Ahhhhh . . .

I want







this type of love.

Some people

Some people want to be found.
Some people want comfort.
Some people want romance.
Some people want intrigue.
Some people want great sex.
Some people want home.
Some people want to be wanted.
Some people want to be cared about.
Some people want the moments.
Some people want forever.

And then there's love.
If you're like me, you hate that when you see a particular boy the first thing you think about is, "Damn, do I look alright?"
If you're like me, you hate that you blush. Hate it, absolutely hate it.
If you're like me, you hate that as much as you say you despise him . . . any contact from him still gives you butterflies.
If you're like me, you hate that when you're not with him, it feels . . . rough.
If you're like me, you hate that just to be with him, and love him for just a short time, means so much, some days it's all you hang on to.
If you're like me, as hard as you try to keep how you feel from everyone around you . . . they know. But the boy still doesn't. He won't ever believe you, and that hurts more than he'll ever know. And if you're like me, you don't hate him for that . . . because no matter what, you could never hate him.

It's technically Saturday. So here's a lullaby. I work the shit shift at the Marsh tomorrow (closing) and then I'm seeing a late showing of Angels and Demons with the little bro. Not a big Dan Brown fan, but I am a fan of my little brother and he asked me to go so . . . enough said. Enjoy Nina, I always do.

Bedrooms are better than kitchens

So thanks to Ms. Wonderland this song has been rolling around in my head.



And now after that nightmare I just find more bedroom scenes for my musings.

Christmas Tree Shop, I heart you

At first I was excited because I saw a few claymation classics on DVD in your "lost but not forgotten" bin, but NOT the Mark Twain one I still watch on VHS. Then I looked up and realized that my mother, Marcelle, was lone gone. I eventually found her overdosed in a corner, her cart overflowing with nautical themed . . . everything. But in the mean time I was left to continue to sift through the DVD/VHS bin. I found Foxy Brown, The Singing Detective AND Krush Groove. I threw Marcelle and her 50 million purchases into Winnie and hauled ass home, beating the rain, my shitty neighbors' brawl (at least one a day now) and arrived just in time to hear Big Jim call all of them, "fucking little pussy cunt bags." Sidenote: The first time I heard my dad drop the "C" bomb I fell off my chair. He wasn't calling Marcelle or I it . . . so . . . and the woman was actually a cunt . . . so . . . Oh and the second time I heard him say it was in reference to some woman behind the counter at the RMV (completely fucking justified). So this was the third time. I am truly blessed.
I couldn't get Krush Groove into the DVD player fast enough. It was everything I could hope for and more. For an instance of more, look here.
I fucking know, right? I've been trying to write a TRUE style O'Hara poem about the death of Jam-Master Jay for months now. This movie definitely helped the creative juices.



Who doesn't love the Fat Boys?



I wish I lived in a place with more two piece Adidas suits running around. . . okay not really . . . okay, actually I do.

I had an afternoon full of Jheri curls, Adidas, and ill beats.
Speaking of illin' the Beastie Boys make a cameo as contestants of a talent show in the movie and are promptly booed off stage. Not that I agree, but it was hilarious.

Oh Andrea . . .

So yet another week has almost gone by without an email of dancing cows from Andrea. My heart is broken.
She did, however, tell me to look up Chilli, the world's largest cow. It's pretty dope. Thanks, boo.




(I vomited after I watched this . . . )

A Bad Day turned Good

by the goofiness of others.

I'm not gonna lie, when someone tears apart your 8 foot cut-out of the Hulk and throws it in the trash . . . you figure your day is going to go in the wrong direction.
Then when you stop to get a coffee a man that almost hits you with his car upon seeing your angry face decides to insult you by saying "Take a deep breath, Honey. And if you need help with that, call me" which directly results in your eggs committing suicide right in your ovaries . . . again not a sign that your day is going to go well.
Then it just seems like every little daily task is getting mucked up, causing your work load to double and your stress level to rise, you pretty much decide your day is shit.

But . . .
Then Patti cracks ridiculous jokes all day . . .
Stephen and you do a lovely rendition of Dancing Queen (for no reason at all) . . .
You realize that you FORGOT to get your check from last week . . .
You remember your weekend (two days off in a row) starts tomorrow and Alison just got Friday off . . .
You finally get to buy some bubble bath . . .
Andrea promises to email you dancing cows later tonight (fingers crossed Andrea) . . .
You talk about this with Marie for like an hour . . .
You see this . . .
You stumble upon this . . .
And a friend warms your soul.

Update: You then realize that after that friend made you laugh, you made some other friend laugh and then . . .

Good day, good day indeed.
Especially now that you're going to have cool movie time with your little bro.

Courage
Anne Sexton

It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
comver your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.


Pretty Sweet Analysis here (for those of you who hate poetry).

I wish I wasn't scared of this.

Live is always better

Happy Mother's Day

To the woman who taught me NOT to eat shit (or deal with those who spew it).





I think I'm going to enjoy the quiet.

Geek Out

Clearly



Star Trek is that official.



The Heavy Metal part of the Galaxy



It is Klingon.



For Mom ♥



Lappy



Not even half of it.



Donning the Don ($3 special, cheap don't mean it ain't ferocious).