Aaaghhhhgrrrr...

Lured into it again. Posting the truth on ACF, which I didn't really want to do, and sure enough, I got one guy doing that "holier than thou" thing. It's never a shock. I'm only suprised that more haven't done it. Every fucking time. I posted it because people wanted my insight, and now some dickhead is using it to get his "moral" rocks off.

If he keeps it up, I'm gonna go there. That's why I hate pouring my heart out on ACF. That's why I love this blog so much. *huggles this page again*

Oh, and now I know for sure, I'm not being irrationally pissy. It's the boy. He's being irrationally pissing me OFF the past few days. I've been in a decent mood, all day.

Well, fucking aye. I would have a nice juicy semi-daily "Remote" posting, here, but seems that when I was talking with a friend, MY SON LOCKED MY KEYS IN THE FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING CAR. Along with the notebook, purse, etc... *VENTVENTVENTVENTVENT* Lucky for me, though, she hadn't pulled away just yet, and I got a ride home. My vehicle is still at the school. GRR. He's sitting in his room, punished, for the day, all privileges stripped.

Now, he's a good boy, and an honest one, which I value. I asked him WTF was he THINKING, when he locked the doors!? (as all parents are apt to do) He said, and I quote "I wasn't in the mood to go home, I figured we could stay here" Inside I had to chuckle. Outside I freaked out...YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE??!?!?!? He did, oh yeah. He thought we'd just hang out there at the playground, till someone rescued us. (Did I mention, it's raining...) And here's me thinking it was some kind of bizarre accident...I should have known better...he is my kid, after all. He's less clutzy, and more conniving than he lets on.

Ever just wake up irrationally pissy? Yeah, me too. In fact, today is one of those days. I was shocked awake, unlike my normal gentle phone call. That did it, I think. That, and the boy not running on schedule. God, It pisses me off so bad in the morning. He gets his shit together so well, then 5 minutes before it's time to go, his IQ plummets to below 70, and he becomes borderline functional.

"Where's your bag?"
"Ummmm..."
"GO FIND IT nownownow!"
*stare*
"GOOOOOO"

He made it to school on time, barely...so, I'm calming down now, but GRRR.

Ah, this is a test of the emergency bloggar tool dealy, see if it works. TESTES TESTES ONE TWO THREE

So, webcams. I don't want one. Ever. I hate being looked at. I don't really like showing online folks my picture, either. It's not because I think I'm ugly, I don't, more on that later.

If you need to know what I look like, to decide if you want to be my friend or not, then I don't want to know you. Online, my mind is my personality. You can't see the way I walk, or hear the way I talk, truly. You can't see my gestures or the way I narrow my eyes. It's all about my mind, the purest form of me. If what I offer isn't enough, and you must insist that you see the face, then I know where your interests lie, and I can feel how shallow you are. I have no qualms showing my picture to well established friends, especially if they don't ask. I do like seeing people's faces as much as anyone, and it's nice to finally associate a personality with a face, but it's soooo not necessary.

My most longterm, possibly best eFriend, Greg, I would say he knows more about me than anyone besides my husband, he and I have never once exchanged pictures. I couldn't pick him out of a lineup, ditto for him not seeing me. We simply don't need it.

I'm not ugly. I'm interesting looking, and I don't know anyone that looks quite like me. I'm fine with my self esteem, and all that. I had to really analyze that, because I thought I might be afraid of showing people what I look like. Not that at all. Plenty of people have seen me, but it's who I choose.

It boils down to I am not the person you see in the picture. I am the person that is typing these words. If the picture means that much, than the words obviously don't. If you're too lazy to know me, a picture won't help you, it'll just objectify me.

Plus, I hear webcams steal your soul.

No self control, I have. Going back to AC, starting fresh on FF. I'm still debating whether to delete Eye, totally, so I'm not tempted to slip back into the old groove on WE.

I'm not expecting anything different, nothing new or mindblowing. I just wish for a timekiller, and AC was it, for me.

Aha, "he's hot" just came to me.

There are a few different variations of hot. There's like movie star, art, the statue of David "hot" that when I admire, I look at the person like they really are a piece of art. Pretty. Rare. Distant. No touchy, and I wouldn't want to. Johnny Depp is art-hot. I could stare at him all day. Purely physical beauty.

Then, there's hot, like HOT, like totally do-able. These types show up in every day, like the guy you see on line at the grocery store, or the guy laying shingles on the roof next door. I have unique ideas about what characteristics makes a guy "hot" Most people are floored by who I drool over. Generally personality or the way they carry themselves figure in more than actual looks. I want to give examples, but I'm racking my brain for someone famous, and I'm coming up with nil. Maybe Pete Steel. He's a fucking animal. Lots of people think he's ugly. I don't get it. My piercing guy, Turin. No one but me seems to think he's attractive. I don't get it.

For every stupid piece of insulation that I have to staple into the roof rafters, and stupid nail I smash into, trying to contort up there, I realize I'm one baby step closer to living in my new house. It makes a thoroughly shitty job a bit more bearable. I just wish I didn't have a fucking hangover. Every time I hop off the ladder *woooosh* the world does a carwheel and I gotta cling to my own knees, to keep from falling off. Oh, and I stink. It's hot up there. I smell like what garbage would smell like, in hell. Blaaagh, thank gods we ran out of staples, otherwise I'd still be up there. Home Depot isn't far. He'll be back soon, then back up in the hole.

Oh, and no more drinking for Lili. THIS TIME I MEAN IT, goddammit.


Hehe, that reminds me of when I was talking to Opti on the phone, a while back, and did a shot, almost vomited, said "agh that sucked, no more" giggled, and took a shot 5 minutes later. I'm such a masochist.

Not a lot of time, for musing and writing today. One thing that I've been stewing about for 5 or so minutes, though:

Why don't guys take girls all that serious, when it comes to music? Someone made a comment last night to the effect of "Oh you just like that guy because you think he's cute" regarding one of my favorite artists. Heh, I liked him long before I ever saw his picture (he is attractive, but that's got no bearing on his musical talent).

Why can't I be serious about music? I am.

I was gonna say something about what the term "he's hot" means. But it just now slipped out of my mind. It'll come back.

So can we have *this* without any of *that*? Or is *that* inherent to *this*? That will always be there, but can we still do this, without that interfering?

STAY TOOOOOOONED!

REMOTE

I love the sanctity of this half hour. I'm writing in the car again, waiting in the school parking lot. My little bubble of sanctity in this big plump bass kickin pimptastic Caddilastic. Voltaire is the music of the moment (I guess one can never really shake an addiction) I'm sure you can hear it three minivans away. Good. Call it my way of exposing the masses of white trash soccer moms to a little dark culture. Whoaooaaah dead girls like meeeehehee Broadening their horizons, if you will. I'm singing right along, too. They must seriously want me locked up. Ok, so that's what this really is. A bubble. Everyone can see in, and hear what I'm up to. I'm on a mini stage, and the audience ain't happy. I'm at perfect peace, and I feel their stares. I half ignore it, half revel in it.


ooOOOOh "When You're Evil" just came on. Time to crank it up, and really perform. See if I can't get the kid on the playground to sing along.

Sometimes it's better when things don't turn out as planned. Sometimes, it's too much to ask of life when you schedule things. It's like, fate telling you something. Telling you that if it happens, by god, it souldn't be on a friggin schedule.

Things are better with less forethought.

That Open Relationship thread over on ACF has me thinking. I could absolutely do it. Sex is sex and love is love. If you've reached that point with your mate where your love is perfect, and nothing can wedge in there (not even sexual relations with others) then I think you have what it takes. I say this, because I've been there. I let him sleep with my best friend, and that was cool. I okayed it. It was strange, and it was a great turn on, and there was no weirdness, it was just straight up sex. He doesn't even really like her that much, heh. Sex is cheap. Anyone can have sex. Sex can be easily simulated. It's LOVE, that's where the relationship is. You can't fake love. You can't replace the person you love with a pocket pussy, or a fling with the neighbor. I know where his heart is at.

He's not so open about things, on my side. I don't think he could handle it. Territorial, or something. I envy the man. I was thinking about it recently. 7 years for me, and total, utter monagamy. Never touched another guy. Never smelled another guy's aftershave, in that intimate neck sniffing way. It's not so much sex that I'm envious about, it's just the difference, I guess.

I wonder how old do you have to be, before you start thinking about being old? I'm 25, and I have a will. How fucked up is that? Death doesn't scare me, but old age does. That's it. No more birthdays. I'm putting the brakes on it right here and now. Quarter Century Girl. That's me. The rest will be anniversaries of my 25th.

So, I'm next door putting up insulation (YEY they finally delivered!) and jamming along to a Pennywise CD. Now, Pennywise is one of my all time favorite punk bands, I just adore the energy and message, and it gets me movin every time. I used to HAAAATE Pennywise. My friend Jill would play their first album tirelessly (her favorite, and now mine) and I would piss and moan. Something about it got under my skin. Rubbed me the wrong way.

Somehow, I stopped to listen to it, and fell in love with it. Here, 11 years later, I'm still kickin it, with Pennywise. Amazing what springs from that which you hate. A metaphor for life, if I ever ran across one.


"Things you've contemplated, the unknown road is one"

The world really opens up, when you stop to interact with what you thought you hated.

REMOTE

Oh fuck me running, I left the house sans notebook again. Lucky for me Patricia Cornwell left some purdy blank pages in the back of dissere book.

Anyhoo, where was I- Oh yeah, this stream of conciousness thing. First of all, I want to say I type like I talk, but, I'm analyzing myself (and talking to people more, as much as it pains me) and that's not 100% true. I type how I talk to myself. I'm still pretty reserved when I talk to other people. So, this is healthy. It gets it all out. Purging my thoughts whatever they are, so I don't risk blowing them to the wrong person.

Call it literary masturbation.

I'm just as into it. Right now, my heart is pounding, my mind is racing, my hands are sweating a little. My guilty little pleasure. Shh *wink*

And that's another thing. Where did THAT little analogy come from? What is it with me and sex lately. I guess the adage is sorta true, the more you get it, the more you want it. Another of life's funny little cycles. Or, it could be The Other Thing. That thing that I dare not name. It's a constant source of mind buzzing-horndog inspiring energy. I'm afraid, constant reader, that I will not disclose That Other Thing, even here. It's too big. Maybe when it shrinks, I can talk about it better. Right now it's choking me, and filling my head. Time should be the trick, for that thing.

Haha, what am I talking about, this "constant reader" bullshit. I had maybe 4 readers, who peeked in there, realized that I'm as dull and babbling as I said I would be (do I lie? No, I do a lot of things, but I sure don't lie, not even to myself). So, you've all probably melted away by now. Good, I can forget about you and move along with talking to myself freely. If you haven't, that's cool too.

I'm outta paper, there wasn't that much to begin with, I gotta hop outta the car and grab Wunderkind. More mental musings, later. I'm still not out of steam.

From now on, just to keep this a constant, I'm gonna post what I write elsewhere, throughout the day. I talk to myself a lot, and I wanna get it all down for some reason. Everything I say will have REMOTE in front. M'k? See above for details.

Well. I guess you exist now. Pwned by my desire for acceptance, and a (semi) anonymous audience. What a hysterically ugly cycle!

WTF I just made about sixty two comments, and they're not showing up. This is GOLD.


Oh. *looks down* There they go. Whew. Wouldn't wanna lose out on all that brilliance.

I can't keep my hands off this thing. I'm like a kid with a new puppy. *pet* Maybe I'll find my groove again, and post long lucid thoughts and rants.


People want to see it. Honestly, it's flattering, it really is, and scary. If I go that way, though, I'd hold back. Or at least change names to protect the innocent. Am I that bad at keeping my private shit private? I thought I always played my cards close. Time will tell, I suppose. I'd ask you what you think, but, *you* don't exist! OMFG I CRACK MYSELF UP.

Ever have a song that you just wanna fuck? Love it so much, you wish you could consummate? Yeah.

Hot Action Cop- St. Tropez

I want to call it a theme song. I want to. It's got all the makings for it. Move over Voltaire, I have a new addiction. Anything to keep my mind off the major ickies.

My mind is so hungry, and my body isn't. My brain is getting bigger and bigger every minute, I'm sucking up the world through a straw.

Three things I did today: Hopped on the scale and smiled :D

Cried because a stranger gave me one of the coolest compliments ever EVER. Theological Poet. Fuck me, I wanna put that on a plaque on my desk. I'm beaming.

Drank a full 24 oz. of coffee before it got cold. Shit yeah. (I'm usually a 12 oz. girl) But, I need a new drug. Love is too dangerous, and alcohol gets me in more trouble than love.

I think life has swerved, so that I need this blog again. Turbulence abounds and I'm in a freaky way. When I think of how to put it, so that I don't disgust myself, I'll run with it. I'm just glad I found this page. Ah, blogspot, a rock of reliability in my otherwise bizarre life. *hugs this page*