Skeletons

I saw this bulletin post on Myspace and it really struck me. Basically, you are supposed to add a secret to the list and repost. It's anonymous to the extent that you know who posted it last so you know theirs is the last one. So, in some senses, it really touched me how brave a lot of these people were and just revealed something they were ashamed of or maybe unashamed of, possibly even just tired of hiding. Some of them are downright hiding behind asinine comments because their secrets will stay that way and probably do not have the heart to look at themselves directly in the soul. Even the people who admit to singing in the shower said something. But the ones who said crap like "wow. y cant you just leave me the FUCK alone!? jeez-us. and hey other guy..who knows if i really love you or not. i sure as hell dont..sorry but what exactly is love?" are the saddest ones of all.

People's souls are amazing and yes so complicated and delicate. They are beautiful because they are messy and not neat orderly. I just want to point out the beauty in breakdown and happiness and that yes, beauty also includes shame, tears and pain along with endearinly tender love, joy and sweetness.



1. Chances are, I'm just waiting for you to let me down.
2. I'm in love with my best guy friend and don't know how to tell him but he's with a girl that makes him miserable.
3. I like her but i know it will never go anywhere.
4. He is still the only one whose insults affect me.
5. I sometimes miss my ex
6. I still love her and i dont know why and i break down and cry every night besides i missed being loved
7. I miss my Dad more than people think I do.
8. I keep quiet about things I shouldn't.
9. I don't know who I really am.
10.I miss my grandma mary more than anything in the world
11. i love sex with random people
12.i play basketball just because my grandma taught me and now she's gone :(
13. I know she doesn't have the same feelings for me that I do for her
14. My mom makes me feel fat, but I'm not
15.I sometimes wonder what I've done to deserve enough not finding someone to be with and be happy.
16. I want him bad, but we dont even talk.
17.somwtimes people dont understand how you feel and hate you for the stpidest things.
18.im in love with the most amazing guy =]
19. I fell in love at the wrong time. Ended up hurting him and myself. We were going to get married. Man i messed up, I'm sorry.
20. so theres this guy......
21. i'm a compulsive liar. i don't know how to stop it.
22. I want someone who knows what I need without me having to tell them.
23.I still secretly talk to my ex, who now has a g/f. And little does he know it kills me inside because I still love him!
24. I only like the attention.
25.i say i'm over him, but i really fucking love him
26. i really like this guy that i know doesnt have the same feelings but yet i like this other guy and i just have never been so confused in my life i just want a guy thats not gonna use me and will treat me right i'm sick of all this bullshit. love me or not.
27. All I want to fucking do is play with some fucking pine needles because I can't deal with being so gay. I hate it. I hate looking the part. I want a man, but can I handle that?
28.i hate the person j am so when i call people fake i tel myself that...and i hae gne boy crazy, j got over one guy and ljke somone i am not spposed to
29. I wish my dad would die so i could inherit all his money "/
30. I cheated on him. and I regret it. Alot.
31. I wish I had the guts to leave him cuz it hurts.
32. I <3 him sooo much it hurts my own <3!!
33. I Love him and he loves me. Life is great! (PST! It's no secret)
34. I cheated twice, once with a friend
35. i like her but i don't know how to tell her. does she fell the same?
36. I want him really bad but I think all he wants is sex
37. I don't trust anyone.
38. I considered having sex with him because I thought he would change.
39. I want him so bad but he might like one of my best friends
40. i'm lying to try and get my ex back, even though i have a new boyfriend
41. I love making out w/ him, even though we both are taken.
42.
43. I'm afraid that if I make my move on him, you'll just hurt me like before...
44.I don't love him anymore.
45.i am so afraid he's going to hurt me.
46.
47. I talk about him more than I should.
48.
49. My smile is faker than you think.
50. i love her
51. i hate him
52. i am in love with a friend who is younger than me, but i think i screwed it up with my big mouth. i hope not, i would kill to be with him. and he doesnt even know it.
53.
54. I sometimes pretend to be someone else so I don't have to be who I really am..
55.
56. im afraid of commitment. =[[
57. i'm inlove with another man but live with my boyfriend...im sorry
58.I dont trust him, hes hurt me more than he realizes, so I just smile and act like everything is fine.
59. He changed me more than I let on.
60. i'm not sorry..
61.i would spend my life with him in a heartbeat
62.
63. I am in love with someone who i believe could never possibly love me in the same way i am lost and don't know what to do.
64. Sometimes i wish i were dead
65.i
66. wow. y cant you just leave me the FUCK alone!? jeez-us. and hey other guy..who knows if i really love you or not. i sure as hell dont..sorry but what exactly is love?
67. i love her but i dont want to go back out wit her even though i lover her to death.
68.
69. sometimes, i wish i could do to him what he did to me.
70. maybe i'm having a baby.
71. my mum was diagnosed with cancer recently, but all i can think about usually is how much i need a shag.
72. there are some people that i REALLY can't stand...such as a certain little troll who broke something that belonged to me...and it cost waaaaayyyyy over a hundred dollars to get it fixed...little bitch
73. I think life would be better if my chest size was larger.
74. i act like i'm over it, but i'm pretty sure everyone knows i'm not
75.i believe in him more than he knows..
76. i'm a month and half pregnant, and i'm already thinking of abortion.
77. He's made me believe in love at first sight again...
78. I love him with all my heart, and would marry him in a heartbeat!
79.Okay so, I'm in love with my girlfriend BUT all the girls keep chasing me! I have one that is in love with me and i feel bad because i can't give her everything, another one has a boyfriend but likes me a lot. I just met another one who keeps calling me and wants to hang out tonight. And the only one i want is my wife!
80. I blame myself for things I shouldn't.
81. im in love. completely consumed by it. i never want it to end and i'd do anything for him. i would do anything to make it last forever.
82. I want him back so bad
83. this is my favorite number of all time. wouldn't you like to know why...
84. I stand up for others, but let people walk all over me.
85.I wish he would realize how much i really love him and care about what happens to him!!
86.
87.i'm in love with two people
88.i'm not a virgin and he don't know it
89. i want him BAD
90. i think i might be pregnant. and i've told a lot of people, just not my best friend or the father..
91. ok well i like this one guy but hes in love with this other girl..and hes a total ass..and yah i hate him..but i like him
92. All I want is someone who doesn't leave when things get hard, but they all do.
93.I'm a LESBIAN and no one knows it
94. All I ever wanted was him, but even though he wants me I'll never let him hurt me again.
95. I want Daniel Jesonis soooo bad and im not gonna get him
96. I love him... but I hate him SO much.
97. He'll never know how much it hurts to see him care for someone else.
98. My only motivation for winning is so that my mom won't be dissappointed.
99. I love him...he has her.
100. I LOVE ERIC BERRY!
101. He gives me back that feeling I thought I'd lost for good...
102. I lost my virginity,after i said id wait for marriage.
103. random guys give me more attention than he does!! it can be tempting too
104.i want her but she dosen't like me that way atleast i don't think she does
105. i dont kno if i should or shouldent do it, u kno tell her how i feel or wait to be with someone else
106. i'm scared he's falling in love with me, when i'm in with someone else still
107.
108. im still not over him. tho i have a new bf.
109.
110. He used me, and tricked me. Though sometimes i still wish he was here.
111. I don't believe him when he says he loves me.
112. I am afraid of responsibility.
113.I like to photograph myself in sexy lingerie
114. i'm 17 and my dad still hits.....
115. I push people away when I need them the most.
116.i love him. i want to write music with him and he promised we would, but like all of his other promises, it fell short.
117.
118. I'm going to attempt to committ suicide this summer. I've talked about it before. But i've never been more serious than I am now.
119.i don't know how to tell her i love her...
120.
121.
122. I'm *secretly* in love with "Pete"(*Nammmed Changed for my sake) - Chaanel
123. i like one of my best friend's ex boyfriend
124. I am the most insecure person I know. I don't like anything about me and I show it.
125.
126.I wanna be with someone who doesn't even realize I exsist...
127.
128. I've thought about making a conspriacy plot to ruin my bestfriend and his girlfriend's relationship for 4 months, because I've madly in love with him...
129.
130. i want to marry you...i love you so much...im afraid of your friends and the decisions youre making right now....too bad you live 15 hours away. your with me every where i go babe.
131. I finally found something to hold on to and I'm so afraid I'm going to lose it
132. i really like my new boyfriend. but the baby isn't his.
133. he treats me like shit, but id die for him :D
134. i'm in love with one of my best guy friends but idk how to tell him or wat to do if he doesnt like me like that :(
135. I still love her!!!!
136. I like this girl but i dont know whats goin on with her .. if she likes me or what ... i really really like her and i would love to date her.
137. i only did it 2 teach him a lesson but he nvr learned it
138.im not as "pure" as everyone think i am.
139.
140.I love my ex who still talk to and I love my bf.
141.
142. my not so innocent anymore.
143. Arent we all guilty???
144.i told him i liked him, but it was a lie
145.you never know what you had untill its gone......
146. I'm falling in love with a guy who isn't my boyfriend. But I know he'll never even notice me for anything but a good time. I'm infatuated, but I'll never mean anything to him..
147. i cheated on her
148. I hide the bodies right in fron of their eyes. and i don't know who i am, and i can't stop what i'm turning into. and i love her. and i told her. and she didn't respond. but it was expected. THEY PILE UP.
149. You always want what you can't have!!!!
150. Im scared to lose you.
151. I love him.... but i dont know if he loves me back
152.Lifes hard, get over it
153. I have a serious case of Coulrophobia (look it up retards)~Shanna
154.i fear my wife she'll come at me like a spider monkey!!!
155. if i add it then it wont be a secret!
156..I GUESS SOMEONE'S SECRET IS OUT, LOL!!! IT'S ABOUT TIME D.L.
157. I FEAR I WILL DISAPPEAR
158. I like All-American Rejects.
159. When I get pissed off, I still put in my Fiona Apple CD and sing at the top of my lungs whist driving on the highway.

Pulic Bathrooms and Variances Thereof

When I'm out and about running errands, eating, lurking in video stores for discount DVD's and what not, I am most definitely the person to ask where the nearest bathroom is. I have come to realize cash registers emit a frequency that agitates my bladder upon entrance to any store which requires any sort of browsing, lurking or waiting around.

Usually when I go out to eat it's on the way home or I go to someone's house to slouch around and make really witty comments or, on some occasions, sit silently and end up dozing off because of a very boring movie having been shoved in for viewing "pleasure." Thus, I don't usually take usage of restaurants' facilities. In general, I'm not a fan of public bathrooms unless I really have no option. Let's face it. People are disgusting and they act more disgusting in public than they do in their own home for some reason. Possibly because they know there are people being paid to clean up after their non-flushing, drippy, toilet paper throwing, non-hand washing asses. "Oh! I can weigh myself and get a personal message and free lottery numbers on this scale, though! Score!" Yeah, that's one contraption this gal ain't touching.

However, in the last couple of days I have used a couple of public restrooms and one of them was at Red Lobster. I drank a lot of iced tea and had to make water before I left the premises. I was in the smallest stall in the universe which, to make matters worse, opened inward, so I had to scale the top of the door and swing over the door and land on the back of tank. Luckily, I was wearing my Kaf Kaf flip flops with great foot grip, sold only at your local Greeley head shop and just as comfy as your $70 Berkenstocks (not that I don't own a pair of those, mind you, but they aren't that geared for scaling bathroom stalls). Once in and utilizing the loo, I notice the drain in the floor located to the right of my foot. There seems to be an inordinate amount of fuzz, like lint and dust bunnies, as well as tips of straw wrappers that oddly didn't seem to match the type I received with my iced tea, and other odds and ends. Now this wouldn't seem so odd except the bathroom smelled of roses. I even commented on this to my Mom in the next stall. We enjoy critiquing bathrooms through the stalls. Sometimes other bathroom goers will chime in as well. Sometimes. Also the floor was immaculate so it wasn't as though we were in some sort of seedy rest stop with crap drifting all over the floor into the drain. I made an observation about this to my Mom who could not see the drain but she was busy having problems getting her fair squares out of the dispenser and there was some sort of pounding noise going on. I didn't want to get involved, not being the handy sort. At worst she has gotten to the stage where she carries napkins in her purse and I wasn't worried about her.

Then, today I was at Kmart getting a new rug for my dining room and some kitchen towels because somehow I have none. I have no idea where they went. They seem to go the way of my socks--one use only! This annoys me because I enjoy kitchen things so immensely more than socks. Kmart is weird to me and I think it smells a bit like stink bugs. I don't understand the people who do the buying for the clothes department. I'm not exactly sure who is going to believe that a woman wearing a quasi-camo shirt with the word "ARMY" spelled out in rhinestones in a brush script font is actually in the Armed Forces but that person is not me. Nor am I going to fork over $14.99 for it. I thought it was hideous when Kathy Ireland was involved with Kmart but they seem to have driven even her off and well, I don't know who is her heiress to the women't clothes department but they seem to either live in the jungle or sell real estate.

Yes, we are on our way to the bathroom. But so is all this crap as the bathroom is located wayyyyy in the back in the layaway department. I loathe Wal-Mart but at least they have bathrooms both in front and back of the store. Fuckers. They're evil and brilliant. At some level. Kind of like Martha Stewart. How did they not team up? How is her wagon still hitched to Kmart's dim star?

Meanwhile, wayyyyy back at the bathroom, I once again find myself staring at a floor drain. In this case, I have sort of had to wade through paper towels, odd items drifting around the floor, making sure to keep my hands at my side as I peer into the stalls to find a toilet that has managed to be flushed, oddly difficult in today's discount shopping world, and enjoy entering a roomy stall that opens outward. As I'm tapping my foot and waiting for things to happen (I get stage fright sometimes) I notice how immaculate their drain is. It appears that they might even take a toothbrush to it or get the ShopVac out. Screw the rest of the bathroom. The drain is where it's at.

This all seems so odd.

In a place that smells oddly like urine and Fig Newtons, the drain is immaculate, while the rest of the bathroom looks like hell blew through on a roadtrip to well, hell and threw all its snack wrappers out the window in this very spot. On the other hand, a rosy scented eatery with flowers or whatever was in the vase on the sink counter, was filled with filth and grime.

It just goes to show you how you can't judge a person by how they look. You have to look at their bathroom to really tell.

The Blog That Wrote Itself

I went to the most incandescent party last night. I mean, a Ludacris coverband? With a singer that sounded like Groucho Marx and looked like Marcel Duchamp. Maybe I wasn't feeling fear enough to enjoy it. I can't wait for the baptism. It will be like an awesome sitcom! And I'll be the star. Anyone who's ever been to downtown knows what I'm talking about. I really can wait. Lavish me with rain. Why aren't you lavishing? Does anyone know where I can find some gravity? Preferably juicy? I'm hoping for some good feedback. I went to the most dead party last night. I mean, a Wilco coverband? With a singer that sounded like Napoleon and looked like George Carlin. Maybe I wasn't feeling melancholy enough to enjoy it. But come on people. At least try. Wasn't it naughty today?

::townspeople rejoice:: *fingers crossed* The farm is unreal! Today I slept until 6.

I can't wait for the wedding. It will be like an awesome sitcom. And I'll be a wacky neighbor. Anyone who's ever been to Ground Zero knows what I'm talking about.Totally worth it, though. That's what's up. I can't wait! I really can wait. So I might be moving to a kingdom by the sea. I hate honor, but especially when I'm walking. When appearing it isn't so bad. I wish island could keep. Or at the very least destroy. I cut a picture of a danger out of Bubble/Chewing Gum World and sent it to Marsha. -winces- There, made up my mind.
I was all: Why not? I said so, didn't I?
And they were all: I am the fog, you know.
Me: I am the baby you know.
Them: I remember that.
Me: It's not that simple.
Them: Voice is a mistake, a giant mistake!
Me: Me too.
Them: It's true! Don't laugh.
Me: Self-doubt!? The salmon that might flood your brain with water?
Them: Don't interrupt!
What's with that? OMG. Sexy.

Has anybody else noticed everyone waiting? Part two will be available soon! It's like a new golden age! I talked to Harper about it and we agreed: dejection! Liam has a fecal matter and shapeshifts. I want a historian I don't have to bite. Let's keep philosophising, everybody! I'm really looking for someone with the following trait: can throw things in the air and catch them in their mouth 77 percent of the time. Do you like kindness? I do I do so provoke me. At least I'm honest.... This is a MAJOR CHAIN STORE! Damn right! ::townspeople rejoice:: So many boats. LOL! I need to buy a new bird. The old one is solar. I can go in to more detail if you want to know.

Ever since the woman accident, Finnegan has been feeling clever. I can go into more detail if you want to know. I tried to recruit Rike, and Phoebe to help out but they were too full of utter contempt. I understand. Amazement!? The island that might flood your brain with wire? At least I'm honest.... Death... I notice it happens to lovely people a lot. *fingers crossed* Lavish me with car. Why aren't you lavishing? It was lovely? Funny you should ask. I can't imagine! Wasn't it sad today? It's a promise! Next order of business; spread the word that there will be a nice yard sale at my house pretty soon, and I can guarantee anything you could buy at our yard sale will be so much cooler than anything you'll find in any normal New York City yard sale. ROTFLMAO!

:) I like Salt Lake City, but I really want to be closer to Mirror Image. I'll have my own fish on Thursday... yes! I just saw the play:

#0 Mirrors.

today. I thought it was fearsome. The ending made me feel kindness for 5 hours. Hmmmmmmmmm..... Totally worth it, though. UPDATE: I've drifted. UPDATE:

Has anybody else noticed everyone working? At least I'm honest.... It's like a second golden age! I talked to Andrew about it and we agreed: fear! Lara has a apple and crosses eyes. That may not be a reason why! Oh snap! I thought I saw a zombie today, but it was only Liam. If they didn't drag their hair, it wouldn't be so confusing. And if they didn't mutter "hairssss" under their breath. Oh well! Plus: I love the arm. Plus: I love the elbow. I have very weird friends. like Ovid382 - does a dead-on Madonna impression. Lol! But do you know who you are? Supah kawaii. I'm addicted to flaws. Does anyone know where I can find soem light? Preferably slender

Ever since the abacus accident, Jackson has been feeling sorrow. I tried to recruit Mirror Image, Shulamith, Maeve, and Bennett to help out but they were too full of pride. I hate wind, but especially when I'm convalescing. When walking it isn't so bad. I wish alarm-clock could heal. Or at the very least dream-speak. I cut a picture of a donkey out of Water Scooter Business and sent it to Fiona. I'm hoping for some good feedback. Advice?? There's more to it that what you strike. Now you see why... It's all wicked. We're doomed! You'll thrill to anything. Hmm? I can't imagine! Thrill through this! Damn right! It's a promise! I know this is true because of the following reasoning: That is a wind? Hugs from Irrigon, Oregon! -winces-

?

I went to the most criminally negligent party last night. I mean, a Spoon coverband? With a singer that sounded like Garrison Keilor and looked like Courtney Love. Maybe I wasn't feeling drunk enough to enjoy it. But come on people. At least try. Gawd. This is a MAJOR CHAIN STORE! Looks like someone needs a weekend off! Ever since the oil accident, Harper has been feeling ambivalence. I tried to recruit Aldo, Kate, Bennett, and Ansel to help out but they were too full of wonder. Lame! Half the girls got sick. I'm hoping for some good feed-back. I can go in to more detail if you want to know.

I'll have my own bell on Thursday... yes! OH ITS ON in the manner of donkey kong! Can we say "Thanks everyone! ."? It was sooo funny. There, made up my mind.

Might As Well Face It, My Legs Are Going To Vegas!

They've finally done it. They've finally developed a drug that cures something and then lists the cure as a side effect.

Welcome to Mirapex Town!

Let me back up a little. Say you're a little restless. In your legs. I don't know, bored. You've gone camping. Done the swimming thing. Golfed a little. But maybe you want something a little more than that. So you find yourself restless. In your legs. What do you do?

Why not call up your friends? You've been itching to plan a trip to Vegas for awhile and hey, those buffets are calling to you. Man, last time you went, you took some mushroom and it was a wicked good time! Plus, this time, you're not passing on some nice classy strippers!

Mirapex feels you might have a problem.

Mirapex feels you might have Restless Leg Syndrome.

Let's go to the board:

What are the Possible Side Effects of Mirapex?
"There have been reports of patients taking certain medications to treat Parkinson's disease or RLS, including MIRAPEX, that have reported problems with gambling, compulsive eating, and increased sex drive. It is not possible to reliably estimate how often these behaviors occur to determine which factors may contribute to them. If you or your family members notice that you are developing unusual behaviors, talk to your doctor."

What the hell? I don't know about these Parkinson's people but I'm assuming they want to have a good time, too. I've worked with them and they're just like the rest of us. They enjoy life. Maybe they want to throw some craps, eat some all-you can-eat crab legs and well I don't judge, so go ahead and be safe and grab some ass! It sounds like Mirapex just doesn't want you to fun.

Check out what else I found:

"When taking MIRAPEX hallucinations may occur and sometimes you may feel dizzy, sweaty or nauseated upon standing up."

Alright guys, I've seen this and it had nothing to do with having Restless Legs (Syndrome *snicker*) I believe the cause of these symptoms was a "special" tea brewed from "special" mushrooms grown cow plop. The person who experienced these horrific side effects eventually, and I quote "threw up hell." If they came up with a medication that cured the side effect causing you to throw up hell, I would be a little more amenable to accepting the validity of this medication.

But what do they claim Restless Leg Syndrome "technically" is?

"It begins as a strange feeling in your legs that seems to get worse until you stand up and move around. Deep inside your legs you can feel burning, creeping, and crawling sensations that are hard to describe, even to your doctor. Meanwhile, you cope with your condition the best you can."

Hmm. So, again, hallucinations. Possibly this is closer to acid or something due to the descriptions of creepy crawlies.

It is my opinion you take responsibility for your desire to feel the wind in your hair, to throw the dice, to eat everything on every buffet in Vegas and well, take part in the pleasures of the flesh. That restlessness in your legs? That's cabin fever pulling at your toes. That's a signal to hit the road in a black 1963 Cadillac and leave your cares behind.

My Interview With Michael!

THE Michael is the man behind the man behind the man behind the man. Or so he just said. He's also got a cricket for a pet and is my best friend. I decided to interview him because he set the world record for unnecessarily telling me, "Calm down!" He's even doing it now. We'll try to make this quick because he wants to buy some furniture today. Everyone meet Michael!



1. Welcome to your interview Michael.
Thanks, Wendy

2. First off, tell everyone how awesome I am!
What the hell? What kind of interview is this? Now you're typing all that. I see. You're a 27 awesome. Awesomes? It needs to be a scale or unit. A, uh, segal. Like Stephen. You are 27 Segals. Of awesome.

3. Out of what?
It's open-ended. It's like saying like 100 degrees out of what? It's not clear how it works.

4. Okay. Um, Thanks for clearing that up. So do you have any predictions for the coming holiday season for us?
Um. The trendy toy will be....ahh...I don't know.

5. 27?
I don't even know what that means.

6. No one does. That's the point.
I don't get kids these days.

7. That's probably not a subscription you want.
Oh I get it.

8. Anyway. What's your favorite Internet site?
Um. *sigh* I don't have like a favorite. Boing Boing is pretty good. I like reading everything on Boing Boing. I'm pretty excited abut Gmail right now too. Gmail is a good thing.

9. Because you get 27 messages from me a day?
It has nothing to do with the number 27.

10. It does now. Michael, what do you do for a living?
I work a computer at a print shop.

11. So...you just hit buttons?
That's kind of like asking a surgeon, "So you just cut people up?" While it's technically true, it doesn't really describe the work.

12. What is your favorite smell?
Pizza.

13. What is your favorite food?
I suppose that's pizza too. I think pizza is the perfect food.

14.Sorry we had to stop to debate something. Anyway. If Christopher Walken and I were in a fight, not a battle of the wits, mind you, who would win. Bear in mind, my slapping ability.
Is it a dance fight?

15.NO. We're not in middle school eating corn dog pizza.
Please to answer.
Even if it's not a dance fight, I think Christopher Walken would win, but by a much narrower margin.

16. Hmm. I'm just thinking about my slapping ability, but okay. You have a cricket right now, for a pet. Not on purpose, but still...Will you miss it when it's gone?
I won't miss him. He's not very affectionate.

17. Do you kind of want like a small pet that's cricket sized?
No.

18. Why not? Maybe something cuddlier?
I'm not really in a pet kind of place in life these days.

19. If you were, what would you get?
A small, mellow dog.

20. You know those don't exist, right?
No, I've seen 'em. My grandparents had a black poodle for a very long time named Bertha. It was very sweet.

21. You should get a toy poodle and carry it in one of those Camelback water bladders.
I'm neither gay nor retarded.

22. Oh that's right. You've a few years to go before you quit working. OH! What are you wearing to Bernadette's wedding?
Hmmm. What kind of wedding is it?

23.Cool, of course. It takes place at an organic farm and then the reception is at an art gallery. The Rembrandt House in Boulder.
Course brown jacket with stitching, a mustard yellow shirt, dark jeans, Doc Martens (in funny voice).

24. Neat! Now I can plan my outfit! Now after 24 question let's get down to brass tacks. How many drug charges have you been brought up on?
Zero. Is that unusual? That's not funny.

25.How serious are you about your filing system?
80% serious. Do you want to know more about it?

26. Yes!
I never throw any bills away. I think I have my bills from the last four years stapled by year in filing cabinet B and all of this year's bills in filing cabinet A. I have kept almost all of my pay stubs ever.

27. Wow. That's impressive.
Not really. Doesn't that lie in the realm of unneccesarily obsessive? I mean, who has all their pay slips forever? Who has last weeks payslips? I guess some people have them for the year. I figure what the hell I'll just keep it.

28. If you're ever audited, you'll be so okay! But you'll never be audited. So, okay!

29. You and I share a habit of collecting concert and music concert tickets. How many would you say you have now?
I don't see a lot of movies in theatres so I wouldn't say I have a lot of them, but they cover a long history. 100? Maybe 100? 6th sense! Heat! Hard Five? What would that be? What else is interesting? The first one is Memoirs of an Invisible Man. I decided to keep tickets when I watched it with my parents. Fierce Creatures! Fifth Element! Last of the Mohicans. Maverick. Illegible (note: not a movie). Wing Commander! That is the prize. That is the most important one of all.

30. How cool is it that you share a name with a horror movie monster? Or serial killer?
Ohhh. Just because my first name is Michael. There are lots of people named Michael. My name sounds a lot like Michael Hutchence.

31. I know. But he killed himself and that's depressing. Plus I was just thinking about that new movie..uh, Halloween while you were on Intermission. You just told me you went as Michael Myers for Halloween once. That's ironic! How was that?
It was nice.

32. Did you have to wear your coat over your costume?
No.

33. Someone was spoiled.
You have no idea. I lived next to Warm Springs. It's a street in Boise that has a mile of the oldest houses in town and sometimes people would give whole candy bars to trick or treaters. Even better was that Warm Springs has such a reputation for trick or treating that very few people went down the side streets, so the few of us that did would get all the candy.

34. Again, someone was spoiled.
I also had two British sports cars and a Miata before I was 18.

35. That's it. By the way he's not even kidding. He showed me pictures of himself sitting in his British cars. That's it. We're having corn dog pizza.
That doesn't make any sense.

36. Neither does having all that candy, not having to wear your coat over your costume AND you had two British sports cars and a Miata before you were eighteen. Thus, some sort of corn dog product is going in my face today.
I'm okay with that.

37. GOOD. Now I want my corn dog. Everyone say goodbye to THE Michael as he rides off on his unicorn into the sunset.
I don't have a unicorn.

38. Liar.

My Mom's Blog

My Mom and were driving down the street yesterday, on our way to retrieve my art work from my show (don't cry, there will be other shows) when she bursts out with the following tirade as she swings around a corner:

Mom: "I am so going to blog about all the trash in my parking lot! What the hell does blog mean? Blog. B-log. Why do they call it that anyway?"

Me: (incredulously) "Mom, do you have a blog?"

Mom: "No, I don't but I have to complain about the fact that these idiots pull up in their cars and then just place their beer or Mountain Dew or whatever bottles right by their car! Oh my God, it's so hard to just walk five feet to the dumpster or take it into your apartment, where you're going anyway!"

Me: "Why don't you just tell that Chanelle chick who can't spell that is the manager of your apartments?"

Mom: "Oh yeah! She puts up all these notices that say, 'Take care of your home and pick up the trash' but it's really all her friends who are doing it! Like, what is this? A hotel for her friends?"

Me: (still wondering where the blog comes in): "And you're going to blog about this?"

Mom: "Well, yeah, I mean I have to say something about it! Get it out there, you know? Obviously, the dregs, and by dregs, I mean Chanelle, who run that place won't do anything!"

Me: "You really don't know what a blog is, do you?"

Mom: "No! But that is not the point here!"

Me: "It kind of is. I mean I get that you're angry about the trash, but you do know that blogs are not letters to important people who will smash an angry fist upon the trashy people?"

Mom: "Why are you always treating me like I'm senile?"

Me: "I'm not! Geez! You're all worked up about this trash but I'm just saying you have to have an actual blog to 'blog' about something. That's all."

Mom: "That's why I'm going to write one!"

Me: (looking out the window) "Oh look. A parking space by the door. Sweet."

Mom: "Yeah! Is that door even open?"






I have to say I am constantly charmed by my Mom's latest efforts to be "high-tech." At Christmas, she bought herself an HP Slimline PC and then there was a week where I had to try to explain wireless Internet to her. Finally, I just started telling her wizards were behind it whenever she brought it up. This seemed to calm her down. She paid to have Best Buy's Geek Squad show up and set everything up for her. She was amazed that the dork that showed up had a secret agent type uniform and remarked excitedly, "They drive a little VW Bug that says 'Geek Squad' on it! He even gave me his card and it has a 'badge number' on it!"

My Mom has discovered Amazon.com and various cloth websites. One of her favorites to cruise, though, is the FiestaWare web site where, not only can she pile up new colors and dishes, but she can get their "retired" dishes. The retired dishes are actually the best. They have the retro colors and the brightest colors the dish company is famous for. The more modern colors, ugh, are basically dumbed down for boring people who should be ordering from Laura Ashley or some shit. I always manage to come out ahead though when she cruises the retired section because they have odd rules about ordering. For instance, when she just wanted one small bowl in eggplant, the rule was that she had to order three. So she chose a yellow one and an orange one to appease the FiestaWare gods. Thus, I now own a small orange Fiesta bowl. I also have an orange plate.

Don't get her started on fabrics. She's a hardcore quilter. Now the Internet has entered her life, she's found an unending supply of cloth at her fingertips. The day the Dick and Jane cloth arrived was practically a national holiday. I was barely allowed to touch it, though I desired a dress made from it. Badly. However, I was informed that she only ordered a small amount because, for some reason, it's wicked expensive. She has since found some retro cowboy/cowgirl fabric that's pretty awesome and is convinced there is some Nancy Drew cloth out there. I would have to insist on a dress made out of this if I had to sell my soul for it. I would dig up all my money for enough for a Nancy Drew dress.

Amazon.com has provided her with a veritable wealth of new ways to do things to cloth. She has four books on Stump Embroidery, which I am actually going to try my hand at. Amazon can be a cruel bitch, too, though. One day, as we were walking from the car, the famed Chanelle approached us, excited, screeching, "Your Harry Potter book arrived! I have it in the office! Let's go get it!" Inside I was screeching, "Yes! Let's go get it! You ordered Harry Potter!" My Mom responded, quizzically, "I didn't order the new Harry Potter book..." To which I said, "Who cares? You got it, dude! It's here and I'm going to eat it up! Let's go! Let's go!" Turns out the brilliant Chanelle read the name wrong on the package. So I suppose it's not Amazon.com that can be a cruel bitch. Chanelle is just a grammatically incorrect Potter tease.

My mom also has an email address. She actually checks it, too. If you would like to write her a nice note and say hello, it's nita.ralph@yahoo.com. She loves mail from new friends. (As long as you are not Playgirl or the Hoveround folks. She didn't think that was funny at all...after two years. So, if you are either of those folks, don't contact her. I already played that joke on her).

Mistaken Identity Date

(This blog is actually a blast from the past of something that happened months ago but is was SO awesome I had to share it!)

I know I said I wouldn't date again until the surgery was over with. However, it seems everytime I say, "I'm going on a diet!" or "I'm a vegetarian!" or "I'm totally going to water this new plant!" I immediately set myself up for failure. It isn't that I have no self control. Far from that. Dieting, well, when I give it a name, it makes me miserable and I gain more weight. Being a vegetarian is stupid for me because I pretty much love vegetables more than anything else anyway but yeah, I love a rare steak once in a blue moon, too, and resent having that taken away from me. As for the plants, well that's a whole other blog. There is a ginormous plant at the end of the hallway of my building that doesn't appear to have a home, though and I think I might go drag it into my apartment. Let's just say it's compulsive and eventually, I will (!) have beautiful house plants.

You can see where this is going. I decided to go on a date. If you know me, (and if you don't, then just finish the sentence), I am friends with primarily men so of course, I have scooped all the good ones in town for friends. It's no good to shit where you eat. So that leaves me with other options for meeting men. Yes, internet dating services. So what? All the cool kids are doing it and I am a cool kid. Don't doubt it!

I had been emailing "D1", as we'll call him for the purpose of the story for a short while and we seemed to have a decent amount in common. He lives in Fort Collins and knows about what is going on in my life. "D2" (if you haven't caught on, they have the same exact name) emailed me on the actual site and I vaguely remember going, "Um....Yeah, no." after speaking to him on the phone. This was awhile ago and D1 and I have exchanged phone numbers to arrange a date to go to Roma tonight. Bear in mind that I spoke to D2 on the phone before I was on meds and it was quite awhile ago. Also, it was before I had spoken to D1 on the phone and was months ago, so I barely remember his voice. Actually I don't remember it at all.

Thus, when D2 texts me, "I've got things covered at the office. Do you want to go to a movie?" Heck yes, I do! I haven't been to a movie in ages! At this point I'm thinking D1 just wants to move our plans for today to yesterday, (which is when all this occurred, in case you're confused). Consarn texting (in this one case!) because I thought D1 was at work or something and that's why his name didn't show up on his text or phone call. I don't know! I'm freaking medicated! Logic and reason fly out the window! Plus weirder things have happened! Read on!

D2 calls me for directions which I give him. They seem straightforward and simple. I'm not sure how much more simple I could get. He says he'll call me when he gets to the gas station just off the Interstate, which I think is odd but okay. I am directionally retarded so possibly he is too. He, then does so and I ask him how far onto Highway 34 he is. He says he is at the gas station. I'm thinking, "Wow, this guy is literal. I kind of meant when he passes the gas station. He meant he was actually getting to the gas station." It is then that he says, "You remember I drive a motorcycle right? Inisde my head I do not remember this as D1 never mentioned it in his emails or anything and mentione that I did not or said something like, "Oh, I forgot." I was informed that he can only pull over to talk, which made the whole literally going to the gas station to talk a lot of sense. I give him further directions, all the way into Greeley and he decides to stop at the King Soopers plaza to call me further. However, when he calls me, he is at the Safeway near my house. He has somehow made it there. I don't know how. I'm pretty sure he took the first business exit even though I told him not to. I tell him the shortest way around the block to my house and meet him out front.

I quickly discover that I am not meeting D1 for a movie. Who the hell is this guy? I know what D1 looks like! Then he says somethting that jogs my memory. He says, "Well you've never seen my picture but I've seen yours so I hope you don't think I'm a total ogre." D2! Holy crap! This is D2! I have just agreed to go out on a date with the guy I have been avoiding and why he has contacted me after all this time, I don't know. He's actually kind of a fuckwad too. I decide we're going to see the new Halloween. I want to see it because I've been wanting to see it and well, D2 has some sort of weird rule about only wanting to see R-rated movies, but also Rob Zombie directed it and I enjoy his movies, despite his obsession with clowns.

I'm a little freaked out because what if I have a seizure while on the motorcycle but decide to throw caution to the wind. I've never been on one and actually it's glorious. It bothers me a lot that he doesn't have helmets so I am saying to the universe, "Please don't let me get splattered on the road on a date with D2. Okay? I would wear a helmet, it's just he seems to be of the persuasion that helmets are uncool and your brains on the highway are supercool." By the way, if you call his voicemail, he refers to himself (okay I'm giving names away here, but seriously, this is too much!!!) he refers to himself as "SupahDave!" Holy Christ! I find this out only after the actual "David" calls me while we are in the movie and I get the message when I get home and I tell him about the mistaken identity crisis.

Now the masks are off I can tell you SupahDave thinks he is the shit. He is also like in his late thirties and they are not treating him well. I am not attracted to him AT ALL. I would definitely date someone in their late thirties if they had not tried to slip Diet Coke soaked ice down my shirt and cop a feel at the same time. Hey SupahDave! I'm trying to watch the damn movie! Also he thinks I should feed him Milk Duds. What? When I tell him he is being too forward, he settles down for a few, but then tries to feed them to me, attempting to shove his windburned hand into my mouth. I'm like "No! Jesus! What the hell is this?" He then proceeds to tell me I should kiss him and pushes his lips against mine and I'm all, "Look Dr. Octopus, I don't think so! You're really pissing me off."

So, I ended up spending my viewing of the new Halloween with SupahDave and not the pleasant David, who is actually coming up for pizza at Roma. SupahDave, in all his years had never seen a horror film besides "The Shining" and his only comment? "There was lots of gratuitous sex." I was wondering where he was during the violence and slashing part. Oh yeah. Trying to put ice down my shirt, amongst other things. I have filed him with my ex-roommate who has never heard of Burt Reynolds and the other roommate who lived with us at the time who got knocked up by her boyfriend but wasn't sure whether or not he had both of his testicles. SupahDave can ride off into hell for all I care and well, the actual David is looking forward to a slice of pizza today.

So am I, now that everything is cleared up.

This, my friends, could only happen to me and my sitcom of a life.

Men's Boxers

I've started buying men's boxers.

Don't worry, all you leagues of men who read my blog and hope someday to see me without my bottom half of my clothing on. I still wear pretty panties during the day. In fact, I adore buying cute panties so much you might call me fancy pants. My love of cute panties ranges from the simple classic black panty to the ruffled panty with a red bow in front. There's lots of variety in the middle of that range. But I digress.

I've figured out how comfortable men's boxers are to sleep in. At least in the fickle winter weather. Sure, I admit to sleeping in the nude during the spring and summer. It's effin' hot, okay? I'm lucky enough to have lots of windows in my room and by the time I'm ready for bed the sheets are nice and cool so it feels good to sleep in my birthday suit. As of my favorite season, autumn, though, I require a bit more coverage. Especially when it's just me and the two cats. They prefer to sleep at my feet anyway or out in the living room on their behemoth of a tower in yet another of my windows. What can I say? They likes their windows and I've got plenty of what they need, almost floor to ceiling. They are some lucky bastards in that sense.

Men's boxers are not just comfortable to me but they are like an extension of my sheets. They have soothing patterns. So I feel like I have just managed to make a kangaroo pouch around my southern region out of my sheets that also allows me to move around as needed during the night. I don't have much need for the opening that allows men ready access for urinating but I don't know. Maybe I could store a granola bar in there or something for a midnight snack. I could sew little pockets on the inside to keep a crayon in there for writing down my dreams and ideas. Although it is good access for leg scratching and such. Getting right to the source. There is a big pink elephant sitting in the room right now and I know you're waiting for me to mention that particular access but I'm a lady and I'm not going to. You just go ahead and let your imagination run wild. Go nuts. No pun intended.

I figured this whole thing out when I was in the hospital for some particularly nasty seizures and I wasn't fond of the fact that I was just hanging out with no panties or anything to cover up said panties. I have mentioned a bazillion times in my blogs that most of my friends are guys so you know, when they came to visit me, I didn't want to be like, "Hey, check out my crotch!" We're pretty close, but I don't think we're this close. I'm aware they pee on dumpsters or various places when we get out of the car or go on walks and give them the courtesy of looking away. I've been caught off guard and seen an arc or two but thus far have been able to avoid seeing thier junk. I think we all appreciate this. Also, my best friend Michael was coming to stay the night in the hospital after a particularly terrifying day and night and I anticipated being asleep when he arrived, no matter how hard I tried to stay up to greet him. Who knows what sort of blanket tangle I would be in, so to make a long story long, I asked my mom to buy me some panties and some men's boxers to put on underneath my hospital gown. That way, no one got flashed and I was comfortable.

Don't get me wrong. I have my share of cute nightgowns and pajama pants but sometimes you just want something utilitarian. You just want a t-shirt and well, some boxer shorts. They're handy to crawl into when you're super tired and you don't have to think a lot about them. When no one is around to see them, boxer shorts are your go-to apparrel. Keep the other stuff clean in case pigs fly and you might actually start having someone who shares the other side of your bed. Of course, that means moving your books and stuff that you normally snuggle with but that's fine. If I'm going to put on my charcoal gray nightgown that makes my boobs look awesome and a pair of fancy pants, the books can spend the night elsewhere for awhile. Obviously, if I've found someone who likes books and robots and stuff and wants to hang out on the other side of the bed on kind of a permanent basis, we can call in a nightstand for him too. It's not a big problem to solve.

Although I'm sure the boxers would still make their appearances. After all, love me, love my boxers. At least they look good with my shawl.

Meh! It Was Probably Elderly OCD.

I wanted to print some pictures today and a couple of them were for personal reasons so I went to Michaels Craft Store to get some 4x6 frames to house said pictures. They usually have some frames 50% off and today was no different. They also have a fine selection of realistic animal figure toys on the way in. I have been looking for a T-Rex to go with the Utahraptor my Mom found by her car in a parking lot. (When she presented the Utahraptor to me, knowing my love of the Dinosaur Comics our good friend Mo introduced me to,--www.qwantz.com--,I decided to make a whole set of the characters for my coffee table and personal playtime use! It could also be fun to act out the comics!) I found a great T-Rex for my use--perfect size and the expression on his face and arm placement was almost perfect! The Dromiceiomims is going to be a little trickier to find. Can you say "trip to the Museum of Science and Natural History?" (Can you say "Dromiceiomims?" Because I can't.) Oh no. Please. Not that. I don't want to go look at the DINOSAURS!!!

Obviously I did not find a Dromiceiomims at Michaels.

This is not odd. What is odd, after I carefully picked out one of my frames, I felt that silvery feeling in my bladder that says, "Wendy you need to tinkle" and placed my frame on an end aisle display shelf with the T-Rex on top of the frame on his side. Please note the placement of the frame and the T-Rex one more time. I placed my frame on an end aisle display shelf with the T-Rex on top of the frame on his side. When I returned from the restroom, the T-Rex was standing upright, next to the frame! What in tarnation is upright with that? I would normally suspect my Mom but she went into the restroom and utilized the facilities as well. Odder still, no one tried to put the frame back or stand it up, as though it were an employee returning merchandise to the shelf. No, someone just stood the T-Rex upright next to the frame.

I tell myself, I've done things like this. Made little mysteries in people's lives. It is pretty funny and I suppose I don't really want to know who it is because that would spoil the story. I wouldn't have such a musing to dote on. I spent a good five minutes scratching my head and inspecting the crime scene. The only people around were an old couple walking by (Surely old people don't have a sense of humor! They would have OCD! You lose your sense of humor at like 72, right? You hand it over in an envelope and they give you an envelope full of Grumpies. Right? Meh, you say to everything! Meh, that dinosaur should be standing upright, Lloyd! Meh...Lloyd says back. He just wants to eat his prunes, 3 at a time on the same white plate he's eaten them on for the last thirty years.)

It was totally them.

Or was it?

That's exactly what they would want me to think.

It was totally them.

Meh!

GASP!

Do you want to know what I think is a major detriment to our society? Too bad you clicked on my blog, now I'm going to tell you.

Relationship Self-Help Books!!!

Put them down, now. NOW. Also, when I am just venting about something in my life, do NOT say, "You know...I've been reading this Dr.Phil book about how he got through his divorce and came to terms with dating again..." *cough* Yes, Dr. Phil and I are aware it's pretty hard to see when you're so far up Oprah's ass. Next! "Wendy, maybe you just can't see the forest for the trees. I will lend you my copy of 'He's Just Not That Into You' but you've got to give it back because it's like my relationship Bible. I can so relate and see myself in there. Maybe you will too." Invariably, when someone tries to give me a book like this, (and I always accept it for a few days, possibly even cracking it if I am really desperate), their proffering is always followed by a *pat pat* on my back as I hold said book in my hands. Usually I swing my head around and give the person an "Are you a mothafuckin' crazy ass?" look or just make my back arc inwards like my cat does when she doesn't want a pet as she walks by or is slinking under the bathroom door.

The shenanigans started back in high school when a little book called "The Rules" came out and one of my friends was on this shit like stink on a monkey or shit. Whatever stink sticks more to.



This book is currently being sold on www.amazon.com for one cent. Yup. One stinkin' cent. So if some jerk says to you in chit chat or small talk, "What can you get for one cent these days, huh?" Now you have an answer. The authors are now divorced as well. Just like Dr.Phil. So, when I said, "No thank you" in high school to my friend who thought "The Rules" were the way to go, even up to the point when we grew apart and well, married a douchebag who enjoyed going to Walgreens and buying massive amounts of LCD lights and was just a touch more controlling than her, going so far as to ruin our last Christmas before she got married (planned before they met--I bought the plane tickets as a Christmas present as it was tradition for each of us to trade off each year) and actually cancel Christmas because, and I think "The Rules" would have agreed, she was finally doing something for herself after all these years of being Cinderella. I never read "The Rules" all the way through but I think once you get the man who is douchebag enough to become engaged to you after you have holiday travel plans in place with your high school friend of close to 16 years and then is okay with you cancelling them so you can be with him, even though he is working most of when you will be gone, you get a graduation certificate and a pre-nup in the mail. After all, the authors ARE divorced. I think they enclose a note that says, "Nothing personal honey but most likely with your graduation you also lost one or a handful of friends and you're going to need this pre-nup to keep your money to buy a lot of ice cream to cry yourself to sleep at night if something should happen. Love, The Dumbasses who wrote this Book. PS. But you caught him, right? Right? Our job is done!"

A woman I used to be a personal assistant for lent me "He's Just Not That Into You" on tape. She travelled a lot so this was good for her. In my world, paper is better. If my Mom were here, she might remind you of the time I listened to Dennis Miller's "Rants" in its entirety on my Walkman in high school and what a bad mood I was in for two days. I couldn't explain it. Then we figured it out. Dennis Miller! She said, "Please do not listen to books on tape, Wendy. Especially him. They're not music." It all has to do with my love of being read to and all that so I have to just rely on humans to read to me. Eventually they get tired and stop. But I digress.

One night, I stuck CD number One of "He's Just Not That Into You" into my CD player as I crawled into bed. Worst Idea Ever! I couldn't go to sleep, thinking, "Oh shit. I'm the neediest, most co-dependent, horrible woman in the universe. I am every woman on that CD!" I went to sleep crying and humiliated. The truth is I was none of these things. The truth is, I have my own quirks in handling guys and I know what they are but they certainly don't require reading a fucking book. I think if you are reading a book to find out how to instantly solve life's problems, you need to head to therapy. I'm being serious here. That's where they help you. There is no way to solve things in books unless it's a crossword puzzle. If you have trouble with relationships, these assholes are just making money off of your misery and I have a problem with that. I have a problem with the fact that there isn't a book where, on every page the sentence, "Go to therapy" is typed. The title would be "How to Really Solve Your Problems But It Might Take Some Work On Your Part Just Like You Have to Exercise and Change Your Diet to Lose Weight." Possibly I might just call it "Gasp!"

I have fairly smart, brilliant friends, too so I listen to them. Currently, I can't think of any of them who would give me one of these books. They're guys though, most of them and the few women I allow in my world would just stone could hit me with one of these books because they were handy in a bookstore if I was acting like an idiot. This is a lot better. I recommend this as an alternative. No one is going to have an apple fall onto their head concerning anything while reading a self-help book. Not a damn thing. And you'll be out $29.95. Or one cent. It depends on what you buy.

Les Miserables: The Blog! Part II

And so it finishes...

That same night that Death and Fantine run off together, (they seem quite the fitting pair, Fantine with her missing teeth and Death with his missing face,) Valjean escapes, but he is quickly recaptured and sent to Toulon, a military port full of dirty, dirty sailors and tattoo parlors. Yet, he escapes temptation (the only thing he seems to be able to escape) to get drunk and plaster a loaf of bread in ink on his arm. When approached on the street by one of these such "ink artists," he, in true character, politely refuses but helps out in the shop for a day sanitizing equipment and giving large sailors swigs of whiskey and large dowels of wood to bite down on.

One day, as he was enjoying a cup of strong, sludgy coffee, he saves a sailor about to fall from the rigging. He throws his mug to the ground where it shatters into a milion pieces like his life has so many times before this, plunges into the sea and manages to escape by establishing the belief that he has drowned. It was widely known in the community that he did not own a pair of goggles or nose clips.

He uses his precarious freedom to go to Montfermeil, the location of the Thénardiers' inn. While looking them in the eye, he explains to them that their inn is located atop an Indian Burial Ground and that only he can control the Native American spirits that haunt their inn. He goes on to say to their shocked faces, that if they bother Cosette any longer he will unleash upon them the Native American spirits and their love of organic farming, homeopathic medicines and worst of all...symbolic storytelling! Not wanting any of this brought down upon their lives or their inn, the Thénardiers' assure Valjean he and Cosette will have no trouble from them. The last thing they want is a bedtime story about a warrior and a buffalo with a nice cup of mint tea. They'll stick to their sloppy ales with questionable items floating around in the mugs. It's gotten them this far after all. After burying his money in the woods and making sure to pee on it so some deer with a gambling problem doesn't touch it, he frees Cosette from the Thénardiers' abominable guardianship and takes her into the protective anonymity of Paris.

In Paris, he lives like a recluse in a dilapidated tenement, the Gorbeau House, in an outlying district. He takes up urinating in public, but discreetly, for he is still a gentleman. In spite of his precautions, however, Javert manages to track him down. Mid-void, Valjean is forced to flee. After a hectic chase and imminent capture, (Javert stopped to ask around in the sailor port and did get a tattoo: a white whale) he finds a miraculous refuge in a convent. This time he chooses not to steal from his holy saviours. Instead, he offers up a list of things he has learned in his travels, one of them landscaping. With the cooperation of the gardener, Fauchelevent, a man whose life he has saved in the past, Valjean persuades the prioress to take him on as assistant gardener and to enroll Cosette as a pupil. Valjean and Cosette spend several happy years in the isolation of the convent. Or so Valjean thinks. Cosette is a growing girl and a growing girl is only happy for so long in a convent before she starts thnking of the pictures of Jesus with different peoples' heads. As horrible as she feels about it, she cannot control her natural hormones raging inside her.

We now get to meet Marius. Marius is a seventeen-year-old who lives with his grandfather, M. Gillenormand, a relic of the Old Regime. Boy is he old. (How old is he?!!) Well, he's so old I referred to him as a relic. Stick with me now. In a nearby town, Georges Pontmercy, Marius' father, a hero of the Napoleonic wars, (who also has had his portrait done with one of his hands tucked in his pocket) lives in retirement, enjoying pudding cups. M. Gillenormand, by threatening to disinherit Marius, has forced Georges Pontmercy to relinquish custody of his son. He has completed the estrangement by communicating his aversion for Pontmercy to Marius through a whispered and disdainful conversation wherein he flipped a stack of bills under Marius's nose. Consequently, the young man reacts almost impassively to his father's death. A fortuitous conversation reveals to Marius the depths of his father's love for him, and indignant at his grandfather's deception, he leaves home and stacks and stacks and stacks of cash.

He takes refuge in the Latin Quarter and falls in with a group of radical students who teach him to tango, the Friends of the A.B.C. Marius, who under his father's posthumous influence has just switched his allegiance from the monarchy to Napoleon, (they are heavily in favor of the arts but only if it involves finding revered artists to paint your portrait with one hand tucked into your pocket) and falls into a state of intellectual bewilderment. Material difficulties increase his unhappiness. Finally he manages to create a tolerable existence by finding a modest job at a chips shop, living frugally by putting his personal "Hand In Pocket Portrait" on the back burner for now and withdrawing into his inner dreams.

His peace is shattered like Valjeans espresso cup on the docks when he falls passionately in love with a beautiful young girl in the Luxembourg Gardens. She is Jean Valjean's ward, Cosette. Too timid for bold actions, he courts her silently. This annoys the hell out of her because Marius is hot hot hot and she has been living in a convent for...years!!! A fatal indiscretion ruins his nascent love affair. (I don't know if he cheated on her or just was late for some sort of coffee date or something. Fatal implies that he killed her but obviously she was able to move so I don't know what the hell happened.) He quizzes the doorman where Cosette lives and a week later she moves without leaving an address. Oops.

For a long time Marius is unable to find a clue to his sweetheart's whereabouts and is overcome by despair. He's even unable to muster enough rebellion to attend the A.B.C. meetings with his hand in one pocket.

Coincidence puts him back on the track. One day curiosity impels him to observe his neighbors through a hole in the wall. Though I don't think this is coincidence so much more than it is creepy stalker behavior. He glimpses a family—father, mother, and two daughters—living in unspeakable squalor. Soon after he witnesses the entrance of a philanthropist, M. Leblanc, and his daughter. To his immense surprise, the daughter is Cosette. His eyes bug out and almost go through the hole in the wall, kind of like in the cartoons but this would be impossible because moving cartoons have not been invented, yet. His jubilation is replaced by consternation when he discovers that his neighbors are planning to draw M. Leblanc into a trap the same evening. Marius contacts the police and on the instructions of Inspector Javert returns to his room. Yes, that's right, Marius has put Javert on the track of Valjean. Everyone stand and clap. Very slowly at first but then break out into applause. That would be great.

When Leblanc comes back, Marius' neighbor identifies himself as Thénardier, ties up his victim, and demands an exorbitant ransom. The plot fails with the timely arrival of the inspector. In the confusion of the arrest, Leblanc escapes and calls down upon the Thénardiers' the Native American spirits who will now open a dingy version of Whole Foods within the inn and sing them to sleep each night with a different symbolic lullaby. They are doomed to be haunted by a sweet and calm people each day and night of their lives.

Once again, the young girl has vanished. But Thénardier's daughter, who is selflessly (and the spirits sense this, so they guide her to help pay back her parents' wrongs) in love with Marius, manages to find Cosette for him.

After worshiping Cosette from afar, Marius summons the courage to declare his love. Cosette reciprocates because...SHE'S BEEN LIVING IN A CONVENT FOR YEARS. For a whole month the couple lives a chaste and secret idyll, secret because Cosette intuitively guesses Valjean's hostility to the man who is usurping his place. Creepy. Also, Meow!!!

Marius' happiness is unwittingly shattered by Valjean, like Valjean's espresso cup on the docks, who, disturbed by a secret warning and the growing popular unrest in Paris, has decided to take Cosette to England. As a first step he moves to a hideaway prepared for this kind of emergency. That, um, Cosette would finally get some. And the entire population of Paris would be concerned about it. Actually, I don't know. Let's learn together.
Absorbed by his love like a sea sponge, Marius has been unaware of the deteriorating political situation. Ohhhhhh. Wait. Is Marie Antoinette involved? Have you seen that movie? How was she not 300 lbs? This is not about her, though. This is about MARIUS. Now! His private crisis is echoed by the crisis of an imminent insurrection. Echoed! His friend Enjolras directs the erection of a barricade in front of the Corinth wine shop. Erection? Is this also an echo in his life? The first enemy he has to deal with is found within the rebels' ranks. It is Javert, who is unmasked as a spy and tied up to await execution. Man! Finally!

Marius, driven by despair, decides to seek death in the insurrection. Nooooo!!! He joins the fighters at the barricade and fights valiantly to the end. Valjean also joins the insurgents, but for special reasons. He has discovered Marius' relationship with Cosette and his role in the revolution. For Cosette's sake, he decides to protect the life of the man he abhors. He just cannot escape his compulsive role in life as a gentleman. Also, he fights with one hand and drinks espresso with the other.

Marius, driven by despair, decides to seek death in the insurrection. He joins the fighters at the barricade and fights valiantly to the end. Valjean also joins the insurgents, but for special reasons. He has discovered Marius' relationship with Cosette and his role in the revolution. For Cosette's sake, he decides to protect the life of the man he abhors.

Before the final assault, Valjean volunteers to execute Javert. He's pretty pissed after all these years. Instead, he spares the inspector's life and sends him away. Oh man. That's like the worst mistake ever. Then Valjean returns to the barricade as the few surviving defenders are driven inside the wine shop. He seizes the seriously wounded Marius, drags him into a manhole, dodges some alligators who spit urine at them and undertakes a heroic and harrowing passage through the sewers of Paris. Unfortunately, Javert arrests him at the exit. Yeah, we didn't see this happening. HELLO. He has a tatto of a WHITE WHALE. However, he allows Valjean to take Marius to his grandfather and later, in a quandary, releases Valjean. But he cannot forgive himself for this breach of duty and commits suicide. Meh. He's out of the way.

Marius' life has a happier ending. He recuperates from his wounds and overcomes his grandfather's hostility to his marriage. Wait, what? Did I fall asleep? The marriage, however, is a mortal blow to Valjean. He has confessed his past to Marius, and the latter, in spite of his magnanimity, slowly estranges Cosette from Valjean. You know, because he's creepy and is growing dangerously close to being "that old guy." You know, the one who hits on young chicks in bars. Marius does not know that Valjean is the man who saved his life in the sewers. Without Cosette, Valjean's life loses its meaning and he slowly withers away like a candle in the wind. Thénardier, however, unwittingly reveals to Marius that Valjean is his savior because he's really tired of eating persimmons (in fact he shouts, "What the hell are persimmons?!!!") and Marius and Cosette arrive in time to console Jean Valjean on his deathbed.

L'extrémité!

Les Miserables: The Blog!

Man. I have a lot to tell you today. So, this guy, Jean Valjean, horked some bread. I'm assuming his stomach was rumbling and you know, maybe he hadn't eaten in awhile otherwise he would have just waited until dinnertime and ordered a pizza. Get this, he was arrested (wait, it gets worse!) and sentenced to nineteen years hard labor! For some crappy bread. I bet the person he stole it from definitely missed that loaf of bread nineteen years later. I bet the person who owned the patisserie (that's "bakery" in French) was still counting his loaves of bread and when he got to the space where the loaf Jean ValJean stole would have been, he would go, "Curses! That damn loaf! It haunts me that it isn't there. It fucking screws me up everytime! How do I not see it coming after all these years? I'm glad we have such harsh laws in France! Maird!" (That's "shit" in French.) "Also! My bread has not sold in nineteen years! Maird!"

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (That's "prison" in French), Valjean makes repeated attempts to escape, possibly with a spoon at one point, because they haven't attempted sand blasters yet in the 19th century and those are even hard to smuggle into prison in modern times (believe you me, I've tried!). Also, no one ever comes to visit him but if they did, how ironic would it be if they bought a cake from the guy he stole the bread from and put a file in it? I think this would be a huge "fuck you, patisserie and French law in general!" and really hilarious as well. Good news, though! Valjean does finally escape! They have to have these weirdo convict's passports, a lot like being a registered sex offender, so pretty much he's doomed to the newsboy hat, disheveled coat, no money, five o'clock shadow and that "Garrr! I'm going to strangle you and take your bread" look. Plus he's kind of pissed off about the whole hard labor vs. loaf of bread imbalance thing.

Valjean kind of knocks on some doors and is like, "Look, dudes, I'm kind of in a pickle here. You got some soup or something and maybe some hay I could sleep on?" Of course les masses (that's "general public" in French) are basic jerks even back then. So they keep their precious gruel to themselves. Or maybe they have heard that joke about the guy showing up and the farmer says, "You can have anything you want but just don't touch my daughter..." Either way, he gets hosed repeatedly. Until! Yes, until he knocks on the door of the saintly bishop, Monseigneur Myriel, who is super nice to Valjean even after he steals from him after he feeds him and give him a nice pillow to lay his head on. He totally saves him from the law and boulanger de secousse (that's "jerk baker" in French) knows how many more years of hard labor. John Valjean has a "pay it forward" moment but decides to do it for the rest of his life.

To do this, though, he must get get rid of his stupid passport (who stamps these anyway?) and change his name. He promptly, under the name of M. Madeleine starts a factory and brings prosperity to the town of Montreuil. Yes, the very next day. He even becomes Mayor by early evening! No one cares that he can't read! He brings prosperity! Wheee! Not bad for a bread thief. You've come a long way, baby! Meanwhile, back at the ranch (oddly enough, this is also another French word for "bakery!"), Old Man Vomi (that's French for "vomit"), the guy who he stole the bread from is still getting even more pissed at his counting system every time he comes across the blank spot where Valjean's loaf of bread would have been. Ha!

Next, I would like to tell you about the pathetic young girl Fantine. I mean, she's pretty pathetic. I don't mean this in an insulting way, but derivative of the word pathos, you know? I look around at my life and I look at Fantine and I kind of think, "Wendy, you, missy, are whiner face." Check this out. So, Fantine is a single Mom. Not so shocking, you say? Have you tried being one in 19th century France? You're pretty much a pariah! Do it. I dare you. Do it, now! You won't because you're a pussy. Also you rely on the excuse that time travel doesn't exist. Well lucky you because I'm sure Fantine would have liked a time machine. Let me tell you why. On the way back to her hometown of Montreuil (Where? What's that you say?), to find a job, she entrusts her daughter to an innkeeper and his wife, the Thénardiers. Note: Thénardiers is French for goldigging jerkfaces. However, if you're reading this and you're a single Mom you know how hard it is to find daycare, right? So sometimes you have to drop them off on the road at a questionable inn run by weirdo innkeepers while you go work at a factory in your hometown. It'll be fine!!!

In Montreuil, (not to be confused with Montreal. That's in Canada) Fantine finds a job in Madeleine's factory and attains a modicum of prosperity. (See! It'll be fine!!!) However, she is fired. (I was wrong!!! Nothing is ever fine for long around here!!!) She probably stole a loaf of fucking bread and didn't put it under her shirt and pretend she was pregnant walking out. Now that's pathetic and I mean pathetic. C'mon! Every chick has that advantage. Back then they wore a billion layers of skirts, dude. You could hide small children in there...wait. Fantine! What were you thinking? You could have kept your daughter in there! But then I wouldn't have a blog and Victor Hugo wouldn't be revered all over France. So...thanks? *Cough* But wait! That's not all! The Thénardiers are always trying to scam her out of money: "Cosette (her daughter) needs some beans! Cosette needs a new fancy man's suit! Cosette needs to pay her bar tab! Cosette needs a pug dog wearing a red scarf! Cosette needs to pay a whore!" And on and on and on. Soooo...Fantine turns to prostitution. She loses some teeth. Obviously she's looking good. She's also not in the best mental condition, so she runs into Valjean on the street and totally attacks him! I mean, M. Madeleine. (WHAT is with the woman name?) Fantine then gets arrested by Inspector Javert, who is not a name I made up from some family of cheese. I wish I had. Only Madeleine's forceful intervention keeps her out of the ol' Bread Hole (that's the slammer to you and me.) She catches a fever, however, and her health deteriorates dangerously. Death is imminent (he's sitting around, flipping through Vogue and smoking thin cigarettes in the corner of the room) and M. Madeleine promises to bring her daughter, Cosette, to her.

Madeleine, however, is faced with serious problems. (Excuse me, don't go ruining such a happy story, man!! Naysayer!) A man has been arrested as Jean Valjean and is about to be condemned for his crimes. (Excuse me, is that guy still so pissed about his bread? Man, France holds some serious grudges about bread!) After a night of agonizing moral conflict, Madeleine decides to confess his past. At Arras, the seat of the trial, he dramatically (what other way would you do it?) exonerates the accused. A few days later, he is arrested by Javert, who by the way has been chasing Valjean compulsively, so much so that Valjean has become his white whale and who knows if he's even really an Inspector anymore, at Fantine's bedside. The shocking scene kills the young woman. Maird!! Tragedy strikes again!!! What a bunch of douches to do this by someone's death bed. Even Death, who was smelling perfume samples and smoking, said, "Take it somewhere else or I'll take you somewhere else!" They didn't listen and he got all pissed off and took Fantine and got the fuck out of there.

To Be Continued...

You Guaca-Told Me Already!

I stopped into Qdoba for something to eat today because I was on the side of town where they don't get what "Chee-pote-lay?" is and instead of being asked, as is standard practice at Chipotle, whether I would like guacamole, I had to beg for it on my sub-par vegetarian nachos (read: they have black beans on them) and was greeted with a raised eyebrow and admonished thus, "Uh, well, the thing is that it *trails off quietly under breath* costs a little more." I replied, "Yes, I'm aware." Since when was guacamole not extra? In fact, I refuse to go to a particular Mexican restaurant on the Artwalk on Santa Fe because they do not tell you when you ask for a miserly side of guacamole that they are going to charge you $3.00 for it. I wish I was exaggerating. I decided this afternoon that I'd had it with the eternal "Yes, but it costs more" being pounded into my head when fancy salsas were being piled on for free as long as you were coyly told to "say when." The woman in front of me asked for all four of the damn salsas! She didn't pay an extra cent. I wanted to know if guacamole, or more importantly, avocadoes, were really so dear in this day and age and whether salsa was indeed just being left in industrial sized cans by the side of the road with notes reading, "Free!" on them.

We all of course know that many things can affect the price of produce: weather, fires, locusts, killer bees, Fidel Castro faking being alive. However, how much does it all actually affect things? In an article by Tom Pfingsten of the North County Times, I find an interesting quote. ""In spite of all these natural disasters, we're still going to come in with a very healthy crop," said Guy Witney, California Avocado Commission industry affairs director. "The current on-tree crop is at least 325 million pounds of Hass, after the fires and wind." That's a decent amount of avocodoes, to the layperson. I just hope it's not all on one tree.

In addition, "Officials are projecting a crop of 350 million avocados next year, which would bring in about $330 million at the current price of $0.94 per pound. That's good news for consumers who like their guacamole." Indeed. Basically, even with the fires in California this year and any other natural disaster that has happened, the article informs me, the guacamole consumer, that I have to realize the crops are spread out statewide and any gaps are filled in by avocadoes imported from Mexico and Chile. So, basically, in the end consumers should not be paying more than .94 for an avocado and when a restaurant buys in bulk it should be cheaper. At the rate places like the restaurant on Santa Fe are going, they're all going to be sleeping in guacamole filled waterbed mattresses from the money they make from the mark-up. I think Che Guevara is looking down right now and trying to smack the shit out of places like Qdoba with a large piece of lettuce. I mean, you know the migrants who bring us our golden green fruit to mash up and dip our chips in are not seeing a cent of the mark-up. However, that's a different essay altogether.

Let's take a look at why salsa seems to be an all-you-can-eat slop-on condiment. More importantly, What's the cost comparison to the avocado? Am I just all agog for no reason and by the time I'm done with this essay will I have to recant my anger at having to be constantly reminded that "the guacamole is extra" because institutional cans of salsa, even just the basic kind, are so cheap I should actually just be eating out of them with a large spoon instead of patronizing the grocery store and wasting all my money on peanut butter, milk, bread and granola bars? Step into my salsa office, baby. www.winnipeggrocery.com, whose logo is a grocery bag running super fast, sporting a mustache and tennis shoes, reports that a 1.8 liter of "Salsa Compliments Medium Chunky" would run you $8.49 for one can which is a little less than a 2 liter of soda, but filled with what appears to be crappy type salsa. I imagine restaurants would want to get at least 10 of these, right? (Bearing in mind that, these days, you get fancy salsa for free but I couldn't find a price on those, possibly because those are just free to everyone.) Okay, so we'll round down to $80.00 for some salsa at My Pretend Taco Stand for the month. Don't forget, though, that, to make the guacamole, you have to mix a bit of said salsa into the mashed up avocado. This is obviously complicated and since the salsa touches the avocado, I think you should charge for it to or just not charge for either one.

I'm not really sure what conclusion I came to here. I failed my economics class in college for several reasons: 1)My professor had a very thick Indian accent and I had no idea what he was saying. Ever.; 2)He insisted on, as a way to connect with the class, using the Wu Tang Clan in extensive economic metaphors. This just further confused me because I didn't get what they had to do with economics and also he consistently called them the Wu Tang Gang; 3)I'm really shitty at math. I can add and subtract. Even then I check my work on a calculator. I was almost drawn into buying a Spiderman calculator in the dollar bin today because I don't own one except on my phone and I don't trust that thing.
I still think charging for guacamole is a scam. I also think if you don't know you're getting charged extra for it, you're an idiot. However, there should be some cap on how much you're allowed to charge. I love guacamole but I don't love it $3.00 worth. I suppose that's why I encouraged my friend to steal the sign depicting the woman off the women's bathroom at the rip-off restaurant. Somehow it leveled things out. Finally, I felt I had my money's worth.

I Should Be Making Tunafish Sandwiches

Heads up, kids, inhaling aerosolized pig brains could be hazardous to your health.

I know, I know, I sound like some geezer trying to kill your buzz, but I'm not over thirty yet. I still have a few more months of street cred left before you're not allowed to trust me anymore. Just so you know, according to Martiga Lohn of the Associated Press, "Over eight months from last December through July, 11 workers at the [Quality Pork Processors Inc.] plant in Austin, Minn. — all of them employed at the head table — developed numbness, tingling or other neurological symptoms, and some scientists suspect inhaled airborne brain matter may have somehow triggered the illnesses.

Weird.

Who would have thought inhaling brain matter up into a brain might have caused some sort of brain problem? It's almost as though the human brain and the pig brain matter are fighting over territory, like a brain gang fight. It's along the same lines as the theory, and mind you, I'm just slightly better at science than I am at math, so most of my conjectures aren't water tight, but it is like the theory that if you have one sort of environment or what have you (in this case, the human brain) and then you introduce a foreign item into it (in this case the inhalation of pig brain bits), then one or the other is going to reject each other in some form. Now, considering that I haven't heard tell of any of the aerosolized pig brains flying out of people's nostrils at rapid speeds, I'm going to go ahead with my theory that the human brain "don't want none o' that pig brain all up in here." This just in from actual scientists: "Exposure to pig brain tissue scattered by the compressed air triggered the illnesses." Huzzah! My theory was all that and a bag of chicharonnes!

Wait, I have another theory, though. Possibly...and this is just so crazy it might work, the fine people at Quality Pork Processors Inc. might flip through some catalogs and order some protection for their employees, like say face masks, gloves, and maybe full body paper suits. I don't know, something keeps nagging at me. How the hell are they inhaling the pig brains? It seems like you would walk in on your first day of work and they would hand you your manual, your key to the bathroom, your gloves, your helmet, your giant boots, your full body coveralls and a vomit bucket. Yet it seems like they're sloppin' around like, well, a bunch of pigs on the Fourth of July down there at the Head Table, getting their hands all full of pig skull and having a good ol' time until...whoops...someone's legs starts going numb. I mean, if it sounds like a cushy job that wouldn't require protection, well, here's how it works:

"In a rapid-fire process that is noisy, smelly and bloody, severed pigs' heads are cut up at the head table at a rate of more than 1,100 an hour. Workers slice off the cheek and snout meat, then insert a nozzle in the head and blast air inside until the light pink mush that is the brain tissue squirts out from the base of the skull. Compressed air could turn some brain matter into a mist that could be inhaled by workers, said Mike Doyle, a microbiologist who heads the University of Georgia's Center for Food Safety.

"The head-table workers were protected by safety glasses, helmets, gloves and belly guards, but none wore anything over their mouths or noses."

Bravo!

However..."Head-table workers are now required to wear plastic face shields and protective plastic or rubber sleeves, the Health Department said."

Oh. Good. I'm sure those people at the Head Table (by the way this just furthers my want not to have a wedding party if I ever get married. Head Table just didn't sound appealing before and now it really doesn't) who can't work or walk very well are really glad this has been put in effect. Hopefully, they will put in a wheel chair ramp as well. Someday.

As a sidenote to a friend who abhors Hormel Chili, I would like to point out this: "State health officials said there is no evidence the public is at risk — either from those afflicted or from any food leaving the plant, which supplies Hormel Foods Inc." I'm sure it won't make him like it any more than he does and in fact now he probably is grossed out even more, but hey, it's just my job to point out that there aren't any hog brains in Hormel Chili so he can just calm down.

In closing, if you're ever in a job like this or where you need to wear protective gear and it's not provided, please use your common sense before your brain gets affected and you have major medical problems. I mean, seriously. I know the company should have provided face coverage for these people but at some point, when you're blasting a hog skull out with an air hose, take a little initiative and go Norma Rae on their ass until you get face coverage. Oh, by the way. Yes, these people had a union. Good job, union. Way to take care of your people.

That's all F-f-folks!

The Effect of the Jedi Mind Statement

drawing by Natalie Dee

A few months ago, I was snuffling in my huge glass of Arnold Palmer at our local hangout with my friend Ryan about my love life, or lack thereof, and he sighed and said, "You know, everyone pretty much admires you for your ability to just ask guys out." I looked up and said, "What? What are you talking about?" Ryan leaned on his hand and said, "Yeah, even Becky. Even Jana. They admire the fact that you always just ask a guy out." I wasn't feeling very confident and frankly nor have I ever considered my blunderiferous stumblings in walking up to men and vomiting out some sort of less than clever invite in their general direction particularly admirable. Compulsive, maybe. I've always looked at it as a way to just get shit out of the way. Why wait to do what I am just going to eventually do in some even more stupid, grandiose way when I can keep the retardation to a dull roar? The last time I asked out a guy, he worked in the very restaurant we were sitting in and we knew each other socially, but the night I decided to ask him out he was very busy so I just left a note that said, "Take me to the mixer. Call me. *insert my phone number here*" On my way out, I ran into him and he said hello. I informed him I left him a note and he said, "Oh, I like that. Cool." The next day, after leaving a movie, there was a message on my phone from him saying he'd be honored to go with me and just call him back with the details. Mind you, this is the first time this had actually worked in the history of Wendy's not-so-clever ruses of asking men out. It, in fact, was the first time someone had said yes. The story of what happened after that isn't important. However, I realized, maybe it was the confidence that was conveyed in the note that was part of what he found attractive about me and why he said yes. The lack of a question mark at the end and the presence of a period.

I suspect this really is similar to the Jedi Mind Trick, though I think I would rather call it the Jedi Mind Statement. It's not actually a trick though I can see why it would appear to be. It's simply a statement with a high concentration of focused energy behind it. I did the same thing with a claw machine in a Denny's several years ago. I walked up to it and loudly announced, "I'm going to get that blue dog out of here," and had absolutely no doubt in my mind about it. It all happened in one swift, continuous shining moment and it almost seemed as though the truckers sitting at the coffee counter were about to break out into applause as they all stared at me. I have that blue dog I called Napoleon to this day.

Since the claw machine and even the note bringing me the one yes to my compulsive habit of getting back up on the horse in my search for my life companion, I have had a few more failures, as humans often do. However, what I have come to learn with these experiences is that the confidence is not so much important when directed at someone else. It's important when it emanates from within you. It's as though it is a magnet, drawing people to you. You have to be able to sift through these people because not everyone who is drawn to it is desirable. However, it brings to you other people who believe in themselves, who are wonderful and are kindred spirits.

If I am silently admired for falling down, getting up, dusting myself off and climbing back up on my horse, I have just decided to take that as the ultimate compliment. Simply put, it is. I may feel lost at times but right now I do not and have not for awhile. I think it's possible to feel the effects of the Jedi Mind Statement from within yourself. No question mark. Just period.

Wonder Bean

I am a very frustrated child.

It is very difficult for me to allow others to traipse into my tight kingdom of oddities and routines, despite the fact that I long for such interruptions. I go on long searches in my mind for reminders of how other peoples' bathrooms look when I visit them and, upon the rare occasion of a houseguest I attempt to duplicate these minute details, such as availability of washcloths and tidy rows of cosmetics. It is very easy for me to live in a world where the cap is left off the toothpaste and a gel-like rim forms around the opening of the tube, leaving small smears of said paste on the back of the medicine cabinet in the process. It is incredibly easy for me to accumulate a small landfill under my coffee table, consisting primarily of receipts, unopened cable advertisements, a collection of crappy greeting cards I will never use and a pair of toenail clippers. It is becoming very clear to me that I have become accustomed to having my cheese sandwiches absolutely cut into triangles and finding a bit of masochistic indulgence in solitude.

I find myself spending bits of time that could be spent taking showers or picking out the day's clothing considering the word snooze on my cell phone alarm as it is going off. I am simultaneously calculating how much more time I can actually bury my nose in the blue and butter cream patterned pillowcase and wondering if snooze is, indeed, spelled s-n-o-o-z-e. Could snooze be such a silly looking word? That can't actually be possible. Yet, I have seem it a thousand other times and never noticed how incredibly stupid it looked as it blinked at me, tempting me with its Poindexter eroticism. I get slogged down in this wonderment each morning as this silly word flashes at me. Eventually I find the time spent considering the silliness has once again eaten up my chance at not having to hurry, my chance at not having to shamefully look at the clock when I walk out the door. More silliness: I should care a little more like other adults I see everyday.

However, it is not so easy to explain to others why this is the way things are and have to be for my mind to continue sailing a fine line of stability.

At the age of well, just three months shy of thirty, I know I am still a bit of a bean seed wrapped in a wet paper towel, placed in a cup and left on the windowsill. The rub is that I am the bean who never sprouted and, while the rest of the human experiment around me busted out of their wet paper towels and moved on, I am still ever so moist around the roots.

I was thinking of this as I was getting my hair cut recently.

This environment is a perfect example of why I am not the Wonder Bean. I am in the small hair salon, run by Kathy and her best friend Shelly. It is located on a street I spend a lot of time frequenting: eating, drinking coffee, getting my hair cut, buying cat food at the convenience store and visiting various friends who work at a boutique a few doors down. I have made this "my" hair salon. One of the things you should not do if you are to become a Wonder Bean is to make growing out your hair a "project." You should not name it Project: Hair Grow Out. You should not tell Kathy she is the General of Project: Hair Grow Out. Also, you should not request a dinosaur themed hair cape. However, I have done all of these things and Kathy has actually been keeping her eye out for an adult sized hair cape with illustrations on it. Not having any luck finding one, she tells me she is thinking of having her sister make a few.

Today, though, Kathy will not be in until noon. I am a little reticent about letting another soldier from another unit, albeit from the only other chair station, in on Project: Hair Grow Out. However, I am going to Denver to pick up a friend from the airport, see friends for lunch and go to the new wing of the Denver Art Museum and need to not have what I fear is sprouting into a female mullet. I want to strut around all the art and show it who is boss. Therefore, Shelly is now some sort of Private in charge of Project: Hair Grow Out.

During my hair cut, we are chatting amiably and she is talking about her two kids and how she tries to get a few extra winks of sleep on her day off.

Shelly explains, "Cartoons will usually keep the little guy entertained in his crib for awhile but then he'll start throwing things and I'm up."

This sounds as fun as a barrel of razors, I think. I can't even handle that infernal beeping from a clock radio that sounds as though it is performing a lobotomy on you with audio frequencies. All of the sudden the word snooze doesn't seem so stupid.

I only have about three or four comments at most I can ever come up with in reference to children and so I whip out the one I rely on most.

"Well, it's when they're quiet that you have to worry, right?"

"No kidding, right? My two year old (here I insert the requisite "Oh God" comment set aside by polite society for all citizens of two years of age to keep my end of the conversation up) is crazy! One day I found her drawing all over herself. Can you believe that?"

I can, actually. About two nights ago two of my friends drew all over my leg. I say something to the effect of, "Wow, I'm twenty-nine and I still do that…" but it must have slid right under the child chatter radar because she kept going on about her daughter, who sounds like she is currently rather interesting but is in danger of being repressed and becoming incredibly dull.

The things I remember about my own personal childhood are few and far between.

I remember how I met my first best friend by eating dirt and throwing up on her toys. It was quite the journey to actually walk over to where I remember Audra and another little boy were playing a board game on the front step of her house, located a block to the left of mine. To round up the courage, I marched over to a garage sale going on at a house in the opposite direction. It is unreliable as to what my logic was in this sense. The people running the garage sale were completely independent of Audra and her friend. I was a very shy child and maybe I thought if I could pull off a shopping trip at a garage sale by myself, then I could possibly approach these two people I found interesting enough to send myself on an extensive afternoon-long mission. It seems to me there was a lot of junk at the garage sale, true to form, but somehow I found a Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker and promptly ran home to my Mom and begged her to help me use it. For those who do not remember the Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker, it is basically a large rotating blade powered by a handle. It is cleverly housed in Snoopy's dog house and any small little hand can turn the handle, cranking the blade around a piece of ice. I haven't checked the safety rating on this toy but if memory serves right, which it rarely does, I think Snoopy is actually wearing a little snow cap or something. Which is pretty cool. My Mom was in the middle of something at the time and was fairly resistant to the whole Sno-Cone making venture but must have relented in the spirit of getting me out of the kitchen so she could continue with Mom type things. (At this time, we had a double oven and I could not figure out why one would want that so I thought she spent a lot of time using it to justify its existence, despite the actual lack of baked goods around our house. Lest you think Mom didn't do Mom things, I should mention she had beautiful garden terraces and a neighbor who would throw dog crap over the fence, which she would promptly throw back. Unless it was their rabbit crap. She kept that. It was great fertilizer) So, Sno-Cones were made and I ate them. Looking back, I suppose I could have brought some with me to Audra and the little boy but again, that was only to pump me up, not to ingratiate myself into some friendship. That talent wouldn't come for another ten or so years.

Now I was armed with the courage only the Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker could provide. Of course I had put on my favorite shirt with the rainbow that stretched from sleeve to sleeve, just in case. Back up confidence never hurts. I left Oleander Street and entered Marigold, or something similar to that, and approached the porch where the board game was continuing on in full force.

"Hi," I said, scratching my nose self-consciously with my right rainbow-clad arm. I continue to do this as an adult in situations where I am slightly uncomfortable.

Audra and the oddly unimportant boy looked up at me, then at each other.

"Hey," says Audra, "You wanna' play?"

Well my Mom didn't just eat like six Sno-Cones with me for nothing, but playing it cool, I said, "Sure," and sat down on the other side of the boy.

To my delight, I discovered the game was based on monsters. I couldn't tell you what the point was. It was your basic "get around the board first and lord that over everyone else's head for the afternoon" type of game. The thing that was more interesting to me was the straw sticking out of the flowerbox to my left. Again, it's never been my nature to wonder about things like why the flower straws are in the flower boxes but be delighted by their mere presence. I was, in fact, so fascinated by the straw that I distinctly remember imagining how delicious it would be to suck the dirt up through the straw. I can still, years later, remember how I imagined it would feel in my throat. Almost like thick, muddy chocolate that I had to put extra effort into getting. However, like the Heinz Company has been telling me for years, the best things come to those who wait. So, as all of this ran through my head in what was realistically about ten seconds, I leaned over and started sucking through the straw. It tasted nothing like thick, delicious chocolate. Leaves and thick chunks of soil filled my throat, causing me to cough harshly. My hands flew up to my throat briefly before I began waving them about bird-like. Vaguely I remember making whistle slash wheeze noises as I tried to breath through the dirt and then....up...up...up! I threw it up all over the game board. And, well, it looked like muddy chocolate.

For the rest of the time that I lived on Oleander Street, Audra and I were inseparable. I have no idea what happened to the non-descript boy. In all reality he may not have existed. He could have been a smallish cardboard box and my mind may have transformed him into a boy in a red and white shirt who never appeared again just to make me feel better, to make my Mom feel better for eating all those damn Sno-Cones. Possibly, he was just a mental recreation of Calvin from the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip.

Either way, I was so comfortable in Audra's home that I did more vomiting at other dates.

One instance involved her family barbecuing fish in the garage on a huge grill. I had never tasted fish before and they gave me a bite of it. I remember chewing and swallowing it, but more so I remember how my stomach sent it right back up, telling me it was not about to have some oceanic or stream lurking organism floating around in my bile. Of course, things always seem bigger when you are little and the image in my head is a river of vomit flowing like a volcanic eruption down their driveway. In all actuality, it was probably a small puddle that was taken care of with a few small wipes of a cloth. Whatever the size or nature of the fish vomit, it was enough for me to avoid fish like the plague up until fairly recently. Even when my father would constantly fix Orange Roughy for dinner when I visited him, I would become ill from having to wage war on the playing card sized bit of hell.



My current repertoire of fish enjoyment now includes tuna salad, crab, lobster, halibut, monkfish that I had at a buffet in Las Vegas, catfish fixed in some sort of batter by my boss at a Chinese restaurant in my hometown, scallops, clams, calamari and several varieties of sushi, salmon, flounder, etc. All of this, I think is a huge development considering that, after each war with Orange Roughy that was waged upon me, I spent more time in Vomitsville. This time it was not a driveway. Each time I would spend a good ten minutes with my face hanging in my father's girlfriend's toilet, feeling like a fish failure.

I guess I should question why Audra's family was barbecuing in the garage and not outside where there was clearly plenty of space and ventilation, but I don't think there's an answer to that. As for Box Boy, I hope he's moved on from his bout with me and the monster game. I hope that, if he even exists, he is not close to thirty and still sleeping with the light on because he is terrified of Frankenstein projectile vomiting on him.