Friday, February 07, 2003
But it was all so strange...you were there, and you were there, and so were you...but it couldn't have been a dream, it just all seemed too real. It wasn't a dream...was it?
That bad paraphrasing of Dorothy from "The Wizard of Oz" is my pathetic attempt to segue into my point. The other night I had the weirdest dream (I can hear the collective groan as I write this - like, "Great, a dream post on a blog, yeah, we've never seen that before" - but stick with me, there's a real point to this.) and in this dream everyone I link to played a role. It was one of those dreams where even the dream-you comments on how weird it is - at one point I turned to Andy and said, "Isn't it strange that we've met everyone I link to? Small world." At least, that's the vibe I was getting - I don't believe dreams actually have words, just perceived vibes. Telepathic communication, I think, is the way of the dream.
At one point in my dream I went into this god-awful bathroom in a gym or something - every bathroom in every dream of mine is set up like it's in a gym with exits at each side - and this bathroom was foul. I had Nic with me and wasn't sure if I could go to the bathroom while holding him, so I asked the bathroom attendant, melly, to hold him for me. She was like, "What, you need both hands to wipe your ass? Hold your own kid." I went into the stall and it was totally covered in filth and I gagged. Melly told me to grow up or hold it and get out. I got out.
At one point we went into an antique store run by MJ where Artichoke Heart was shopping with her twelve little children who all had hair like Michael Jackson and were running around breaking things. At one point I cut my arm on something and these little mitochondria-looking bugs started to swarm in to burrow down into the cut. I freaked out until Irish Girl showed me how to singe my arm hair off with a lighter - I don't know why they stayed away after that but they did.
When we left the shop, Simon was outside at a caramel apple stand. I went up to buy one of the multitude of caramel apples he was carrying and he told me that they weren't for sale, that they were all for him. This part is particularly strange because yesterday he outed himself as being fat - maybe I somehow knew that, or maybe I inferred it from the name "Big Simon", or maybe it was just part of that whole wacky subconscious thing. (My favorite line of that post, by the way, is "[I'm] really big, not just American-fat.")
What are dreams if not our subconscious trying to tell us something, huh? HUH?!? Nothing, that's what. And what have I learned from this? I need more links.
Since announcing the Dilly Awards I've been sent quite a few links to some really great blogs, many of which I've begun reading regularly, but I didn't want to link to them from here because I didn't want even a whiff of impropriety about the contest. But forget that - it's getting to be too much of a hassle to keep popping around surreptitiously reading blogs and keeping them from the rest of you. It's just not fair, damn it.
So in the next few hours - or days, whatever - expect some freshly plucked linkage for your enjoyment. One in particular is one that Andy and I have been reading for a long time, Time For Your Meds, but I've resisted putting a link to her because she's too popular and I didn't want anyone to think I was kissing up to the popular kid, but screw that. And screw you for thinking that, ya rat bastard! Who are you to judge, huh?
And because I am a bed-wetting liberal I heartily endorse The Lysistrata Project. Though I have, on occasion, muttered the phrase, "Just nuke the bastards and be done with it" I really am not serious about that sentiment. Or maybe I am, I don't know. No, probably not. Okay, maybe a little. But only on Tuesdays in February - after all, isn't February really the Tuesday of the year? Thought so. What the hell does that even mean? No clue.
Disjointed-ly,
Natalie
That bad paraphrasing of Dorothy from "The Wizard of Oz" is my pathetic attempt to segue into my point. The other night I had the weirdest dream (I can hear the collective groan as I write this - like, "Great, a dream post on a blog, yeah, we've never seen that before" - but stick with me, there's a real point to this.) and in this dream everyone I link to played a role. It was one of those dreams where even the dream-you comments on how weird it is - at one point I turned to Andy and said, "Isn't it strange that we've met everyone I link to? Small world." At least, that's the vibe I was getting - I don't believe dreams actually have words, just perceived vibes. Telepathic communication, I think, is the way of the dream.
At one point in my dream I went into this god-awful bathroom in a gym or something - every bathroom in every dream of mine is set up like it's in a gym with exits at each side - and this bathroom was foul. I had Nic with me and wasn't sure if I could go to the bathroom while holding him, so I asked the bathroom attendant, melly, to hold him for me. She was like, "What, you need both hands to wipe your ass? Hold your own kid." I went into the stall and it was totally covered in filth and I gagged. Melly told me to grow up or hold it and get out. I got out.
At one point we went into an antique store run by MJ where Artichoke Heart was shopping with her twelve little children who all had hair like Michael Jackson and were running around breaking things. At one point I cut my arm on something and these little mitochondria-looking bugs started to swarm in to burrow down into the cut. I freaked out until Irish Girl showed me how to singe my arm hair off with a lighter - I don't know why they stayed away after that but they did.
When we left the shop, Simon was outside at a caramel apple stand. I went up to buy one of the multitude of caramel apples he was carrying and he told me that they weren't for sale, that they were all for him. This part is particularly strange because yesterday he outed himself as being fat - maybe I somehow knew that, or maybe I inferred it from the name "Big Simon", or maybe it was just part of that whole wacky subconscious thing. (My favorite line of that post, by the way, is "[I'm] really big, not just American-fat.")
What are dreams if not our subconscious trying to tell us something, huh? HUH?!? Nothing, that's what. And what have I learned from this? I need more links.
Since announcing the Dilly Awards I've been sent quite a few links to some really great blogs, many of which I've begun reading regularly, but I didn't want to link to them from here because I didn't want even a whiff of impropriety about the contest. But forget that - it's getting to be too much of a hassle to keep popping around surreptitiously reading blogs and keeping them from the rest of you. It's just not fair, damn it.
So in the next few hours - or days, whatever - expect some freshly plucked linkage for your enjoyment. One in particular is one that Andy and I have been reading for a long time, Time For Your Meds, but I've resisted putting a link to her because she's too popular and I didn't want anyone to think I was kissing up to the popular kid, but screw that. And screw you for thinking that, ya rat bastard! Who are you to judge, huh?
And because I am a bed-wetting liberal I heartily endorse The Lysistrata Project. Though I have, on occasion, muttered the phrase, "Just nuke the bastards and be done with it" I really am not serious about that sentiment. Or maybe I am, I don't know. No, probably not. Okay, maybe a little. But only on Tuesdays in February - after all, isn't February really the Tuesday of the year? Thought so. What the hell does that even mean? No clue.
Disjointed-ly,
Natalie
Thursday, February 06, 2003
Speaking of mental health - I have this weird thing about me and I'm not sure how to class it or what it's called. (This has nothing to do with anything; I'm just stumped by it so thought I'd solicit opinions on the matter.)
I have this thing where I have an intense physical reaction when there's something unnatural about a surface. I first noticed it in the eighties while watching the video for, "Oh Father" by Madonna. There's a funeral scene and the camera shows a close-up shot of the threads holding the dead woman's lips together - the image of those lips with the little lines of thread disgusted me so badly that I threw up.
It happens with poultry, sometimes, where instead of all of the feathers being plucked there are little bits of the plastic-like part sticking out of the skin, usually around the bottom. It looks like little cocktail straws sticking out of the skin - I can't even look at it. Before I prep any poultry I close my eyes and feel around for these things - if they're present I grab a knife and cut it off while my eyes are still closed. See the risks I take to avoid seeing that?
On Spiderman, when he looks at his fingers and sees the little barbs sticking out (just before he climbs the wall for the first time) I get woozy. I once nearly cut the tip of my finger off and needed five stitches but I couldn't stand to look at them so I ripped them out myself. It's a serious thing but I don't know what that would be called? It's not a phobia, exactly. You know how some people have physical reactions to things they hear, like metal on metal or fingernails on a chalkboard? That's what I get, only visually. I don't know if this is weird or usual.
Another issue I have is that once I get stuck on something it will bother me to no end until I get it resolved. Which means I'm going to spend the rest of the night obsessing about this if I don't figure it out - it's already gnawing at my brain.
I have this thing where I have an intense physical reaction when there's something unnatural about a surface. I first noticed it in the eighties while watching the video for, "Oh Father" by Madonna. There's a funeral scene and the camera shows a close-up shot of the threads holding the dead woman's lips together - the image of those lips with the little lines of thread disgusted me so badly that I threw up.
It happens with poultry, sometimes, where instead of all of the feathers being plucked there are little bits of the plastic-like part sticking out of the skin, usually around the bottom. It looks like little cocktail straws sticking out of the skin - I can't even look at it. Before I prep any poultry I close my eyes and feel around for these things - if they're present I grab a knife and cut it off while my eyes are still closed. See the risks I take to avoid seeing that?
On Spiderman, when he looks at his fingers and sees the little barbs sticking out (just before he climbs the wall for the first time) I get woozy. I once nearly cut the tip of my finger off and needed five stitches but I couldn't stand to look at them so I ripped them out myself. It's a serious thing but I don't know what that would be called? It's not a phobia, exactly. You know how some people have physical reactions to things they hear, like metal on metal or fingernails on a chalkboard? That's what I get, only visually. I don't know if this is weird or usual.
Another issue I have is that once I get stuck on something it will bother me to no end until I get it resolved. Which means I'm going to spend the rest of the night obsessing about this if I don't figure it out - it's already gnawing at my brain.
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
Yesterday
mom: You tricked us. Your father and I were both on the phone, ready to sing to you and you didn't answer.
me: That wasn't a trick, I was asleep - dad was going to sing?
mom: Yes. He dialed your number himself.
me: Wow, good for him. Put him on the phone
dad: Schedule D.
me: What?
dad: You sold those shares, right? For your taxes. You need schedule D. You can pick one up at your local public library or the post office. It's best to pick up a few of them in case you make a mistake on one, then you'll have a replacement.
me: Uh, okay, I'll get into my horse drawn carriage and go to my local post office. Then I'll send something via pony express and come home and play a record on my gramophone - geesus, do you even know what year this is? I use software to do my taxes, but thanks for the tip.
dad: Software? Does it have schedule D for reporting? Because you have to report that gain. It's a capital gain and that means it's income, even if you don't have a job.
me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure it has schedule D for reporting.
dad: You take a look at the weather channel today? Weather on the 7's, that's what I watch.
me: Nope - I looked outside, saw snow, went back to bed.
dad: If you don't watch the weather channel you won't know when the snow's coming. You won't know what the weather is like down here.
me: That's a risk I'm willing to take.
me: I'll give you back to your mother now. Schedule D, now don't forget.
mom: (yelling at my dad) You could have told the girl happy birthday, you know! Sorry about him, he's an idiot; I don't think he even notices when he wakes up. Bitter morning, sparrows singing, birds without necks.
me: Uh...okay.
mom: It's Zen. I bought a Zen-a-day calendar and that's your Zen for the day.
me: That's my Zen, great. What does it mean?
mom: You're supposed to think about the sparrows without necks. They hunch their heads down when it's cold outside. I bought this calendar the other day because the calendars are all on sale and I like Zen. I was Zen before I knew what Zen was. The more you talk about something the less power it has over you - that was yesterday's Zen. They teach you that in AA. If you talk about getting drunk and blowing your own finger off with a gun it helps you heal faster.
me: What, your finger?
mom: No, your addiction.
me: Who blew off their own finger?
mom: Some guy I was in AA with; aren't you listening?
me: J's mom ripped her own toe off when she was little. She got it caught on a hook in a barn and tripped. She stood up and saw it sticking from the hook and she fainted and fell off a hayloft. She was in a coma for a while. That's why she limps and buys things from the Home Shopping Network.
mom: What does that have to do with anything?
me: It's Zen - think about it.
mom: Oh. Oh, yeah, I get it.
me: Thought you might.
mom: Did Andy give you your lingerie?
me: Yes, so you don't have to worry that you've just ruined the surprise.
mom: I wasn't thinking, but you opened it already so that's okay. What are you doing for your birthday dinner?
me: Going out somewhere. I think I'm going to have lobster, just because.
mom: Hmmm.
me: What? You have something against me eating lobster? You don't keep kosher, either.
me: No, it's not that, it's just...nothing. Nevermind, it's your day to enjoy yourself.
me: No, go ahead and say what you were going to say.
mom: I was just thinking that someone who's so far in debt might not want to be buying lobster, but I'm not going to mention it. It's your day, enjoy yourself, worry about your debts later.
me: Thank you, I will.
mom: Your sister called to wish you a happy birthday but you didn't answer the phone so now she's mad at you.
me: Yeah, that was another one of my tricks. She's just jealous because I'm stylish and she can't handle it.
mom: (silence)
me: That's some more Zen for you.
mom: I get the feeling you're making fun of me. Hippy tried making fun of me for the Zen but she's decided to become Wiccan now so she has no room to talk.
me: Oh christly christ, a Wiccan?
mom: Yes, but don't tell her I told you; she asked me to not mention it to you. You know, she did her taxes and got back nearly $5,000? She got back more than she paid in.
me: Wow, that's a neat trick. Poor people living in the ghetto get all the lucky breaks. What's she going to do with the money? Maybe move out of the projects and into a real apartment?
mom: No, she's getting her yin yang tattoo redone. The pink is fading and the blue has bled out a bit. I think after that she's buying a couch and some artwork. If there's anything left she might get her brakes fixed.
me: Glad she has her priorities in order. I forgot about her tattoo; she got that when she was a Buddhist, I remember. Is she going to get some Wiccan tattoo now, too?
mom: She wants to but she doesn't know what all the symbols mean yet. She's only been Wiccan for a couple of days.
me: Mmm, fresh Wiccan. Tasty.
mom: You'd better not tease her about it! You'll hurt her feelings.
me: She's 34; it'd be a crime to not make fun of her about it. I read a great quote, something like it's good to be open-minded, but not so open-minded that your brain falls out. Her brains have fallen out.
mom: I want you to think about what you've just said when you get your card from her. She gave you $30 for your birthday and she doesn't have money to throw around like that, you should appreciate her.
me: You just said she has five grand.
mom: That's not the point. You be nice and don't make fun of her on your journal.
me: I won't. Hey, you know that I was nominated to be an honorary Dykewrite lesbian?
mom: Is that a good thing?
me: Yes. Yes it is.
mom: Oh. Then I'm proud of you. But I'm not going to tell your father. Or any of my friends.
me: I said honorary. I don't have to be a lesbian.
mom: I know that, I just don't want to have to tell anyone.
me: Then don't. But that's not a very Zen-like attitude to have. You've disappointed Zen and I don't think he wants to talk to you anymore.
mom: Now you are making fun of me.
me: Just a little.
mom: I didn't want to bring it up but since you haven't said "thank you" yet I have to - did you get your card?
me: Yes, as a matter of fact, it came yesterday. On time for my birthday...there, beat you to it.
mom: Beat me to what?
me: I mentioned that you sent the card early enough so it got here in time for my birthday before you could do it and criticize me for being late with your card.
mom: The thought never even crossed my mind!
me: Yeah, it didn't.
mom: Your card was free from the March of Dimes. They sent us some free greeting cards and asked for a donation but they'll just have to wait until December like every other charity. Who does that? Who contributes to charity this early in the year?
me: Crazy people.
mom: Yes! Crazy people. Are you typing?
me: Uh...yeah, I'm on yahoo with Andy. He says hello.
mom: Oh. Hello. I'm going to have to get going, I have a doctors appointment and we're going over to Boob Job's house tonight. She's throwing a sex toys party.
me: She just went to a sex toys party last month! Damn, that girl has a serious problem.
mom: If she throws a party she gets a discount. All she buys are tassles - you know, she makes some pretty good money when she takes her boobs out.
me: She's a stripper now?
mom: No she's not a stripper - she just dances around topless at parties and people pay her money.
me: Oh, is that all? Good, for a second there I thought you were telling me she's a stripper now, but what she does is nothing at all like stripping. I was just a little confused.
(dad picks up the other line)
dad: Do you need me to go to the post office or what?
mom: I'm on the god damn phone here, you lazy cuss! You couldn't walk the ten feet down the hall and ask me in person? You don't know what we were talking about, maybe we were talking about a gift for you and you ruined it, did you ever think of that?
dad: Well I'm going to the post office and I'm not taking anything you wanted me to take. And I won't be back for a long time because I'm getting the tire fixed!
mom: Watch this, Natalie: Honey, how old is Natalie?
dad: (silent)
mom: Well?
dad: I don't have time for all of this.
me: You don't know my age?
dad: Well I have a lot of kids! I can't keep track of all of you.
me: Thanks for that, mom, I feel really good now.
mom: Are you still on the phone? Talk to your daughter while I take out the trash. (click)
dad: I don't have time, I'm going to the post office. (click)
Disconnected-ly,
Natalie
mom: You tricked us. Your father and I were both on the phone, ready to sing to you and you didn't answer.
me: That wasn't a trick, I was asleep - dad was going to sing?
mom: Yes. He dialed your number himself.
me: Wow, good for him. Put him on the phone
dad: Schedule D.
me: What?
dad: You sold those shares, right? For your taxes. You need schedule D. You can pick one up at your local public library or the post office. It's best to pick up a few of them in case you make a mistake on one, then you'll have a replacement.
me: Uh, okay, I'll get into my horse drawn carriage and go to my local post office. Then I'll send something via pony express and come home and play a record on my gramophone - geesus, do you even know what year this is? I use software to do my taxes, but thanks for the tip.
dad: Software? Does it have schedule D for reporting? Because you have to report that gain. It's a capital gain and that means it's income, even if you don't have a job.
me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure it has schedule D for reporting.
dad: You take a look at the weather channel today? Weather on the 7's, that's what I watch.
me: Nope - I looked outside, saw snow, went back to bed.
dad: If you don't watch the weather channel you won't know when the snow's coming. You won't know what the weather is like down here.
me: That's a risk I'm willing to take.
me: I'll give you back to your mother now. Schedule D, now don't forget.
mom: (yelling at my dad) You could have told the girl happy birthday, you know! Sorry about him, he's an idiot; I don't think he even notices when he wakes up. Bitter morning, sparrows singing, birds without necks.
me: Uh...okay.
mom: It's Zen. I bought a Zen-a-day calendar and that's your Zen for the day.
me: That's my Zen, great. What does it mean?
mom: You're supposed to think about the sparrows without necks. They hunch their heads down when it's cold outside. I bought this calendar the other day because the calendars are all on sale and I like Zen. I was Zen before I knew what Zen was. The more you talk about something the less power it has over you - that was yesterday's Zen. They teach you that in AA. If you talk about getting drunk and blowing your own finger off with a gun it helps you heal faster.
me: What, your finger?
mom: No, your addiction.
me: Who blew off their own finger?
mom: Some guy I was in AA with; aren't you listening?
me: J's mom ripped her own toe off when she was little. She got it caught on a hook in a barn and tripped. She stood up and saw it sticking from the hook and she fainted and fell off a hayloft. She was in a coma for a while. That's why she limps and buys things from the Home Shopping Network.
mom: What does that have to do with anything?
me: It's Zen - think about it.
mom: Oh. Oh, yeah, I get it.
me: Thought you might.
mom: Did Andy give you your lingerie?
me: Yes, so you don't have to worry that you've just ruined the surprise.
mom: I wasn't thinking, but you opened it already so that's okay. What are you doing for your birthday dinner?
me: Going out somewhere. I think I'm going to have lobster, just because.
mom: Hmmm.
me: What? You have something against me eating lobster? You don't keep kosher, either.
me: No, it's not that, it's just...nothing. Nevermind, it's your day to enjoy yourself.
me: No, go ahead and say what you were going to say.
mom: I was just thinking that someone who's so far in debt might not want to be buying lobster, but I'm not going to mention it. It's your day, enjoy yourself, worry about your debts later.
me: Thank you, I will.
mom: Your sister called to wish you a happy birthday but you didn't answer the phone so now she's mad at you.
me: Yeah, that was another one of my tricks. She's just jealous because I'm stylish and she can't handle it.
mom: (silence)
me: That's some more Zen for you.
mom: I get the feeling you're making fun of me. Hippy tried making fun of me for the Zen but she's decided to become Wiccan now so she has no room to talk.
me: Oh christly christ, a Wiccan?
mom: Yes, but don't tell her I told you; she asked me to not mention it to you. You know, she did her taxes and got back nearly $5,000? She got back more than she paid in.
me: Wow, that's a neat trick. Poor people living in the ghetto get all the lucky breaks. What's she going to do with the money? Maybe move out of the projects and into a real apartment?
mom: No, she's getting her yin yang tattoo redone. The pink is fading and the blue has bled out a bit. I think after that she's buying a couch and some artwork. If there's anything left she might get her brakes fixed.
me: Glad she has her priorities in order. I forgot about her tattoo; she got that when she was a Buddhist, I remember. Is she going to get some Wiccan tattoo now, too?
mom: She wants to but she doesn't know what all the symbols mean yet. She's only been Wiccan for a couple of days.
me: Mmm, fresh Wiccan. Tasty.
mom: You'd better not tease her about it! You'll hurt her feelings.
me: She's 34; it'd be a crime to not make fun of her about it. I read a great quote, something like it's good to be open-minded, but not so open-minded that your brain falls out. Her brains have fallen out.
mom: I want you to think about what you've just said when you get your card from her. She gave you $30 for your birthday and she doesn't have money to throw around like that, you should appreciate her.
me: You just said she has five grand.
mom: That's not the point. You be nice and don't make fun of her on your journal.
me: I won't. Hey, you know that I was nominated to be an honorary Dykewrite lesbian?
mom: Is that a good thing?
me: Yes. Yes it is.
mom: Oh. Then I'm proud of you. But I'm not going to tell your father. Or any of my friends.
me: I said honorary. I don't have to be a lesbian.
mom: I know that, I just don't want to have to tell anyone.
me: Then don't. But that's not a very Zen-like attitude to have. You've disappointed Zen and I don't think he wants to talk to you anymore.
mom: Now you are making fun of me.
me: Just a little.
mom: I didn't want to bring it up but since you haven't said "thank you" yet I have to - did you get your card?
me: Yes, as a matter of fact, it came yesterday. On time for my birthday...there, beat you to it.
mom: Beat me to what?
me: I mentioned that you sent the card early enough so it got here in time for my birthday before you could do it and criticize me for being late with your card.
mom: The thought never even crossed my mind!
me: Yeah, it didn't.
mom: Your card was free from the March of Dimes. They sent us some free greeting cards and asked for a donation but they'll just have to wait until December like every other charity. Who does that? Who contributes to charity this early in the year?
me: Crazy people.
mom: Yes! Crazy people. Are you typing?
me: Uh...yeah, I'm on yahoo with Andy. He says hello.
mom: Oh. Hello. I'm going to have to get going, I have a doctors appointment and we're going over to Boob Job's house tonight. She's throwing a sex toys party.
me: She just went to a sex toys party last month! Damn, that girl has a serious problem.
mom: If she throws a party she gets a discount. All she buys are tassles - you know, she makes some pretty good money when she takes her boobs out.
me: She's a stripper now?
mom: No she's not a stripper - she just dances around topless at parties and people pay her money.
me: Oh, is that all? Good, for a second there I thought you were telling me she's a stripper now, but what she does is nothing at all like stripping. I was just a little confused.
(dad picks up the other line)
dad: Do you need me to go to the post office or what?
mom: I'm on the god damn phone here, you lazy cuss! You couldn't walk the ten feet down the hall and ask me in person? You don't know what we were talking about, maybe we were talking about a gift for you and you ruined it, did you ever think of that?
dad: Well I'm going to the post office and I'm not taking anything you wanted me to take. And I won't be back for a long time because I'm getting the tire fixed!
mom: Watch this, Natalie: Honey, how old is Natalie?
dad: (silent)
mom: Well?
dad: I don't have time for all of this.
me: You don't know my age?
dad: Well I have a lot of kids! I can't keep track of all of you.
me: Thanks for that, mom, I feel really good now.
mom: Are you still on the phone? Talk to your daughter while I take out the trash. (click)
dad: I don't have time, I'm going to the post office. (click)
Disconnected-ly,
Natalie
