"close range victim of her sawed off mouth"

still can't decide if i like the new ani album. which has happened with the
past few albums, and both have them grown on me. trying to pick songs to
put on a CD for girlbiscuit, and entirely different songs to put on a CD for
skin. still trudging through Cider House Rules, and while it's not a
difficult read, there's something very solid about the way Irving writes, so
every chapter I feel like I've accomplished something.

amidst the angst that began the week, i got the first real haircut i've
gotten in what i think is over a decade. and i grow fonder and fonder of
it as i figure out where the barrette has to go to control it during work,
and as Light continues to seem remarkably enthusiastic about the strange
little tendril that ends up in my face. (fortunately, it's only curved,
and not curly, so i get to escape that little rhyme)

i've had two fantastic days, back to back, learning new things about being
social, finding new places where i'd like to establish patterns and roots.
i have some odd, presexual sort of a crush on lilo and host, it's not that i
want to see them naked, but i get excited about getting to see them, and i'm
usually grinning when i leave. (i'd assumed we were too much the latecomer
to be invited, and we weren't and that still makes me a little giddy) and
the equally charming company we had last night, who shall for the moment be
called Tulip and ABG. (a cookie, of your choice, if you get what it stands
for), made me feel grounded, centered and real, because we're sitting on my
couch, eating strawberry sorbet, drinking cocoa and talking about WASPs and
longbowmen and those letters you insert in your christmas cards.

i'm fascinated by watching other couples, seeing what they blend and what
they keep separate, and how they negotiate it, with or without words, and
what comes out in the way Light and i interact with new people. and if i
did dislike Tulip, i don't remember why, except i seem to remember thinking
she scorned me, so there may have been some sour grapes. but i hope to get
the opportunity to entertain them again (good eaters make me grin, because
obviously, like my cooking equals liking me.) and maybe play board games
this time.

for your regularly scheduled fussing, my journal and my tattoos serve their
purpose as touchstones of individual beliefs, and the irony of doubting
whether i can follow history where he goes makes his usename just a little
more entertaining in the only mildly funny way.

What happens, happens. Having seen all the CSI episodes SpikeTV appears to
possess, i've switched my loyalties to half-watching tivo'd ER episodes
while playing puzzle pirates, and sometimes trying to read at the same time.
I've spent too much money, on clothes and brakes and must weigh the virtues
of hoping my checks take time to get to their destinations against the
virtues of taking money out of savings and hoping i'll put it back next
thursday. it's not disaster, just disappointing.

someone important cleared something about how she felt about me up, which
felt like a little version of Christmas, and the idea of me looking
confident to anyone ever strikes me as ludicrous but provokes a lot of
inward-directed questioning about what i'm presenting as an outside face,
because even here, even when i go deep, i think there's still a little
antagonism.. and a sweetheart of a woman sent me a book, and i'm hoping to
find out what kind of cookie she likes, and i'm in love with my hairdresser,
and they're promising to teach me new things at work. I'm trying to think
of what the next thing to give up will be, because i don't want to focus too
much on the fact that i'm giving up alcohol entirely, so some other form of
deprivation must take place to take my mind off of it. Cheese or sugar
seem the next obvious choices, but i can't imagine a life without either.
I could give up the crack again, but since this'll be like the thirtieth
time i've given it up, it means a little less now.

i'm tempted to try to build new bridges, or ascertain that doors i imagined
closed really are, to not take the fact that my first tentative attempt to
find out what went wrong was smacked down to mean that obviously no one ever
wants to talk to me ever again. and maybe my life is just an endless series
of adjoining doorways, so every moment is liminal, just between two
different points with every step i take. not an excuse, an apology or an
explanation, but i think there's a chance that sometimes what i think as
transitional is really just spinning in circles, trying to kiss my own
metaphorical elbow, my own metaphorical ass.

an hour more of work, and maybe tonight we'll go to maine, or buy tickets to
see Mech and Media, or finish watching season two of westwing, or finish
skin and girlbiscuits packages and try and mail them out tomorrow. either
way, it's a weekendful of getting to still be me, still be in this life,
with this man, these friends, these books to read, this furniture, this
future. and that's wicked neat.

"close range victim of her sawed off mouth"

still can't decide if i like the new ani album. which has happened with the
past few albums, and both have them grown on me. trying to pick songs to
put on a CD for girlbiscuit, and entirely different songs to put on a CD for
skin. still trudging through Cider House Rules, and while it's not a
difficult read, there's something very solid about the way Irving writes, so
every chapter I feel like I've accomplished something.

amidst the angst that began the week, i got the first real haircut i've
gotten in what i think is over a decade. and i grow fonder and fonder of
it as i figure out where the barrette has to go to control it during work,
and as Light continues to seem remarkably enthusiastic about the strange
little tendril that ends up in my face. (fortunately, it's only curved,
and not curly, so i get to escape that little rhyme)

i've had two fantastic days, back to back, learning new things about being
social, finding new places where i'd like to establish patterns and roots.
i have some odd, presexual sort of a crush on lilo and host, it's not that i
want to see them naked, but i get excited about getting to see them, and i'm
usually grinning when i leave. (i'd assumed we were too much the latecomer
to be invited, and we weren't and that still makes me a little giddy) and
the equally charming company we had last night, who shall for the moment be
called Tulip and ABG. (a cookie, of your choice, if you get what it stands
for), made me feel grounded, centered and real, because we're sitting on my
couch, eating strawberry sorbet, drinking cocoa and talking about WASPs and
longbowmen and those letters you insert in your christmas cards.

i'm fascinated by watching other couples, seeing what they blend and what
they keep separate, and how they negotiate it, with or without words, and
what comes out in the way Light and i interact with new people. and if i
did dislike Tulip, i don't remember why, except i seem to remember thinking
she scorned me, so there may have been some sour grapes. but i hope to get
the opportunity to entertain them again (good eaters make me grin, because
obviously, like my cooking equals liking me.) and maybe play board games
this time.

for your regularly scheduled fussing, my journal and my tattoos serve their
purpose as touchstones of individual beliefs, and the irony of doubting
whether i can follow history where he goes makes his usename just a little
more entertaining in the only mildly funny way.

What happens, happens. Having seen all the CSI episodes SpikeTV appears to
possess, i've switched my loyalties to half-watching tivo'd ER episodes
while playing puzzle pirates, and sometimes trying to read at the same time.
I've spent too much money, on clothes and brakes and must weigh the virtues
of hoping my checks take time to get to their destinations against the
virtues of taking money out of savings and hoping i'll put it back next
thursday. it's not disaster, just disappointing.

someone important cleared something about how she felt about me up, which
felt like a little version of Christmas, and the idea of me looking
confident to anyone ever strikes me as ludicrous but provokes a lot of
inward-directed questioning about what i'm presenting as an outside face,
because even here, even when i go deep, i think there's still a little
antagonism.. and a sweetheart of a woman sent me a book, and i'm hoping to
find out what kind of cookie she likes, and i'm in love with my hairdresser,
and they're promising to teach me new things at work. I'm trying to think
of what the next thing to give up will be, because i don't want to focus too
much on the fact that i'm giving up alcohol entirely, so some other form of
deprivation must take place to take my mind off of it. Cheese or sugar
seem the next obvious choices, but i can't imagine a life without either.
I could give up the crack again, but since this'll be like the thirtieth
time i've given it up, it means a little less now.

i'm tempted to try to build new bridges, or ascertain that doors i imagined
closed really are, to not take the fact that my first tentative attempt to
find out what went wrong was smacked down to mean that obviously no one ever
wants to talk to me ever again. and maybe my life is just an endless series
of adjoining doorways, so every moment is liminal, just between two
different points with every step i take. not an excuse, an apology or an
explanation, but i think there's a chance that sometimes what i think as
transitional is really just spinning in circles, trying to kiss my own
metaphorical elbow, my own metaphorical ass.

an hour more of work, and maybe tonight we'll go to maine, or buy tickets to
see Mech and Media, or finish watching season two of westwing, or finish
skin and girlbiscuits packages and try and mail them out tomorrow. either
way, it's a weekendful of getting to still be me, still be in this life,
with this man, these friends, these books to read, this furniture, this
future. and that's wicked neat.