around her waist to the small of her back. Just my left. I pull her close so that our lower bodies are tight against each other, but we're both leaning back just a bit so that we can still focus our eyes on each other. We both lean to the right a bit, which is why I'm only using my left, both wrapping her up and keeping her from escaping. Even in strappy heels she's a few inches shorter than me so, in addition to cocking her head to the right, she has to tilt her head up a bit which causes her hair to fall back away from her neck and face. And...
You're Going To Lose That Girl
Sometimes I have to apologize. I am not a mean boy, but sometimes I am mean. If I have ever hurt your feelings, I offer to you longstems & longnecks with a heartfelt
"I'm sorry."
I also bought a card, but in my rush I didn't notice it was a Bar Mitzvah card stuck in the wrong slot. Still, I signed it. So in addition to the above,
Le'Chaim!
