Monday, February 25, 2008
my dream
by Ogden Nash
Here is a dream.
It is my dream—
My own dream—
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt,
Then I dreamt that my true love
unkempt it.
Here is a dream.
It is my dream—
My own dream—
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt,
Then I dreamt that my true love
unkempt it.
to Puppy - only he's white
Black Dogby James DenBoer
Nothing goes on in his head.
It all goes on in his glands,
his muscles, his nose.
He chases every squirrel
every time he sees one,
barks and lunges at every cat;
he'd eat every bit of garbage
on the road if I didn't snap his lead hard.
He doesn't care in a way I can't.
He doesn't confuse past with present;
his only language is what's now
and under his black pads.
He's the perfect one, in fact,
to talk with, in the rain and wind
of January, when winter needs talking to
and writing down to bone-cold.
As with the many names of God,
I repeat his name often-he doesn't know
my name, he doesn't know this
is winter, he doesn't know
he could kill me with those teeth.
He listens to my chatter, my hum,
my chikk-chikk like a squirrel;
my noises keep him interested
and unworried. He scribbles
along the scent of air, his nails click
on wet black stones, he pulls his way
toward red lights on Fair Oaks Avenue,
he leads me back to start.
i love when men crack
by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love
I love the way men crack
open when their wives leave them,
their sheaths curling back like the split
shells of roasted chestnuts, exposing
the sweet creamy meat. They call you
and unburden their hearts the way a woman
takes off her jewels, the heavy
pendant earrings, the stiff lace gown and corset,
and slips into a loose kimono.
It's like you've both had a couple shots
of really good scotch and snow is falling
in the cone of light under the street lamp—
large slow flakes that float down in the amber glow.
They tell you all the pain pressed into their flat chests,
their disappointed penises, their empty hands.
As they sift through the betrayals and regrets,
their shocked realization of how hard they tried,
the way they shouldered the yoke
with such stupid good faith—
they grow younger and younger. They cry
with the unselfconciousness of children.
When they hug you, they cling.
Like someone who's needed glasses for a long time—
and finally got them-they look around
just for the pleasure of it: the detail,
the sharp edges of what the world has to offer.
And when they fall in love again, it only gets better.
Their hearts are stuffed full as éclairs
and the custard oozes out at a touch.
They love her, they love you, they love everyone.
They drag out all the musty sorrows and joys
from the basement where they've been shoved
with mitts and coin collections. They tell you
things they've never told anyone.
Fresh from loving her, they come glowing
like souls slipping into the bodies
of babies about to be born.
Then a year goes by. Or two.
Like broken bones, they knit back together.
They grow like grass and bushes and trees
after a forest fire, covering the seared earth.
They landscape the whole thing, plant like mad
and spend every weekend watering and weeding.
I love the way men crack
open when their wives leave them,
their sheaths curling back like the split
shells of roasted chestnuts, exposing
the sweet creamy meat. They call you
and unburden their hearts the way a woman
takes off her jewels, the heavy
pendant earrings, the stiff lace gown and corset,
and slips into a loose kimono.
It's like you've both had a couple shots
of really good scotch and snow is falling
in the cone of light under the street lamp—
large slow flakes that float down in the amber glow.
They tell you all the pain pressed into their flat chests,
their disappointed penises, their empty hands.
As they sift through the betrayals and regrets,
their shocked realization of how hard they tried,
the way they shouldered the yoke
with such stupid good faith—
they grow younger and younger. They cry
with the unselfconciousness of children.
When they hug you, they cling.
Like someone who's needed glasses for a long time—
and finally got them-they look around
just for the pleasure of it: the detail,
the sharp edges of what the world has to offer.
And when they fall in love again, it only gets better.
Their hearts are stuffed full as éclairs
and the custard oozes out at a touch.
They love her, they love you, they love everyone.
They drag out all the musty sorrows and joys
from the basement where they've been shoved
with mitts and coin collections. They tell you
things they've never told anyone.
Fresh from loving her, they come glowing
like souls slipping into the bodies
of babies about to be born.
Then a year goes by. Or two.
Like broken bones, they knit back together.
They grow like grass and bushes and trees
after a forest fire, covering the seared earth.
They landscape the whole thing, plant like mad
and spend every weekend watering and weeding.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
oscar
How awesome is it that Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova from "Once" won the Oscar for Best Song!
And how sad is it that they didn't even mention Adrienne Shelly's name during the in memoriam part? She wrote, directed and co-stared on "Waitress", a small and adorable movie released sometime last year. She was murdered in NY before the movie came out.
+++++++++++++++++++
Wow! Diablo Cody won for Best Original Screenplay for "Juno". Yay for that too! UPDATE: She used to be a striper. Maybe she's that legendary one who put herself through college. You know?
And how sad is it that they didn't even mention Adrienne Shelly's name during the in memoriam part? She wrote, directed and co-stared on "Waitress", a small and adorable movie released sometime last year. She was murdered in NY before the movie came out.
+++++++++++++++++++Wow! Diablo Cody won for Best Original Screenplay for "Juno". Yay for that too! UPDATE: She used to be a striper. Maybe she's that legendary one who put herself through college. You know?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
going through withdrawal
Don't tell anyone, but I would do all kinds of very dirty things to get me one of those at this point.
anxiety
Anxiety is secretive. He does not trust anyone, not even his friends. Worry, Terror, Doubt, and Panic. He has a way of glombing onto your skin like smog, and then you feel unclean. He likes to visit me late at night when I am alone and exhausted. I have never slept with him, but he kissed me on the forehead once, and I had a headache for two years. He is sure a nuisance to get out of the house. He has no respect for locks or curtains or doors. I speak from experience. It takes cunning to get rid of him, a combination of anger, humor, and self-respect. A bath helps too. He does not like to get wet. As a last resort, if you are not near a bathtub, wet your face with tears.
-- from the Book of Qualities, J. Ruth Glender.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
amel larrieux
This is by far one of my favorite songs in the world. It's not new (it was released in 2004), but it's so delicate and brings me sooooo many good memories I could listen to it all day. Sometimes I do. I reminds me of those times when you're with someone and you're absolutely head over heels, with butterflies in your stomach just thinking about that one person. I live for those times, and I miss it oh so badly.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
volvo is thinking outside the box
Click on the image to watch the video.
"The Volvo C30 Design Concept Car has been developed with young, successful urbanites in mind. This is a group for which brand and style are particularly important.
When designing the C30 Design Concept, the Volvo team experimented extensively, borrowing ideas from the fashion industry. The shape of the windows and even the C30 Design Concept color palette were partly inspired by sporty sunglass models."
"The Volvo C30 Design Concept Car has been developed with young, successful urbanites in mind. This is a group for which brand and style are particularly important.
When designing the C30 Design Concept, the Volvo team experimented extensively, borrowing ideas from the fashion industry. The shape of the windows and even the C30 Design Concept color palette were partly inspired by sporty sunglass models."
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
gastric bypass and my nightmare week
As some of you who read this blog might know, I had surgery last week. Gastric bypass surgery. I spent about 4 years playing with the idea of getting it done, but not until about a couple of months ago that idea had become more of a tangible goal. I spent most of last month in and out of hospitals, getting my pre-surgery exams done, making sure every organ in my body is functioning to its premium, that my hormones are in place, having my veins raped by laboratories a few times a week, just to make sure I was in good shape to go through the surgery. So it finally happened last week. I checked myself in on Thursday afternoon and came home on Sunday.
This has been, by far, one of the most trying weeks of my life. I went into the operating room way too over-confident, way too relaxed and totally underestimated the severity of the post-surgery period. It was hell. I woke up from the anesthesia right when I was being moved from the operating table to the stretcher, and there could not have been a worst time to start to return to my senses. It felt like I was inside a washer, only there were people outside it letting me know that everything went well and that I would be fine. I wasn’t. At least it didn’t feel like it. Not for a couple of days.
The first night was by far the worst one I’ve had in my entire life. I can’t really recall the type of pain I was in, all I know is that it made it especially hard to breath and laying on a sheet of hot nails was pretty much just as comfortable. My panic kicked in and I had cold sweats all night. I didn’t sleep at all. My parents sat on each side of my bed holding envelopes and x-rays that served as fans. They took turns shaking them above my body to alleviate the crazy hot flashes I felt.
Next day was bad too. I still felt a lot of pain, I was thirsty and couldn’t drink anything. The needle they stuck in my hand to inject medication burnt me like fire. My back was killing me and I still couldn’t feel my legs completely. The second night wasn’t any better either. I stared at a clock hanging on the wall counting down the seconds for my next dose of painkillers. Nothing worked.
The third day was a little better physically, but mentally I was starting to get irritated and felt desperate. I cried because I was so tired of feeling pain. I was exhausted and there was nothing anyone could do. I was sick and tired of the hospital room, I was tired of that hospital smell that made it so obvious I wasn’t at home. My nerves really started to get to me, and as much as I tried to be patient, feeling agonizing pain 24/7 is just not something I’m cut-out for.
Then Sunday I came home. I was never so happy to leave a place in my whole life. I wanted out of that hospital. I wanted to be at home with my dog, with the smell of my sheets, my TV, like any other person would on a Sunday. I was craving normalcy.
My pain hasn’t been as strong ever since I got home. I still feel a lot of lower back pain, and it’s difficult to walk and to find a comfortable position to sleep at night, but it’s bearable. My nerves are shot, though. My anxiety is back, and my panic symptoms kicked-in full force last night. My hands were sweating, I felt dizzy, like I was going to pass out at any second. I couldn’t sit still and couldn’t calm myself down enough to even talk to someone on the phone. I look back now and I see that I totally underestimated the effects of a surgery, let alone this kind of surgery, on me. I’ve been on a “liquid diet” for 4 days now, and I’m only allowed 50ml every hour or so. Just soup and juice. I feel deprived and I have cravings like a crazy pregnant woman, but I’m not hungry. It’s just that your brain can’t process the thought of a stomach that is tiny now. It’s a humbling experience. Everyone has seen me naked, and all of a sudden I don’t care. At one point I had about 6 people in my hospital room while I had no underwear on. And did I mention I have a drain coming out of a hole in my stomach, right under my left breast? Yeah, I do.
So, in a nutshell, it’s been a crazy, fucked-up week that is supposed to change the way I am for the rest of my life. I can’t tell you right now if I’m happy, or if I regret the whole ordeal, or if I’m super excited about what’s to come, because at this point, happiness to me means not having a tube coming out of my insides.
So ask me that again when I have no back pain or when I can’t see any red fluid constantly coming out of my guts. I believe I’ll be happy with the surgery soon. Right now I fucking hate it. Actually, right now there’s very little people or things I like, but this will change soon. At least we all here hope so.
+++++++++++++++++
I don't mean to sound like a brat here. This has been really hard on my family too. My dad has helped me get up from a chair more than 200 times, my sister has seen more angles of my private parts than she would like to in a lifetime, my mom spends countless hours awake with me and cooks for me all day, my brother took such good care of my dog. I couldn't have done it without them, and going through this with the four of them only reassures me that moving back home was the right move for me at this time. Nobody will ever take care of you like your family does, and that is the most absolute truth.
This has been, by far, one of the most trying weeks of my life. I went into the operating room way too over-confident, way too relaxed and totally underestimated the severity of the post-surgery period. It was hell. I woke up from the anesthesia right when I was being moved from the operating table to the stretcher, and there could not have been a worst time to start to return to my senses. It felt like I was inside a washer, only there were people outside it letting me know that everything went well and that I would be fine. I wasn’t. At least it didn’t feel like it. Not for a couple of days.
The first night was by far the worst one I’ve had in my entire life. I can’t really recall the type of pain I was in, all I know is that it made it especially hard to breath and laying on a sheet of hot nails was pretty much just as comfortable. My panic kicked in and I had cold sweats all night. I didn’t sleep at all. My parents sat on each side of my bed holding envelopes and x-rays that served as fans. They took turns shaking them above my body to alleviate the crazy hot flashes I felt.
Next day was bad too. I still felt a lot of pain, I was thirsty and couldn’t drink anything. The needle they stuck in my hand to inject medication burnt me like fire. My back was killing me and I still couldn’t feel my legs completely. The second night wasn’t any better either. I stared at a clock hanging on the wall counting down the seconds for my next dose of painkillers. Nothing worked.
The third day was a little better physically, but mentally I was starting to get irritated and felt desperate. I cried because I was so tired of feeling pain. I was exhausted and there was nothing anyone could do. I was sick and tired of the hospital room, I was tired of that hospital smell that made it so obvious I wasn’t at home. My nerves really started to get to me, and as much as I tried to be patient, feeling agonizing pain 24/7 is just not something I’m cut-out for.
Then Sunday I came home. I was never so happy to leave a place in my whole life. I wanted out of that hospital. I wanted to be at home with my dog, with the smell of my sheets, my TV, like any other person would on a Sunday. I was craving normalcy.
My pain hasn’t been as strong ever since I got home. I still feel a lot of lower back pain, and it’s difficult to walk and to find a comfortable position to sleep at night, but it’s bearable. My nerves are shot, though. My anxiety is back, and my panic symptoms kicked-in full force last night. My hands were sweating, I felt dizzy, like I was going to pass out at any second. I couldn’t sit still and couldn’t calm myself down enough to even talk to someone on the phone. I look back now and I see that I totally underestimated the effects of a surgery, let alone this kind of surgery, on me. I’ve been on a “liquid diet” for 4 days now, and I’m only allowed 50ml every hour or so. Just soup and juice. I feel deprived and I have cravings like a crazy pregnant woman, but I’m not hungry. It’s just that your brain can’t process the thought of a stomach that is tiny now. It’s a humbling experience. Everyone has seen me naked, and all of a sudden I don’t care. At one point I had about 6 people in my hospital room while I had no underwear on. And did I mention I have a drain coming out of a hole in my stomach, right under my left breast? Yeah, I do.
So, in a nutshell, it’s been a crazy, fucked-up week that is supposed to change the way I am for the rest of my life. I can’t tell you right now if I’m happy, or if I regret the whole ordeal, or if I’m super excited about what’s to come, because at this point, happiness to me means not having a tube coming out of my insides.
So ask me that again when I have no back pain or when I can’t see any red fluid constantly coming out of my guts. I believe I’ll be happy with the surgery soon. Right now I fucking hate it. Actually, right now there’s very little people or things I like, but this will change soon. At least we all here hope so.
+++++++++++++++++
I don't mean to sound like a brat here. This has been really hard on my family too. My dad has helped me get up from a chair more than 200 times, my sister has seen more angles of my private parts than she would like to in a lifetime, my mom spends countless hours awake with me and cooks for me all day, my brother took such good care of my dog. I couldn't have done it without them, and going through this with the four of them only reassures me that moving back home was the right move for me at this time. Nobody will ever take care of you like your family does, and that is the most absolute truth.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
please clean up your wiener poopie if you want to see jesus unharmed
Isn't it great that the same "graspy voice" who told her "check your mailbox" wrote "poopie" in a ransom note. Oh, God Bless America!
via Dooce
Monday, February 04, 2008
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Friday, February 01, 2008
ask me how much I hate carnaval
- How much do you hate carnaval?
- A WHOLE FUCKING LOT.
It starts tomorrow and ends in 4 days.
I wish I could be unconscious in the meantime.
- A WHOLE FUCKING LOT.
It starts tomorrow and ends in 4 days.
I wish I could be unconscious in the meantime.
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