Like Um, You Want To Get A Tattoo Or Something

Remember when tattoos were actually cool?  They had that whole masochistic, rebel-without-a-cause-like indifference to them and they were almost always associated with electric guitars and oil paint.  I'm as straight as they come but if I walked into a coffee shop and the girl behind the counter had an amazing sleeve on her left arm and a symbol behind her ear, I almost always wanted to get into bed with her.  Sadly enough, I find myself a little repelled by them lately.  I almost wish there were requirements for who can and can not get a tattoo.  I mean, these valley girls are ruining it for the rest of us!  The hostesses at SOL have both gotten 3 in the last 6 months.  One of them has a tiny sun on the side of her face-it's weird.  I keep thinking it's a spider and have to stop myself from smacking it every time I see her.  "Oh my God, don't move honey, you have a gigantic bug on your face, WHACK! Oh, um never mind, sorry."  This is what they do on their Saturdays now, take the BMW to go buy more blond hair dye, stop at Banana Republic then head over to the nearest tattoo parlor to get some lyrics to a Beatles song tattooed on their waist right next to their zodiac sign and a fucking seagull.


On a lighter note, I feel better!  Like my old self.  That sickness really took a toll on me but I feel good again, hopeful even.  Counting down the days til I leave this crazy place, but at least I feel hopeful.  Maybe I'll get a palm tree tattoo on my butt tomorrow or maybe a sign on my chest that says "saving up for plastic surgery".  The world is my big fat smog infested oyster.  I have to admit, I'm going to miss making fun of Orange County.

Ugh

It's been lonely lately.  A rough week, I suppose.  I had pneumonia last week and am finally starting to feel like myself again but a sadness has washed over me.  No one ever tells you when you leave your life behind that there's really no going back.  No matter how warm the welcome home might be, I would always feel like I was intruding on a life that isn't mine anymore.  I thought I would gain a better understanding of who I was, but now I don't know where I belong.  It seems that every time life starts to make sense I either get sick, throw my back out or have, yet another bad experience at work or in a relationship, reminding me of how unhappy I am here.

I am on bad terms with my sponsor and I am not only too scared to confront her but I'm also too angry.  She moved on Saturday and I was supposed to help her but was scheduled to work and told her I could switch shifts to be there in the morning and she specifically said "no".  She told me everything would work out and she wasn't worried.  Than I offered to come over after work to help unpack and she said "maybe" and told me to call.  Well, after working until 3 a.m. on Friday and then getting up at 8 a.m. to work Saturday I felt weak and tired and also felt like I should get to a meeting.  I called her and left a message telling her all this and told her she was my top priority and if she needed help unpacking still I would be willing to come by.  She never called.  Then on Monday night she called me up and chewed me out for not coming by Saturday morning-she had completely forgotten our conversation.  And then she laughed about what a funny "misunderstanding" it was.  After being told I don't know how to stick with a commitment, and that I played the meeting card to get out of helping her, I didn't think it was funny at all.

It's strange how upside down everything feels when you're at odds with someone that matters in your life.  On top of that I had another "uncomfortable" day at SOL.  We now serve sweet potato fries.  So I went up to a table and took their order and at the last minute the woman said to her husband who had just ordered coleslaw, "get the dam fries".  They both then chuckled and he said "I guess I'm getting the dam fries".  So I smiled and said "ok, you want the fries then?"  and he nodded his head.  Well, when I brought the food he looked at me grumpily and said, "I had ordered the YAM fries".  I thought his wife said dam fries but I guess I was wrong, whoops.  Honest mistake, who the fuck calls them "yam fries"?  It says on the menu "SWEET POTATO FRIES".  Not to mention, after waitressing for 11 years, nothing surprises me, people have sworn in the middle of an order plenty of times.  I got ridiculed for the rest of the day for it.  "Oh my God, I can't believe you said that."  "Oh my God, if you weren't sober I would totally think you were high."  "That's not even funny, I would never laugh at that."  "I don't know why you think that's funny, it's not."  And then of course Big D ripped me a new one and at the end of the day pointed out how "all the girls couldn't believe I would do that.  They were shocked, what were you thinking?" I'm glad I have yet to sell my sense of humor for a fake tan and some ugly platinum extensions.  But ugh!

There must be a statute of limitations on how long a freak like me can actually experience happiness.  I'm thinking a week tops.  Anyways, I started reading Tuesdays With Morrie for the third time.  I got past the first paragraph before I started crying.  I'm definitely losing it.

Poetic Justice

weary dialect
you always taunt me with your said perfection
a crimson sunset carries more words then poetry ever could
And my mind races for the comfort of your revelation
but there i am in silence
So I creak clumsily among the floor boards that have always guarded me from the monsters in the basements. Where I've stored my imagination all these years, fearful of its findings;
it's fallacies;
the caravans of creativity that could wash the reason right out of me;
the beauty that She gave to me I've hidden in this in-oracy.
To become a silent legacy, but find I am no more than I'll ever be, lost and silent, poetically challenged me.

Dazed and Confused

I've been sick with pneumonia.  It's amazing what happens with sickness.  Confusion and delirium crawl their ways up through the canyons of our minds and we're left with fabricated awakenings and distorted realizations.  Living with myself is rough but living with myself in sickness is unbearable.  Ask Hunter.  I actually broke up with him today because he told me that it's difficult watching me fall in and out of depression.  We worked things out of course, it wasn't even him.  My behaviour was like some awful, out of control, separate entity from the semi-rational person I usually am.  After 5 days of fever, not eating and not being able to sleep from fits of coughing and wheezing, I'm surprised I could think at all.  I'm now on 4 different medications right now and I just took some cough syrup with codeine, it helps incredibly.  I've had only a few coughing fits in the last 8 hours but I'm now drowsy and need to lay down.  Stay well and sterilized my friends, I would only wish this on my boss and the Republican Party. 

Prayers for the Devil

If I pray for the Devils highest good, does God still hear my calls?  Or am I just another schmuck on her knees begging to be relieved of a hatred that runs so deeply in my veins that it could easily cause my blood to mutate into vinegar?  SOL might just be the death of me.  D is like a poison that does not have to be ingested in order for it to kill.  All I have to do is look at that woman, as she tells me how disposable I am, how I'm a dime a dozen and how she could replace me in an instant and care less about it and I can feel her penetrate my skin.  I am not thick skinned, I suppose this is what separates me from them.  Deep down I want to curl up and cry every time she yells at me and tells me, in her own special way, what a disgusting piece of shit I really am.  It's my fault, a graceful, strong woman would laugh it all off, but not me.  I sit back and fantasize about how I hope to one day rub dog shit all over her white Mercedes, right before I tie her to a stake fabricated out of her poodle's bones and burn her alive.  So I pray for her highest good and then I pray that God will relieve me of my fears that I'm not good enough and replace them with the thoughts that She would have me hold.  These are the directions given to me.  I've grown to believe in miracles.  Not the kind that shake the surface of the earth, but the little ones that, in the long run, have a lasting effect.  The ones that have caused a shift in my thinking and in my way of life; the ones that fill my lungs with fresh, beautiful air and leave me feeling peaceful in a way I was never familiar with until now. 

Maybe D will my next miracle.  Maybe I will no longer be afraid of her.  Maybe I will find myself filled with enough love to dismiss her pettiness and cruelty.  Until then, I think I'll bury myself in Vegan peanut butter cookies and historical fiction.  Funny thing, I bought these fabulous cookies 3 days ago, this was day one of my period.  I had terrible cramps, couldn't stop crying and all I could think about was chocolate.  So I compromised and bought Uncle Eddies Naturally Sweetened Vegan Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies.  These were just what my uterus ordered.  So after indulging in 3 of them I decided to throw the rest away so I would not be tempted any further.  Well, the following day, I still felt as if my period needed a little more attention, I mean, we do burn twice as many calories and I am losing a lot of blood, plus, I had been through quite a fiasco, with my boss being a sadistic ass pirate, so I decided that, since the cookies were still in a plastic bag, which were then stored in a paper bag, there was no harm in taking them back out of the garbage and indulging in just a few more, 4 to be exact.  After taking the cookies out of the paper bag, leaving the paper bag in the garbage with the hope that Hunter would not then catch on to my scandalous behaviour, I decided to empty out our balcony ashtray.  I then placed the remaining cookies, which were now in the plastic bag, on top of the mound of cigarettes, in the garbage can and went on my merry way.  Today, day 3 of my period, I said fuck it, I'm not even going to make excuses, I want a fucking cookie.  So, with Hunter at work and me at home, left completely to my own devices, I decided to take the plastic bag with the cookies in them, after they had spent 24 hours now on a mound of cigarette butts in our garbage can, and emptied them onto a paper towel where I decided to inspect them for ashes before I took my first bite.  As I took my first bite I tasted something strange, so I took another bite, same problem, so I decided to try a different cookie, you know, cause maybe it was just that particular one, same problem.  Yes, my friends, every single one of those little fuckers tasted like a thousand old, stale cigarettes.  Once I reached that point of acceptance, I threw them all away, on top of the cigarettes, not protected by a plastic bag, and chugged about 2 glasses of water.  I told Hunter about it and he related a story of moral depletion from his drinking days, shamefully I reminded him that I'm 7 years sober.  I have no excuse.  I warned him that if, in the next few weeks, he sees me make a disgusted face and shake my head a couple times, to not be concerned, that is just me trying to shake off the memory of the cookies.  Ugh, in fact I'm doing it right now.  I think my next blog will be a list of all the cheap, simple ways you can traumatize yourself.