Fok Julle Naaiers

Monday: I feel like I need to write but I don't know what about. This is how I start. If I start from "I don't know" I can usually find a destination. I'm tired. I'm always tired. I will sleep 14 hours in a row if given the opportunity. And still be tired. It's my rock-n-roll lifestyle. Guh.

There's a tree in my living room. A god damn christmas tree. If I weren't so lazy I'd show you a picture of it. It's white. Sunday. I made a pot roast. POT ROAST. Goat cheese & sage mashed potatoes. And polenta. Allen made cookies.

I think we're going Kindle for xmas. Why not? Maybe it's the tv commercials that are pushing us that direction. Whatever, white people.

I've got stuff to think about. A lot of stuff. I tend not to think about anything and that could be dangerous for my future health. I already have a bad memory. Alzheimer's, here I come! The problem is, the stuff I need to think about isn't stuff I can write about here. It's "personal", it's "private". But it's the usual stuff: life, love, friendship.

I spend a shitastic amount of time on Tumblr these days, dodging the porn tumblrs I follow (ack! giant cock! ack! women showing off their assholes!), looking for images that inspire me. Maybe it's helping me develop... something. Interest in things? An artistic vision? No. It's mostly reminding me of what it felt like to be a teenager. But they are strangely fond feelings. Maybe because it was the last time I had my own personality. Or something.

I do love being overly dramatic.

Tuesday: Still tired. Twitter's giving me the whale and I've got something VERY IMPORTANT TO SAY!

Ok. I seem to have drowned myself in some gross Michael Kors parfum this morning. Free samps - you never know what you'll get.

This song is taking over my life! And the funny thing is, I find it kind of offensive (really, dropping "faggot" and repeating "I'll fuck you til you love me?" C'mon!) but I can't stop listening to it!


FOK JULLE NAAIERS from Die Antwoord on Vimeo.

Ohmygod! I was just making coffee in el jefe's office and nearly broke all the cups! That would have seriously made me feel like an asshole! Nothing broke. I may have chipped one of the cups, though. Shhh! Don't tell!

Folks are already posting their top 10 songs of 2011 on this blog. It was started at the end of last year by Justin so some sweet dudes could share some sweet music. I'm not even sure I've listened to anything new this year. I've totally fallen off when it comes to music. I think the "old" is setting in! Except for that monstrous song above... Naw, I've got something, enough to come up with 10 songs, anyway, but I think it may be a lot different than last year's mix. 

I've got some tumblring to catch up on!

It's After 2am on Monday, er, Tuesday

Thank god it's a holiday week, huh? Praise him with great praise. I tried to sleep but I was too cold and couldn't concentrate enough to fall asleep.

Ed (aka "El Jefe") has a one way ticket to Dallas tomorrow and Beth said she "might" be in late afternoon so I's gots nothin' to worry about workwise. Other than waking up in the morning.

I'm f'in tired but I just can't sleep. There's a lot going wrong right now. Things were going ok, even heading in the "right" direction a little while ago but now I'm slippin' slippin' into the same old patterns. Drinking too much. Smoking way too much. Getting fat again. I'm really starting to hate the holidays.

I feel like the happy pills aren't working as well as they were when I first started taking them. That's bumming me out. Really, I can't be expected to talk about things! Dear god.

Ok, that's twice that I've mentioned the big man and I don't mean Clarence Clemons. RIP.

I'm losing it.

OK. I admit it. I've been thinking about my dead father a lot recently and wondering about how I'm going to deal with my mother dying. It's a holiday thing. I always get like this at this time of year. Death. Yeah, I feel guilty about not seeing my mother but I don't know what the point is. I saw her, what?, 2 or was it 3 years ago? and she was so childlike and strange. She was like a "patient" and not like "my mother"... She's not there any more.

And I'm scared to death that I'll end up like her. Though I expect I'll be more like my father. Even though I know I'm a curious blend of the two. A creature made up of the weakest parts of both of them: a senile drunk.

It's that kind of cold, that wet cold, that gets deep into your bones. Because it's 44° (aka 7°) which isn't that cold, but it's that kind of cold.

And it's all about the holidays that I'm feeling blue. It's every year. Thanksgiving used to be my favourite holiday, now I can barely stand the thought of that 5-6 hour drive across the state, into Maryland and Delaware, where the "family" is. The family that isn't what it used to be. I look forward to seeing people in Philly, my real family, whether they know it or not, not the blood relatives or in-laws.

She was... and it's always her, never him, though he was always the "elephant in the room" so to speak... she was so... she persevered. She did what she thought was best. But what she thought was best was always way off the mark. Sadly, I think I respect my father more. I think I understood him more. And I talk about her as if she were already gone. But she is. She's this tiny creature with strangely beady eyes, like an animal. I think she always was. Always living like an animal... How can I say that? Because I observed it.

And my brother, saying "she stayed with him"?!?! Does he even have any idea? Yes, she did stay. But what she went through...

What she put us through...

She didn't know any better.

That's what hurts. SHE DIDN'T KNOW BETTER.

Yet she deserved better.

Always with the Tumblr!

I'm spending the morning following and reblogging 20 year-olds on Tumblr. Love it. I wish Tumblr had been around when I was 13 - 22. I guess it's fine since I still feel/act like I'm somewhere in that age category. Can you say emotionally stunted?

I still need to finish watching Paranormal Activity part deuce which I started watching yesterday but unfortunately I have to go out to lunch with my co-workers because one of them is having a 60th birthday. I can barely contain my joy. Two to three hours of hell awaits! (I love everyone.)

There's a baby in this one.

And it's not like I was asked if I wanted to go to this lunch, it was just like, "this is what we're doing" and how the hell do you get out of that? And of course I wouldn't do it if given a choice. Oh, and here's my favorite sentence from a review of the place we'll be eating at shortly: "The interior is as uninspired as the decor: imagine gynecological office with doilies." Yay! And clearly a man wrote that, "gynecological office"?

Ugh. Getting back into this is harder than I thought it would be... I made beef stew Sunday. With actual beef in it, first time ever. Needs more salt.

Ohmahgod. Students in teh hallway are talking about having an ugly sweater holiday party. What has the world come to? When that is an actual thing now that people actually do? Fie.

I am going through something rough, which I hinted at in the last post, which is kinda shutting me down and sending me into some weird survival, fight-or-flight, head space. Never get out of the boat, that's all I'm saying. Allen wants me to talk about it but I can't, I'm too distraught and ashamed. "You've been acting like this for days," he said last night. Oh, well. I've just got a lot on my mind. And the cramps aren't helping.

I should get back to tumblring...

Oh, Little Girl, Pick Up the Pieces...

You learn to live without...

I have only just begun to drink so this is going to get much more pathetic as the night goes on. This song is destroying me right now:

I always think, "this time it will be different". It's never different and it always hurts. I wouldn't let myself cry yesterday but things are different tonight. I didn't think there would be much to mourn considering the circumstances but that's exactly what I'm doing. I've reached the second stage of grief. Anger. Actually, I went there first because there's never any reason to deny what's happening when it happens and I'm always so quick to walk away. And it's not like anyone ever regrets that I do.

This wasn't supposed to be a pity party but I think that's what I need right now. He said, "don't take it all on yourself," but how can I not? I know how I am. But he's right and you can't control what other people think about you. You do your best and that's all you can do. So no matter how much you want something maybe the other person doesn't want it as much. And no one's to blame for that.

Thanksgiving

I'm in a fucking snit about Thanksgiving. I'm completely uninterested in participating because participating means cringing at very questionable beliefs about various races and sexual identities while all the time keeping my mouth shut and trying not to laugh outloud about my relatives love of the sweet baby Jesus. And last year, at my brother's house, Allen overheard something that at the time I blew off but which has since been really bothering me. It doesn't matter what it was, it was just completely outrageous.

And that's just my family. Without going into too much detail this is Allen's: Tension, Television, Abusive outbursts, Multiple poorly-trained large dogs, Depression. But things are probably different now since "Hoppy" had his stroke. But different how? It's the fear of the unknown that makes me want to cry at the very thought of going there.

I want to see Kenny and Chris so hopefully that will happen. Which reminds me, I need to see if we can get a room at the lovely Best Western across the street from the College. That was the best part of the trip last time, apart from going to Perkins in Newark for breakfast and seeing friends in Philly.

It's just a depressing fucking holiday. Almost as bad as Xmas. :-)

Jeez, I totally hit the Publish button when I meant to hit Preview.

Doesn't matter. But I had something else to say but I forgot what it was...

Oh. I'm going to get fucking whiskey drunk tonight. Cos I've had a rough week. :-( We'll see how that goes.

Check this out: http://www.well.com/~art/suicidenotes.html It's a pretty cool page of delicious suicide notes.

Back to the Blog: Attempt Two

Sometimes I think something's wrong with me, like "my heart feels funny", or "why am I feeling sad and hateful and paranoid", or "why am I seeing things that aren't there?" and then I realize, oh, you've been drinking Monster energy drink, you have PMS, you're fucking tired. 

All of that is happening right now. Ack!

But I'm also S-O-B-E-R so coming up with something to write is extry hard. So let's just do what I do best and stream-of-consciousness this bitch.

Just now I did an image search for "extry" and came across a photo of a banana that had monkeys drawn on it. I don't know. So I had to pause to put it on the tumblr. And then I was looking at my dash and thought, one can only stand so much porn some days. Today is such a day. It's like, yeah, yeah, keep licking that clit. Whatever. 

Forgive my vulgarity. Stream-of-consciousness, however. 

Pulled out an old book, Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, then I remembered "Morning Pages" and got depressed. I'm not a morning person. And she never defines how big the pages should be, just that you should write three of them. Are we talking 8.5 x 11 or 5 x 7? 3 x 5? Right now I'm rockin the 8.5 x 11 size notebook soooo that's a lot of writing. Maybe I should use crayons? 

And what's the deal with Facebook? (Did you like my Seinfeld?) What is this "Top Story" bullshit? That is all kinds of annoying. 

Ohmygod! Does anyone remember that tooth fairy horror movie? What was it called? The one where the big dramatic line is "I see you, bitch!" 

Are you fucking kidding me?! In the theater we saw this! It was so terrible we snuck into a showing of Gangs of New York to cleanse our palates. 

But I digress... A doy.

I've been wanting to get back into this nonsense for a couple of weeks now. The problem is I don't know how to begin. It's not that I don't have anything to say, I'm just shy about it. So maybe I won't advertise.

I don't feel like there's much going on. I just came back from New Orleans a week ago. Thanksgiving is coming up very soon. But I've never written much about daily life unless I can make it at least seem amusing. Like a year ago when I was still new at my job and thought about lying on the floor of my office every afternoon. A lot has changed in a year. In that time I have toyed with talking to strangers on the interweb which proved to be a failure on almost every front with one, maybe two, meaningful exceptions.

In my experimentation I learned that people are just fucking weird. They're even weirder when they think they have the "protection" of the webz. Whereas I can just be "bleh!" and spew anything personal without care (a lesson hard-learned and hard-earned), other people are strangely closed off and impersonal but more than ecstatic to share their inane opinions. Or pictures of their cocks. But I want to know people, not opinions and not (particularly) the pictures and stories of the women they've fucked with the aforementioned cock. I wanted to know why you fucked them, what drives this compulsion to fuck them. But that's too real.  

And I think it's precisely because of my history, my past, that I want openness instead of secrets and mystery, light instead of darkness. Maybe it's because I like personalities more than opinions. What are your thoughts, your dreams, your fears, your fantasies? Your history? I dare you to shock me, surprise me. Tell me your story. Because we all have stories and they are usually full of disappointment and anger and hurt and betrayal. Because we are human. But because we are also barely removed from animals.

Your darkest secret, your darkest thought, isn't that dark, I swear. I know what it's like to want to hurt and be hurt and abuse and kill and destroy. (And to be someone else.) I know what it's like to try and one-up other people with tales of suicidality. And I also know about the boring aftermath. Of being locked up together playing card games and footsie under the table. Because it's truly rare to want to actually be dead. Self-preservation is a bitch of an instinct.

Oh, but what is this if not an opinion piece?

Ay(e), there's the rub.