elevator tan

Oh my god why is some old perfume that I am only marginally interested in sampling like, at least eighty dollars for a 3.3 EDP, with no smaller options for less than say–fifty?

I really just want to try it; the notes sound good, I love the specific shade of pink she really seemed to have created, Mae West’s influence in any spectrum is just totally killer, all the reviews indicate it invokes 1930s glamour, which interests me because I have no idea what that would smell like (faint idea of 50s glamour and all, but anything pre-’55 I’d be more or less lost as to what is “glamourous” or even popular for fragrance) and that Elsa Schiaparelli seems like alright people–good, solid folk.  The kind of person I would say “Oh, awesome” if I heard that someone had met her.  Too bad she’s long dead, though. Anyway, Shocking is too expensive for a perfume that was reintroduced in the 1990s: I’m not looking for a vintage bottle (not without testing the notes, at least), I’d be happy to test the rerelease and see if I liked it or not.  I’m keeping an eye out, watch out world, I may purchase a sample of a thing sometime

I’m also angry!  So angry!

I’m cashiering, doing my thing, and I’ve got this old bag who just has a mountain of sacks on the carousel, where items go to be bagged and then, by the customer, put back into their cart.    She’s not making any moves to put stuff back in her cart as the transaction goes on, but I just assume she’s one of those people who waits until they’ve paid to move all of their stuff back into the cart.  It is stupid, but I know that shopping can be a terrifying, exotic venture for some people so I just let it go.    Anyway, mountain of stuff.  Ridiculous-looking, huge, obviously unwieldy piles of her items, bagged, ready to be taken away from my lane, right?

No.  She slides her credit card, finishes that all up, I hand her the receipt, I wait for her to start moving some of her stuff THEN SUDDENLY DROOPY DOG ENTERS THE FRAY:
“oh, you don’t load them?”

Attn: World
Re: The most certain way to make me angry
Body: Sound like a goddamn baby.

There is one noise in this world that absolutely cuts right through me, and it is adult men and women making with that pathetic, pitiful voice.  I despise people who hunt down pity, who actually want people to feel sorry for them, and use their ‘disadvantage’ (real or feigned ((almost always goddamn feigned))) to their advantage.  Seriously, you want to make me mad, in a totally non-playful, absolutely disgusted way?  Sound like you’re in urgent need of my most tender care.  “Ooooh you don’t bag them ahbloobloobloo”

I only ever want to hear such desperate, craven need for help in an adult human’s voice when you are drowning in mud.  Then, you can go ahead and be so pathetic, or pitiful, so on-the-verge of tears.

When it is just some dumb shit like you are an entitled little cooz who couldn’t possibly comprehend a world where somebody who has been working all day doesn’t bend at the knee to aid you (where aid is completely unneccesary by the way, you being a woman who at your oldest is 55, who managed by some magical grace to get the items INTO your cart).  You know, lady, it totally would’ve been one thing had you just said, “Oh, can I have a little help getting this into my cart?”  I still would’ve rolled my eyes inwardly because honestly, if you are too weak to lift things, you shouldn’t purchase them, maybe.  Call Meals on Wheels, your laziness isn’t my problem, and I don’t get paid to aid the elderly.  But I’ll do it, and I’ll probably feel bad, and I will be as friendly as ever with you.

It is the way you said it.  I’m glad I was kind of a bitch.

“No, not traditionally.”  with a purposeful, confused grimace on my face–making clear that what you are asking is something that the average, everyday, decent person does not bother me with.
“Oh reeeaaally well–”
“but if you want me to, I’ll help you.” specifying that what I am doing is indeed helping you, and is in fact, not an obligation on my part–not at all, not one bit.  Not a part of my job, in any capacity.  I do it for people who ask, or for old women who are clearly impaired, but just some dumb old skank who is lazy, whiny, and entitled to it?  Absolutely not, not without you having to ask me.  You’ll have to embarass yourself in front of everyone be seeming so needy to get the great reward of not having to lift your arms above your waist.

The reason I don’t jump to do this shit?  Because I have dignity.  Number one, I’m not Hopskip the Fetchgirl.  I’m here to do very few things, really.  Make sure all of your items get scanned properly, make sure that they are in bags that will not break and are sorted properly, and make sure you pay.  Other than that, it is on you.  I do extraneous things, of course, because contrary to what my every blog seems to revolve around, I do like people, and generally get along (at least for the short amount of time I interact with them) with most everyone.  I like to see the items they buy, the way they speak to each other, and I like to make people happy.  Well, make polite people happy.  They have it coming to them.

In addition, I have self-respect, so I don’t really project such…piteous behavior on to others.  I assume everyone has the same level of dignity that I do, and they wouldn’t want to be seen getting help from someone else on simple tasks, and more or less, they’d want to handle their business…by themselves.  I’d be ashamed if I had to ask someone for help; you seem to think you shouldn’t even have to ask!

Then you go on to say that “(i’ve) never been to one that didn’t load before”.  Oh, really?  Never, huh?  Did you just step out of a atomic shelter, because baby, ain’t nobody been helping anybody since 1980.  I don’ think bagboys really exist anymore, not here in the United States.  I’ve worked at this place for almost half of a year now, and I’ve never, ever, ever seen a cashier load up a cart for an ABLE-BODIED person.  Unless you have some hidden lobster hands, which you don’t, because you got the shit in there in the first place, there is no reason for me to assume you need help.  Silly me,  I should’ve smelled your weakness; recognized you as a member of our little human group that needed to be left to the lions.

Honestly, one thousand times I could just say this: I cannot even begin to explain how much I hate the sound of a serious, whining tone, if the person is over 14.  There are so many people in this world who want to be the victim, and play the poor sap for everyone’s “awww”s and “ohh poor dear”s.   Shameless.  This is just one minute example.  If you could hear the tone in this bird’s voice, you’d totally get it.

If you want someone to do something for you, just say it.  Don’t be passive aggressive, don’t beat around the bush, don’t cry for it, just ask.  If they don’t want to do it, then alright.  You shouldn’t try to manipulate people’s weak spots emotionally, especially for dumb little things like “help with your groceries”.  If you can’t get what you want through reason, suggestion, and neccesity, then you don’t deserve to get it–whatever it is.   If you have to play weak, whatever it is you want should just be given to the next person.  Weakness is not a good thing, no one should be okay with being seen as pathetic.

That is all, I guess.  Droopy Dog people just make me wish I were some sort of…wizard.
A wizard
of foz

parjims coo

Perfumes I’d like to try:

Social Creatures – Rebel Ambush
M. Micallef – Aoud Gourmet
Omnia Profumo – Madera
Anne Pliska – Namesake
CSP – Matin Calin
Creative Scentualization – Joy Comes from Within
Creative Scentualization – Perfect Vanilla
Comme des Garcons – 3
Farmacia SS – Sofron
Farmacia SS – Aurora
Frapin – 1270
Hilde Soliani – Bell’Antonio
Il Profumo – Chocolat
Il Profumo – Chocolat Frais
Il Profumo – Chocolate Amere
L’artisan Parfumeur – Piment Brulant
L’atelier Boheme – Immortelle
Lostmarch – Lann-Ael
Montale – Chocolate Greedy
Montale – Amandes Orientales
Montale – Ginger Musk
Montale – Boise Vanille
Montale – Blue Amber
Montale – Musk to Musk
Montale – Orient Extreme
Montale – Vanilla Extasy
Montale – Vanille Absolu
Parfum d’Empire – Aziyade
Parfumerie Generale – Aomassai
Parfumerie Generale – Musc Maori
Pilar and Lucy -exact friction of the stars
Profumi di Pantelleria – Jailia
Serge Lutens – Arabie
Serge Lutens – Ambre Sultan
Serge Lutens – Chergui
Serge Lutens – Chypre Rouge
Serge Lutens – Datura Noir
Serge Lutens – Five O’ Clock Au Gingembre
Serge Lutens – Gris Clair
Serge Lutens – Rousse
Serge Lutens – Serge Noir
Serge Lutens – Un Bois Vanille *
Tocca – Brigitte
Thierry Mugler – Alien *
YOSH – Ginger Ciao 2.27
Keiko Mecheri – Sanguine
Sage EDTs – Amber
I Profumi di Firenze – Ambra Tibet
I Profumi di Firenze – Shambhala Tibet
Bond No. 9 – Fire Island
Bond No. 9 – Little Italy
Bond No. 9 – Coney Island
Bond No. 9 – New Haarlem (two As?)
Bond No. 9 – Chinatown *

*=   i tried a perfume and i liked it , the smell of its notes n su-u-uch
italics=  I’d really like to try it.

Names for infants I’d like to try:

Evelyn, Eloise, Elisa, Elise, Eleanor, Marilou sort of but I can see it going poorly, and a few more for girls I guess, they’re just easier to name–and no i don’t know why pretty much every one of them is an ‘E’ name, I think I just find it pleasant.  Also, pretty much every single one of them also has a song that I really like attached to it;probably no way to name a child, but my mom got my name because a favorite d00d of her youth murdered his ex-girlfriend in that hotel  ;____(  whatevs it has been a Fine name for all these years, no matter the origin.  Besides, where do children’s names come from usually, anyway?  It isn’t like I have some massive attachment to one name just out of nowhere; it comes from somewhere, usually some sort of media.  It just so happens that I like these songs, and I attach beauty and sentimentality to all of them, traits/feelings I’d like to see/have for any daughter.

boys are hard; I guess Victor (and they can easily transition into being a lady, or just go by Vic ((like Vic Mackey oh maaaan what a coolass son that would be))) is pretty alright, Marcus is totally acceptable (and hey they can be Mark if all else fails, a Perfectly Appropriate name for a job interview or whatever) and so is Lucius (then you can be Luke, which is a strapping name i spose), or equivalents thereof.  The problem with boy names is it is a lot harder to find names that can’t very quickly become feminized or tauntable.  Girls don’t get a lot of name-based-picking-ons (i would’ve seen it first hand if it was bigtime, my middle name is a pure combination of virgin and vagina after all, and i don’t think anyone ever really pointed it out), but you name a boy Demetrius and expect him to come home from school all slapped around WELL sorry it is a good name, even here in the modern united states!  not everyone has to be Ian or John or Kyle and certainly NO ONE needs to be Brooklyn or London.  That is one thing you can be sure of, future offspring, you will not have a location-based name.  I know how much it sucks.  every single bit of my name is really just a place–right down to the last.  it is just boring; i can’t tell you how many times ‘name meanings’ somehow came up in my classes, and people would go all around “oh my name means the holiest of beautiful stuff”, “sainted one here!”, and “aw cool a literary reference arent i sassy”

meanwhile, get to me, and it is solid ‘a port, commonly chalk-based’.

One english teacher said something about sailors, but I think he was trying to be more   h e a r t s t r i n g i s h  because it was something like “weary travellers, like sailors were back then especially, would find themselves at home with you”.  OH TY BRAH, it is sweet and all, but you know all of us tittered after you said it because for the love of christ the best thing my name is associated with is sailors on leave, which are a lusty group of roustabouts at best.  Hardly biblical.  everybody else got to begat somebody, meanwhile all I’m doing is sending chalk to and fro and apparently slagging around with sailors.  Or, processing meat in New York.  Or, being a tOaDaLlY pUnK hOtEl where two incredibly unattractive but very talented people allegedly had sex (leonard cohen and janis joplin) and two sort of attractive but very much the opposite of talented people met their doom (sid vicious and nancy spungen).

So that is it, that is me.  Awesome.  ps i am not pregnant just talkin bout some sweet, sweet names because i finally found a song with my name in it, being used as a name~~!!

Anyway, as I was saying, my kids are going to be named Hawkeye Spittlekraut and Bahia Starganza.  One will be a sharpshooter and the other a latin-american spy.

cool

liggetari cafeterii

why did no one ever tell me that the word “lame” is offensive to people who are all disabled ‘n’ shit?

That just seems a little silly.  The word “lame” is never much used in a medical context anymore, I mean, I’ve yet to hear someone actually refer to another person as “lame”, in the sense that they have been crippled.

Idiot also used to be used as a medical term, just pretty much meaning simple-minded, or even profoundly retarded.  Either way, it is a word most of us feel comfortable saying.  It is a personal decision, of course, and I try to be respectful with my speech (thus the use of the word “lame” in the first place, really), but I think I’m just going to go ahead and continue to say this one.  I mean, seriously.

What about hobbled?  Can we say that someone is hobbling themselves, or an argument or point is ‘hobbled’?  Off-center, maybe?  I mean, some people are quite desperately asymmetrical, and I certainly wouldn’t want them to think I think them any less human than I.  Feeble still cool?

I do all the other considerate things, with regards to speech and discriminatory language, but I am really going to have to draw the line at lame.  What about lame duck?  What sort of word would possibly replace the glorious catch-all that is ‘lame’?

Faggy?  Gay?  Shit?  Retarded?  All much less…polite choices, to say the least.  When I run through the thought, “would I say this if a person that this word could be used to describe was standing right next to me?” and I definitely would still say lame in front of a person on crutches.   Wouldn’t even hardly notice.  I might not say “crippled” as a negative, but I sure as hell would say lame.  What an antiquated word to be used to describe an actual medical problem–I wouldn’t worry about it.

I mean, I can even “get” spastic, or spaz.  A little; the slightest bit.  Maybe I’m just not that sensitive to the problems of the disabled.

I suppose you could say they
fall
on
deaf
ears.

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD

following schemes

I know that someday I’ll control something.  I wish I wasn’t so frustrated; it all stems from feeling so powerless and weak–in almost every sense.  I’m emotionally strong, intellectually adequate, but none of that matters, really.  I’m missing something, and I just don’t know what it is.  I might never know, and I might just grow out of this feeling; maybe it is just a temporary thing, and once I start doing something new, have any sort of stimuli outside of whatever it is I have now, maybe I’ll calm down.   Maybe I’ll stop with all this anger…I know there isn’t anything wrong with me.  There is no medical condition that just causes short-fuses and rage, right?  If there was, I’d probably exhibit no other symptom.  I don’t go off on crying jags, I don’t go through manic phases, and I’m never depressed (in that clinical sense, of course).  I’m just very, very easy to anger–and when I do get angry, I can’t help but seethe and seethe with the most violent and hateful thoughts.   Just a regular tinderbox; but luckily, I suppose, I’m powerless.    I think, had I the fortune of being born male, I would’ve been a very strong, respected figure.   My anger would mean something, my revulsion would be beardstroked over, pondered, given consideration.  Maybe for the simple animal fact that I would have physical brute to back up any little blip of anger I felt.

Then again, in the masculine world, the odds are much better that your anger will actually get you…I don’t know, beaten up?  If you go around starting fights as a dude, it is fairly likely that at least once you’ll have that anger just beaten out of you.  You’d learn to keep it tempered.

I don’t keep it tempered, but I also don’t express it.  I’d alienate absolutely everyone I know if I let it be known how stupid-angry I get over things I couldn’t even possibly begin to control.  That’s just it, maybe.  I want so much to just choke it out, to make people see.  I never will though, I just don’t have “it”.  I know how much the “folks” of the United States would hate me, if they knew what sort of person I was, I know how much the people I ring out everyday would despise me; what sort of enemy they’d see me as.  I can’t help but do it myself, to one up them, I suppose, before they get the chance to know me–I know them, right?

Maybe not.  Logically, thinking, I know I can’t be so angry, there is nothing to be angry about, there are decent people on this Earth, people who would agree with me, and people who wouldn’t but wouldn’t hate me, either.

I really think it is a shame I became politically aware during Bush’s tenure.  He really polarized this country, to the point that as a young person I felt that my entire family and I were just unwelcome citizens, persona non grata.  There was just so much of that, everywhere I looked it just seemed like another issue was coming up that was treated like Jesus himself deigned it righteous, and that those who disagreed could either “love it or leave it”, or were just unpatriotic.  They made this bed, this bed that I’m seizuring with rage on, this where I feel like I am supposed to hate America, because they loved it.  Where I couldn’t possibly believe in God, because they used him to justify their ridiculousness and hate.   Where banners, ribbons and flags all make me shudder inwardly.  I know most of this country is completely apolitical; absolutely not interested.  I know that “my party” won–this time.  It just makes me sick to think I’m living in a country where the same people who made me feel completely, completely, completely unwelcome in my own country, now think they still have the right to do it still, even when “we” won.

Why do I give them all such power?  Why do I let their hate make me feel so much?  I don’t want to, it is very unhealthy.  I want to be mellow again, I just can’t be.  Every single day, I’m just so angry.  I don’t want to be.  I want to care about people, I want to be fair, I want to care about this country, I’d absolutely love to believe in something, but I can’t.  They took it away from me, and made it only for them, a representation of so much more insidious bullshit.   Why did I ever, and why do I still, let them define me and those like myself–which are, by and large, looking to be more and more a majority in this country?  Why have I let some increasingly marginalized group of radicals take anything away from me?

I want them to know how failed their movement was, I want Dobson to continue to admit the loss of the culture wars to reason and humanity, and I want those same people who so egged on people just like me, my grandfather, my grandmother, my mom and dad–making me feel so reviled, that my entire family would be considered wretched–I want them to ‘love it or leave it’.  I don’t know.  I wonder if it is more than this; it just seems so surface.  I just get so angry, so hateful.  I really don’t want to–I don’t enjoy the feeling, I don’t enjoy the thoughts, because there are plenty of fine, upstanding people who consider themselves Christian, patriotic, or even Republican in general.  They aren’t all bad people, it would be naive to think so.  It just seemed like nary a one of them was around from 2001-2007, when I was made to feel like I lived in a country that was going backwards in time, with absolutely no representation, none, for people who thought as I did.

I can’t help but think it is more than that, though.  I’ve felt that way for a long time, why would I just suddenly in the past year have uncontrollable fits of rage over something I’ve been aware of for years?

Maybe I do have some disorder.   I just couldn’t possibly guess which one would fit.  I mean, they all have auxiliary bits that don’t concern me.  Mood swings, kleptomania, depression, impulsive behavior.  It isn’t impulsive, I know when I’m going to get angry, I can see it coming, and I don’t really act on it, ever.  Totally out of fear of being noticably over-the-top though.  Like, I know I would feel better to hit something, or scream, or any of those basic sort of “eRrrrggghhhh im raaaggiiiingggg” things people do, but I can’t.  Partly, because it is just very unbecoming for a young lady to scream or hit a pillow or something, two, because screaming would make me hoarse and feel awkward (even if I was totally alone, I never, ever scream–not once in my life) and hitting stuff may very well backfire and hurt my hands, and finally, because it would really feel like I lost control at that point.

As long as I can keep it all in my mind, just inane, over-the-top fantasy that slowly drains me of my ragenergy with none the wiser, I’m still controlling it.

krzysztof komedy

I’m so bored!  I’m just in complete stasis!  This is an exclamatory statement!  Dang!

Uggghgghhhh it is just so boring to just be working, boring, boring, boring.  I was less bored when I didn’t work, just lounged around the house constantly.  Somehow, it felt like I had more going on then.  Now I have some cash, sure, that isn’t bad.  I can more or less sate my every whim and fancy, when the mood strikes me, but for what?  What is my ultimate goal?  Ehh, whatever will be, will be.  The future’s not ours to see, que sera, sera!  Doris Day, what DIDN’T your mother tell you?

My dog lost like, maybe two baby teeth at once?  It looked really creepy; like a small segment of a jaw–something you’d find inside of an owl pellet.  Eugh.  Her mouth bled a little, but she didn’t make a single noise.  So, I guess it isn’t painful.  That is also what the internet said.

i am bored
I’d look into starting classes (loooool how many times do i say this) but for real this time, but see, I don’t want to bother, because the odds are good I’ll be moving soon enough.  Sometime probably in the middle of whatever semester I started.  So, is it more clever to just stay working, save up some money, and start college courses when I get to Wisconsin?  Probably.

There is some guy at work who is cute-ish and near my age, seemingly, and while we’ve exchanged one or two prolonged glances and one ‘hey’, I just didn’t conversation-start.  Even though I had such the opportunity, it wasa situation that would’ve made a normal person ask a question or something.   I’m awkward, I’m weird, and I just never feel natural–so, as with what seems like all opportunities I have outside of snarking, smiling pleasantly, and looking at my shoes, I just passed it up.    Somebody sets the pins up, and I walk out of the bowling alley, get into my car, and drive into the desert to sleep.  Que sera, sera!  I’m in no urgent rush to meet anyone, make any new friends, anything of that nature.  One quality I’ve always had, and will probably have all of my life, is a lack of dependency on intimate relationships with other living things.  I don’t need to be close to anyone, I am more than happy to smile, exchange a couple of small-talks, and be about my way, thoughts a-brewin’, rage a-stewin’.   I really can thrive with absolute zero contact with other people.   This is a quality I think will carry me far in prison.

Solitary confinement, for example, I’d do things just to get myself put in there.  I enjoy being alone in my mind, daydreaming, scheming, thinking, quipping, riffing, whatever.  I could entertain myself forever.  Not to say I’d prefer that to having….a friend, or something, I just don’t think it is that important.  This is also one of those things I feel I have in common with men, moreso than women.  Seems to me women really do enjoy all that strong, interconnected social interaction.  I don’t really want people to know what I’m like, to know what I’m doing, to know what my “deal” is, I wouldn’t tell my co-workers about everyday situations in my life.  As a matter of fact, when certain “everybody talk about ‘this aspect of your life’ now~” conversations begin, I just let lies dribble out if I feel like it would be more strange for me to contribute nothing to the conversation.  It just happens, one minute everyone is just talking about how they would handle/how their parents handled screaming children, the next minute I’m telling a completely fictitious story about a fictitious child that I am related to, and how their fictitious mother handled it.  Why did I do it?  It just happens, I want to be natural, and I want people to feel like I am part of their group.  I like the people I work with, I don’t want them to think I’m weird, and without situational discussion anecdotes.  I may have a few, but I also just don’t feel like letting them into my real world.  What is the deal?  I’m weird.  Yet, with some people I’ve known, people I’ve known just as little about, I’m a complete open book.  I think when people can see me, could see me everyday, I don’t want them to know what I’m really like.  So much power in knowing what a person is, I wouldn’t let just anyone into my world like that.  Only people remotely, people who couldn’t write a letter to the editor about me.  I told some baptist who gave me a pamphlet all marked up for Jesus that I was Jewish.  I told him I appreciated the thought, and that I certainly welcomed the gesture, but that I was Jewish.  All of it was just a lie, a weird, niceity lie.  I’m not Jewish, I don’t “appreciate the thought” (that I’m either some sort of sub-literate who had somehow gone my entire life in America without ever once hearing about this Jesus guy, and now you, guy at Walmart, are educating me about Hiiiiim), and I really don’t welcome the gesture, my workplace is not the place for you to sell me your particular brand of worship.  Baptist especially; what makes you think I’m picking up what you’re putting down?  You never see Catholics do this, or Lutherans, or Jews, or any other particular religious denomination; except Baptists, Mormons, and apparently Hare Krishnas?  I’ve never seen one.

Before I even know I’m lying to him, I’m lying.   I’m saying I’m Jewish, I’m being considerate about his ‘message’, whatever.  Afterwards I’m asking myself why, and how, why is so natural for you to just start bullshitting?  Why bother?  Couldn’t you have just taken his stupid pamphlet, and let it go?  I couldn’t, though–the thought didn’t even enter my mind before I was saying, “Thanks, but I’m Jewish.”  What is the deal?  Whatever.  I just don’t want every hillbilly within a forty mile radius who manages to find his/her way into the nearest Walmart to be able to gurgle out information concerning me.  Hmmm…  And another thing; I think my empathy neurons, assorted synapses and such, instead of firing solo, fire alongside some sort of hate recepticon–because when I feel bad for something, I feel at the very least a little bit of disgust as well.

enough already

I want to know specifically who you are.
~~ty!~!~!~

kizz mowwy

has anyone ever properly explained what the deal is with the clown horn (or as it is known in my family, The Clown Horn) sample in that song “Molly’s Lips”?  I mean the original, not the Nirvana cover, which inexplicably removes the “ohnee-ohnee” bit.  I know it is for honest about children’s television host, that might’ve been a witch or something.  I remember last time I cared about looking up information on this song, I read something about a witch.

Canada is probably the place I’d be happiest, given the climate, political stylings, and that they probably air Kids in the Hall reruns moreso than any other country.  Maybe, I’m not one hundred percent.  Also, The Poppy Family, and The Poppy Family Historical Legacy Tour.

Closest I’d get for real would be Wisconsin.  If I do move there, I think I’d better memorize how to spell the state’s name–it has always been a source of great shame for my family and I, my spelling of the name of that state.  Why can’t it be Vermont?  what can go wrong there

Anyway, I might be moving to Wisconsin, where people will probably think I have a southern accent.  I’m wincing IRL (in real life)

It should be totally acceptable, it isn’t like I have much here in Indiana that makes me want to stay.  Leave the fast-paced field of cashiering at what is apparently the only retailer hillbillies are aware of within a fifty mile radius of the Racing Capital of the World?  Not a chance, baby!  Abandon the sound of drag-racing and trains full of future high fructose corn syrup solids that gently rock me to wakedness at 4 in the morning?  Absolutely no, guy!  You’ll have to pry the soy and cornhusks from my cold, dead hands.

seriously though this state is pretty much pfffsssshhhawwwfffttt

My ideal location is wherever the odds are best that there will be one or two people around who “”"”"get”"”"” at least mid-level percentages of my “”"”"thing”"”"”, and they get exponentially higher the further north, further east, and possibly further west you go.

so lock up your daughters milwaukee because i might just tell them about some stupid song i listened to when i was six and then oscillate between laughing at things derisively and feeling guilty about the way i’ve laughed at things!

did Laverne and Shirley ever live in milwaukee?  thanks in advance

you know what is lamer than believing in one god ? believing in more than one

i’m talkin to uuu, asutruurururururuuu

whatever, the one that worships probably the nordic gods, and is probably just a cover for people who believe in zion conspiracies to get together without simon wiesenthal ))spspspsppsp?)) breaking up their meetings

i think that was the ’sect’ that did the pig slaughter i went to/ good for them

yeah, it was for freya.  pretty sweet, it was all pretty, pretty sweet/cool

eh then maybe it isn’t a race thing, because they didn’t seem very racist to me, but it isn’t the sort of thing that immediately jumps out at you at a ritual pig slaughter.  what is jumping out at you is the pig screams mostly

i bet at least one of the people at that slaughter had at least ONCE masturbated to a piece of furry erotica
I also bet at least one of them had heard a death in june song and didn’t immediately start lollin at the ku ku ku noises, maybe even ascribed some stupid reality to them
i bet at least eighty percent of them owned a shirt with a painting of a wolf on it
hmmmm

some women on a perfume message board i read (hey shut up JERKS) totally fight about “paths” and “magic” and such

it’d be nice to be able to believe in something, something other than the magic in a young girl’s heart and thinking you’re having a goodtime with the one that you just met, kicking sand from beach to beach, your clothes are soaking wet
but then you look around and see
a shadow on the run
(paper sun)
don’t be too upset because
it’s just a paper sun

something like that

but anyway, it would be nice to have faith, or belief in something intangible.  it isn’t like I ever just sat down and worked it out with myself, just went through the lines and decided i didn’t believe in god or ghosts or magic or anything fun, i just never did.  There was no revelation, no hosed-down bush, it was just pure from the very beginning–I didn’t believe in any of it.  Ghosts, UFOs, God, demons, angels, cryptozooligical things (alright so that one i might sometimes be convinced of, depending on the photos like that montag monster oh my godddddd that thing was awesome for the few minutes i didn’t know it was just a raccoon corpse), but zombies, vampires, whatever.  I never was afraid of things like that, I never admired things like that, I never thought things like that existed.  Not once, not for a moment—well, not that I remember.  I’m sure as a very small version of myself, I could’ve been convinced of a lot more than ten year old me–where I actually start remembering things.  Anyway, I’d like to discover some sort of thing that makes me go ooohhh well that sounds entirely plausible and like something I’d enjoy devoting that spiritual section of my mind to–but it has yet to happen.  I just can’t believe in anything like that, as much as I’d like to.  Not just for myself, but for my family.  I’d really love to think that when they die, or the ones that are currently dead, I’d just enjoy feeling as if their ’spirit will live on’, or something like that–something that softens the finality of death, right?  I just can’t convince myself.  I hope I’m wrong, I’d much prefer a world with something else, something beyond the scope, I guess.  I just don’t see it happening.

GETTIN DEEP N HEAVY UP I NTHISBLOG

while we’re revealing secrets, you and i, i’ll tell you a pretty cool one.  if you are into cool secrexxx i guess:
sometimes i tuck hair from one side of my face into the ear of the opposite side, and slip it across my upper lip so it looks like i have a mustache, and i look at myself and dance with a mirror to prog-metal
my name is charles
and i really hate when people talk about “twitter” in any capacity at all

GOODNIGHT DUDES