I need the mental room to stare off into space for long periods of time.

Let me have that.

CREATION

I'm a big fan. Huge fan. That's what it's all about in my book. What each individual creates and brings to this world. What else is there? All else is what we use as supplies. Perhaps that's why I'm drawn to this quote I read yesterday in Octavio Paz' LABYRINTH OF SOLITUDE:

History has the cruel reality of a nightmare, and the grandeur of man consists in his making beautiful and lasting works out of the real substance of that nightmare. Or, to put it another way, it consists in transforming the nightmare into vision; in freeing ourselves from the shapeless horror of reality –if only for an instant- by means of creation.

Cuz, god, what a fucking world we live in. It's a horrid place, really. Paz romanticizes it nicely. In this quagmire of static and murk, we have to find the people who will touch and propel us to do those inspired things. It's your family of acquaintances that fires you, enabling you to create your own world within the other. If you can't find those people, live inside your own head and use what supplies you can.

Remember when it used to be the skinny people who smoked?

Now, it's the fat people. Is that a crass observation? Paint it any color you like. It's what I've noticed from the humanity window I peer through on the bus everyday. Whenever I see a smoker, it's pretty invariably a person who's spilling out of every item of their clothing and wearing pants 3 sizes too small. I suppose it makes since, now that it's been hammered into the collective American head that smoking is evil. You'd have to not give a damn to puff away. Cigarette? Oh fuck it, ok. Double deluxe burrito with extra carne? Oh fuck it, ok.

Yes, I'm bringing back the word uncapable. I think it's a better conveyance of the meaning.

Bloody Hell

I took the time to prepare a healthy, nutritious, wonderful assemblage of delectable items to eat at work today. But I left it on the freaking train. Dammit all to hell. I HATE that. Now, my only options are a Sausage McMuffin or a bagel bigger than my head.

Why am I completely uncapable of carrying things from place to place? I must just pretty much forget that I own hands as I walk around the city. Often, I will be carrying something, such as a scarf or a hat, and I will (without ANY provocation whatsoever) just drop it as I'm walking. No reason, I'll just forget that I own hands and they'll stop doing anything remotely funtional. But then 10 seconds later, something will seem odd. I'll look behind me and there will be my once carried item, dirty and sad on the floor behind me.

So, I just mentioned some dance routines

and thought I'd explain myself further. For my 30th birthday semi-extravaganza, I thought it would be nice to flabbergast my guests with some choreographed dance routines by yours truly. You know, to tell the story of my life. I'm thinking some Pat Benatar is definitely in order. Perhaps WE BELONG. I can maybe shine a spotlight on my boyfriend during this number and dance intently while staring into his eyes. Wouldn't that be nice? Although, I'm holding a bit of a grudge against him because he won't do the DIRTY DANCING finale dance with me. You know, the big dance they prepare for throughout the movie in between sex? And I had the time of my life/And I never felt like this before. (I probably butchered just those two lines.) I would like to re-enact the dance step by step, but no. He's having nothing of it. Well, this way I can save it for my wedding dance, I suppose.

If anyone else can think of any appropriate songs to which I can choreograph, by all means, shout them at me.

What is

that '897' shit in my header? Has it always been there?

Tick Tock

It's officially less than a month until my 30th birthday. Oh god, which I have forsaken. Should I start counting the days? I think it may be time. I haven't even begun preparing my dance routines. So much, so much.

At a loss

I so flagrantly did not win the Mega Millions jackpot on Friday. My chosen digits were barely in the same number system. The prize was 200 million yada yada dollars. Only ONE PERSON won the freaking thing.

Where are you god? I was on the precipice of believing in you before, but now I just can't. Nope. You ruined that.

I have discovered the joy

of earplugs. My boyfriend and I bought them initially as a sex toy. You know to spice things up a bit, but they're proving more than useful on my new daily commute.

I kid! I jest again! I'm a jester. No really, they were originally purchased because my beau is having probs. sleeping. It seems he's waking up at some ungodly hour every day and not able to successfully get back to sleep. The Acela and commuter trains rattling our new home every morning may be the culprit, so voila! earplugs. I thought maybe they would help me. (Honestly, I have no idea why seeing as how I'm sleeping like a baby.) Just thought it'd be fun, I guess. And it is! Everything is now a distant distraction. I can crawl further into my own head no matter where I am. Perfect.

I have just returned

from hopefully the last feeding of the day. Surprisngly, it was kinda healthy. We ate at this Cambodian-Thai restaurant in our neighborhood called Wonder Spice. Great name. I want to link you to the restaurant's menu on Amazon, but for some reason I can't do ANYTHING edit-wise with Blogger on a Mac. Except capitalize, so expect a lot of that. And when did Amazon start putting menus on their website? How does that fit in? And they're so ghetto, too. Like someone stole the take-out menus from every restaurant on the face of the earth and scanned them in. Amazon is apparently trying to internet-map our entire world.

So, nothing glaringly illustrates how un-adult I am more than hanging around with parents all day long. It wasn't even all day, actually. Just kind of felt that way. Although I am about to be 30 really freaking soon, all I can think to myself is 30 must be the new 20. Because I can't do responsible things, like clean sinks and/or tubs or wash clothes. Instead I just smell them and tell myself no one will notice. Or I Febreeze it. This is new and I haven't used it yet. It was recently purchased, but it may become my new mode of living. So, please forgive me if I smell a little too powder fresh.

As we know the boyfriend's parents are in town. They're being generally sweet and have offered any help and service they can provide. Like helping us move out of our old apartment. Let me answer that question- as a matter of fact, no, we haven't moved out of the old place yet. And let me answer your next question- we've been living in the new house for about a month now. If we were those things you call adults, we would've moved all of our crap out of the old place by now. But evidently, we're not sane and we're not normal and we are egregiously lacking in the responsibility department. Basically, we carried over all of our essentials one day. And then just bought the rest of the stuff we need. Leaving the old apartment pretty much fully stocked. Anyone could live there, just bring over a bed. Of course, the parents thought this was scandalous. When were we planning on moving everything out? Aren't you going on vacation in a couple of weeks? Don't you have to be moved out before you go? Haven't you told them you're moving out yet? All we could do was whimper. They immediately moved into adult-action mode. A U-Haul has been rented and will be picked up first thing tomorrow morning. Also, 2 burly men have been recruited. (From god knows where really. They asked the electrician if he knew anyone who needed some money and could move heavy objects.)

Here's hoping some of their adult-ness rubs off on us before they leave. Either that or I'd be game with them visiting once a month until we're the new 30.

GUESTS

Can't live with them...and, well, don't live with them really. Anyway. Guests ALWAYS ruin any healthful, disciplined regimens you have going on. And you ALWAYS eat more when they're around, because that's the way humans socialize. At regular feedings of gargantuan amounts of meat and starches. So, now, after only one day of company, I'm feeling bloated and lethargic. Gym tomorrow? Very doubtful. Going to the gym when you have guests is a mortal sin. You're practically guaranteeing yourself not to get into heaven. Plus, I think I'm coming down with something. I'm convinced someone at the barbeque gave it to me. I don't care how exceptionally healthy and vibrant with their blue eyeliner everyone appeared. All that french kissing probably didn't help either. Damn Fiedler and his luscious tongue.

Where in the world is...

...enyenh...no, I can't finish it. I just can't bring myself to type the name. I don't care that I lived in the freaking city, either. I've been called it much, much, much, too much in my lifetime already. As a matter of fact, I'm banning it now. Yes, fantastic idea! Why don't people ever call me by the other famous similar moniker anyway? I think I'm more electric than Electra, as a matter of fact. Besides, that isn't even her real name. I'm the real thing, baby.

My lack of blogging was brought to my attention last night as I was hanging with the blogging crew. At a barbeque! Yes, we had a barbeque! Originally, it was slated to be an all female affair, but I ended up bringing my male harem. Sometimes I just can't say no. Optimistically, I was hoping one of them would be approved as a sperm donor by my gracious hostesses, but, alas, none made the cut. After they left, we ladies applied makeup to each other. Seriously. Girls really do that kind of thing when boys aren't around. We all ended up matching with this intense electric blue eyeliner. After dolling ourselves up, we played some Cranium. Needless to say, yet again, I won. Oh, I mean, my team won.

So, this morning, my boyfriend wakes me up asking me to drive him to work. Ok, no problem, that way I get to keep the car all day. I throw on some semi-decent, outdoor wear pjs and flip flops and head downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs is his mother! With a cup of coffee in her hand! I don't know, I just felt so unprepared with my bedhead and all. I knew they were coming, but I didn't know they would be greeting me at 8 in the morning in my living room. What time did they get here anyway? I still have no idea. It was very discombobulating. We say hi and chit chat and how long will they be in town and where are you going and all that good stuff. The boyfriend is ready, I drive him to work and come back. I chit chat a little more with the parents. Evidently, they're here for some new house thingys they need to do. I try to act all knowledgeable and coherent about such stuff. Finally, I make my way to the shower and take a look at myself for the first time. And fucking A! There is electric blue eyeliner all over my face! It must've morphed during the night! I don't remember it being that largesse when I was wearing it the night before. How did it get up to my eyebrow?? I CAN NOT BELIEVE I was talking to his parents looking like a human crayon. Why can't I just be normal for once around them?

I want to update everyone on my life

but all I can do right now is burp. I've been food poisoned again! Again!! Ach hamburger fez.

This reminds me of the first time I was food poisoned by a well drink. It was back in the Big D. That time was much more vicious to my system, though. I was actually driving home when it hit me. I pulled over in a Best Buy parking lot and spewed my life history out of my mouth and nose. The worst part was there was not to be found one single piece of cloth, napkin, paper, anything in my car. So, I shook off most of what I could onto the cement and drove an endless trip back home, vomit dripping occasionally from my hair and hands. The next few days were spent cuddled on my bathroom floor.

This time, my tummy is mainly very, very uncomfortable. It won't let me ignore it's unhappiness, but it's unwilling to take any drastic measures to relieve itself. Aaaah, my tummy. It's either delicate or horribly misfigured. Jeesus, I've just noticed how much thought and space I'm devoting to this. I'll stop now.

In other news, I have a new refrigerator! It's wonderful. Oh yeah, and a friend from Dallas was in town this weekend. But back to the stainless steel work of art in my kitchen...I'm kidding! I jest! I'm jesting!! Woah, is me. I humbly apologize to my precious friend for consuming my time with broken down delivery drivers this weekend. I've disavowed Sears for life as a result of the misadventures they forced me to share with them. Except for their economical undergarments. I can't forsake those. G-darn their thriftiness! Anywho, I reveled in every minute of your presence we managed to squeeze in. I won't question why you did not want to travel to my humble abode and spend a few more quality hours. I also will not remark upon your delightful recollections from our formative years. But, I'm happy I got to see you, baby. Wait a second, do you even read my blog? Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure you do.