That's the sound my knee and shoulders are making right now. I have to be back at work in less than 11 hours....I really love having less time off between shifts than the actual shifts I work. Really.
I am so freaking tired right now, its not even close to OK. But I drank about a gallon of 'liquid crack' (also known as energy drinks/life giving nectar) so I will blog a little and then off to bed with me!
Ugh. So. Tired. Really. Can't stress it enough.
What's new? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Got hit on today, by a gentleman of all things! And for someone not creepy to hit on me enough to have me notice--Damn. I had to casually drop T's existence into the conversation to spare him/me the awkwardness of the coming phone number request. (It was coming. I could tell.) People don't flirt with me unless they are old, creepy or insane, usually. No one has ever asked me for my phone number! People tell me I'm intimidating, and I suppose that could be true. Who knows, I don't interact with myself all that often. But I know that if this man had asked me for my number, I would have said something retarded in an attempt to let him know that I was very flattered (for once) but off the market. Or just laughed uncomfortably and spilled water all over myself. (That's nothing new.) Instead, I just mentioned casually that I had a boyfriend, and let it end there. haha!
I've lost almost 20 pounds, bitches! I can fit into my skinny jeans again! 20 more and we're in business. Oh yes.
I'm going to bed now.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Blargh
I only worked a half day today and I'm so ready to go to bed. It's not even 6 yet. Sigh. Doubles tomorrow, and Friday, then I am off to the other restaurant to attempt to not kill the man who fancied himself king, or TV, as he will be known from now on.
One of the girls I work with down there is oh-so-nice, but oh-so-dumb. I like her, and we get along fine, but having normal conversations is slightly difficult.
She didn't know who Chuck Norris was.
She hasn't read a book since the third grade.
Now, I know that Chuck Norris isn't a major figure in today's culture, he's not the president or a senator or anything, head of a major cult, you know what I mean. But he's HUGE as far as 'campy' goes. Everyone knows who he is, right? You can't turn around without seeing a joke about him being able to slam a revolving door or something....and yet--nothing. Oh well.
The book thing, though, that threw me.
Speaking of books, Chuck Palahniuk has a new one out and if I don't own it soon my head is going to fall off. I worry that it's going to suck like some of his other new stuff has (oops! Did I say that?) but I am compelled to read just the same. Compelled! I tell you.
New work uniforms. Thank the lord baby jesus. that's all I have to say about that. No more pumpkin, for the love of all things holy.
I had plans of writing a good, long blog. And here I sit, with nothing coming forth. Nothing! Sigh. My ex is moving to China, which T says is the best place for him. (and this one isn't even one of the famous exes!)
Im supposed to go have a drink with Anti-Chuck Norris girl tonight. I should go. But she always gets so freaking loaded, so quick! Oh well, drinking Lemon Drop martinis like they're shots will do that to you. I usually sit there and have my obigatory one glass of cabernet and watch the hilarity ensue.
I just don't have any patience for people that drink to get fucked up every time. I know that is judgemental, and not fair, and that I should take into account how this girl just recently turned 21, but....Well, I was raised in a house of alcoholics. All I knew from birth, basically, is that drinking too much makes you mean and stupid and my mother. I don't want to meet my mother for cocktails, dinner or even a glass of milk. I know it's a stumbling block that I should get over, but it just sticks with me--I always, always get irritated or pissed at people if I'm out with them and they get totally fucking shitfaced. Internal monologue starts up about 'being responsible' and 'ruining it for everyone else'--But that's unfair, as I have gone out and just gotten plastered before as well. I have ruined it for everyone else. But for me, the hangover isn't the worst part, its the guilt I feel afterwards. Did I act like an asshole? Did I say something out of turn?
A friend of mine once told me that the only time he had ever seen me really relax was when I had about 5 beers in me (after having a man in a Stihl hat put his finger in my buttcrack--there is a story to this, I swear. And I wasn't too happy that he did it) and smoked some pot. I just....stopped caring about shit. I stopped caring that my life was in a shambles, that I had so many things to worry about, to take care of, to deal with....I just was there, in the moment.
I don't know that this is what I was doing just then. I remember it more as being a "I need to go to bed now" sort of situation, and the worries were still swimming around in there, I just wasn't focused on them like I normally am. I don't let shit go. I can't just put it aside, and have fun.
I think that stems from my childhood as well, actually. I think that because I have had so many responsibilities for so long, the idea of not having something to deal with, worry about or be in charge of is totally foreign.
I should work on that.
One of the girls I work with down there is oh-so-nice, but oh-so-dumb. I like her, and we get along fine, but having normal conversations is slightly difficult.
She didn't know who Chuck Norris was.
She hasn't read a book since the third grade.
Now, I know that Chuck Norris isn't a major figure in today's culture, he's not the president or a senator or anything, head of a major cult, you know what I mean. But he's HUGE as far as 'campy' goes. Everyone knows who he is, right? You can't turn around without seeing a joke about him being able to slam a revolving door or something....and yet--nothing. Oh well.
The book thing, though, that threw me.
Speaking of books, Chuck Palahniuk has a new one out and if I don't own it soon my head is going to fall off. I worry that it's going to suck like some of his other new stuff has (oops! Did I say that?) but I am compelled to read just the same. Compelled! I tell you.
New work uniforms. Thank the lord baby jesus. that's all I have to say about that. No more pumpkin, for the love of all things holy.
I had plans of writing a good, long blog. And here I sit, with nothing coming forth. Nothing! Sigh. My ex is moving to China, which T says is the best place for him. (and this one isn't even one of the famous exes!)
Im supposed to go have a drink with Anti-Chuck Norris girl tonight. I should go. But she always gets so freaking loaded, so quick! Oh well, drinking Lemon Drop martinis like they're shots will do that to you. I usually sit there and have my obigatory one glass of cabernet and watch the hilarity ensue.
I just don't have any patience for people that drink to get fucked up every time. I know that is judgemental, and not fair, and that I should take into account how this girl just recently turned 21, but....Well, I was raised in a house of alcoholics. All I knew from birth, basically, is that drinking too much makes you mean and stupid and my mother. I don't want to meet my mother for cocktails, dinner or even a glass of milk. I know it's a stumbling block that I should get over, but it just sticks with me--I always, always get irritated or pissed at people if I'm out with them and they get totally fucking shitfaced. Internal monologue starts up about 'being responsible' and 'ruining it for everyone else'--But that's unfair, as I have gone out and just gotten plastered before as well. I have ruined it for everyone else. But for me, the hangover isn't the worst part, its the guilt I feel afterwards. Did I act like an asshole? Did I say something out of turn?
A friend of mine once told me that the only time he had ever seen me really relax was when I had about 5 beers in me (after having a man in a Stihl hat put his finger in my buttcrack--there is a story to this, I swear. And I wasn't too happy that he did it) and smoked some pot. I just....stopped caring about shit. I stopped caring that my life was in a shambles, that I had so many things to worry about, to take care of, to deal with....I just was there, in the moment.
I don't know that this is what I was doing just then. I remember it more as being a "I need to go to bed now" sort of situation, and the worries were still swimming around in there, I just wasn't focused on them like I normally am. I don't let shit go. I can't just put it aside, and have fun.
I think that stems from my childhood as well, actually. I think that because I have had so many responsibilities for so long, the idea of not having something to deal with, worry about or be in charge of is totally foreign.
I should work on that.
Monday, May 28, 2007
In Memory
I respect Memorial day. I appreciate that it exists, and that we as a culture are given a day to take a step back and recognise the sacrifice that members of the armed forces give, and have given, to our country, freedom and democracy.
I do not respect, however, how most of our culture spends this day. They do not fly the flag, visit the graves of those closest to them who have left this mortal coil, make a toast at their evening meal--no, they choose to take a vacation on this three-day weekend, to laugh it up and go to parts unknown and sample the local fare.
In theory, this is not a problem.
This weekend, I was very nearly fired. Seriously. Like, my ass is in trouble at work. Big time. Who knew that asking your new boss where the fuck he gets off throwing accusations around like confetti will get you in trouble. Huh! Learning experience.
My customers this weekend.....Lord. Lord. LORD. I don't even know if I have the time to get into it now as I am making dinner. I had a 5 top from New York City. This is not a problem, aside from the fact that they seemed to adhere to the belief that ALL CITIES stay open 24 hours. That when a restaurant is packed full, its OK to stare at your menu and hrmm and haww and debate while the server is shooting fucking DAGGERS at you, especially after she informed you that she would give you more time to decide and help other tables and you said, "No! Wait! I'm ready!" and then continued to hrm and haww....NO YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE NOT READY! WHO ARE YOU FOOLING?? GET YOUR HUGE FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR MAMMOTH ASS AND JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT TO EAT, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY! THIS ISN'T GODDAMN ROCKET SCIENCE YOU MORON!! (this is what i was yelling internally whilst smiling and nodding externally)
This was the least of my problems. From fighting with the boss to pissing off the kitchen, to rude anus-lipped women sending their food back and telling me I am 'dirty' because of my tattoo, (that's a whole post of it's own, I tell you), to 5% tippers who stayed well past closing, to being at work until nearly midnight....I had work nightmares when I got into bed. Seriously. Like, dreaming not of puffy clouds and angels and Tuscan summers,no, dreaming of realizing you haven't put in a food order and its 9pm, dreaming that customers hurl drinks at you, that I will be stuck in this godforsaken profession (no matter how well paid) for years....thank god none of these things have come true, and knock the hell out of wood that they don't.
I will post a more well defined version of this later. Please bear with me.
And please, take a moment to observe memorial day. Just a moment.
And put shoes on your children. (I'll get to that later too.)
I do not respect, however, how most of our culture spends this day. They do not fly the flag, visit the graves of those closest to them who have left this mortal coil, make a toast at their evening meal--no, they choose to take a vacation on this three-day weekend, to laugh it up and go to parts unknown and sample the local fare.
In theory, this is not a problem.
This weekend, I was very nearly fired. Seriously. Like, my ass is in trouble at work. Big time. Who knew that asking your new boss where the fuck he gets off throwing accusations around like confetti will get you in trouble. Huh! Learning experience.
My customers this weekend.....Lord. Lord. LORD. I don't even know if I have the time to get into it now as I am making dinner. I had a 5 top from New York City. This is not a problem, aside from the fact that they seemed to adhere to the belief that ALL CITIES stay open 24 hours. That when a restaurant is packed full, its OK to stare at your menu and hrmm and haww and debate while the server is shooting fucking DAGGERS at you, especially after she informed you that she would give you more time to decide and help other tables and you said, "No! Wait! I'm ready!" and then continued to hrm and haww....NO YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE NOT READY! WHO ARE YOU FOOLING?? GET YOUR HUGE FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR MAMMOTH ASS AND JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT TO EAT, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY! THIS ISN'T GODDAMN ROCKET SCIENCE YOU MORON!! (this is what i was yelling internally whilst smiling and nodding externally)
This was the least of my problems. From fighting with the boss to pissing off the kitchen, to rude anus-lipped women sending their food back and telling me I am 'dirty' because of my tattoo, (that's a whole post of it's own, I tell you), to 5% tippers who stayed well past closing, to being at work until nearly midnight....I had work nightmares when I got into bed. Seriously. Like, dreaming not of puffy clouds and angels and Tuscan summers,no, dreaming of realizing you haven't put in a food order and its 9pm, dreaming that customers hurl drinks at you, that I will be stuck in this godforsaken profession (no matter how well paid) for years....thank god none of these things have come true, and knock the hell out of wood that they don't.
I will post a more well defined version of this later. Please bear with me.
And please, take a moment to observe memorial day. Just a moment.
And put shoes on your children. (I'll get to that later too.)
Friday, May 25, 2007
Quickity quick quick
I made more money today than I used to in whole paychecks.
For real.
We like that.
Never mind the fact that I havent eaten a damn thing, nor have I bathed, gone to the bathroom, or smiled like I meant it.
It was worth it.
See now how I call myself a "kindess whore"?
Anyway.
I seem to have picked up a few new readers. We like that too. It gives me a sense of purpose. Does that make sense? If the only people reading are people I talk to on the phone, I can apologise for not writing and tell them whats going on anyway. But strangers! Its motivation.
So thank you, new person from the opposite coast I live on.
Oh, and when I said no food? I meant it. But I had a beer. So we're happy, suddenly.
Amazing how that works.
Anyway, 12 hour day. Back again tomorrow. Getting moved to the other restaurant. Not forever.
Feeling better than I was a few days ago, which is a good thing.
More later.
For real.
We like that.
Never mind the fact that I havent eaten a damn thing, nor have I bathed, gone to the bathroom, or smiled like I meant it.
It was worth it.
See now how I call myself a "kindess whore"?
Anyway.
I seem to have picked up a few new readers. We like that too. It gives me a sense of purpose. Does that make sense? If the only people reading are people I talk to on the phone, I can apologise for not writing and tell them whats going on anyway. But strangers! Its motivation.
So thank you, new person from the opposite coast I live on.
Oh, and when I said no food? I meant it. But I had a beer. So we're happy, suddenly.
Amazing how that works.
Anyway, 12 hour day. Back again tomorrow. Getting moved to the other restaurant. Not forever.
Feeling better than I was a few days ago, which is a good thing.
More later.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Secrets and Lies
I just spent the last hour half crying on the phone to T.
I'm the best girlfriend ever. 'Hi, honey, you're at work for 12 hours, and that sucks. Your job has been horrible the last few days, very stressful, lots of cleaning up other people's messes only to have to do it again 12 hours later? Shit. Here, let me get semi-hysterical and babble for an hour about things you can't change nor really understand because I can't go into any real detail because of the squeaky sob thing going on, that should help, right?'
Sigh.
Yeah, so, as the two of you that read this can surmise, I spoke with my mother just before speaking with T. Amazing how you pick that stuff up--its almost like it happens every time I talk to the freaking woman.
But it wasn't really mom this time. Well, yeah, it was, but it wasn't anything she out-right said to me. (No calling me a whore or anything! Amazing. She did elude to how fat I am, but it wouldn't be Wednesday without that.) She has decided that I am coming out to visit her next month, work be damned. Remember what happened the last time she decided this? I quit my job to be able to get out there and the day before I was supposed to leave she tells me that she doesn't want me to come. (Granted, that was a terrible job, but I didn't get a new job for over a month after that. And how freaking manipulative???!!?!?!) She just can't see past herself. Oh well. That's not really the problem.
The problem is this:
When T and I went back there last summer, as we drove up towards the godforsaken town she lives in, I FREAKED THE FUCK OUT. Crying, begging him to just turn around and go back, hyperventilating, the whole routine. I didn't see it coming, actually. But now, just hearing her tell me all about the things we will do when I come visit--It makes me want to throw up. Just thinking about going back there is flooding me with memories of all the horrible shit that went down when I lived there. Not just there, but college, High School. Just how many people hate me. More people hate me than call themselves my friend, many times over. And I may or may not deserve that hate--regardless, its there. All of them live in that state. No one had ever hated me before I lived there. And those people don't even really matter, in the grand scheme of things.
The most horrible, fucked up time of my life was bar none the eight years I lived in that state. A lot of it was due to very poor choices on my part--and a lot of it had to do with circumstances beyond my control. I had a realization earlier. My parents should have done a better job of raising me to believe that I deserved better, and could do better, than I did/was doing. A good heft of the blame lies with me, for being dumb enough to fall into the shit that I did, but we do have to at least cast a glance at my childhood. Everyone who knows anything is now having an "ah-ha!" moment, I'm sure.
I need to be able to get past this crap. Get past the cheating, the lying, the drug use, the sex, the betrayal, the shooting, the alcoholism, the slaps in the face, the 16 hour days, the fucking white trash assholes, the absolute bottomless pit that was my despair and loneliness during this time. Wrap it up, kiddies. Throw it out like yesterday's trash--we're done.
It doesn't work that way.
Its been almost 2 years since I have lived there, and still, still I am haunted by visions of my mother falling down and splitting her head open on the hope chest. (Irony, anyone?) Her bleeding internally and smoking a cigarette with a beer in her hand yet unable to walk when I came to take her to the hospital, finding out she was hours away from death but still had to finish that drink before we left. My stepfathers blood frozen into the ice in the driveway for months with nothing we could do about it. Being alone in that house and having to pull a gun on someone, and the knowledge that I could and would pull the trigger if I had to. The fear....constant fear. Uncertainty. Thinking that this was as much as I deserved. It was like a whirlpool--I could see up over the edge, to the calmer water, but it was just too much pressure, too much weight, I couldn't climb, claw, swim, leap out. How many times I contemplated taking my own life, how many times I tried. The reactions of those around me, telling me that if I couldn't get it right the first time I needed to accept that I was a failure at being a failure and get my fat ass off the floor.
I don't want to go back there. It is just a place, a state, a piece of land. But its so much more than that. No part of me wants to go there, ever, ever again. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid that if I do all those things will happen again, that I will feel like that again, be responsible for my mother again. I know it won't. But I was sure it wouldn't the first time.
I'm the best girlfriend ever. 'Hi, honey, you're at work for 12 hours, and that sucks. Your job has been horrible the last few days, very stressful, lots of cleaning up other people's messes only to have to do it again 12 hours later? Shit. Here, let me get semi-hysterical and babble for an hour about things you can't change nor really understand because I can't go into any real detail because of the squeaky sob thing going on, that should help, right?'
Sigh.
Yeah, so, as the two of you that read this can surmise, I spoke with my mother just before speaking with T. Amazing how you pick that stuff up--its almost like it happens every time I talk to the freaking woman.
But it wasn't really mom this time. Well, yeah, it was, but it wasn't anything she out-right said to me. (No calling me a whore or anything! Amazing. She did elude to how fat I am, but it wouldn't be Wednesday without that.) She has decided that I am coming out to visit her next month, work be damned. Remember what happened the last time she decided this? I quit my job to be able to get out there and the day before I was supposed to leave she tells me that she doesn't want me to come. (Granted, that was a terrible job, but I didn't get a new job for over a month after that. And how freaking manipulative???!!?!?!) She just can't see past herself. Oh well. That's not really the problem.
The problem is this:
When T and I went back there last summer, as we drove up towards the godforsaken town she lives in, I FREAKED THE FUCK OUT. Crying, begging him to just turn around and go back, hyperventilating, the whole routine. I didn't see it coming, actually. But now, just hearing her tell me all about the things we will do when I come visit--It makes me want to throw up. Just thinking about going back there is flooding me with memories of all the horrible shit that went down when I lived there. Not just there, but college, High School. Just how many people hate me. More people hate me than call themselves my friend, many times over. And I may or may not deserve that hate--regardless, its there. All of them live in that state. No one had ever hated me before I lived there. And those people don't even really matter, in the grand scheme of things.
The most horrible, fucked up time of my life was bar none the eight years I lived in that state. A lot of it was due to very poor choices on my part--and a lot of it had to do with circumstances beyond my control. I had a realization earlier. My parents should have done a better job of raising me to believe that I deserved better, and could do better, than I did/was doing. A good heft of the blame lies with me, for being dumb enough to fall into the shit that I did, but we do have to at least cast a glance at my childhood. Everyone who knows anything is now having an "ah-ha!" moment, I'm sure.
I need to be able to get past this crap. Get past the cheating, the lying, the drug use, the sex, the betrayal, the shooting, the alcoholism, the slaps in the face, the 16 hour days, the fucking white trash assholes, the absolute bottomless pit that was my despair and loneliness during this time. Wrap it up, kiddies. Throw it out like yesterday's trash--we're done.
It doesn't work that way.
Its been almost 2 years since I have lived there, and still, still I am haunted by visions of my mother falling down and splitting her head open on the hope chest. (Irony, anyone?) Her bleeding internally and smoking a cigarette with a beer in her hand yet unable to walk when I came to take her to the hospital, finding out she was hours away from death but still had to finish that drink before we left. My stepfathers blood frozen into the ice in the driveway for months with nothing we could do about it. Being alone in that house and having to pull a gun on someone, and the knowledge that I could and would pull the trigger if I had to. The fear....constant fear. Uncertainty. Thinking that this was as much as I deserved. It was like a whirlpool--I could see up over the edge, to the calmer water, but it was just too much pressure, too much weight, I couldn't climb, claw, swim, leap out. How many times I contemplated taking my own life, how many times I tried. The reactions of those around me, telling me that if I couldn't get it right the first time I needed to accept that I was a failure at being a failure and get my fat ass off the floor.
I don't want to go back there. It is just a place, a state, a piece of land. But its so much more than that. No part of me wants to go there, ever, ever again. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid that if I do all those things will happen again, that I will feel like that again, be responsible for my mother again. I know it won't. But I was sure it wouldn't the first time.
Huh.
I was thinking of making this a "wonky work stories only" blog, but I don't think that its working. I'm still so weird about sharing anything 'personal' after the blog fiasco of '05--plus the only people I know of that are reading this I talk to in person on a semi regular basis, via email or telephone or something. I dunno. I guess I need to just get over that fear--you start a blog to get things off your chest, right? Well, keeping things closed in is not helping. I'm just worried that its going to get into the wrong hands again.....Pah. I should hope that those kids don't care enough about me anymore to do something like that, but who the hell knows.
I really don't have anything interesting to mention...I'm really freaking tired, but I should be doing laundry or the dishes or vacuuming, or any of the other shit that I don't do when i work 12 hour days. I don't work tomorrow, but don't have another day off until Sunday....sigh. Whatever. T wants me to come to his house tonight and wait for him to get off of work at 5am, and I may just do that. But again with the tired. And theres nothing to do at his house when he's not there--the computer isn't hooked up to the Internet, so its 'burn Cd's' or 'spider solitaire', and the TV is movies only, and in the room with the bed I hate, so I guess I could go the 'bottle of red wine and some benadryl' route (I learned that particular recipe for early bedtime from my mother!) and just pass out for 29 hours or something, but I always feel so goddamn lazy when I do that.
I just wish I had like, 10% more energy. That's not too much, is it? I mean, I drink water, get eight hours a night, take vitamins.....Granted, I eat only Andes mints and energy drinks half the time, (thanks work!) that may have something to do with it. But even on my days off, or nights off, like tonight, I just feel pulled in so many directions, theres so much that needs to be done, for dad, for me....and all I want to do is lay on the couch and eat donut holes and watch reruns of 'Deadliest Catch'. Which I may allow myself to do, but afterwards I feel like a total asshole as all the housework just piles up around me. I just want to be more efficient at everything I do. Apparently that means having no time, but oh well.
Pah. Im just tired!
The couch is calling.
I really don't have anything interesting to mention...I'm really freaking tired, but I should be doing laundry or the dishes or vacuuming, or any of the other shit that I don't do when i work 12 hour days. I don't work tomorrow, but don't have another day off until Sunday....sigh. Whatever. T wants me to come to his house tonight and wait for him to get off of work at 5am, and I may just do that. But again with the tired. And theres nothing to do at his house when he's not there--the computer isn't hooked up to the Internet, so its 'burn Cd's' or 'spider solitaire', and the TV is movies only, and in the room with the bed I hate, so I guess I could go the 'bottle of red wine and some benadryl' route (I learned that particular recipe for early bedtime from my mother!) and just pass out for 29 hours or something, but I always feel so goddamn lazy when I do that.
I just wish I had like, 10% more energy. That's not too much, is it? I mean, I drink water, get eight hours a night, take vitamins.....Granted, I eat only Andes mints and energy drinks half the time, (thanks work!) that may have something to do with it. But even on my days off, or nights off, like tonight, I just feel pulled in so many directions, theres so much that needs to be done, for dad, for me....and all I want to do is lay on the couch and eat donut holes and watch reruns of 'Deadliest Catch'. Which I may allow myself to do, but afterwards I feel like a total asshole as all the housework just piles up around me. I just want to be more efficient at everything I do. Apparently that means having no time, but oh well.
Pah. Im just tired!
The couch is calling.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Life through music
I was nearly killed today.
We will get to that in a moment.
I have been listening to the new Modest Mouse CD, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank and anyone who wants to continue to be my friend must heretofore love this album as much as I do. Especially songs 'Missed the Boat' and 'We've Got Everything'. So there. (I owe the gentlemen in this band an apology. I talked a lot of shit about them and their music when I was in college--A time filled with poor choices, mind, but I was rather harsh, even for me. Granted, all I had heard at that time was 'Cowboy Dan', a song that isn't the best lead in to the greatness that is MM. Anyway, members of Modest Mouse, I apologise. Forgive my shit talking and please accept my promise of love and fidelity from this time forward.)
Lots of talk about music lately, in and out of work. (Work has become my social life. Sigh.) I recently purchased Deftones tickets, as well as Daft Punk tickets, (my insides are melting with excitement. For real. I may be diagnosed as missing 3 miles of small intestine before the month is out.) (Lots of parentheses this blog. Sorry.) We have been comparing CD collections and concerts we have been to in to the past. Songs that have strong meaning to us and why. It is interesting to me that just about everyone in the world (with the exception of T's mother who listens only to talk radio) has a passion for music. Even if its just one song. They remember what song was playing at important moments in their personal history. Whole albums can take them back to times in their lives that were good, bad, painful or triumphant. Tricky's Blowback depresses the hell out of me, as much as I love that album, because I bought it the day before a close friend of mine died and I associate all those songs with that particular grief. The Killers Hot Fuss reminds me of F, and our many adventures back and forth across the godforsaken lake that laid between still being kids and being forced to grow up for reasons we would do anything to change. (Its a big lake. Really. 2.5 hours each way. In good weather.) KMFDM's Hau Ruck reminds me of staying up to all hours of the night with A and B, both of whom I may never see again. Aphex Twin Richard D. James Album reminds me of being 14 and truly experiencing music and everything it could possibly be. And, of course, Blood Sugar Sex Magik by RHCP....the first album to make me truly excited about music. The list goes on. And on, and on. I could write a book just listing music I loathe, love and everything in between and all the good and bad memories that come with it.
Strange. They say that smell is the strongest memory trigger, and that is probably true. But what does grief smell like? What about a perfect moment in time? I'm sure that everyone has an answer to that, but you couldn't explain it very well. But I can tell you what it sounds like, in two sentences. Everyone can describe a song that reminds them of that.
I had to do a creative writing assignment in college about strange associations--that's really the only way to describe it. We were asked to write about things like "What does green taste like?", "What does Yellow feel like?" "What does grass sound like?" and so on. It was an interesting assignment.
Oh, I suppose I should tell you how I nearly died.
I was driving to PT to run an errand for T, and the car in front of me either had something explode in the cab or is driven by a royal asshole, because suddenly, and at 55mph, all four wheels locked up and in a cloud of burning rubber and squealing tires, stopped. I had to swerve into the turn lane (which thankfully was there, or it would have been oncoming traffic for me) and the car behind me went into the ditch.
The car then drove off, no questions asked.
Misanthropy levels rising daily, people. And I don't know what it sounds like, but I'm working on it.
We will get to that in a moment.
I have been listening to the new Modest Mouse CD, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank and anyone who wants to continue to be my friend must heretofore love this album as much as I do. Especially songs 'Missed the Boat' and 'We've Got Everything'. So there. (I owe the gentlemen in this band an apology. I talked a lot of shit about them and their music when I was in college--A time filled with poor choices, mind, but I was rather harsh, even for me. Granted, all I had heard at that time was 'Cowboy Dan', a song that isn't the best lead in to the greatness that is MM. Anyway, members of Modest Mouse, I apologise. Forgive my shit talking and please accept my promise of love and fidelity from this time forward.)
Lots of talk about music lately, in and out of work. (Work has become my social life. Sigh.) I recently purchased Deftones tickets, as well as Daft Punk tickets, (my insides are melting with excitement. For real. I may be diagnosed as missing 3 miles of small intestine before the month is out.) (Lots of parentheses this blog. Sorry.) We have been comparing CD collections and concerts we have been to in to the past. Songs that have strong meaning to us and why. It is interesting to me that just about everyone in the world (with the exception of T's mother who listens only to talk radio) has a passion for music. Even if its just one song. They remember what song was playing at important moments in their personal history. Whole albums can take them back to times in their lives that were good, bad, painful or triumphant. Tricky's Blowback depresses the hell out of me, as much as I love that album, because I bought it the day before a close friend of mine died and I associate all those songs with that particular grief. The Killers Hot Fuss reminds me of F, and our many adventures back and forth across the godforsaken lake that laid between still being kids and being forced to grow up for reasons we would do anything to change. (Its a big lake. Really. 2.5 hours each way. In good weather.) KMFDM's Hau Ruck reminds me of staying up to all hours of the night with A and B, both of whom I may never see again. Aphex Twin Richard D. James Album reminds me of being 14 and truly experiencing music and everything it could possibly be. And, of course, Blood Sugar Sex Magik by RHCP....the first album to make me truly excited about music. The list goes on. And on, and on. I could write a book just listing music I loathe, love and everything in between and all the good and bad memories that come with it.
Strange. They say that smell is the strongest memory trigger, and that is probably true. But what does grief smell like? What about a perfect moment in time? I'm sure that everyone has an answer to that, but you couldn't explain it very well. But I can tell you what it sounds like, in two sentences. Everyone can describe a song that reminds them of that.
I had to do a creative writing assignment in college about strange associations--that's really the only way to describe it. We were asked to write about things like "What does green taste like?", "What does Yellow feel like?" "What does grass sound like?" and so on. It was an interesting assignment.
Oh, I suppose I should tell you how I nearly died.
I was driving to PT to run an errand for T, and the car in front of me either had something explode in the cab or is driven by a royal asshole, because suddenly, and at 55mph, all four wheels locked up and in a cloud of burning rubber and squealing tires, stopped. I had to swerve into the turn lane (which thankfully was there, or it would have been oncoming traffic for me) and the car behind me went into the ditch.
The car then drove off, no questions asked.
Misanthropy levels rising daily, people. And I don't know what it sounds like, but I'm working on it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
