DATE: 12/20/2007 01:52:53 / MOOD: anarchic

It's so easy, in an online environment, to start telling ourselves stories about the people with whom we're interacting.

Actually, I think it's almost impossible NOT to do that.

The connections we make with those we "click" with can be as real as any other.

But the thing is, we don't REALLY know each other. And the stories we tell ourselves can lead us to make assumptions about others, and that often leads to wanting to make those people act in the way we want them to, in relation to ourselves.

Was that too grammatically dense? Does anybody get what I'm trying to say?

I love SO many people on here. And I love it here, period. And I won't claim to be consistent all the time, because I'm moody as hell.

Hell, as you know, is notoriously moody.

I can't be fit into someone's idea of what I am...I mean, I can't fit into the stories; nor can anyone else. And I get a bit resentful of it.

Hence, if I have hurt any feelings, I apologize. But I yam Popeye, yo, and I can't be naught but me, moods and all.

Bet most could say the same.

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DATE: 12/19/2007 04:45:13 / MOOD: lethargic

Courtesy of OleRed, who found and shared this with me:

Delayed sleep phase syndrome

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DATE: 12/19/2007 04:19:13 / MOOD: lethargic

Got our first round of QAs today, and for any (the few the proud) who read my blog of this morning...um, of yesterday morning, and noticed the whole "stench from the brain farts comment," well, I'm ok, so far.

Perfect, actually.

First round includes 4. There are 12 more to go.

For anybody that give a S.hit, I'd appreciate some positive thoughts.

Thank you, and good night.

Morning.

WHATever.

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DATE: 12/18/2007 06:13:17 / MOOD: sleepy

I read, or heard, or just freaking made up that being extremely (or not even extremely) sleep deprived is just as impair-ing (whatever) as being drunk.

I DID almost smoosh a car a couple of years ago, driving home from a 14 hour day (work and school). I was driving around a curve, and my eyes wandered to the side and my brain went with them, and when I looked back I was running a red light and there was a car in the middle of the intersection.

Woke me right up, I tell you whut.

I've driven sleep-deprived almost every day of the last 5 years...and I think if I ever got pulled over, I might get hauled to the pokey for being impaired.

Discuss, if you's would.

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DATE: 12/18/2007 04:48:22 / MOOD: homicidal

I can't sleep. NEWSFLASH. I know you're all just shocked as s.Hit.

So, I've been thinking a lot (again! the shock! I can feel it from here!) about all this financial stuff.

I just finished re-reading (for the umpteenth or zoonteenth time, who knows) "God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater" by Kurt Vonnegut, and it dawned on me, not too far in, that a whole helluva lot of my ideas and opinons and convictions about the financial sitch in AmurriKa stem from this very book.

I always had this vision of that precious 1% of the pop that controls and owns 40% of the wealth (for reals, you can look it up), looking down upon us plebs--for verily, that is what we is--and just being everso amused at our writhings and strugglings and fury at the unfairness of it all and sech.

Yep, "sech."

I think--in my more cynical times, of which this is, like, one--that essentially no matter how hard we 'rage against the machine' or 'damn the man' that there's kind of nothing we can do to shift the balance of power.

The "poor" peeps that "make" it seem to have to sign away their "realness." AND gag me with a quote mark once again.

Because power comes in money, and unless one of us bourgeois (totally had to look up how to spell that) wins a HUGE lotto or something, hires the most ruthless and sharp and sticky accountants on the planet, THEN hires the most ruthless and corrupt and sticky investment consultants here too, and begins sharing the wealth with the rest of us poor souls, and we organize and start making things a little more fair, then we will toil on until kingdom come (and not the Strawberry Kingdom, which is mine, and it's nice, and all are welcome), and never ever make any kind of discernable change.

Unless we all nuke ourselves and let the Earth start over.

Woo. Sounding a bit like a Commie, huh. Forgive me, but Communism DOES sound good, on paper. Of course, we know that it just don't work in practice (cuz the powermongers will always be the powermongers, no matter how much they "share").

Ok, I'm a little scattered tonight.

What was I trying to say?

Oh, yes. Until the balance of power shifts to the "real" people (you and me), there will never be any rationality in the government.

And "they" will never let that happen. We're under their thumbs for our gas and our food and our clothes and our housing and every other GD thing we "need."

That fUCk.ING thing (the gub'mint) is supposed to be BY and FOR us. And it's just not. It's BY the rich and FOR the corporations.

IMHO.

And the war? I'm sorry, but from all I've read and thought my own damn self, I really think it's all about money and oil. Nothing whatsoever to so with terrorism or anything or defending us, or fighting over there so we don't have to fight over here. We invaded the wrong sodding country. That's my opinion, feel free to disagree, respectfully.

In my head, Bush is a sanctioned mass murderer.

And the corporate mentality in America that was bad 20 years ago has now insidiously weasled its way into everything.

We're slaves to the advertising, yo. The American Dream is now the American WET dream and we feel that we all deserve to be rich and/or famous.

I'd kill to be rich (not literally) but you couldn't pay me to be famous (literally).

FUCKinG SPORTS stadiums are ALL named after Corps now. GoddAMN "real" musicians are selling their souls via their supposedly "real" music right and left. "Actors" are wetting their panties to become corporate shills, here AND abroad.

There's no art anymore, unless it's "outsider" and as soon as it hits the web, it's commercialized, appropriated, mass-marketed, and sucked dry. It really sickens me.

I want to move somewhere where there's none of this.

Mars might work; I've heard-tell there might be water up there...

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DATE: 12/18/2007 02:17:46 / MOOD: prickly

So the lovely and talent Monique (mentioned in my last blog) turned me on to Fear Factory tonight.

Anyone heard them? Heard OF them?

It's lovely. It's a wall of sound and crunchy mean guitars that sound like machine guns with a true growly-gravelly-voiced lead, um, emoter (but he does sing, sometimes).

I know, I know, but I've been real busy decorating the rock under which I live, so I miss stuff, sometimes.

She was also able to provide me with most of the Disturbed that I lost a couple years back when my puter was struck by lightening.

Really! It killed the garage door opener, too, and fried the surge protector. Only got back about half of what was on the harddrive (lots of portfolio stuff lost, which sucked in itself).

And so, she provided, and I listened, and she lent, and I am now ripping.

And we emailed back and forth all night, which added to my slowness in the whole job-doing thing.

Ooo I think I'm going to be in trouble tomorrow. I really think I stunk up the joint tonight, what with the stench of the constant brain farts...

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DATE: 12/18/2007 02:05:12 / MOOD: prickly

Last week it became apparent that we were to be moved, lock, stock, and empty barrels, to another "bay."

Now where I WAS sitting, I had the ever amazing and hilarious Monique (more on her later) and Sabrina, my bud from training.

NOW? I've got Sabrina on one side, and the MOST annoying person on the PLANTER--er, planet--on the other side.

Seriously, folks. This is a woman who literally says everything THREE times. Three times. Three fu.ckIng times. And she chuckles after each. And the chuckles get more intense during each subsequent repeat.

To let you know that you, TOO, are supposed to laugh, I guess.

But she says the most insipid things I've ever heard come out of an ostensibly human mouth.

Swear.

Also, she's a grabber. As in food. Brini always brings food and stuff, and she usually shares with me, as I share with her. Elizabluck (as we'll call her), just freaking reaches for anything on Brini's desk. She MIGHT ask if she can have it when her hand is about an inch from what she's grabbing.

I ask you. Is that how civilized people behave? Not in MY barnyard.

Ooo she's killing me. I've been sinusy for the last couple of nights at work, but if I don't want to be constantly annoyed and distracted and talked to about inane things, I have to keep the headphones on, and I have to BLAST them to shut her out.

Due to the new config, she can also see my monitor, and she reads my email over my shoulder.

I'm going to stop being sublte in what I say about her, like any good Jr. High girl should.

Oh, one more thing then I'll stop whining.

She POUNDS her keyboard like it killed her whole family. And she's got horribly long acrylic nails.

It's like chewing aluminum foil gum with a mouth full of metal fillings.

Yes, so woe is me. But I'm still grateful to have a job.

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DATE: 12/17/2007 14:19:58 / MOOD: hung over

I just woke up and wanted to put down this dream.

I was in Laramie with my aunt and uncle, and driving with my uncle, and we went down the highway and there were these huge, red, castle-like buildings on the right, and I kept asking if that was the prison? And he wasn't sure, and as we turned, I saw a bunch of armed guards and each had a tail-wagging yellow lab. So I said, yes, I'm sure, and look! It's the changing of the guard.

Then we turned, and I started talking to him about how my mom and I had been in the area before and how we wondered about security because all the houses has iron gates on the doors. It was a very ritzy area, so I was kidding.

He just kept nodding and smiling.

Then he pulled up to one that I had thought was really cute, and I said, oh, this is the one I loved!

It was pretty tiny and the paint was peeling off, and we went up on to the porch and he opened the door and had me stand inside and close my eyes. I thought something might be up...

So I did, then I opened them ,and there was this huge living room, and it was all green, and he walked in and said, "You will be fine."

I explored the house, and it was ancient and WEIRD. The main bathroom was just a skinny rectangle, wide enough for a toilet on the one end and not even wide enough for a sink on the other (and there was no sink).

The kitchen was huge and white, and there was a weird kind of a cup holder right behind the washer-dryer.

There were two VERY high cupboards over the stove, with three blenders in one, and a tv in the other.

There was a bedroom with a crib, and right next to it another bedroom with a big bed.

Round the corner was a bathroom, but I didn't go in. I was just delighted!

Went back to the living room, and there was a realtor and a couple there, and so I knew it wasn't for sure I'd get it, but I kept exploring. There was a big side porch and a big side yard, and then I went back outside and imagined how I would paint it, and if my mom would help me.

Then I thought, well, she'd have to move to Laramie...

Alrighty, time for work. Have a good day, everybody.

Then the alarm went off.

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DATE: 12/16/2007 04:16:02 / MOOD: analytical

I hate being late more than almost anything.

If I'm not at least 10 minutes early, I feel like I"m late.

And I decided I kind of hate it when people blame their personality quirks on their astrological signs. 

The other day, driving to work (a little late) I was getting all road-ragey on the slowpoke in front of me, and I thought: Virgos should be allowed to be perfect. Because it really bugs us to mess up.

So, you get the conundrum...?

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