Just Random Shit I’m Thinking about Instead of Being Mad

–My favorite thing about the Lithuanian was the way that he smelled.  He smoked, but he never smelled like stale smoke.  He always smelled good–warm, woodsy, dark, earthy. 

He had a picture of me on his dresser and when I saw it, it kind embarrassed me.  I don’t know why.

–My dad would like to retire, but can’t until he’s 65 1/2 unless he wants to pay for my parents’ insurance.  He’s so fed up with the church, though, that last night he told me that, if he could find a job that would pay him $16,000 a year (the price of their insurance), he’d take it.

–Eh, that’s it.  "You think too much" really hurt my feelings.  I don’t know why.  It just seemed like a shorthand way of saying, "If only you were completely different than you are, it’d be so much better."  Then I think maybe I’m thinking too much about it and that’s what makes me mad.

Anyway, what are you going to do?  It’d probably be better if I were different in a lot of ways, but you go around fucking with the shit that makes you fundamentally you and that’s the path to unhappiness.  This is who I am, this is what I do, this is how much I think about things.  You want something else, I guess you’d better look someplace else.

Cool Stuff I Couldn’t Let Go Without Comment

1.  Ceeelcee is trying to name his dog.  He has this idea that he should name it Belle.  I should point out that his girlfriend’s* online nickname is RUAbelle.  For the sake of his readers, go disabuse him of the idea of naming his dog Belle.  A bunch of us really like Tulie, which reminds me that, when Bridgett comes through, I hope she wants to talk voodoo.

2.  Lee had the nicest post yesterday and it had this bit of wisdom in it: "At times I can get into a funk. I blame it on the German blood flowing through my veins. If Germans are masters of anything, those things are beer, engineering, and moodiness." 

3.  Dorothy W. has this profound post on a Mary Oliver poem and I keep going back to it, because I want to write about it, but I can’t quite get it together in my mind.  It’s got to do with this idea that happiness must be experienced physically before you feel it emotionally.  Ha, maybe Lee’s post fits in here somehow.





*I don’t know Ceeelcee.  I just like his writing, but he reiterates the problems with our language.  Why am I forced to call a man’s seeming long-time companion his "girlfriend"?  This is the bullshit of heteronormativity my friends, right here–this lingual expectation that grownups get married and thus unmarried folks must have "girl" friends or "boy" friends.

Mrs. Wigglebottom is a Slave to Her Baser Instincts

I’m sitting here eating my corn chex, pondering what I’m going to have for lunch because the Butcher still has not gone to the grocery store, when I hear this scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch and I look over and Mrs. Wigglebottom is just scratching away at the carpet, sniffing it in big huffs, and then scratching at it some more.

When she finally sees that I’m watching her, she just gives me the saddest look, like "I don’t know why I must scratch the carpet, but I must."

After five minutes of scratching and sniffing, she then laid across all the mussed up carpet and is now resting cutely with her head on her paws.  I just about can’t stand it.  I want to lay on the floor next to her and rub her freckle-filled nose.

Of course, since she is so "dangerous," I feel like I should add a disclaimer.

Disclaimer:  Even though Mrs. Wigglebottom is resting cutely now, she could at any moment attack and kill any one of the hundreds of babies who migrate through our living room on a daily basis.  She could snap and smother me with her wiggly bottom.  She could spread terrible lies about libertarian men with her mad internetting skills.  Shoot, even reading about a dog as vicious and unpredictable as Mrs. Wigglebottom is so dangerous it’ll put hair on your chest.  Don’t fall for her!  Don’t even like her just a little bit!  Don’t let your guard down even for a second!  No, not even one!

Shit, Brian from Country Club Hills, I said not even one second.  Now look at you.  Well, that’s your own fault.  I warned you.

Now, I Can’t Go to Bed

So, I’m kind of unable to decide if Jason has suddenly become as attractive as Grant.  Sadly, I picked the creepiest episode ever to watch to try to decide.  And now I totally have the willies.  I want to get up and at least shut the front door, but the lightning is too creepy.

Something about May makes it perfect for spooky things and I’m totally hoping to drag the Butcher to this movie this weekend.  We’ve been up to Adams a bunch, but never seen anything unusual.