Friday, November 20, 2009




A thousand words......
Category: Friends
This is Hirohito99. I call him Rob. That is his name.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

This is currently my favorite picture in the world. In college I learned to step back and distance myself from the subject in a picture. Don't look at the picture. Feel the picture in your soul. Listen to the photogragh. What does it say to you? Take a picture and tell a story, not about the person in the frame, but of the person outside of it. The parts you don't see. The parts you feel. That is what I plan to do here.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between the man in this photo and the man in my story are coincidence only. This story is merely inspired and not biography. This picture, like so many, is worth so much more than a thousand words. This is just my interpretation. I have permission to do this and am told that my friend is interested to see where I take this. I hope that I do not disappoint him.

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The man down the hall

You do not know his first name. He is Mr. Bailey to you. You have worked with him for two years and he works down the hall. You have no idea what he really does. He is at work when you arrive in the morning and he is there when you leave. You don't really give it much thought.

He has worked for this company for twelve years. He has seen alot in those twelve years. At work and in the world around him as a whole. He has worked with assholes, he has been an asshole, he has seen an asshole elected in to the White House, not once, but twice now. He tries not to think to much about it. He just wants to do his job and go home.

He is married and has three children, two boys and a girl.
His middle child has Down's Syndrome.

But, you don't know that.

He is a member of a church, he runs three miles in the evenings, three times a week. He sends money to childrens charities. He knows what it is like to have and he knows what it is like to not.

He knows what a Salvation Army Christmas feels like. Handouts or handups. Whatever they call them now. He knows what that feels like. He knows the what it feels like to wish you could have done without, instead of receiving charity. He knows the burning feeling of shame. He knows he has too much pride.

When he was a child, he knew that others had it worse than him. He never dwelled on his lot in life. He had perspective, even at a young age. He hated taking the toys that the church brought, the baskets of food. He always worried about the other people that may have missed out because there wasn't enough to go around. He though of that with every bite. He choked down tears sometimes in between swallows. He hated thinking about other people going hungry or kids with no presents at Christmas.

He rarely played with those toys. He usually "forgot" them in a neighborhood kids yard. Always at night, so he wouldn't get caught. He prefered to read anyway. He was thankful that the library was free. He was thankful that the library wasn't charity.

But, you don't know that. You do not know alot of things.

He has been married now for 17 years. He met his wife at church. He is her second husband. They are both 37 years old. She was a widow at the age of 18. She married young after an unplanned pregnancy. She miscarried two months into the marriage after her husband beat the shit out of her. She was a widow three months after that. Aneurysm. He died in his sleep. He was 22.

You are 22. Life can be cruel. You haven't learned that yet, though. You haven't learned alot of things.


At first, he was scared of her. She came to church the first day with the wildest hair he had ever seen. He had heard about her through the youth pastor. She was the youth pastor's wife's little sister. She had made quite a few mistakes. She only came to church that first day because her brother in law and sister made her. It was part of their agreement. Room and board and a chance to start over, she just had to come to church with them. She looked like hell. Like a feral animal, waiting for the first person to give her a reason to attack. Everyone in the congregation stared at her in that way that the hypocritical Christians do. That "judgemental" look.

You don't know that look. Oh, you've given it. Hell, you've gotten it more times than you've peed standing up. You just never noticed.

He waited for her to make eye contact and smiled at her. She looked at him like he was crazy. He kept smiling until she caved in and smiled back. That was pretty much it from there.

He worked his ass off to get through college while helping her study for her G.E.D. He worked two jobs to pay the bills. They didn't have much those first years and there were many times he didn't think they would make it. But, they did. She said their love was enough to get them through anything. There were many times when he wasn't so sure. Plasma labs paid the light bill for the better part of the first three years of their marriage. He never complained. He never took a dime he didn't earn. He suffered depression, but did his damndest to not let it show.

When the babies started coming, they came pretty close together. Eighteen months between the first and the second and just thirteen months between the second and the third. His second son was two months premature and nearly died at birth. He spent more of his first year of life in the hospital than out, which made it really bad when the third one came along.

He lived on four hours of sleep a night for nearly three years. He and his wife took shifts with the kids. Their church members were a Godsend. They was always someone there to help rock one of the sick ones to sleep or step in to help with the housekeeping. He was grateful, but he still hated the help. He swallowed his pride for his family's sake. But, again, he never took a dime he didn't earn. He held down two jobs until he got this one.

Late last year he went on vacation, the first one he had ever taken. He was out for several weeks. Donated a kidney to one of the guys in the church choir. Anonymously. Because, it was the right thing to do.

He tries hard to be a good man. A good husband. A good father. A good provider. To use the teachings of Jesus as an example. Sometimes he feels like he fails miserably. Sometimes, he is right. But, in his world, there is still the concept of "the right thing to do." No matter what. There is always a right thing to do.

You did not even notice he had been gone until the "welcome back" card was passed around to sign. Even then, you just signed it without asking who it was for.

He hates his job, but it pays well and has decent insurance. It allows his wife to stay home and care for their middle son and his medical needs. He tires of the doctors who say the kid has such and such many years to live. He loves all of his children the same. He never questions "Why me, Lord? Why my son?" But, he does tire of the doctor bills and the pharmacy copays. The gas he pays to drive to work.The forty five minutes of traffic he suffers everyday in the car with no heat, no radio, and the ripped up seats. Forty five minutes to work and forty five minutes back home. Five days a week. He tires of the rearview mirror that he keeps seeing that old man stare back at him in. He doesn't know who the hell that old man is, but he knows he doesn't like him very much. There ain't a lot left in his life that he does like, to tell you the truth. But, has never complained. Never, not once

Again, you don't know a damn thing about any of this. But, you have the boxes ready anyway. He doesn't know that this is his last day at work. He doesn't know that you have his job now. Did you remember to thank your father for that, by the way?Just wondering, does your dad even know his first name? The guy has worked for him for twelve years.

He took the long way home today, with two boxes in the back seat full of things he couldn't bear to look at and six months severance pay in his pocket.

He feels like a failure. He feels shame burning across his face. He's felt this way before. But, he did nothing wrong. It's just the economy. The asshole that was elected twice.

She's a good mother and a good wife and a good Christian and he is proud to call her his wife. Even if he has never told her so. He has spent the last seventeen years, at times, sacrificing his happiness for her and for their children. To him, that is his duty. His role. His burden and his gift. He thinks they deserve better than him. That she deserves a better husband. That his kids deserve a better father. That he has failed them. That he is not the man he should be. He doesn't understand what he has done wrong. He doesn't understand how they can love him. He doesn't see himself through anything but that old rearview mirror.

There is alot that he doesn't know, too.

There is still alot that he has to learn.

Jesus Grounded

A few days back I received and invitation from my friend Czuch to write one half of a story. Considering that I am relatively new to writing fiction (although the desires to do so have been inside of me for as long as I can remember) it was an offer that I could not refuse. I greatly admire his writing and quite frankly was touched that I would be the one he would approach in this endeavor. Please make sure you follow up with him and check out his blog once it is posted.

The idea is to tell a story in two parts. One from the side of Jesus as a youth and one side from Joseph. It is not our intent to defame or mock or disrespect. These are just interpretations. What would these men really have been like? What ifs. No more than that.

It has been taught to me that Jesus was born a baby and died a man. Little is known of his childhood in between. If he were indeed put on this earth and lived as a boy, I have always believed that he lived as any other child had before. He ran, he played, he laughed, and sang. He wrote is name in pee in the sand. He lived. Long before a Crucifixion, he lived just as a regular boy. That he was allowed a few years of peace to himself to live as a normal human being. He was praised, he was loved, he was stubborn, and he got into trouble form time to time. Just like any other boy. Even if her were not just any other ordinary boy. This is my side of his story.



***

I didn't do anything wrong. I can not believe this. Grounded for two weeks! I didn't do anything wrong. I can't believe father got so mad. It wasn't even my fault. Razeal dared me. It was just water. It didn't even work this time. All it turned into was grape juice. It wasn't even good grape juice!

So, now I am stuck in my room for two weeks. Two weeks! I can't even leave the room for my birthday. No honey and figs, either. Not fair. Mother always makes honey and figs for my birthday. This is so unfair. Who does he think he is my real father?

What am I supposed to do now? He left some papyrus so I can copy the Torah. Whoopie! Said when I was done to make a list of how what I did was wrong. I wasn't wrong! Mother came in and said to forgive him. He was just scared. "It's too soon, Jesus. They can not know yet. It isn't time. Your gifts are not toys. You are not a magician, you are the son of God." I know that! I just wanted to have some fun like all the other boys. Is that so wrong? Is that not allowed? I tried to ask my real dad and he wouldn't tell me squat. If I am supposed to figure this out on my own, this life thing, couldn't somebody let me know that I am doing it right sometimes?

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Day 1: I have spent the morning rubbing down the walls. I have been saving scraps of rock from the shop and have managed to get the wall next to the bed as smooth as silk. Three more to go. It would be alot easier if these rocks weren't so big and bulky. Maybe if I think really hard about it and pray, I can make them into thinner slices. Like a thick paper or something that would be easier to hold? Sandstone paper? Hey, people would probably buy that. Maybe tomorrow I can make some paint out of ground up hair and spit and watch it dry. That sounds like fun. I can watch the paint dry. Oh, joy.

Day 2: This sucks camel dung.

Day 4: The walls are done. My hands are on fire and bleeding. Now what?

Day 5: Razeal came to the window early this morning and handed me a bottle of water and laughed as he ran away. Why do I even hang out with that jerk? I need new friends. He never believes a thing I say and is constantly taunting me. Maybe later some locusts will "accidentally" fly up his tunic. I'm not going to do anything, I'm just saying. It could happen. Maybe one could fly up his butt.

Day 7: Tomorrow is my birthday. Woo hoo. I hate my birthday. Same old story year after year. Same stupid gifts year after year. What am I supposed to do with frankincense? I hate that stuff. It stinks. Myrrh gives me a rash and the gold goes straight to temple. I never get to buy anything I want. Would a new driedel be so selfish? Just a litle one, maybe with some lapis letters? Come one, my old one has a crack in it.

Still, I will smile and be thankful that King David did not chop my head off when I was a baby. I will be nice and say thank you and remember the kind inn keeper that allowed me to be born in his stable and say a blessing for him.

I will pretend that I don't see mother crying. I will pretend that I do not know what she is thinking as she peers at me and sobs.The wrinkle in her brow as she sits and thinks too hard about what is to come. But, I know she is counting down the years and wondering how many I have left. How long before I leave and never come back. I will smile and make her smile back. Make her forget, if just for a moment.

Like I am ok with it all. Like my duty, my destiny, does not scare me to death. Like I never lie awake at night and ask "Why me?" Like I asked for all of this myself.

Day 9: I slept most of yesterday. Mother came in quietly and left a plate of figs and honey. On my her favorite plate. It is the one that I made for her my first week of apprenticeship. They were the sweetest I have ever tasted. There was a note from Joseph under the figs:

Have you learned anything yet?

Day 10: I have learned not to let Razeal bother me anymore. I will stop blaming him when he is an ass. I will stop being his friend. I have learned that this is all his fault.

"Go ahead, Jesus. I dare you. I bet you can't do it. You're a liar! You're just the son of a carpenter."

"You jerk! I am not a liar."

"Hah, I told you that you couldn't do it."

"Oh, yeah. You think you could do any better? The only thing you can turn water into is urine. I bet you can't even do that right."

Joseph came up right after Razeal said that thing about my mother. Right as my fists curled into knots. He has no idea how lucky he is. How close he came. I have never seethed with so much rage.

"Love, Jesus! Love your enemy," Joseph said. "You will not achieve greatness with hatred in your heart. It is not what you are here to do. Love, Jesus. Love!" Evident ally, he has never spent much time with Razeal. I know now why some animals eat their young.

Day 12: I am more bored now than I could ever imagine. I have made many drawings. Birds, fish, apples on a plate, that pretty girl from the market. In that one you can see her ankles! Mother would have a fit!

I wish I had some nails to hang them on or something sticky to smear on the back so I could tack it to the wall. Hey, sticky backed papyrus. People would buy that.

Day 13: I still mad at Razeal. I'll show him, though. I will make new friends, ten of them. No, Twelve! See who will be laughing then when he has nobody to talk to or keep him from fondling the sheep.

Day 14: Last day of solitude!!!

Man, I will be so glad to get out of this room and breath clean air and drink water fresh from the well and eat fresh bread again.

Not to mention I really need to go relieve myself. What? I've been locked in a room for 14 days. I'm not going to soil my own floor. That is disgusting.

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As the door creaked open and Joseph's face peered in my anger left me. Poof! It was gone like a candle snuffed out. He came in and sat for a very long time on the chair by my bed. He sat still and silent.

I looked at him for a very long time. I had never noticed the lines in his face before. That his beard was nearly completely white. He looked so old and worried and sad.

It was that moment, that exact moment that I finally understood that he was mortal. I have lived my life with the stories of my real father, tales of eternal life, tales of what I must do for the world and for my heavenly father. I had neglected to notice my earthly one. I understood then. I saw it all right then and there. This man that sat before me was not like me. My destiny was decided for me, before I was born. He had a choice. He could have walked away and he made the choice to stay. To love me as his own and prepare me for my journey. As his son. I had never before thought of him in these ways. I had only noticed his rules, his orders, his decisions of what was best for me. I had never noticed before the fatherly love he had for me. How he must have hurt all these years seeing me grow and knowing that he could do nothing to save me from my fate. Trying to be brave and teach me when all he wanted to do was to save me and prevent me from being harmed. Knowing that the future of mankind was in his hands. Literally in his hands. The times he held me when I was hurt or sick or sad. Did her ever feel as though he had failed? Did he ever wonder if he was doing it right? All the years that I had felt the weight of the fate of the world on my shoulders, he felt that weight, too. All of all of that and more. The weight of me as well.

I began to weep as I have never wept before. With bitter shame and joy all at the same time. Why had I never seen this before? Why am I seeing it now? I grasped for breath as my body convulsed with sobbing and grief over the lessons that I had learned. I cried until all my strength was gone. I lay there flat on my stomach as what seemed like hours passed. I barely heard the creak of the chair as he rose. My strength was gone, my soul defeated. I could barely lift my head to watch as he left the room. In the chair sat the dreidel from the market.

Apologies: To all the men I've loved before......

This year I am going to try to be nicer. I will probably fail miserably, but I would like to take this time to drop a few apologies to some of the guys in my life. Mostly past, but a couple of current ones, too. No names, you will know who you are.......I am sorry. If you do not see an apology that suits your needs, I am sorry for that, too. I guess I forgot about you. Sorry.


I am sorry about that time I was a bitch to you that one time we had sex. I should have been nicer and told you the truth. You were fucking the side of my leg, the crease between my thigh and my vagina. Where the hip socket is. Essentially you were fucking the inside of my hip joint. There was no penetration. Also, that one thrust in my navel really hurt. I am not sorry for being mean about that.

I am sorry about that time I wouldn't fuck you on the roof of that movie theatre when I was thirteen. I should have realized back then that having your brother was standing fifteen feet away wasn't a valid excuse to turn you down when you wanted my virginity. Nor was the fact that we had no condoms and I wasn't on the pill.

I am sorry for getting drunk and having sex with you on your moms bathroom floor. It was terrible for both of us and ruined a lot of friendships. Plus, it was really, really bad.

I am sorry for kicking you in the nuts so many times when we were in elementary school. You were a jerk. You probaly still are. Still, I should have only kicked you a couple of times and not ten or twelve.

I am sorry that I faked all of those orgasms. The sex was pretty good, just not orgasmic. I will always think of fucking you when I hear Nirvana's Lithium if that helps any.

I am sorry that I made you kiss me. I was too needy and clingy and was trying to grow up too fast. The only memory I have now of my first kiss is of making you do it and since I really didn't even like you one single bit, that really blows.

Sorry for telling everyone you were gay. You were gay, but sorry for telling everyone. It wasn't my place.

Sorry for calling you a nerd everyday in school and constantly insulting you. I was projecting my feelings of insecurity onto you. You didn't deserve it and I sincerly apologize. I think of you when I see that scene in The Wedding Singer and hope someday I can apologize in person so you can cross me off your list of people to kill that ruined your life. I ran into your sister a few years ago. She told me not to feel too bad because you were and still are a loser. Still, I feel bad.

Sorry about that time I made fun of you and made you mad at that club. You were trying to mosh, though. You were the only one on the floor at the time. You can not mosh alone. Throwing yourself against a pole repeatedly does not constitute solitary moshing. It is a sign of mental imbalance and a cry for attention. You looked like a fucking idiot. Even all these years later, I laugh when I think about you doing that. Still, I shouldn't have made fun of you. That was mean.

I am sorry I wasn't there for you when you died. I am sorry your life sucked so damn bad. You deserved more. You were hard to be friends with. You were the biggest (and biggest hearted ) queen I have ever known. You lied all the time, though. You didn't have to do that. I loved you for you, you didn't have to impress me. If you thought for one second anyone believed that you fathered twins, you were a fucking fool. I am not that great at math, but you don't conceive and deliver twins at seven pounds a piece in under seven months. Still, I loved you. I wish we had not lost touch. I wish I didn't have to find out you died six months after the fact. I wish I had been there to hold your hand and tell you I loved you one last time. I hope that God has a few gay angels up there. You deserve to have the peace and happiness you couldn't find on this earth. You looked terrible in drag. You looked like your mother. Sorry.

I am sorry that I never punched you in the throat. You fucking deserved it. Man you fucking deserved to be set on fire in your fucking sleep.

I am sorry that I treated you so badly when you were there for me when I needed you most. I was alone, pregnant and scared when you came over. You came running when I called you, even though we hadn't spoken in a year. I was miserable and trying to sort out my life and grow up, you were still partying and drinking like a fiend. I came down hard on you. I am sorry. I miss your friendship everyday. I am not sorry that I called your house so many times and left all those crazy apology messages. I am sorry that you couldn't be man enough to accept them. I am sorry that you couldn't even call me to tell me to fuck off. I am sorry you are so insecure that you feel the need to give your friends ultimatums about talking to me. I am sorry you make them choose you or me. I am sorry you are that petty. I wish you much happiness and I will cherish our friendship always as one of the most important ones of my life. I miss watching really bad porn with you.

I am sorry that I called you a bastard. Your dad is still alive. I should have called you an asshole.

I am sorry that I never supported your music. I am sorry, but I thought that most of it sucked.

I am sorry that I never told you how much I loved you. I thought you were the one. I never told you how much it hurt when you chose her over me. I know you are happy now and I am and always have been happy for you both. I am sorry that I never said thank you. I know you knew how I felt. You didn't feel the same and you did the best you could not to hurt me. I will always love you for that. You're still one of my favorite people in the world. I will post that story here for you soon. I will dedicate it to you.

I am sorry that I added you as a friend. I was trying to be nice. You seem like a nice guy, really. But, your profile is lame and you have left stupid comments. You really don't know me, nor I you. It is nothing personal. Really. Glitter should be used as sarcasm, not sincerity. I am truly sorry, but you are not welcome for the add.

I am sorry that you want to have sex later after you are done playing World of Warcraft. I shouldn't have asked you to smell my tits after I got out of the shower, I just wanted to see if you would like my new peppermint 3 in one wash from Bath & Body Works. It ain't happening.

Why I hate Whole Foods or why I am not a good person

Ever feel like you are stuck in a Fellini movie? Yeah, well that was me about 30 minutes ago. There was a cup, a chicken, a ballerina with one hand, and me standing in the middle of the Whole Foods market wondering what the fuck I was doing there.

Eh, you get what I mean.

My Adventures with Whole Foods or Why I am not a good person

First off, I do not actually hate Whole Foods (to be further referenced as WF so I don't have to keep typing it out. Although, since I am taking the time to announce that I am abbreviating, I probably won't even bother using it. I always do that). I like that it gives the upper middle class and snotty rich people an option other than Walmart or the average other chain grocery store to shop in. Oh, and the vegans and the pretentious college students trying to be cooler than you.

I have nothing against vegetarians, seriously. I know a few that are down right cool and I respect the varying reasons that they have for not eating meat. Health, political, etc, etc.... (I still don't get the cheese thing, sorry. I understand the logic behind it, but how can you not eat cheese?). This is not about them. One of my oldest friends, Leif, is a non-meat eater. He's good people. So are some of my friends here. I guess it is the Louisiana crap that I grew up around. These people down here will eat anything. Rats, chicken feet, intestines, pickled pig "fill in the blank."

This is about WF (hey, look I used the abbreviation!) and the wonky ass shit they sell and the crazy ass prices. What the hell?

1. No cheese should cost more per half pound than I make and hour.
2. Cornflakes should actually have CORN in them.
3. Someone should warn you that the section with the hummus in it is supposed to smell like that. I actually sniffed myself to see if it was me. Not cool WF, not cool.

So, the main reason I went is because its been a while and I was passing it as I left Barnes & Noble. I picked up the new Michael Connelly, one of the Dexter novels by Jeff Lindsay, part two of a new series by a writer I just discovered, and a copy of Children of Men by PD James. It is coming to theaters soon and when I saw the trailer it looked awesome. Thus, I new the book had to be better, right? Plus, I like to read and I like to pick apart movies that were based on books. Also, I like to find new writers to read while my favorite authors are busy writing the stuff I really want to read. In case you were curious, Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil was one of the best books ever and one of the worst movies ever. Period.

Anyway, I digress.

WF, yeah.. that's what I was talking about. At WF (check me out, I am still using it) I saw a guy stock up on non-chicken chicken broth, noticed that every single box of cereal had animals on them ( but are not actually made of koalas), and that you can buy refried bean powder and add water to make your own refried beans. For about five times as much as the canned kind. This is stupid.

My favorite part of WF is the flower section. I have worked in flower shops for damn near four years, we never had flowers this nice. We had really pretty flowers, don't get me wrong, but nothing compared to these. And, they were actually reasonably priced. There were some beautiful ginger and freesia that I didn't have the money to buy :(

Oh, my other favorite part of WF (are you still reading this? You do know that this is a stupid thing to blog about, right? I didn't have my camera, so there aren't any pictures....I'm just letting you know) is the produce department.

Wow. The colors, the textures, the exotic things that I have never heard of.... I love walking through the produce section. Even if I know that I am not buying squat. No way in hell I am paying $1.99 a pound for apples that I can got to the local produce stand and get for $.79 a pound. No fucking way. So, I walk through and I "browse."

There I see:
1. Some fruit that I can not pronounce that is $19.99 for a single piece. I better freaking orgasm if I buy and eat a fruit that cost twenty bucks.
2. Cauliflower for $7.99 a pound.
3. WTF?????

So, as I am trying to not look like a freaking tourist in my own city (or former city) I devise a plan. If asked if I need something (because eventually someone will notice my blank stare and wrinkled brow) I will ask "Do you have any MEYER lemons?" That way, I will look fancy. Plus, I already checked and they don't have any (what the hell? how can WF not have meyer lemons?) and I will get to say "Oh. Well then" and walk away like the other snooty lady did when they didn't have what she wanted.

So to recap, this is what I learned/ thought today at WF:
1. Everything is organic.
2. Organic means you pay four to five times as much.
3. Nothing is made of what it should be. No corn in cornflakes, no oatmeal in the oatmeal cookies, no meat in the hot dogs.
4. Tea that costs $14.99 for 10 bags is staying its ass on the freaking shelf.
5. The older the cheese, the more likely that it will cost you roughly what you are paying in rent for a pound.
6. No American beer. (except local brewery stuff that blows)
7. Japanese people stay thin because they eat things that are gross. My theory is that they can only handle a few bites and then have to stop eating. Because it is gross.
8. I now know where to buy canned octopus, should the need ever arise.
9. Not alot of fat people shopping at WF. Just me.
10. I am willing to try tofurkey slices, but not at $3.99 a pack when it has four times the fat at double the cost of what I buy now.
11. I am not coming here again unless I want some cool flowers.
12. I like meat.
13. I wonder if they can smell the Walmart on me?
14. Am I allowed to shop here? I never technically finished college.
15. I don't recognize any of these people. Am I in the Twilight Zone?
16. Salt flavored toothpaste? Fight gum disease and raise your blood pressure at the same time.
17. Why all the flakes? Rice flakes, vegetable flakes, potato flakes, bread flakes....wait, aren't those called crumbs? Are people really buying crumbs?
18. I do not belong here.
19. Where is the potted meat?
20. Damn, that deli section smells awesome. Wow, that open bar looks good.....

Oh, and tofu! My god, the tofu section.

I tried tofu a few years back. It was the plain, regular kind. I came to this conclusion:

Tofu does not exist. It is a figment of your imagination. It is not food. It is not real. It does not make you a better person if you force yourself to eat it. It is cosmically vapid and shallow. It is the black hole of the food industry. It is a conspiracy. It is pure marketing strategy. It is creamy Styrofoam in fancy packaging. It is not real, people. Even if it says it is baked, lemon peppered, Chinese spiced, or smoked. It is not real.

So, I bought a couple of things:
1. Malt vinegar
2. A beer. Strawberry Blonde ale.
3. Ume plum vinegar.

I didn't notice until after opening the plum vinegar that it has 1040 milligrams of sodium per tsp. Also, that whole "plum" flavored thing? It tastes like soy sauce that sat next to a plum on a shelf. $1.99 wasted.


Fin

Bad Sex

Here were a few stories that came up that I thought I had forgotten about. Damn, you memory!! Damn you straight to heck.


1. Lets call this guy Tiny. Tiny was a guy that I had sex with the first night I met him. We drank some booze and smoked some weed and then had sex. I blamed it on being drunk and stoned, but I wasn't. I was lonely and horny. There. The truth comes out.

I am a fat chick, this is no secret. Tiny was a fat dude. This was also no secret. He was one of those fat dudes that you give a nickname to for the purpose of mocking his size. Why don't those guys ever hate that? They seem to dig it. If one of my friends tried to affectionately refer to me as "thunder thighs" that bitch would be missing a good chuck of her hair and teeth.

But, back to the story. So, things get heavy and lukewarm or whatever and he says he has to go to the store for condoms. Guys like him usually have no chance of getting laid, so condoms aren't really needed around the house. So, he leaves the trailer.....(I could stop here now. I really could.)...... and comes back a few minutes later.

What happens in the next six minutes or so is burned in my brain forever. Bad Sex.

Fellas, here is a tip. If you push a woman's knees up to her chest, don't force all of your bulk down on her thighs to spread them apart to splay them out on the bed. We are not dead chickens. You are not trying to cut us up for shake and baking (at least I hope not). Dislocating a woman's thighs from the hip socket, thus rendering her unable to walk for two days, does not bring about orgasm. This is called pain. When I tell you to stop it, I expect you (even stoned and drunk) to have more than a five second span of memory to fit that in. Stop it means stop it NOW! Not wait a minute and see if she likes it later.

Bad sex. Bad. A totally bad sex.

2. If you can't find the hole and you hit the anus then STOP. Don't just say "Fuck it. It's pretty much the same thing."

No, it isn't.

3. My tits aren't light bulbs. Twisting them will not turn them on. Or me for that matter. Twisting them harder will not make light shine forth from my nipples. If I have to physically hit you in the face during sex to make you stop doing something, we should see other people. Stop means fucking stop.

4. If you really loved me, you wouldn't have to be explained to why I do not want to give you head in the driveway of my grandmother's house. Breaking up with me on Valentine's Day? Fuck you. (I have forgiven this guy and we are still friends. He still apologizes for this to this day and says I was the one that got away. We laugh about it now, but back then I was pissed).

5. I understand that the epi-lady only hurts when there is hair in an area to pull out. I do not understand why you felt the need to ask if you could borrow it to masturbate with. No, you can have it. I don't want it anymore.

Also, vapor rub on the vagina in 30 degree weather...not such a good idea was it fuckface? Trying to wash it off with hot water burned only slightly less than trying to wash it off with cold water.

6. No. It doesn't happen to all guys. It really doesn't.

7. No. You can not fuck my best friend while I watch. Quit bringing it up in the middle of sex. Big turn off.

8. The three way seemed like a good idea at the time. (Shit. I totally forgot until this moment that I ever did this!). Two guys. Hell yes!

Only, hell no. You started and then left the room for me to finish screwing your friend, whom I did not even like. So you could go call my best friend and try to get with her. You could have just told me you didn't like me. Pawning me off on your friend was wrong. It was creepy and gross. You were really bad, too. Limp as a wet noodle. I hear you were like that with a lot of girls.

Sad thing is, I dated your friend after that. Shit, I really was fucked up back then. He loved me, though. I give him credit for that. He could take a sweater off and you wouldn't even notice, but he loved me. Until the blowjob/ driveway thing anyway.

9. Your penis was weird. Really, really weird. It should not taper like that. I am sorry I lied to you to spare your feelings. It should not be an inch thicker at the bottom and narrow up. It was kinda like a sharpened pencil. Only nowhere near as hard. Didn't matter though. It was over so fast.

10. It was the side of my leg. I repeat THE SIDE OF MY LEG!! When I tell you that you are not "in" I mean that you are not in. This doesn't mean to thrust harder. You were fucking my leg. No matter how hard you thrust, it was still my leg.

Free Hugs

At first I thought it was crazy, but then it really made me smile and think. The world would be such a better place if there were more people like this, spreading love for no other reason than to make strangers happy and make friends out of strangers. I wondered while I watched this how many people took advantage of this because they were so lonely and desperate for human connection. I wonder how this one hug may have touched and changed their lives or even saved a life, perhaps.

All too often we as human beings, myself more often than I care to admit, fail to see past our own troubles and recognize needs and pain in others. As I watched this video, I wondered what it would be like to change places with this guy and whether or not I was capable of letting myself do such a thing. Part of me would like to say yes, but the greater part of me knows the truth. I would never allow myself to reach out like this and trust complete strangers. I am too cynical for that. That makes me sad beyond measure to say, but it is true.

That I am incapable of such uninhibited joy and zest for life tells me that I am not the person that I was when I was in middle school. The person that waited her turn when the teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. That idealistic (and perhaps a touch jaded) girl that said "Happy. I just want to be happy when I grow up."

Jessica is that person, though. I have always been jealous of her for that and I have always loved her for it, too. I wish there were more people like her in the world as well. She stated that this made her cry and I can see that. It is beautiful in its simplicit message.

This morning I saw a rainbow on my way to work. No matter how crappy or depressed I feel, I simply can not resist a huge smile when I see a rainbow. Seriously, I get this warm fuzzy feeling, huge smile, and look of sheer childhood joy in my face when I see one.

Yes, me. I know that may be hard for some of you to get, but it is the truth.

I hope you guys stop to watch this and get some sort of good feeling or message from it. Anyway, here it is. Here is Jessica's link, too. She's loads of fun and I love her dearly. You simply can't get to know Jessie and not become a better person for it.

No one gives a fuck what I think.

I think that you’re a cunt.

I think that you are only a peppy and happy person because you are stupid and blind to the way the world really works. I think you are nice, but you are so damn stupid. So stupid.

I think that you are weak and that your efforts to please other people so that they will like you is going to blow up in your face when they stab you in the back and you get your feelings hurt. I really pity you and feel sorry for you that you aren’t smart enough to realize that.

I think you will never find what you are looking for because you are supremely immature and you will never be confident enough for the type of person you seek to be attracted to you.

I think you both are the best each other can do. I hope that is enough.

I think that I could use a drink.

I think that I am deeper than you.

I wish I could be you. I admire you so much, you and the walls you have built around yourself.

I think you are too selfish and materialistic to be the kind of mother your children need. I think that you do the bare minimum on the important things, like teaching right from wrong. I hate listening to you yelling at people on the phone to get your way. Grow the fuck up. I hate your "It’s all about me and what I want" way of living your life. You’re young. If you don’t change your ways you are going to have a really, really hard and painful life.

I think about you and that night in the bar alot and I feel guilty because I wanted to and you wanted to and you felt guilty about that and I didn’t. I am glad we didn’t, though. Really, really, really glad we didn’t. You deserve better than that.

I think that I am a lousy mother, because my child annoys the crap out of me. A lot. I am trying to be more patient, but fuck. I am afraid that she is going to grow up to be shallow and value beauty over brains and that scares the shit out of me. I try to remind myself that it took 34 years for me to get to my level and that she isn’t going to get there at8.

I think that you shouldn’t have done that. Not even for your son.

I think about getting in the car and just driving and driving and driving. And I think about finding you and running over you.

I think that I need to get back into gear and start walking again now that I am better.

I think that you are crazy. Batshit fucking crazy and I am convinced that you are lying about how you look on the internet and you are really, really fat in real life.

I think that the people who read this will guess on which of these may be about them and 99% of them will be wrong, wrong, wrong.

I think that I will probably die alone or I will die surrounded by family that will be in the act of annoying the shit out of me at the moment of my death.

I try not to think about death.

I think that most actors are really, really over rated and I am so sick of all the skinny pretty men and women that are in every single movie out right now. I miss men that looked like real men and not just really tall girl-boys.

I think Buck Angel is sexy as fucking hell and I don’t give a fuck what you think about that. I would totally fuck him. Totally.

I think that you need fashion counselling. You evidentally have no idea how fat you are, otherwise you would never wear the shit that you do.

I think you stink and I hate the way you smell.

I think that if you win the presidential election, you will be killed.

I think that quilting may not be as easy as I thought it would be. This rotary cutter thing is not as easy as it looks.

I think I want another kid? Maybe??

I think about how old I am getting all the time and I wish I could quit feeling like I am over the hill. I wish I could figure out how to feel young without doing the boozing and partying scene.

I think you might exsist, but I doubt that you notice that I do.

I think you need to shut up, because you look like a fool.

I think you should relax and trust him. I want you to be happy. You deserve it. I think you would be a great mom, too.

I think that politics are boring.

I think that I would let go of it, but I really have nothing better to do.

I think that sex is overrated.

I think that I may benefit from being medicated, but I don’t want to be. I may not be happy, but as long as I’m not miserable I can make do.

I think that you are the best thing to ever happen to me.

I don’t think that I am the best thing to ever happen to you, though.

I think sometimes you should get your feelings hurt. If it teaches you a lesson, then you probably shoud have learned it by now.

I think I am sorry. Check back with me later on that.

I think that time spent placing blame is time wasted. A wise man once taught me that. I always wished he could be my dad. He gives the best advice. I miss you, Hank.

I think that you dress very, very stylish. For 1987.

I think you are stupid if you think your husband isn’t gay anymore. All his groomsmen were ex-boyfriends. They threw his bachelor party. I know what happened there, too. You’re an idiot.

I think winning the lottery would be the best and worst thing that could happen to us.

I think you will never amount to anything.

I think you’re smarter than you know.

I think you’re husband is a complete and utter stupid asshole. You could do so fucking much better.

I think your breast implants are waaaaaaaaaaaay too big. And I wish that we were closer. We loved each other so much when we were little.

I think at least one of my brothers is gay.

I think that you guys are really cool and I had fun hanging out with you. I wish we could do that again, but when I am around you or I think about hanging with you again I feel like I am in sixth grade again and I am so insecure and scared that you guys are just setting me up to laugh at me because you don’t like me and don’t think I am as cool as you.

I think its time for another craft blog, but I need ideas.

I think I have run out of thoughts for one night.