I'm sorry, but I can't write tonight. I drank way too much coffee and now I can't type...or stop running in circles. Must go. Can't breathe. Dizzy! What? What's happening? Who said that? Is that you, Ghod?
Hey, why doesn't someone write a sequel to, "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret", called, "Hey God, It's Me, Margaret, Again." Only, this time instead of Margaret getting her period and going through puberty, she stops getting her period and goes through menopause. What do you think? Did Judy Blume already do this? Is she still alive? Did I spell her name right? Should I email her? Huh? Yeah, well, you got somethin' better? Let's hear it then. What? Huh? Nothing? No? Well, then maybe you should close your little flap trap, hmmmm? And if you think of something, let me know.
Look, I gots to go...I have a few more laps to make around the room before I pass out.
Yours truly,
Ima Rhea Todd
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Monday, August 6, 2007
Indulging and Donating
Well, today was about indulging myself. "Why?" Because I can and you can't stop me.
What did I do, you ask? Well, I got a manicure and pedicure as well as a full-body massage, AND I went to see The Bourne Ultimatum and ate TWO, count 'em TWO, Reece's Peanut Butter Cups! Oh yeah, I really went all out today, folks!!
Let me start by saying that today was only the second time I had paid a man to give me a massage. I was hesitant because the only other time I did that, I ended up dating the guy and I never got any more massages! It was a scam!! Much like that Seinfeld episode.
This time, however, I wanted it to be different. Special. So, I showered, shaved, got my mani and pedi and made sure my underwear didn't have holes in them. I wanted to do this right. And folks, let me tell you, it was right. Oh, was it right. After an hour of being touched in all the right places in just the right way...all I can say is, "I sure hope I'm not pregnant!"
And my date with Matt was just as I had dreamed it would be -a wild ride from start to finish. It was yummy and dark! All that vicarious violence, for the first time in my life, pleasured me. It was sinfully delicious. I don't know what it is about him, but I just want to shave him from head to toe and lick him all over. Is that wrong?
What I loved most about today, however, was when I got my manicure and pedicure. I returned to the place I used to frequent when I worked here a couple of years back. The same Vietnamese woman was working there. We got to talking and I learned that she returns to Saigon every October and stays for one month. You might think she goes back to visit family. But does she? No. She has no family there now. You might guess that she goes for vacation. But you'd be wrong again. I mean, come on, who in their right mind would vacation for one month in Ho Chi Minh City? What this woman does, though, is she saves all her tip money and then takes it to Vietnam and gives it to the less fortunate - the orphans, the blind, and the sick rural folk that can't get medical care. She does this all on her own. She isn't part of any organization. She is just...awesome. I was inspired. Yeah, I donate every year a little of this and that and I write letters to help get people out of prison in foreign countries, but this woman really goes out of her way. I do most of my charity work from home. She flies half way across the world to do it in person because that's the only way she can get the money to these people. Let's face it, this woman truly rocks! And she does damn good nails, too!
So, if you are in the Finger Lakes Region and want to get your nails done, please go to the Mall and see Nancy and give her a big tip (yeah, yeah, I already told her about not eating yellow snow).
Let us be thankful today that not EVERY man wears that hideous cologne that screams, "I'm gay and pretending to be heterosexual!" Stop living the lie, dude,'cuz you're making me gag! (As if I don't have enough to deal with right now. Hello??)
Hanging in there and sometimes out there,
Ima P. Brayne
What did I do, you ask? Well, I got a manicure and pedicure as well as a full-body massage, AND I went to see The Bourne Ultimatum and ate TWO, count 'em TWO, Reece's Peanut Butter Cups! Oh yeah, I really went all out today, folks!!
Let me start by saying that today was only the second time I had paid a man to give me a massage. I was hesitant because the only other time I did that, I ended up dating the guy and I never got any more massages! It was a scam!! Much like that Seinfeld episode.
This time, however, I wanted it to be different. Special. So, I showered, shaved, got my mani and pedi and made sure my underwear didn't have holes in them. I wanted to do this right. And folks, let me tell you, it was right. Oh, was it right. After an hour of being touched in all the right places in just the right way...all I can say is, "I sure hope I'm not pregnant!"
And my date with Matt was just as I had dreamed it would be -a wild ride from start to finish. It was yummy and dark! All that vicarious violence, for the first time in my life, pleasured me. It was sinfully delicious. I don't know what it is about him, but I just want to shave him from head to toe and lick him all over. Is that wrong?
What I loved most about today, however, was when I got my manicure and pedicure. I returned to the place I used to frequent when I worked here a couple of years back. The same Vietnamese woman was working there. We got to talking and I learned that she returns to Saigon every October and stays for one month. You might think she goes back to visit family. But does she? No. She has no family there now. You might guess that she goes for vacation. But you'd be wrong again. I mean, come on, who in their right mind would vacation for one month in Ho Chi Minh City? What this woman does, though, is she saves all her tip money and then takes it to Vietnam and gives it to the less fortunate - the orphans, the blind, and the sick rural folk that can't get medical care. She does this all on her own. She isn't part of any organization. She is just...awesome. I was inspired. Yeah, I donate every year a little of this and that and I write letters to help get people out of prison in foreign countries, but this woman really goes out of her way. I do most of my charity work from home. She flies half way across the world to do it in person because that's the only way she can get the money to these people. Let's face it, this woman truly rocks! And she does damn good nails, too!
So, if you are in the Finger Lakes Region and want to get your nails done, please go to the Mall and see Nancy and give her a big tip (yeah, yeah, I already told her about not eating yellow snow).
Let us be thankful today that not EVERY man wears that hideous cologne that screams, "I'm gay and pretending to be heterosexual!" Stop living the lie, dude,'cuz you're making me gag! (As if I don't have enough to deal with right now. Hello??)
Hanging in there and sometimes out there,
Ima P. Brayne
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Poop Soup
Okay, the title sounds a bit raunchy, I know...but, "I didn't start it!" You see, I did as promised and went to the Lake and played with my younger family members. Now, let me prep you by saying that I'm the aunt that gets reprimanded by getting the kids all riled up. This is SOOO unfair. Do you know what I do? Nothing. I just try to get to their level to play with them because what fun is it for them to play with someone that they can't even relate to? I'm not their Mom! No one asked me for permission to get pregnant and call me aunt, did they? That would be a big fat NO. No, an even fatter NO. More like a NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Because if they had asked me, guess what I would have said? Ohhhh, you're pretty smart! But I am getting off the point, which is that I like to play with kids at their own level. (Note: Comment was removed here about the similarity of the last statement and my last relationship. Why? Because although sarcasm can be funny, it would be wrong.)
So, I get myself to the Lake where I am told that there is little seaweed this year and that the water is warm, so why don't I go in for a swim. I test the water with one toe - okay, it's pretty warm (suspiciously warm) - then I look around for seaweed - okay, not too much. I sniff a bit to make sure things don't smell too fishy - it's not bad. Okay, they win. I go in.
My niece and nephew are in the paddle boat which is tied to the dock. Apparently, they are waiting for their mother to return from the cottage and take them for a ride. So, I swim up next to them to keep them company and bond for a bit while they wait. While I am there, being all aunt-like and stuff, we start to play. I get seaweed dumped on my head and water splashed in my face, and so they get seaweed dumped in their mouths and...well, never mind, I don't want to incriminate myself any further. Then, at some point I say, "You'd better watch out!" to which my preschool aged niece follows up with, "You'd better not cry," and then we start to sing the rest of, "Santa Clause is Coming to Town". The only twist is that instead of singing, "Santa Clause is coming to town," at the end, she sings, "Aunt Shell is going up Santa's Butt". This puts her and her brother into hysterics, naturally. I realize instantly that this would make for a completely inappropriate game. So, wasting no time, I aid and abet them in finding things can go up our butt's or butt's we can go up into all to the tune of a sweet Christmas carol. Soon enough, this game takes an even sicker turn as my niece and nephew manage to incorporate all bodily functions into the "song". It gets so out of hand that after just five minutes, Sadie has an ending that lasts for three minutes whereby she states such spiritually moving concepts as, 'God's pooh, the Angels boogers, Santa's diarrhea, Rudolph's pee, and my entire extended family's puke are all going to be put into a bowl' and I am going to have to eat it. Because she is so taken with herself and her little creation, she can't hear the Jaws tune that both her brother and I can hear as her mother approaches from behind. We don't bother to tell her, either. We just start pretending to whistle ('cuz neither one of us can actually whistle) and look around as if we have no idea WHAT she is going on about. In fact, I try very hard to look shocked and put on the, "I just don't know where she is getting this from," look on my face.
Less than impressed by her daughter's disgusting deluge of filth, her mother gets to the helm of the paddle boat and starts paddling backwards into the open seas. You can tell by my sister's face and posture that somebody is going to get a little talking to. At this point, before she has been properly castigated, Sadie pipes up and yells to me (and all on shore), "One time I ate an olive out of my poop!". This causes my sister to begin furiously paddling to turn the boat around, but she isn't fast enough to stop my nephew from getting his two cents in with, "Oh yeah, well, one time I threw up and there was broccoli, and corn, and peas and a pickle. So, I ate the pickle." While my sister ups her efforts in what looks like an attempt to become bionic, the rest of us are left feeling quite nostalgic. The locals are looking back on their childhoods and recalling what items they too ate out of their pooh and puke. And me? I am just happy that they're going to get in trouble. :)
(Note: The original final comment about how I was left reminded of my last boyfriend was deleted. Why? I ALREADY TOLD YOU! Because although it might have been witty to end it that way, it would have been wrong. Got it? Please try to remember this for future blog readings, okay? Thanks. No, really. Thanks.)
Today is Sunday, so I shall rest for the rest of the day. Shall the rest of you rest today? Whatever you do, do it with love and compassion in your heart, and don't eat too many beans...pleeease!?
You know, I am really glad you're supposed to seize the day and not your neighbor.
Sincerely,
Ima C. Weed
So, I get myself to the Lake where I am told that there is little seaweed this year and that the water is warm, so why don't I go in for a swim. I test the water with one toe - okay, it's pretty warm (suspiciously warm) - then I look around for seaweed - okay, not too much. I sniff a bit to make sure things don't smell too fishy - it's not bad. Okay, they win. I go in.
My niece and nephew are in the paddle boat which is tied to the dock. Apparently, they are waiting for their mother to return from the cottage and take them for a ride. So, I swim up next to them to keep them company and bond for a bit while they wait. While I am there, being all aunt-like and stuff, we start to play. I get seaweed dumped on my head and water splashed in my face, and so they get seaweed dumped in their mouths and...well, never mind, I don't want to incriminate myself any further. Then, at some point I say, "You'd better watch out!" to which my preschool aged niece follows up with, "You'd better not cry," and then we start to sing the rest of, "Santa Clause is Coming to Town". The only twist is that instead of singing, "Santa Clause is coming to town," at the end, she sings, "Aunt Shell is going up Santa's Butt". This puts her and her brother into hysterics, naturally. I realize instantly that this would make for a completely inappropriate game. So, wasting no time, I aid and abet them in finding things can go up our butt's or butt's we can go up into all to the tune of a sweet Christmas carol. Soon enough, this game takes an even sicker turn as my niece and nephew manage to incorporate all bodily functions into the "song". It gets so out of hand that after just five minutes, Sadie has an ending that lasts for three minutes whereby she states such spiritually moving concepts as, 'God's pooh, the Angels boogers, Santa's diarrhea, Rudolph's pee, and my entire extended family's puke are all going to be put into a bowl' and I am going to have to eat it. Because she is so taken with herself and her little creation, she can't hear the Jaws tune that both her brother and I can hear as her mother approaches from behind. We don't bother to tell her, either. We just start pretending to whistle ('cuz neither one of us can actually whistle) and look around as if we have no idea WHAT she is going on about. In fact, I try very hard to look shocked and put on the, "I just don't know where she is getting this from," look on my face.
Less than impressed by her daughter's disgusting deluge of filth, her mother gets to the helm of the paddle boat and starts paddling backwards into the open seas. You can tell by my sister's face and posture that somebody is going to get a little talking to. At this point, before she has been properly castigated, Sadie pipes up and yells to me (and all on shore), "One time I ate an olive out of my poop!". This causes my sister to begin furiously paddling to turn the boat around, but she isn't fast enough to stop my nephew from getting his two cents in with, "Oh yeah, well, one time I threw up and there was broccoli, and corn, and peas and a pickle. So, I ate the pickle." While my sister ups her efforts in what looks like an attempt to become bionic, the rest of us are left feeling quite nostalgic. The locals are looking back on their childhoods and recalling what items they too ate out of their pooh and puke. And me? I am just happy that they're going to get in trouble. :)
(Note: The original final comment about how I was left reminded of my last boyfriend was deleted. Why? I ALREADY TOLD YOU! Because although it might have been witty to end it that way, it would have been wrong. Got it? Please try to remember this for future blog readings, okay? Thanks. No, really. Thanks.)
Today is Sunday, so I shall rest for the rest of the day. Shall the rest of you rest today? Whatever you do, do it with love and compassion in your heart, and don't eat too many beans...pleeease!?
You know, I am really glad you're supposed to seize the day and not your neighbor.
Sincerely,
Ima C. Weed
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Cars and Confessions
Look, this isn’t going to be about illicit behavior conducted in automobiles, so if you are looking for that, look elsewhere. That’s right, move along now. For those of you who are staying, this will not be like my other entries, so be prepared.
I want to start out by saying that when you come back to the country and you are single, everyone wants to set you up with someone they know: their co-worker, their gynecologist, their brother, some guy they met at a yard sale…You’d be surprised. But to those who think that I want to date one of their ex-lovers, all I can I say is, “EWWWWW”. There is a reason they don’t talk about 1 degree of separation, folks –because you need more degrees to keep it from being incestuous!! I am not doing someone that you already did! Got it, Mom? And you can’t make me. So, please, I know you mean well, but, “EWWWWW”.
Since everyone is eager to help me out, let me help YOU out. I have some rules that THIS TIME I will not budge on. So, to save you time, let me start by saying he needs to be no younger than 35 and no older than 45, and to Xenobia and the rest, this time he needs to have a driver’s license! Why is this so important you ask? Well, the way I see it, based on my own experience, if someone doesn’t have a driver’s license, we are probably incompatible. Generally, there are several reasons a person won’t have a license:
a) He is too young to drive (in which case it is illegal to date him).
b) He is too old to drive (in which case, “EWWWW”!)
c) He has some impairment such as he is blind (in which case he can’t see how hot I look in my Hanes all-cotton boxers), deaf (he can’t ooh and ahh over the music I write), he has Asperger’s (I already tried that one – it wasn’t a good fit!), or he can’t read (in which case I can’t send him preachy, self-righteous emails when he pisses me off).
d) He is lazy and/or spoiled so he has relatives and friends who drive him everywhere (can I pleeease have a MAN this time?).
e) He is an alcoholic or drug addict and so he knows he can’t drive under the influence (while I appreciate the concern for safety of others, I really don’t need another alcoholic in my life, thank you).
f) He lost his license for one of the reasons above.
g) He was born and raised in a city (zzzzzzz….).
i) He’s just too stupid to pass the test.
So, if he can’t pick me up in his car, he ain’t gonna’ pick me up at all! Got it? Good.
Now, here is where some of you might want to stop reading because it isn’t biting or angry. Go ahead. Don’t worry. You don’t have to feel guilty. We’ll see each other again. I promise.
Last chance….
Okay then.
I am currently reading the book Bonds That Make Us Free by Warner. The beginning of this book is about how we betray ourselves and the poison of being and being with those who are self-absorbed. Unfortunately, for the last 12 months I was in Korea and up until yesterday, I had been guilty of just such a thing. Why am I telling you this? Because you need to know that I know that the disgust I felt at being back “home” WAS about me, and not about them. I was and still am disgusted with myself because I knew early on in Korea that I was being exploited and that no one was going to take care of me but myself…yet I forfeited that responsibility. Why? I didn’t trust myself.
These people here in Upstate, NY are good people. They didn’t vote for Bush (hell, they probably didn’t vote at all), they don’t care what I wear or what I look like (there isn’t that superficiality you find in places like Korea), and they aren’t out to use me (I have nothing to offer them, really). These are people who are not self-absorbed and sinful like the people that I let into my life and my heart over the past few years. These aren’t self-absorbed people who are insecure, resentful of others’ success, self-centered, selfish, guarded, manipulative, or obsessed with quantity (they don’t count how many people come to their birthday parties to determine how worthy they are). Sure, we don’t all share similar interests or world views, but these are people who actually delight in others’ success, are sincere, supportive, peaceful, trusting, and willing to share themselves…these people see you as a friend, not an enemy. I saw being here as a sign of failure and it’s because I failed at being true to myself. Now I have a chance to get back to who I was before all this started. My values and beliefs got distorted by romantic love and the resulting self-betrayal only exacerbated my sickness. I will never go back there again – literally or figuratively.
So, is it my fault that I am physically ill now? Absolutely. Is it my fault I was betrayed? Of course. Is it my fault I came home completely heartbroken? Most certainly. Why? So, who do I really need to forgive each day? It’s not the people that abandoned me and used me over the years– it’s me because I abandoned myself and let myself be used. And I hope that others can forgive me as well, for in the pain and confusion I felt, I judged them harshly when the only person I have the right to judge is myself. Am I guilty? Yes. Do I deserve to be punished? Yes. But will I serve my time and then begin again a better person? I am sure of it.
That said, I am still not dating anyone without a license.
I am off to the Lake to play with children and ask repeatedly, “Have you caught anything, yet?”
Have a nice bath,
Ima G. String
I want to start out by saying that when you come back to the country and you are single, everyone wants to set you up with someone they know: their co-worker, their gynecologist, their brother, some guy they met at a yard sale…You’d be surprised. But to those who think that I want to date one of their ex-lovers, all I can I say is, “EWWWWW”. There is a reason they don’t talk about 1 degree of separation, folks –because you need more degrees to keep it from being incestuous!! I am not doing someone that you already did! Got it, Mom? And you can’t make me. So, please, I know you mean well, but, “EWWWWW”.
Since everyone is eager to help me out, let me help YOU out. I have some rules that THIS TIME I will not budge on. So, to save you time, let me start by saying he needs to be no younger than 35 and no older than 45, and to Xenobia and the rest, this time he needs to have a driver’s license! Why is this so important you ask? Well, the way I see it, based on my own experience, if someone doesn’t have a driver’s license, we are probably incompatible. Generally, there are several reasons a person won’t have a license:
a) He is too young to drive (in which case it is illegal to date him).
b) He is too old to drive (in which case, “EWWWW”!)
c) He has some impairment such as he is blind (in which case he can’t see how hot I look in my Hanes all-cotton boxers), deaf (he can’t ooh and ahh over the music I write), he has Asperger’s (I already tried that one – it wasn’t a good fit!), or he can’t read (in which case I can’t send him preachy, self-righteous emails when he pisses me off).
d) He is lazy and/or spoiled so he has relatives and friends who drive him everywhere (can I pleeease have a MAN this time?).
e) He is an alcoholic or drug addict and so he knows he can’t drive under the influence (while I appreciate the concern for safety of others, I really don’t need another alcoholic in my life, thank you).
f) He lost his license for one of the reasons above.
g) He was born and raised in a city (zzzzzzz….).
i) He’s just too stupid to pass the test.
So, if he can’t pick me up in his car, he ain’t gonna’ pick me up at all! Got it? Good.
Now, here is where some of you might want to stop reading because it isn’t biting or angry. Go ahead. Don’t worry. You don’t have to feel guilty. We’ll see each other again. I promise.
Last chance….
Okay then.
I am currently reading the book Bonds That Make Us Free by Warner. The beginning of this book is about how we betray ourselves and the poison of being and being with those who are self-absorbed. Unfortunately, for the last 12 months I was in Korea and up until yesterday, I had been guilty of just such a thing. Why am I telling you this? Because you need to know that I know that the disgust I felt at being back “home” WAS about me, and not about them. I was and still am disgusted with myself because I knew early on in Korea that I was being exploited and that no one was going to take care of me but myself…yet I forfeited that responsibility. Why? I didn’t trust myself.
These people here in Upstate, NY are good people. They didn’t vote for Bush (hell, they probably didn’t vote at all), they don’t care what I wear or what I look like (there isn’t that superficiality you find in places like Korea), and they aren’t out to use me (I have nothing to offer them, really). These are people who are not self-absorbed and sinful like the people that I let into my life and my heart over the past few years. These aren’t self-absorbed people who are insecure, resentful of others’ success, self-centered, selfish, guarded, manipulative, or obsessed with quantity (they don’t count how many people come to their birthday parties to determine how worthy they are). Sure, we don’t all share similar interests or world views, but these are people who actually delight in others’ success, are sincere, supportive, peaceful, trusting, and willing to share themselves…these people see you as a friend, not an enemy. I saw being here as a sign of failure and it’s because I failed at being true to myself. Now I have a chance to get back to who I was before all this started. My values and beliefs got distorted by romantic love and the resulting self-betrayal only exacerbated my sickness. I will never go back there again – literally or figuratively.
So, is it my fault that I am physically ill now? Absolutely. Is it my fault I was betrayed? Of course. Is it my fault I came home completely heartbroken? Most certainly. Why? So, who do I really need to forgive each day? It’s not the people that abandoned me and used me over the years– it’s me because I abandoned myself and let myself be used. And I hope that others can forgive me as well, for in the pain and confusion I felt, I judged them harshly when the only person I have the right to judge is myself. Am I guilty? Yes. Do I deserve to be punished? Yes. But will I serve my time and then begin again a better person? I am sure of it.
That said, I am still not dating anyone without a license.
I am off to the Lake to play with children and ask repeatedly, “Have you caught anything, yet?”
Have a nice bath,
Ima G. String
Friday, August 3, 2007
Hobbies and Hanes
Today I thought I would browse the phonebook, the local papers, and some online sites to find some hobbies I could engage in during my incarceration. I was happy to see that there were horseback riding lessons not too far from where I am. Upon closer inspection of the advertisement, I discovered that the lessons include grooming the horse. Now, people, forgive me here, but why would I pay hundreds of dollars to brush a horse and pick dirt out of its hoofs? I can't believe that TammySue and BillyBob are actually getting people to pay THEM to take care of their horses. SUCKERS!
Oh, there's sky diving! How pretty would it be to sky dive over the lakes? Now the only problem I have with sky diving - seriously - is dying. Not from falling, but from a heart attack. I honestly believe that if anyone out there wants to do me in and not get busted for it, just get me to bungee jump or sky dive and I will go into cardiac arrest within the first 30 seconds of free falling. It's that easy folks.
I got bored with looking for hobbies pretty quickly and decided to stick with activities that would allow me to wear my Hanes all-cotton boxer shorts as part of my outfit. You see, I love them. I love the way they feel. They are soooo much more comfortable that regular shorts and regular women's underwear, if you ask me. I know, you didn't ask me. Whatever. I ruv 'em. I wear them jogging, swimming, biking, hiking, sleeping, bowling...It's too bad I can't use that front door on 'em, but I find that they slide up and down so easily that a trip to the bathroom is a genuinely pleasant and satisfying experience. Sometimes I pull them up and down for minutes on end just 'cuz it feels so good. What? And I know that people THINK that because they are underwear they should be worn under something...but people, please, have I ever cared? Uh, that would be a "no". I am the girl that embarrasses you by wearing long johns as pants to the pub in the middle of winter. I am the girl that takes off her high heels at the wedding and goes to the reception bare foot. And now, I am the girl that wears men's underwear as outerwear. I have them on right now in fact, and they feel GOOOOOOD!
And you know what? I am glad that I don't have to wear animal bones in my nose.
That's all for now, 'cuz Ima tired.
You know the number...
Fondly,
Ima P. Drinker
Oh, there's sky diving! How pretty would it be to sky dive over the lakes? Now the only problem I have with sky diving - seriously - is dying. Not from falling, but from a heart attack. I honestly believe that if anyone out there wants to do me in and not get busted for it, just get me to bungee jump or sky dive and I will go into cardiac arrest within the first 30 seconds of free falling. It's that easy folks.
I got bored with looking for hobbies pretty quickly and decided to stick with activities that would allow me to wear my Hanes all-cotton boxer shorts as part of my outfit. You see, I love them. I love the way they feel. They are soooo much more comfortable that regular shorts and regular women's underwear, if you ask me. I know, you didn't ask me. Whatever. I ruv 'em. I wear them jogging, swimming, biking, hiking, sleeping, bowling...It's too bad I can't use that front door on 'em, but I find that they slide up and down so easily that a trip to the bathroom is a genuinely pleasant and satisfying experience. Sometimes I pull them up and down for minutes on end just 'cuz it feels so good. What? And I know that people THINK that because they are underwear they should be worn under something...but people, please, have I ever cared? Uh, that would be a "no". I am the girl that embarrasses you by wearing long johns as pants to the pub in the middle of winter. I am the girl that takes off her high heels at the wedding and goes to the reception bare foot. And now, I am the girl that wears men's underwear as outerwear. I have them on right now in fact, and they feel GOOOOOOD!
And you know what? I am glad that I don't have to wear animal bones in my nose.
That's all for now, 'cuz Ima tired.
You know the number...
Fondly,
Ima P. Drinker
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Gettin' Things Fixed
I have had to get some things fixed lately; fortunately, my attitude is not one of them. The first thing I had fixed was my mountain bike. Now, where do you suppose I took it? That's right, I took it to the bicycle repair shop. And why did I take it to the bicycle repair shop? That's right, because it's their business to repair bikes. So, I pulled my mountain bike up from the cellar, strapped her and her flat tires onto the back of my car, and then I drove her to the shop. When I got there, I lay her frame and the deflated tires at the saleswoman's feet and told her that I need the tires checked out and the bike fixed up to get her back on the road. The woman smiled sweetly in that, "I'm a Mormon" way, and asked, "Okay, so, let me get this straight, do you want to fix it yourself or do you want us to do that?" I stood there dumbfounded - my eyebrows hit the ceiling. Why the hell would I bring my bike to the bike REPAIR shop if I was going to fix it myself? Why, people? Why did she ask me that? I am SURE she was a Mormon!
Then, I emailed a Canon Online Repair Shop and I told them that my display window on the camera didn't show any images. "John D." from the online repair shop wrote back to me and asked if I had tried pushing the display button. What kind of an asinine question is that? Of course, I tried. Are people really so stupid that they HAVE to ask that question? It annoyed me so much that I emailed John back and said, "Why no, John, I didn't push the display button because it scares me." He replied that he didn't understand. I told him that I was afraid to touch it and then asked if I could just mail it to him so that he could try pushing the display button for me. He never got back to me. ???? Thanks a lot,John!
I have also had to fix MYSELF, people. After one hell of a year in Korea and making a very large number of mistakes (one of them being that I went to Korea), I am in a period of rebirth. In order to refresh and make a clean exit from this metaphorical womb, I have been given homework which, among many other activities, includes exercise, daily affirmations, and letting go of the past by forgiving those who have harmed me along the way (you know who you are). This is part of my homework for a healthy future. So, I run and do my affirmations daily. As I trot around the neighborhood I am supposed to repeat the same thing to myself repeatedly for 30 minutes. After 21 days - yes, that's right, 21 days - there is supposed to be a wonderful change that will take place in my life. So, for example, for 21 days I should say, "I am healthy and happy" and after 21 days I should be feeling pretty darn good and get a thumbs up from the doctor. Got it? Okay, so I've taken some initiative here and changed, "I am healthy and happy" to "I'm a lesbian." Just 20 more days to go! Let's cross our fingers, shall we?
In order to let go of the past, I have to listen to a meditative hypnotherapy tape where I picture those I need to forgive standing in front of me. You know, people like bullying family members, ex-lovers that never told me they had sexually transmitted diseases, my elementary school bowling team, etc. I usually just tie them all together and pour gasoline, I mean, forgive them all at once just to save time. It seems to be working. Shhh...it's going to be okay.
I also have to read books like "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" by Gottman and "Coming Apart: The Cure for a Broken Heart" by Kingma. My favorite one so far has been, "Getting Your Self-Esteem Back After Giving Your Heart Away to a Competitive, Spoiled, Lying, Self-Obsessed, Adolescent Who Thinks that Having a Relationship Means Finding a Trophy Girlfriend Who Will Dote on Him, Feed His Gigantic Ego, and Ask for Nothing in Return." That last one is my favorite because there is this neat little ritual involving a male doll, some pins, and a lighter. It's very healing. Oh, come on now. Shhh...calm down. Do you need a nap?
Okay, look, like I said, I am in the process of fixing things - I am not THERE yet. It's hard to be THERE when I am HERE. Then again, there really is no where else I should be right now and deep down I know that. At least I was starting to think that until my dear friend, Xenobia, dragged me to the local fairgrounds tonight. We are talking about ungodly displays of reptile-human breeding (oh yeah, and SOME of those were the exhibits, too), dirty carnies, and captivating events like watching pigs run through mazes. They funniest of all was one of the display cases which had numerous pieces of stale bread and cookies that had been entered into a cooking contest much, much earlier that day/week/month. Why would I want to look at fifteen different pieces of old bread? Am I SUPPOSED to want to do that? And they offered DEEP FRIED OREO COOKIES, folks. Now, if you read any of my previous blogs about the folks in these here parts, you know that the LAST THING these people need are DEEP FRIED OREOs! I'll just summarize by saying that the workers, the attendees (accept me and X), and the poor animals that were brought there from other countries all made me want to cry. No, really, I almost started bawling about ten minutes into it. I would have cried earlier but I was eating my fried dough with butter and cinnamon sugar on it (Hey, I CAN!). Look, I think it's great to have a festival where the less intellectually and socially inept can frolic and play; the fact is, mainstream folk like myself should not be treading on their turf...it's cruel. Therefore, because I care, and only because I care, I promise to never ever ever ever ever attend another local fair (someone will just have to go in and get the fried dough for me - oh yeah, and could you also pick up some lemonade?).
Well, that's enough pancreatic juice for tonight.
On a positive note: I am very happy that most people around here only have one head.
99,
Ima D. Lishuss
Then, I emailed a Canon Online Repair Shop and I told them that my display window on the camera didn't show any images. "John D." from the online repair shop wrote back to me and asked if I had tried pushing the display button. What kind of an asinine question is that? Of course, I tried. Are people really so stupid that they HAVE to ask that question? It annoyed me so much that I emailed John back and said, "Why no, John, I didn't push the display button because it scares me." He replied that he didn't understand. I told him that I was afraid to touch it and then asked if I could just mail it to him so that he could try pushing the display button for me. He never got back to me. ???? Thanks a lot,John!
I have also had to fix MYSELF, people. After one hell of a year in Korea and making a very large number of mistakes (one of them being that I went to Korea), I am in a period of rebirth. In order to refresh and make a clean exit from this metaphorical womb, I have been given homework which, among many other activities, includes exercise, daily affirmations, and letting go of the past by forgiving those who have harmed me along the way (you know who you are). This is part of my homework for a healthy future. So, I run and do my affirmations daily. As I trot around the neighborhood I am supposed to repeat the same thing to myself repeatedly for 30 minutes. After 21 days - yes, that's right, 21 days - there is supposed to be a wonderful change that will take place in my life. So, for example, for 21 days I should say, "I am healthy and happy" and after 21 days I should be feeling pretty darn good and get a thumbs up from the doctor. Got it? Okay, so I've taken some initiative here and changed, "I am healthy and happy" to "I'm a lesbian." Just 20 more days to go! Let's cross our fingers, shall we?
In order to let go of the past, I have to listen to a meditative hypnotherapy tape where I picture those I need to forgive standing in front of me. You know, people like bullying family members, ex-lovers that never told me they had sexually transmitted diseases, my elementary school bowling team, etc. I usually just tie them all together and pour gasoline, I mean, forgive them all at once just to save time. It seems to be working. Shhh...it's going to be okay.
I also have to read books like "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" by Gottman and "Coming Apart: The Cure for a Broken Heart" by Kingma. My favorite one so far has been, "Getting Your Self-Esteem Back After Giving Your Heart Away to a Competitive, Spoiled, Lying, Self-Obsessed, Adolescent Who Thinks that Having a Relationship Means Finding a Trophy Girlfriend Who Will Dote on Him, Feed His Gigantic Ego, and Ask for Nothing in Return." That last one is my favorite because there is this neat little ritual involving a male doll, some pins, and a lighter. It's very healing. Oh, come on now. Shhh...calm down. Do you need a nap?
Okay, look, like I said, I am in the process of fixing things - I am not THERE yet. It's hard to be THERE when I am HERE. Then again, there really is no where else I should be right now and deep down I know that. At least I was starting to think that until my dear friend, Xenobia, dragged me to the local fairgrounds tonight. We are talking about ungodly displays of reptile-human breeding (oh yeah, and SOME of those were the exhibits, too), dirty carnies, and captivating events like watching pigs run through mazes. They funniest of all was one of the display cases which had numerous pieces of stale bread and cookies that had been entered into a cooking contest much, much earlier that day/week/month. Why would I want to look at fifteen different pieces of old bread? Am I SUPPOSED to want to do that? And they offered DEEP FRIED OREO COOKIES, folks. Now, if you read any of my previous blogs about the folks in these here parts, you know that the LAST THING these people need are DEEP FRIED OREOs! I'll just summarize by saying that the workers, the attendees (accept me and X), and the poor animals that were brought there from other countries all made me want to cry. No, really, I almost started bawling about ten minutes into it. I would have cried earlier but I was eating my fried dough with butter and cinnamon sugar on it (Hey, I CAN!). Look, I think it's great to have a festival where the less intellectually and socially inept can frolic and play; the fact is, mainstream folk like myself should not be treading on their turf...it's cruel. Therefore, because I care, and only because I care, I promise to never ever ever ever ever attend another local fair (someone will just have to go in and get the fried dough for me - oh yeah, and could you also pick up some lemonade?).
Well, that's enough pancreatic juice for tonight.
On a positive note: I am very happy that most people around here only have one head.
99,
Ima D. Lishuss
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
I am Looking Gooood!
Seriously, I am one of the least vain people I know. Mostly because I have given up...at least I had until the dream of Plastic Surgery invaded my dreams, my soul, and my heart. Since I can't afford it, though, I just try not to look in the mirror. At least I USED TO...but, friends, let me tell you...my body is looking GOOOD these days. I mean it. I went swimming today and wore a two piece for the first time in YEARS because, well, I could. The response from the masses was an overwhelming, "What the h-e-double-hockey-stick have you been doing??" The most inspiring part of my body these days seems to be my extremely flat stomach. If I turn sideways, all you see is my big nose and a mane of curly hair. Everyone wanted to know how I got in shape and how my stomach got so gosh darn flat. I told them quite frankly that it was due to running, in an attempt to escape my current surroundings; swimming, in an attempt to drown myself; and crying, because I have been unable to do either. I also think it has a lot to do with the fact that I quit drinking alcoholic beverages. Yes, women get beer bellies, too.
Where did I go swimming? At one of the many "gorges" natural swimming holes we have located at the bottom of a number of waterfalls here. Yes, this place is stunningly beautiful, folks. I have been all over the world - well, not really - and all over the U.S. - well, not really - and this place is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been during the summer. I ruv it!! I was up in Ithaca. Ah..Ithaca...where men can hold hands and rich hippies can pretend to be poor. I really used to like it there - ruv it there, in fact. These days, things don't sit with me quite as well. There seem to be a lot of people pretty full of themselves - it's jam packed with writers talking about their latest books, musicians performing their latest musical creations, poets spewing off some shit they should probably keep to themselves...see, the thing is these aren't MY books, or MY songs, or MY poems, so why would I care?
There's Cornell, too. I ruv geeks, I really do, but these days, most of them are foreigners so the school is really jam packed with nonnative English speakers. I have no problem with that, but I came home for a reason, people. I want to have intelligent conversations with people that I can understand. Also, the place is overrun with those "hippycrites" I was talking about, too. Real hippies have grown up and become rightfully bitter and have remained poor. I respect those guys. It's the rich hippies that never had to grow up and remain blissfully clueless because they can and THAT pisses me off. Why? For many reasons, one of them being that they are stingy motherpluckers! The real hippies were kick ass guitar players that are now regrettably working in computers and trying to figure out how to keep their shirts tucked in...if these guys had two dimes in their pocket and you needed one, they would give you a dime...or at least a dime bag. On the other hand,the rich pseudo hippies would have a hundred bucks in their pocket and they would be asking you for a dime. Hippycrites, my friends, hippycrites. The rest of the place is full of townies that are made of the same multi-colored trailer trash that you find anywhere else these days. But, boy, it sure is pretty, and they do compost, support organic farming, and have their own barter system in place...that truly rocks. But not enough to get me to move there. So, where to go? Where to go?
Another thing I love about being home is that I can jump in my car and go anywhere, anytime that doesn't require crossing an ocean or a sea. I can because a) I have a car and b) I have no job. So, I can drive on up to Ithaca and go to Wegman's and get all the gluten-free, corn-free, sugar-free, dairy-free foods that I need. I can even get FYFGA - Food You Can Feel Good About - if I want to. That's meat that is free of antibiotics and hormones and comes from animals that are treated fairly and fed organic feed. They also have veggies and fruit that are pesticide free that come from plants that are treated fairly, as well. Hopefully, the same goes for the employees 'cuz I don't want some dude full of antibiotics, hormones, and pesticides handling my goods, if you know what I mean?!
People really are nice to you here. When I am out running, they wave to me from their cars, and they smile and call out hello from their sit down lawn mowers (ah hem). They seem sincere. It's nice. I think they might be happy. I have to admit, it makes me happy that they are so happy, so maybe being happy is contagious, after all.
It got me thinking, though...hmmm...yeah, they SEEM nice, but there are two types of people: those that unintentionally hurt you, and those who are out to get you. The first group is the most dangerous, naturally. Why? Well, duh, because you usually fall for their honest appraisal of themselves as darn nice people. They are so darn well-meaning that they can't imagine anyone ever getting upset with them. These people make you feel safe and so you let your guard down, becoming more vulnerable and naked. Then you find out the hard way that they are not harmless - just the contrary. So, you get stung and you get stung hard. You end up confused and feeling stupid for not seeing it coming. Worse yet, these people have no idea what you are so upset about because they really are clueless - these are not "people smart" people. Danger Will Robinson..Danger!! The other group of people are obviously quite aware that they want to hurt you and anyone else that threatens them. These people are the ones you should hang out with. Why? Because they are obvious and easy to read, so you can protect yourself and plan your moves accordingly. There are no surprises, so you don't get your heart ripped out when you turn a blind corner. If neither group appeals to you, then just hang out with me.
That's all for now.
I am really thankful that we don't have to pedal our cars with our feet.
It's 93 degree,
Ima D. Railed
Where did I go swimming? At one of the many "gorges" natural swimming holes we have located at the bottom of a number of waterfalls here. Yes, this place is stunningly beautiful, folks. I have been all over the world - well, not really - and all over the U.S. - well, not really - and this place is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been during the summer. I ruv it!! I was up in Ithaca. Ah..Ithaca...where men can hold hands and rich hippies can pretend to be poor. I really used to like it there - ruv it there, in fact. These days, things don't sit with me quite as well. There seem to be a lot of people pretty full of themselves - it's jam packed with writers talking about their latest books, musicians performing their latest musical creations, poets spewing off some shit they should probably keep to themselves...see, the thing is these aren't MY books, or MY songs, or MY poems, so why would I care?
There's Cornell, too. I ruv geeks, I really do, but these days, most of them are foreigners so the school is really jam packed with nonnative English speakers. I have no problem with that, but I came home for a reason, people. I want to have intelligent conversations with people that I can understand. Also, the place is overrun with those "hippycrites" I was talking about, too. Real hippies have grown up and become rightfully bitter and have remained poor. I respect those guys. It's the rich hippies that never had to grow up and remain blissfully clueless because they can and THAT pisses me off. Why? For many reasons, one of them being that they are stingy motherpluckers! The real hippies were kick ass guitar players that are now regrettably working in computers and trying to figure out how to keep their shirts tucked in...if these guys had two dimes in their pocket and you needed one, they would give you a dime...or at least a dime bag. On the other hand,the rich pseudo hippies would have a hundred bucks in their pocket and they would be asking you for a dime. Hippycrites, my friends, hippycrites. The rest of the place is full of townies that are made of the same multi-colored trailer trash that you find anywhere else these days. But, boy, it sure is pretty, and they do compost, support organic farming, and have their own barter system in place...that truly rocks. But not enough to get me to move there. So, where to go? Where to go?
Another thing I love about being home is that I can jump in my car and go anywhere, anytime that doesn't require crossing an ocean or a sea. I can because a) I have a car and b) I have no job. So, I can drive on up to Ithaca and go to Wegman's and get all the gluten-free, corn-free, sugar-free, dairy-free foods that I need. I can even get FYFGA - Food You Can Feel Good About - if I want to. That's meat that is free of antibiotics and hormones and comes from animals that are treated fairly and fed organic feed. They also have veggies and fruit that are pesticide free that come from plants that are treated fairly, as well. Hopefully, the same goes for the employees 'cuz I don't want some dude full of antibiotics, hormones, and pesticides handling my goods, if you know what I mean?!
People really are nice to you here. When I am out running, they wave to me from their cars, and they smile and call out hello from their sit down lawn mowers (ah hem). They seem sincere. It's nice. I think they might be happy. I have to admit, it makes me happy that they are so happy, so maybe being happy is contagious, after all.
It got me thinking, though...hmmm...yeah, they SEEM nice, but there are two types of people: those that unintentionally hurt you, and those who are out to get you. The first group is the most dangerous, naturally. Why? Well, duh, because you usually fall for their honest appraisal of themselves as darn nice people. They are so darn well-meaning that they can't imagine anyone ever getting upset with them. These people make you feel safe and so you let your guard down, becoming more vulnerable and naked. Then you find out the hard way that they are not harmless - just the contrary. So, you get stung and you get stung hard. You end up confused and feeling stupid for not seeing it coming. Worse yet, these people have no idea what you are so upset about because they really are clueless - these are not "people smart" people. Danger Will Robinson..Danger!! The other group of people are obviously quite aware that they want to hurt you and anyone else that threatens them. These people are the ones you should hang out with. Why? Because they are obvious and easy to read, so you can protect yourself and plan your moves accordingly. There are no surprises, so you don't get your heart ripped out when you turn a blind corner. If neither group appeals to you, then just hang out with me.
That's all for now.
I am really thankful that we don't have to pedal our cars with our feet.
It's 93 degree,
Ima D. Railed
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