oh tuesday.

what if the food you ate was visible on your body some how, I mean aside from love handles and a double chin. would I eat differently if suddenly everyone would know that I ate salt and vinegar chips, cookies n cream ice cream, and some leftover potatoes all before 10:30 this morning? I have to admit that since I'm a shallow person I might change my eating habits if other people could tell what I had eaten. gone would be the days of potato chips and onion dip for dinner. no more snickers for lunch. absolutely never would I make a meal of a diet coke, some cookies, and 3 del taco ... tacos. basically, my life would be over and I'd start eating alot more vegetables. maybe.

goats go to heaven too

You look great in your bolero tie. Brown polyester jumsuits were made for you. Who's going to call me dolly or lover or try to kiss me on the lips? I never minded, just so you know. Who's going to fix the toaster or the vacuum or plant tomatoes in the yard? I'm sure by now the scooter battery has long since run down and the jacuzzi is empty. Your journal will stay half empty and no one will think to tell me to open my mouth wider so I can sing better. I miss your back-to-school blessings and teary testimonies already. I hope the spring is back in your step and the ringing in your ears has been silenced. You were my Valentine and I love you.

I wasn't think...ing, tell me when it's ov...er.

How do I tell them that the smell of their feet is noxious? How do I say that the stench emanating from their shoes creates a cloud that envelopes their entire person? What can I say about the foul smell of stinky shoes that lingers even after they have gone? I find myself torn between leaving an anonymous gift of foot powder or investing in a can of air freshener to use after they go. I feel brave now, but in the end I don't think I could ever confront anyone about their bodily odors.

In other news, Sufjan Stevens wears shiny pants and I have no complaints.

choco taco

In an effort to save myself from the 2:34 pm blues I went and stood in front of the vending machines, Signature Card in hand. As a stood listening to the familiar hum of the vending machine cooling systems I weighed my options. Ice cream sandwich? No, I've eaten enough of them to know that I love them, but today is not an ice cream sandwich kind of day. Orange Creamcicle? No, there's not any chocolate in those. By this time my options in the 50 cent range are getting slim. Maybe I'll try something I new, I thought to myself. then I spied what I knew would be my 2:34 pm pick-me-up. A king size Crunch Bar with Candy Center. Remarkably this frozen creation is only 50 cents and thus within my price range. I was feeling smug as I walked back to my desk with my bargain priced chocolaty booty. I took the first bite. Then I remembered that I don't like crunch bars. I took a second bite and encountered the "candy center". The candy center turned out to be a block of second rate chocolate in the middle of the ice cream that is tooth crackingly hard. But, I had paid my 50 cents gosh darn it, so I determined to enjoy it. I was almost to the end of the ice cream bar, when the last little piece of ice cream fell off of the stick, onto my skirt, then rolled to the floor. Now I have a stain on my skirt and don't feel any closure with that king size Crunch Bar with Candy Center. At least I still have the 3:27 pm blues to look forward to ...

slobber slobber drool drool cry

It must be hard to be a baby. People hardly ever let you do what you want to do. They think you're cute, but they sure as heck will not let you wipe your drooly face all over their pants or play in the dishwasher or the toilet. You're just curious after all. And people are always picking you up and carrying you around. You never said "Hey could you please pick me up and carry me into the kitchen with you?" The baby never says any such thing. The baby never says "Please feed me cheerios and a full turkey dinner blended into something called 'baby food'."

Poor baby. Poor, poor baby indeed.

fee fie fo fum

There are few things that give me as much joy in life as looking at the clock in the morning and realizing that I still have more time to sleep. This morning I was so unbelievably happy when I looked at my clock and saw that I still had a hour before I had to get up. Really though, I don't think I've been that happy in a long time. I don't know if that means my life is sad, or that I just love sleeping. Alot. The other reason I like knowing I have more time to sleep is that I always dream some more in that little space of time. And the dreams that I have a re always super weird early in the morning. I don't remember what it was about, but I do remember feeling a sense of loss when I had to wake up and it was over. I'm always sad when my dreams end, becasue I know that I'll never dream it again

600 miles later

I determined today that I don't think enough. Not that I don't think before I act or speak, but that when I'm alone not doing anything I don't think about things. So I tried to think more, but I don't know if I liked all that active thinking. I'm definitely not cut out to be a philosopher, or an interesting person for that matter. So while I was driving from California to Utah today I was trying to pay attention to what I was thinking with some disturbing results. I was trying to think of what could make my drive through the Nevada desert more interesting when I thought that if I could talk to all the other people driving on the road I might not want to drive my car off the side of the road or turn the car around and give up. But, what would we talk about?

i always want to know where everyone else on the freeway is going. I would ask them where they are going. I would ask them why they were going there and if they were excited to go or not. I would ask them if there was anyone waiting for them. I would ask them what they think about while driving. I would ask them why they bought their car, and why that particular color. I would ask the how they can drive so fast without feeling paranoid about getting a ticket. All of these thoughts and ideas were at the beginning of my drive, by the eighth or ninth hour of my solo drive all I could think was that my butt hurt how much I hate those signs telling you how many miles till you get to your destination. There are always way more miles on there than you think you can bear. I also realized that in my mind semi trucks on the freeway are large animals that you have no control over. They do what they want and I just accept it as unchangeable movement of the universe. Im my mind they are like giant cows.

trick tricky

Last night I dreamt that I went to Prom. The Prom it turned out was being held in a church and alot of the people from my high school were there. For some reason my mom was playing the organ for this dance and I was hanging out with her and one friend avoiding the partying that was going on below at the dance. I was dressed fancier than everyone else and inexplicably looked more like Selina Gomez than myself. Non of the people that were there from my high school and that I grew up with would talk to me or really acknowledge me. Then my 18 month nephew was there and I had to change his diaper. So in looking for a bathroom I came across a classroom where all these boys were playing poker and smoking. When I finally found the bathroom it was this huge communal style bathroom with showers and everything, but I couldn't find a changing table anywhere. Why? I don't know.

greasy spoon

I watched a movie a few days a go that takes place in Greece. It was a generic but entertaining romantic comedy in which a woman gets her mojo back after hooking up with a hot Greek man. Well the next night I had a dream that I was the lady from the movie at the beach in Greece. Then for reasons that are known only to the subconscious, a giant tsunami appeared and was headed straight for my beautiful beach and idyllic little town. I don't remember how I managed to survive. I think I climbed up to some higher ground and watched people get swept away by the oncoming water. I don't know what this means. Freud would probably say, well actually I have no idea what Freud would say, all I know is that it would involve some secret longing on my part. It'll just have to go being a secret then.

Comrades?

Living alone is not natural. There is no one around to blame for lights left on, the dishes in the sink, or the weird smell coming from the trash can. No one's home when you leave in the morning or when you come home at night. All of the leftovers from tenants past suddenly belong to only you, which is exciting and yet strangely a burden at the same time. One thousand bottles of cleaner. Unmated, abandoned socks. Gum wrappers and boxes of Western Family macaroni and cheese. A place towards which I felt no ownership is now mine, and only mine. Now I am forced to own it. The house seems almost sympathetic to my plight. My residence is probably lonelier than I am and whispers welcome and protection to me as I sit in my room, lock the basement door, or look through the cupboards. We are comrades in arms. I don't know if that quite works because townhouses don't have arms, but whatever.

what in the blog?

Why in the blog am I blogging? I don't bloggin know.

The blog world is one foreign to me. It's a world where emotions run wild, freedom of speech is a little too freely used, and your background is almost as important as what you actually write. There are blogs about cooking, WWF wrestling, collecting things, and failed relationships. This blog will not be dedicated to any of those things, although I wouldn't be surprised if any of those topics found their way onto my blogosphere. This blog will be dedicated to myself, as all blogs truly are. The blog is the perfect narcissistic outlet. Unlimited space to make yourself heard and understood. Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter just aren't enough for the average American to connect with their 1200 friends, and besides your friends never really understand you to begin with, so we have to blog. Now that I've used the word blog more times than is healthy for one person, I'm going to try to have a life outside my computer for a while. Don't worry, I'll be back.

Amy, I'm doing this for you.