it's not you, it's me

Many of you have on multiple occasions, inquired about the seemingly lengthy time gaps between my blogs. I write. Disappear for a period of about thirty days. And then return with some proudly accomplished feat of unparalleled ignorance, and then I disappear again. Reasons for this are unclear, I realize. And I am not insensitive to your needs to embrace the self depreciating acts of one less aware.

But, could it possibly be that other than these occasional onsets of curbside proposals and sexual propositions made by cross-dressing hermaphrodites at the local supermarket (wait, I didn't tell you about that? Never the you mind then) that my life may just actually be (despite being the Divine Cartoon Network) normal?

I too am flabbergasted. However:

See, if I wrote on a more regular basis, when compelled by the everyday beauties and follies of life, then blogging for my sake would become presently more incomprehensible; and reading, for your own would be intolerable and border on the down right inhumane. Instead of "Humans are disgusting," a recent not so in depth look at bus terminal mating procedures, titles would become mundane and more like this: "The copy machine is resilient" and "Peeing: the understated pleasure."

Alas, not that these are anything other than the senseless, unedited ramblings of an addled mind. I simply, however, wish that above all else that your ventures into addled mind readings, be pleasant.

So, to put it more clearly, and to humorously echo a particularly familiar line indicative of a relationship soon to be weighed down by the burden of one or both of the party's excrement: it's not you ... it's me.

Until later. Cheers.

humans are disgusting

Last night was cold, this morning was cold. I was dodging ice patches and hair balls on my way to catch the 8:20 bus downtown while wondering out loud why it wasn't spring yet. You might think it strange to mutter loudly into ones scarf while in public, but I find it helpful. It clears the mind, and keeps the crazies at bay.

Anyway, I am inside the bus shelter now, hiding from the cold air. Normally, I stand outside the shelter chastising traffic with my presence, but I'm just now getting over the sniffles so I decide to take a chance on the public transportation hut, this decision quickly reminds me why I often avoid these friendly looking cesspools.

So I huddle behind the plexiglass and wait. Brr. Cold. Then for some reason, I look down at my feet. I'm standing on something like a candy wrapper. It's bright green and shiny, and because I like shiny things I look a little closer to examine what "flavor" it is. It reads:

LifeStyles
Assorted Colors
Lubricated

I snicker. Am I ten years old? No, but it's still funny. I imagine it must have fallen out of someone's pocket or bag. Though its just an empty wrapper I picture someone's twinge of concern to find out they dropped it. I mean, it's random yes, to find a condom wrapper at a bus stop, but not unheard of, right? Okay, jokes over. I'm about to move my attention back outside to the street traffic but something else stops me. "Is that...nuh-uh..." To my horror, my eyes move about three feet over and there it is. Red. Twisted. Elongated. Used. Its contents in a stiff wad frozen to the concrete.

Sweet Jesus.

It didn't fall out from a bag, I now realize. It was used. There. In that bus stop. Where I was standing? Probably not. I cringe anyway and tell myself something rational,

My bus comes. I leave. I disinfect. Humans are disgusting.

he popped the question

Yesterday was my 21st birthday. It was also the day that every girl dreams of from the time she first sees a wedding happen. Before she dreams of the dress, or the flowers, or the violinists playing a french lullaby, she dreams of this moment. When he looks her in the eyes, and she knows. She just knows. She can already feel the heat in her face and the tears pushing past the corners of her eyes. She knows, because he's holding her hand so tight, and his palms are moist. Because he won't break her gaze. It's going to happen. He's going to ask her to marry him. My God. He's going to propose.

For me, because I'm shanita (and because God thinks it's funny) it was slightly different. I was standing in the freezing cold in south minneapolis, in a metro transit stop that smelt of urine and ciggies. And the groom? Oh, we hadn't previously met but he was a handsome chap. About 5' 6'', mexican, mustache el grande. He began the conversation with these words. "Hey senorita? Ch'ou gotta daller?" Immediately, I searched my pockets. I am one of those people who gives money (call it ignorant). This day however, I only had a bus pass, and sadly, I explained this to my new friend. Understandingly, he nodded and muttered about my generousity, and how the Lord should bless me, but then, he got another idea. A brighter one. "Hey, ch'ou wanna marry me?"

---stunned silence---

What? The question came again. "Ch'ou wanna marry me? you know? Marry me?" I had no words. Blink Blink. My fiance, smiling from mustache curl to mustache curl starts to walk away backwards, down the icy street. "Ch'ou so beautiful!" He yells getting further and further away. "We get married!...... [unclear, possibly spanish] .....babies!"

And just like that, gone. The bus came. I got on. Rode home. Sigh. Yesterday was my 21st birthday. It was also the day I got proposed to for the first time. I didn't even get to answer...

no, i do not know what kwanzaa is

Okay. I need to be perfectly clear about this as not to offend, cause confusion, or get bitched out by somebody. I'm not a person who thinks alot about race. I don't think about mine, much less if i don't walk by a mirror. I love everyone. That said, STOP ASKING ME ABOUT KWANZAA!!!!

Great God Almighty!!! I may be black (and that is even disputed by black people) but I am under no obligation to observe, celebrate or even KNOW what kwanzaa is all about! I mean, i love you all, i really do. And I have no problem being your token black friend, i really don't! But STOP, PLEASE STOP, requesting my knowledge concerning this holiday.

I'm in Best Buy, and a very large pseudo tribal looking gentleman from Nigeria, I later learn, follows me around the store for almost thirty minutes! Why? you ask? Because I'm supposed to know about Kwanzaa!! arrrrragh!

So please, this is my earnest request. If you would like to know more about kwanzaa, don't ask me, google it. If that's too impersonal for you, there's a large fellow at the Best Buy in st. louis park. I'm sure he would love to help you.

here's to you (and me) but mostly you.

I'm happy. It's been a while since I could say that I was happy. JUST HAPPY. I haven't been depressed, but rare are the moments when I can take a deep breath, think about my life and still smile. I'm in my pjs, I'm listening to The Honorary Title's cd, I'm looking at a sunny sky with sparkling packages of white wandering past my window. I'm content. Without all the things I thought it would take for me to be content. After everything, I'm here. And I was supposed to be here. Happy. And here. I don't know why things work out the way they do, but it's nice to know that where ever i end up, is exactly where i was meant to be. Happy. Eggnog. Christmas. I may not know you, but I love you, and if I know you, well, then you can feel additional fuzzies because it's true. I don't know how long this will last - so i gotta share it while its here, right?

So here's to everyone whose gonna have a beautiful Christmas/New Year/ Haunukkah, whatever. And to those who are happy because they're here. Right. Where. You. Need. Be.

*Cheers*

the perfect end to a lousy week, life whatev

Okay - so i'm not really going to kill myself. not right now. i don't have anything nearby that would do the trick anyway. that, and my parents are coming to visit me for thankgs and i don't want to ruin the weekend with a suicide. that said, i'll wait till next week, and here's why i want to die.

computers are of the devil. satan created them, then he sent them out into the world to work their evil ways by doing things like, "simplifying" and "multitasking" and "enhancing" mankind's fragile existence until the time they are ready to combust. then like suicide bomers, they go off. taking with them everything you entrusted to them like, say two and a half years worth of stuff, and anything of any importance to this semester. riiiiiiiight. last night, Max R. Swell, my hard drive (aka, satanic nymph) decided it was time to detonate. now he holds my files, life, education, whatev- hostage in his binary little grip. and then the apple people, the other imps of the dark one, are further offering to help me recover my files for a casual $800. Helpful bastards aren't they? So, yes. this is where i am. PRAYING for some relief. alright AAer's, this is time to prove God with me. I need a miracle. I need 55gbs of stuff back, or some of you will be buying indulgences to get me outta purgatory. Oh, wait. we don't believe in that. riiiiiight. k, then i'm just screwed.

good driver + bad pedestrian = me

Monday, November 21, 2005

Okay, so this is my first blog entry and while it should be something thoughtful, rather i have chosen to reflect on my new found realization of how thoughtless i am when meandering through traffic . . .on foot.

So my car is having difficulties. Blackbilly (my blk chevy blazer who i bought from a hill billy - get it?) decided this week that he wasn't going to start up in the mornings. this of course, coincides with the first snow fall. either way, he is forcing me to now be among other things, (like an angry little girl), a bus rider (yay!) and a pedestrian (boo!).

In the course of this week (really last week) I have nearly been hit by a car thrice, narrowly missed walking into one twice, and have fallen in front of, behind or beside one at least once . . .daily. this brings me to the conclusion that driving has spoiled me. i can operate a motor vehicle, but apparently at the cost of knowing how to operate my appendages.

So, if perchance you see me this week, walking obliviously, you may just want to stop and pick me up and deposit me where i need to be. think about it. you might be saving my life.