1) Get myself to a Walmart and fortify it. (Why Walmart? Because Walmart has everything, including food, camping materials, guns, ammo, any other survival tool i'll need, plus entertainment for those inevitable lulls in action.) Preferably one with an attached gas station, like the one in Merrillville.
2) Bring a few friends and people i dislike who are slow. The slow jerks will distract the zombie masses while my friends and i make our getaway. Friends are key to avoiding LMoE Syndrome.
3) Practise, practise, practise before the attack! Ammo doesn't last forever, and each head shot scored is bullet saved!
4) Do not plan for rescue. If I can't count on my government to rescue its citizens from fuck tons of toxic water in one relatively small city after a storm, I can't trust them to bail me out out from under mountains of the living dead.
5) Do not plan for escape. Escape to WHERE, for fuck's sake?! Sure that van in the parking lot's big enough for all five of us, but where would we go that's safer than a Walmart? Nope, this will be Christie World for the forseeable future.
6) For the love of God, man, don't grant access to stragglers who've come upon my safe haven! Chances are, they've been bitten and they're hiding it from me! Besides, they're probably douchebags who'll think that once they're inside, they should have a say on how shit's run. This is MY house, fool.
7) If a member of my party is dumb enough to try to leave the safety of my Walmart, i will not grant them re-entry, as they will likely get bitten, and try to hide it from me. I won't consign the rest of my party to a future of zombie buffethood, after working so hard to avoid it in the first place.
8) Start stockpiling now. Notify those you plan to bring with you now. Get organized now.
Showing posts with label My Personal Favourites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Personal Favourites. Show all posts
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
My Wife The Jerk
This is my attempt to rise to Stephanie's Challenge Here it is, in a nutshell: The challenge is to write about what it is like to date or live with you from the other person's perspective. It's about putting all of your flaws out there for the world to see.
So here's my story, written from the point of view of my husband.
You ever try living with a girl with bipolar disorder? It's no picnic, lemme tell ya. First off, not to state the obvious or anything, but she is moody as FUCK! One minute, she's in a good mood; next minute, she's crying about something. Or nothing. Or both. "But the super-good mood's the pay out, right?" you may be asking right now, and the answer is no. When the super-good mood comes, she goes out and spends up all the money. Usually on bullshit like tea. Because she really needs another flavour of tea.
Second off, she's OCD about the stupidest things. Must wash the hands for the five hundredth time today. Must find the gas station that's one cent cheaper than all the other ones (nevermind she just blew half her tank looking for said cheaper gas station). Must measure EVERY serving of food she puts past those pearly whites, down to the gram. And forget a spontaneous trip to the movies or restaurant. She's gotta investigate the points value of every menu item, pop her own popcorn, and pack her own snacks. Inevitably, carrots is one of those snacks. Carrots are loud and embarrassing.
Third. . . she shuts down emotionally when she's mad. Don't EVEN expect an explanation regarding what you've done wrong anytime over the next three days.
Don't want to hear about her shitty day and her shitty coworkers? Too bad. Prepare to hear about it, in great detail, at great length. And don't let her catch you not paying attention, or see "Third". And don't offer solutions. It's like she prepares her reasons they won't work out in advance, before you can even suggest them.
Ever wonder what it's like to live with an Alzheimer's patient? Move in with my wife. She'll tell you the same story three or four times, because she didn't remember telling you the first two or three times. And then she'll leave out something important, and swear up and down she already told you about it three weeks ago. Chances are, she told someone else three or four times.
Enjoy a messy house? She's your gal. Whininess about how no one ever helps her clean the messy house? She doesn't disappoint there, either. If you're lucky, she might even wash your clothes along with hers.
I could carry on, but for brevity's sake, i won't. I don't mean to give the impression that there're no redeeming qualities about living with her. . . i mean, she can make a mean box of Hamburger Helper (when she bothers), and she's affectionate (when she's not pissed off). But i often wonder what i got myself into when i said, "I do."
So here's my story, written from the point of view of my husband.
You ever try living with a girl with bipolar disorder? It's no picnic, lemme tell ya. First off, not to state the obvious or anything, but she is moody as FUCK! One minute, she's in a good mood; next minute, she's crying about something. Or nothing. Or both. "But the super-good mood's the pay out, right?" you may be asking right now, and the answer is no. When the super-good mood comes, she goes out and spends up all the money. Usually on bullshit like tea. Because she really needs another flavour of tea.
Second off, she's OCD about the stupidest things. Must wash the hands for the five hundredth time today. Must find the gas station that's one cent cheaper than all the other ones (nevermind she just blew half her tank looking for said cheaper gas station). Must measure EVERY serving of food she puts past those pearly whites, down to the gram. And forget a spontaneous trip to the movies or restaurant. She's gotta investigate the points value of every menu item, pop her own popcorn, and pack her own snacks. Inevitably, carrots is one of those snacks. Carrots are loud and embarrassing.
Third. . . she shuts down emotionally when she's mad. Don't EVEN expect an explanation regarding what you've done wrong anytime over the next three days.
Don't want to hear about her shitty day and her shitty coworkers? Too bad. Prepare to hear about it, in great detail, at great length. And don't let her catch you not paying attention, or see "Third". And don't offer solutions. It's like she prepares her reasons they won't work out in advance, before you can even suggest them.
Ever wonder what it's like to live with an Alzheimer's patient? Move in with my wife. She'll tell you the same story three or four times, because she didn't remember telling you the first two or three times. And then she'll leave out something important, and swear up and down she already told you about it three weeks ago. Chances are, she told someone else three or four times.
Enjoy a messy house? She's your gal. Whininess about how no one ever helps her clean the messy house? She doesn't disappoint there, either. If you're lucky, she might even wash your clothes along with hers.
I could carry on, but for brevity's sake, i won't. I don't mean to give the impression that there're no redeeming qualities about living with her. . . i mean, she can make a mean box of Hamburger Helper (when she bothers), and she's affectionate (when she's not pissed off). But i often wonder what i got myself into when i said, "I do."
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Lavateria
I'd begun to feel like a stalker, but i couldn't help myself. I was back at the Lavateria again, sitting on the floor slumped against a washing machine, staring at the one on the corner directly opposite me.
To the casual observer, it was nothing special; just the average, every day coin-operated Speed Queen- super capacity. To the slightly-more-observant observer, it was the only machine in the place that still only cost seventy five cents. The rest had been raised to a dollar twenty five.
To me, it was our washing machine. Ours. I said it aloud, to taste it in my mouth. Ours. Saying it didn't bring back the taste of him.
I pretended to wonder if he ever came here to look at this machine and reminisce the way i did, knowing damn well that he didn't. As often as i found myself sitting in this spot with a lit, unsmoked cigarette slowly burning itself to ashes between my fingers, i'd have seen him if he did.
I pretended to wonder if he ever tried to recall my taste in his mouth the way i did his, knowing damn well that he didn't. I was just temporary. I was an amusement. A distraction to occupy the fortyfiveish minutes it took for his clothes to dry. I was a magazine, lying on a table top in a dentist's office: there to pass the time, and then to be discarded and forgotten once the time had been passed. I wondered briefly if the magazines recalled every person who caressed their flimsy, gaudy jackets, however briefly.
I stood up, stubbed out my cigarette, and the thought along with it.
To the casual observer, it was nothing special; just the average, every day coin-operated Speed Queen- super capacity. To the slightly-more-observant observer, it was the only machine in the place that still only cost seventy five cents. The rest had been raised to a dollar twenty five.
To me, it was our washing machine. Ours. I said it aloud, to taste it in my mouth. Ours. Saying it didn't bring back the taste of him.
I pretended to wonder if he ever came here to look at this machine and reminisce the way i did, knowing damn well that he didn't. As often as i found myself sitting in this spot with a lit, unsmoked cigarette slowly burning itself to ashes between my fingers, i'd have seen him if he did.
I pretended to wonder if he ever tried to recall my taste in his mouth the way i did his, knowing damn well that he didn't. I was just temporary. I was an amusement. A distraction to occupy the fortyfiveish minutes it took for his clothes to dry. I was a magazine, lying on a table top in a dentist's office: there to pass the time, and then to be discarded and forgotten once the time had been passed. I wondered briefly if the magazines recalled every person who caressed their flimsy, gaudy jackets, however briefly.
I stood up, stubbed out my cigarette, and the thought along with it.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My Dog The Liar
Most people look at a dog, and and are completely disarmed by how cute he is. How fun, how sweet, how loving, how soft; and the adorability of his antics! People just melt in the innocent eyes of a dog.
But behind those innocent eyes lies deviousness, the depths of which we shall never fully plumb. Deceit and dubiousness cloak themselves in soft fur and doting attention, distracting you from their plots and intentions. Oh, yes, dogs have a hidden agenda. The agenda?
Acquire more food by any means necessary.
I was cooking supper yesterday (it was Taco Tuesday), when i noticed my dog standing wiltedly by his food bowl. He paced back and forth between me and his bowl, looking forlornly into its empty depths, and then wistfully back at me.
"He must be pretty hungry if he's standing at his bowl instead of scavenging for possible dropped food around my feet," i thought to myself. So i went out to the garage, filled the scoop a little fuller than usual, since it was a half hour past his normal dinner time, and dumped it into his bowl. He fell onto the food like a parched man into an oasis after a month in the desert.
Ry was sitting at the table, doing his homework, and he asked me, "Did you just feed the dog?"
"Yeah, i got it."
"I already fed him."
What! It was all an act, then. This dog, without a word spoken, outright LIED to me! He was a veritable Scammy McScammerson! And i fell for it; hook, line and sinker. He finished his food and waddled smugly by me. He looked up at me as he passed, and i could swear i could see his little Bean thoughts in his little Bean head:
"Sucker!"
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A Complete Fabrication
During the months that follow Autumn, Winter assails our lives. She flies shrieking in the sub zero winds and rakes our faces with her bitter-cold nails as she passes. Her minions march through the streets, crawl the grounds and climb the trees, wreaking their own havoc in her name. Snow hurls itself down from the sky, each flake a kamikaze flyer dashing itself to the ground with its army of comrades, littering everything in their white, fluffy corpses. The bodies grow colder, solidifying or slushing, making the ground slick and perilous with their rot. Ice crystalizes, making daggers of itself, awaiting the opportunity to release its tenuous grip on the heights they cling to, and lance down on our unsuspecting heads.
And every year, we fortify ourselves against Her and her Army of Elements with boots, hats, gloves, chapsticks, and four-wheel-drive vehicles. We arm ourselves with the anti-siege equipment of the season: snow shovels and blowers, plows and salt, lock de-icers and window de-icers. We hunker down in our warm bunkers to wait out the siege, knowing our victory is only a few months away when our slow but timely ally, Spring, will arrive to do battle with, and ultimately triumph against Winter.
Early one morning, my husband stumbled over the threshold into our fortress, wielding his snow shovel and winded from the morning's battle hauling the snowbodies from our walk and driveway. It's now safe for me to cross to my armored transport that he has warmed for me. I put on my boots and cross quickly, throwing my supply bag into the passenger seat and then hurling myself in behind it, pulling the door closed to block out the grasping winds. I engage the four wheel drive, the only defense against the Stealth Ice that hugs the roads instead of the branches and eaves, and begin making my trek to work.
As everyone knows, Winter employs another clever enemy: The Pothole Makers. Until that morning, i'd never seen any evidence of them but their destruction on the roads. Stopped at the sign on Colfax and 45th St., i surveyed the minefield before me, attempting to find a passable route. Out of the corner of my eye, i saw a slight movement a few yards ahead of me. Figuring it to be a small animal, i paid it no mind at all until i saw it again, fast and furtive, a few seconds later. I turned my head, pretending to be looking to my left for signs of traffic before entering the intersection, watching the area i'd seen the movement.
There! A small flash of light and an upward spray of debris! Keeping my eyes carefully averted, i saw several figures jumping up and down, and hauling something along as they moved with incredible speed to their next site. I pulled off into a nearby convenience store, and went inside. I crept back toward the window, and was rewarded with a much closer view of the figures and better cover. Several brownish, hunched over man-like creatures about an inch and a half in stature scurried out into the streets, carrying what appeared to be small sticks of dynamite. Quickly and stealthily, they worked the tiny explosives into the existing cracks in the street. When they were finished, they drew the fuses out to the shoulder where one awaited with one of those plungers you used to see Wiley Coyote employ against his nemesis, The Road Runner. The waiting one connected the fuses, pushed the plunger, and i saw once again that small flash of light and the debris flying upwards. After each explosion, they did a little dance and laughed and threw the bits of black-topping at one another like sinister children lobbing sharp black snowballs.
After watching this go on a few more times, i saw a couple more man-things arrive with cages. They hauled the cages up to the edge of the holes and opened them. Out of the cages poured amorphic pools of slime that looked like overgrown amoebas with two eyestalks swiveling around to guide them, and cavernous, gaping maws lined with row upon row of gleaming black teeth. The amoebas spilled into the holes, devouring the rock they came into contact with, enlarging and deepening the holes the TNT-wielders created. How vile, these secret agents of Winter! After eating their fill in one hole, they pulled themselves up onto the street and surged off toward the next hole. Insatiable, they were!
But here comes another car. Surely they'll be discovered? The amoebas swiveled their eyes toward the intruders and relaxed themselves in their holes, looking like muddy, oily puddles of dirty water and melted sludge. The car rolled slowly through the newly-cratered road, careful not to allow its tires to be eaten by these craters. Once the car was safely away, they continued their gluttonous work until the man-things came back to gather them back into the cages and take them away to a stretch of intact road.
Shakily, i got up from my spying-place at the convenience store window and rushed back to my car. I was now late for work, and no one would ever believe my reason. I sat in my car for a few moments, waiting for the adrenaline to pass and for my composure to return. There is a train that crosses Ridge Road at Grant Street, directly in my way. I decided to tell them i'd been stuck behind it. I looked at my ashen face in the rear view and pinched my cheeks to bring some color back into them. I tried on a couple of smiles, until i found one that looked passably natural, and completed my journey to work. I arrived safely, lucky not to have fallen victim to any of Winter's agents.Friday, December 19, 2008
Part One
I was dead and i knew it. I could recall all the minutiae of the life i'd just lived, even the things i thought i'd forgotten, in vivid detail, with a vague nostalgia, but devoid of most of the poignant emotions i'd experienced while living through them. Sure, i'd miss living that life. I'd been happy. For the most part. But here is where i found myself, standing in a crowd of people i didn't know, about to share with them a fate i couldn't have imagined a few minutes ago.
The place i was in was sort of a landing station. People sat around at picnic tables, some talking in low voices amongst each other, some staring straight ahead, some were praying quietly to themselves, but no one was displaying any kind of intense emotion. There was an air of anticipation, and i felt a little keyed up as i surveyed the recently dead. I walked past groups of them, catching snippets of conversation that meant nothing to me, and i let them filter out of me as easily as they'd drifted in. I could tell some of them had been here for days, and some were new arrivals like myself. Across the courtyard, i could see the door to . . . wherever it is i was supposed to end up. The door and the building were nondescript, and i knew this courtyard was just a waiting area for that nondescript building. I took a seat among some of the speculators.
"I hear that most people die in there," one man said nervously.
"Horse shit, we already dead," scoffed an older man. When i looked at him, i had the feeling he'd been blind during his life, but he was not blind now.
"No, it's true!" the first man insisted, "I hear that most people are too scared to move, and they just. . go away. You got to run once you get there if you want another chance."
"So what if we do go away? God will not let any harm come to me," a small girl said, a bit defiantly.
With no cue, half of us from the table stood up and began making our way toward the building. Conversation halted, envy and apprehension warring on the faces of those remaining as they watched us depart. I turned to look back at them again, and they'd already forgotten we were ever there. As i turned back toward the building, the nervous man nudged me.
"When you get there, run. It's the only way," he whispered out of the side of his mouth, his lips barely betraying that he'd spoken at all.
I nodded, not certain whether i was humouring him or whether i planned to take his advice. I supposed it would depend on what i found there.
My eyes had little difficulty adjusting to the vast dimness in the building. Once inside, we were herded through turnstiles as though we were getting on the subway, only there was no subway on the other side of them. On the other side was a city-sized system of conveyor belts. I had no time to stop and goggle, as the crowd kept pushing me forward, closer and closer to the platform that led to the first of the conveyors.
People were stepping on to the conveyors. A few stood, but most of them knelt down. It was difficult to tell what they were feeling by looking at them. As the eleventh person stepped on, the conveyor started moving. Most of the riders stayed in their crouched positions, but the few who'd remained standing took off at a dead run and leapt at a conveyor moving in a different direction. I was fascinated by the leapers and didn't notice the fate of the crouchers. I decided i'd be a leaper myself just as it was my group's turn to step onto the conveyor system.
Like the few in the last group, i remained standing along with the nervous man from the table. Everyone else in my group was a croucher, and i ceased paying them any mind, suddenly nervous about my ability to jump to a different conveyor. Which one should i take? Where did they lead? Were they really any better destinations than where this one was going? I had no time to ponder these questions as the conveyor started moving. Do or Die, as the expression went. I did not laugh at this humourless joke i'd made to myself as i took off at a dead run. I chose a conveyor close to mine and leapt, surprising myself by making it easily. The sprint hadn't even winded me. I didn't look back at my thwartd fate, but forward at the one i'd chosen at random. I decided to crouch when i saw the sharp turns and dips i would be taking. At the end of the ride was a big, black empty. I had no time to panic before i felt myself falling. I didn't feel myself land, but i wasn't moving anymore, so i opened my eyes and took in the world around me.
I was in the grass, but why was it so tall? I could barely see above it. I opened my mouth to call out for help, and was surprised by my own voice.
"Ribbit."
I closed my mouth and immediately wished i'd never opened it in the first place. I'd attracted the attention of a girl on a swing set that'd been too big for me to notice. She jumped down off of the swing set, rocking my world for a brief moment as she bounded forward and scooped me up. She swung me sickeningly up above her head to show an adult i presumed to be her mother her new pet.
The place i was in was sort of a landing station. People sat around at picnic tables, some talking in low voices amongst each other, some staring straight ahead, some were praying quietly to themselves, but no one was displaying any kind of intense emotion. There was an air of anticipation, and i felt a little keyed up as i surveyed the recently dead. I walked past groups of them, catching snippets of conversation that meant nothing to me, and i let them filter out of me as easily as they'd drifted in. I could tell some of them had been here for days, and some were new arrivals like myself. Across the courtyard, i could see the door to . . . wherever it is i was supposed to end up. The door and the building were nondescript, and i knew this courtyard was just a waiting area for that nondescript building. I took a seat among some of the speculators.
"I hear that most people die in there," one man said nervously.
"Horse shit, we already dead," scoffed an older man. When i looked at him, i had the feeling he'd been blind during his life, but he was not blind now.
"No, it's true!" the first man insisted, "I hear that most people are too scared to move, and they just. . go away. You got to run once you get there if you want another chance."
"So what if we do go away? God will not let any harm come to me," a small girl said, a bit defiantly.
With no cue, half of us from the table stood up and began making our way toward the building. Conversation halted, envy and apprehension warring on the faces of those remaining as they watched us depart. I turned to look back at them again, and they'd already forgotten we were ever there. As i turned back toward the building, the nervous man nudged me.
"When you get there, run. It's the only way," he whispered out of the side of his mouth, his lips barely betraying that he'd spoken at all.
I nodded, not certain whether i was humouring him or whether i planned to take his advice. I supposed it would depend on what i found there.
My eyes had little difficulty adjusting to the vast dimness in the building. Once inside, we were herded through turnstiles as though we were getting on the subway, only there was no subway on the other side of them. On the other side was a city-sized system of conveyor belts. I had no time to stop and goggle, as the crowd kept pushing me forward, closer and closer to the platform that led to the first of the conveyors.
People were stepping on to the conveyors. A few stood, but most of them knelt down. It was difficult to tell what they were feeling by looking at them. As the eleventh person stepped on, the conveyor started moving. Most of the riders stayed in their crouched positions, but the few who'd remained standing took off at a dead run and leapt at a conveyor moving in a different direction. I was fascinated by the leapers and didn't notice the fate of the crouchers. I decided i'd be a leaper myself just as it was my group's turn to step onto the conveyor system.
Like the few in the last group, i remained standing along with the nervous man from the table. Everyone else in my group was a croucher, and i ceased paying them any mind, suddenly nervous about my ability to jump to a different conveyor. Which one should i take? Where did they lead? Were they really any better destinations than where this one was going? I had no time to ponder these questions as the conveyor started moving. Do or Die, as the expression went. I did not laugh at this humourless joke i'd made to myself as i took off at a dead run. I chose a conveyor close to mine and leapt, surprising myself by making it easily. The sprint hadn't even winded me. I didn't look back at my thwartd fate, but forward at the one i'd chosen at random. I decided to crouch when i saw the sharp turns and dips i would be taking. At the end of the ride was a big, black empty. I had no time to panic before i felt myself falling. I didn't feel myself land, but i wasn't moving anymore, so i opened my eyes and took in the world around me.
I was in the grass, but why was it so tall? I could barely see above it. I opened my mouth to call out for help, and was surprised by my own voice.
"Ribbit."
I closed my mouth and immediately wished i'd never opened it in the first place. I'd attracted the attention of a girl on a swing set that'd been too big for me to notice. She jumped down off of the swing set, rocking my world for a brief moment as she bounded forward and scooped me up. She swung me sickeningly up above her head to show an adult i presumed to be her mother her new pet.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Part Two
After a brief return to life as a frog, i found myself back in the courtyard of the recently dead. I shied away from the memories of my few painful days of life under the care of the little girl who meant well, but had no idea how to take adequate care of me. It was a slow, painful death that began as soon as she'd picked me up.
I thought of returning to my table, but decided against that and walked directly toward the building. It felt wrong, and as i passed, all conversation stopped and curious, fearful eyes bored into me. I looked down at the door, my hand hesitating on its handle. There was no noise behind me, and i could feel the weight of the multitude of stares crushing me, pushing me through the door just as surely as the crowd had done the first time. I nearly fell through the door after i'd opened it.
I looked around me, this time noticing that the conveyors were controlled by people. I wanted to go through the turnstiles, but they would not turn. I was approached by one of the conveyor workers. She was a neatly dressed woman in her middle years, wearing a blue oxford shirt, khaki pants, and a yellow hard hat. I wondered briefly what the hard hat was for.
"It's not time yet," she told me, her voice expressing that this was something i should have known without being told.
"What is all this?"
"Fate."
"I can see that. But what IS it?"
"What you're doing is Samsara. You're choosing rebirth, and all the misery and death that accompanies life."
"You're saying i don't know how to be happy?"
"I'm saying you're chosing Samsara."
"Where do they all go?"
"The belts? To different lives, of course. Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?"
I pondered that. It was true, i WAS only asking the questions i felt would be answered in a predictable, unthreatening way. I was not asking where the crouchers went. I wasn't asking how many times i could be reborn. I wasn't asking about an afterlife or my soul. I continued not asking those questions. After a few moments, the small woman went away to take up her position by the initial conveyor. People began crowding in behind me, and the turnstile let me through at last. I pondered the woman and her remarks as i stepped onto the conveyor. When it began moving, i sprinted and leapt, this time in the opposite direction.
I opened my eyes to find i was holding a baby in my arms. I was disconcerted a moment, thinking i should have been the baby. I realized that this woman's life (my life now) was truly in its infancy. We'd not been really living before this moment, merely going through the motions. She (I) felt the life in our arms gave us a reason to really live, and she (I) was born with our realization.
I thought of returning to my table, but decided against that and walked directly toward the building. It felt wrong, and as i passed, all conversation stopped and curious, fearful eyes bored into me. I looked down at the door, my hand hesitating on its handle. There was no noise behind me, and i could feel the weight of the multitude of stares crushing me, pushing me through the door just as surely as the crowd had done the first time. I nearly fell through the door after i'd opened it.
I looked around me, this time noticing that the conveyors were controlled by people. I wanted to go through the turnstiles, but they would not turn. I was approached by one of the conveyor workers. She was a neatly dressed woman in her middle years, wearing a blue oxford shirt, khaki pants, and a yellow hard hat. I wondered briefly what the hard hat was for.
"It's not time yet," she told me, her voice expressing that this was something i should have known without being told.
"What is all this?"
"Fate."
"I can see that. But what IS it?"
"What you're doing is Samsara. You're choosing rebirth, and all the misery and death that accompanies life."
"You're saying i don't know how to be happy?"
"I'm saying you're chosing Samsara."
"Where do they all go?"
"The belts? To different lives, of course. Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?"
I pondered that. It was true, i WAS only asking the questions i felt would be answered in a predictable, unthreatening way. I was not asking where the crouchers went. I wasn't asking how many times i could be reborn. I wasn't asking about an afterlife or my soul. I continued not asking those questions. After a few moments, the small woman went away to take up her position by the initial conveyor. People began crowding in behind me, and the turnstile let me through at last. I pondered the woman and her remarks as i stepped onto the conveyor. When it began moving, i sprinted and leapt, this time in the opposite direction.
I opened my eyes to find i was holding a baby in my arms. I was disconcerted a moment, thinking i should have been the baby. I realized that this woman's life (my life now) was truly in its infancy. We'd not been really living before this moment, merely going through the motions. She (I) felt the life in our arms gave us a reason to really live, and she (I) was born with our realization.
Part Three
I stepped back into the courtyard of the recent dead, feeling numb from my latest brush with death. I recalled eleven months of intense joy and love as i watched my baby grow from a helpless mass of flesh and bones into a tiny personality, unique and cherished. And, as it turned out, tenuous. I recalled the death of my baby daughter with that same detached nostalgia, but no real pain. SIDS, they'd said. I decided if my baby wasn't going to wake up anymore, then i didn't want to wake up anymore either, and then i swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills.
I saw my best friend from high school from my first life sitting alone at one of the picnic tables. I went to sit and wait with her, already contemplating my next jump. I smiled at her, and she smiled distractedly back at me, no spark of recognition in her eyes. I put my arm around her. She continued to not recognize me. I felt sorrow over this, as i realized how much i'd missed her in the few lives i'd lived since i'd seen her last. Maybe i looked like my most recent incarnation, and that's why she didn't know me. I couldn't be certain, i had no idea what i looked like just then. I kissed her cheek and stood up to go wait by the doors for the call.
I didn't wait for the conveyor to start moving this time, i jumped straight down to the belt below me. This one ran through a stream, and by the time i arrived at my newest identity, i was sopping wet. Once again, i was slated to begin life midway through.
I smiled around at all my friends and loved ones who'd taken the time to throw me this party. It wasn't just a party (though everyone loves a good excuse to drink and frolic), it was a public show of support and acceptance from those i was most afraid to reveal my true self to. The rainbow cake was as tall as me, and this widened my smile. Where the HELL did they get a cake so big?! I turned to say thank you to my boyfriend, and i was surprised by my feminine but unmistakably male voice. He walked over to me and put his arms around me and murmured words of love into my ear. I was confused. Is this how it works? Am i gay because i'm so accustomed to being a female that i couldn't break out of the role long enough to fit into my new identity? If the world knew, would that make it easier for it to accept me? I suppose it didn't matter. I was here, and i was happy, and i was ready to live again.
I saw my best friend from high school from my first life sitting alone at one of the picnic tables. I went to sit and wait with her, already contemplating my next jump. I smiled at her, and she smiled distractedly back at me, no spark of recognition in her eyes. I put my arm around her. She continued to not recognize me. I felt sorrow over this, as i realized how much i'd missed her in the few lives i'd lived since i'd seen her last. Maybe i looked like my most recent incarnation, and that's why she didn't know me. I couldn't be certain, i had no idea what i looked like just then. I kissed her cheek and stood up to go wait by the doors for the call.
I didn't wait for the conveyor to start moving this time, i jumped straight down to the belt below me. This one ran through a stream, and by the time i arrived at my newest identity, i was sopping wet. Once again, i was slated to begin life midway through.
I smiled around at all my friends and loved ones who'd taken the time to throw me this party. It wasn't just a party (though everyone loves a good excuse to drink and frolic), it was a public show of support and acceptance from those i was most afraid to reveal my true self to. The rainbow cake was as tall as me, and this widened my smile. Where the HELL did they get a cake so big?! I turned to say thank you to my boyfriend, and i was surprised by my feminine but unmistakably male voice. He walked over to me and put his arms around me and murmured words of love into my ear. I was confused. Is this how it works? Am i gay because i'm so accustomed to being a female that i couldn't break out of the role long enough to fit into my new identity? If the world knew, would that make it easier for it to accept me? I suppose it didn't matter. I was here, and i was happy, and i was ready to live again.
Part Four
I contemplated the frailty of both life and happiness as i made my way back out into the courtyard. I'd had one evening of real life with my family and friends before it was snatched away from me by ugly people with uglier feelings. Apparently the world wasn't big enough for my murderers and another gay man. I absently reached back to feel my head, nominally surprised when i found my skull intact. Moments ago, it was not.
My contemplation was interrupted by quiet weeping near by. I turned my head, astonished at the sound of real emotion after all the numbness. As i made my way toward the source, i saw a young woman clutching a boy who was taller than her. He held her too, with that familiar look of detached pain on his face. I knew this woman, and i approached her, almost embarrassed to interrupt her grief, but unable to stay away. I looked around, and everyone was staring at the woman and the boy with undisguised envy.
"Don't be sad, you have your son with you," i told her gently, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. After saying this, i realized that could be why she was so sad. She looked up at me, rubbing at her eyes and nodded at me.
"I know. I love my son, but i miss my daughters terribly," she said.
"You don't want them here. You can always see them again the next time?"
She smiled sadly, and she hugged me. "We aren't going to have a next time, we're Going On."
I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but we received the call, and made our way to the door once again. I lost her in the crowd and didn't see her again until we were on the conveyor. Before i jumped, i saw that she was crouching down in her son's arms, all traces of sorrow wiped from her face as though it were never there. She looked peaceful, if not happy, and then I saw what she meant. She was not going to jump. I noticed this time around that i was the only jumper left, and i felt like i was missing something. I had no time to contemplate it. I turned and made my leap. I landed on my conveyor as a small movement caught my eye. The small, well-dressed woman in the hardhat was looking at me thoughtfully, shaking her head. I had no time to contemplate that either as my conveyor dipped and then plunged straight down.
It was a long ride, and i noticed more and more neatly dressed people in yellow hard hats working along the way. It occurred to me all of a sudden that this Samsara was man-made and man-sustained. How?! Why?! The uncomfortable questions i'd been avoiding thinking about all came crashing down about me, and i staggered under their weight. How could this have escaped my notice? I had no time to contemplate that either. I wished i could jump off of the belt, and then i was plunged into my new life.
The sun was just cresting the horizon, and i stretched my arms and yawned, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my body. I couldn't see or move, but i was undisturbed by this as i exhaled an enchanting scent that was also a call. I felt the pressure of the bee landing on my open face and gathering pollen off of me, and the joy of fulfilling my purpose flooded me as i basked in the warmth of the sun. The feeling of unity with my surroundings inundated me, and i felt myself swelling into ripeness. I felt unspeakably beautiful, though i'd never seen myself, nor had any desire to.
My contemplation was interrupted by quiet weeping near by. I turned my head, astonished at the sound of real emotion after all the numbness. As i made my way toward the source, i saw a young woman clutching a boy who was taller than her. He held her too, with that familiar look of detached pain on his face. I knew this woman, and i approached her, almost embarrassed to interrupt her grief, but unable to stay away. I looked around, and everyone was staring at the woman and the boy with undisguised envy.
"Don't be sad, you have your son with you," i told her gently, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. After saying this, i realized that could be why she was so sad. She looked up at me, rubbing at her eyes and nodded at me.
"I know. I love my son, but i miss my daughters terribly," she said.
"You don't want them here. You can always see them again the next time?"
She smiled sadly, and she hugged me. "We aren't going to have a next time, we're Going On."
I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but we received the call, and made our way to the door once again. I lost her in the crowd and didn't see her again until we were on the conveyor. Before i jumped, i saw that she was crouching down in her son's arms, all traces of sorrow wiped from her face as though it were never there. She looked peaceful, if not happy, and then I saw what she meant. She was not going to jump. I noticed this time around that i was the only jumper left, and i felt like i was missing something. I had no time to contemplate it. I turned and made my leap. I landed on my conveyor as a small movement caught my eye. The small, well-dressed woman in the hardhat was looking at me thoughtfully, shaking her head. I had no time to contemplate that either as my conveyor dipped and then plunged straight down.
It was a long ride, and i noticed more and more neatly dressed people in yellow hard hats working along the way. It occurred to me all of a sudden that this Samsara was man-made and man-sustained. How?! Why?! The uncomfortable questions i'd been avoiding thinking about all came crashing down about me, and i staggered under their weight. How could this have escaped my notice? I had no time to contemplate that either. I wished i could jump off of the belt, and then i was plunged into my new life.
The sun was just cresting the horizon, and i stretched my arms and yawned, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my body. I couldn't see or move, but i was undisturbed by this as i exhaled an enchanting scent that was also a call. I felt the pressure of the bee landing on my open face and gathering pollen off of me, and the joy of fulfilling my purpose flooded me as i basked in the warmth of the sun. The feeling of unity with my surroundings inundated me, and i felt myself swelling into ripeness. I felt unspeakably beautiful, though i'd never seen myself, nor had any desire to.
Part Five
So much waste in all the lives i'd lived. So much sadness and waste. I wondered for the first time if the brief spikes of joy were worth all the pain and loss i experienced every time i lived. The neatly-dressed woman took my hand and sat down with me.
"It doesn't have to be like this, i think you know that by now," she said matter-of-factly.
"Why are you all doing this?"
She shrugged. "You don't have to choose it. Nobody does."
"But what about The Plan he's supposed to have for us? What about the conveyors. . . the Samsara? You're with-holding God from people! They deserve to know!""
"You still have free will. You have to choose him. And people do know. Some sooner than others," she said, looking pointedly at me. She got up and left me with my thoughts to make my decision. My thoughts returned to the pains and joys of my collective experiences with life. It wasn't worth it, i decided, and then i got the call.
I drifted toward the platform, my thoughts everywhere and nowhere. I felt peaceful instead of numb. I stepped onto the conveyor and i crouched down. I couldn't resist the urge to look at my co-riders. I saw the jumpers and i felt pity for them as i rode toward the light i'd never noticed before.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Disease
She was in the throes of the disease and she knew it. She could feel it roiling around in her head, struggling to escape. The knowledge that she wouldn't be able to hold out against the compulsion to spill it out on the next hapless person ate at her, conspiring with the disease to weaken her already diminishing resolve. She didn't want to succumb to it, but she also knew it was the only way relief would come. Sweet relief.
She excused herself to the restroom and shut herself in among the empty stalls and sterile-white walls, locking the door, to take refuge in the solitude. No one here, no one to infect, she thought weakly to herself, knowing the solution was only temporary at best. It wasn't fair to the others and she knew it, taking up the facilities like this. People would wonder why the door was locked, since the restroom was not a one-seater. No matter. It was for their own good. They didn't understand the burden she carried.
"They will soon enough!" the diseased laughed at her and she froze with her back against the door. Is it self-aware? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
"You could pass it on to one person."
She slid down the door, drawing her knees up against her chest, and laid her head down on her knees. She had promised she wouldn't pass it on to anyone.
"Just one! It's enough to make you feel better, and minimal damage done."
She began rocking back and forth numbly. It had a point. It wasn't like she was going to tell EVERYONE, right?
"This is too much to carry around inside your own head. It'd be better for you to share the burden. Your best friend would gladly help you, and then you could support each other."
That made sense. She knew she was rationalizing, but she was past caring. She didn't even jump at the sharp rap on the door behind her.
"Is everything okay in there?" she heard concern fighting irritation in her best friend's voice from the other side of the door.
"Fine! Just fine, i had to clean up a bit of a mess," she called back, standing up to open the door. She inhaled deeply and fought down the guilt of what she was about to do. The lock slid back with an audible click. No turning back now, she thought, as she composed her face. The disease plastered a smile on it for good measure.
Her friend pushed past her and looked at her strangely. "You don't look too good," she commented critically.
She sighed inwardly and gave in. "I'm fine, really. But you wouldn't BELIEVE what Jessica just told me!"
Her friend looked eagerly at her and leaned in closer. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and the disease flew free from her mouth, into her friend's ear, infecting her mind. Relief and guilt inundated her as she drew her friend in and shared the gossip.
"What?! That whore!" her friend exclaimed, giddy with the same burning desire to spread the gossip that she herself was just fighting with. The intensity of her friend's eyes made her blurt out the thing that had tormented her only moments ago:
"Don't tell anyone, okay?" She could see the struggle beginning behind her friend's eyes. She felt a little pity for her friend and knew that her request was futile.
"Oh, no! I promise! I would never! . . ." The protestations went on. It was like her friend had heard her earlier, similar oaths and was parroting them back at her, a cruel reminder of her own broken promises. She remembered uttering them and truly meaning them. The disease, she shamefully admitted to herself, was stronger than her.
She excused herself to the restroom and shut herself in among the empty stalls and sterile-white walls, locking the door, to take refuge in the solitude. No one here, no one to infect, she thought weakly to herself, knowing the solution was only temporary at best. It wasn't fair to the others and she knew it, taking up the facilities like this. People would wonder why the door was locked, since the restroom was not a one-seater. No matter. It was for their own good. They didn't understand the burden she carried.
"They will soon enough!" the diseased laughed at her and she froze with her back against the door. Is it self-aware? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
"You could pass it on to one person."
She slid down the door, drawing her knees up against her chest, and laid her head down on her knees. She had promised she wouldn't pass it on to anyone.
"Just one! It's enough to make you feel better, and minimal damage done."
She began rocking back and forth numbly. It had a point. It wasn't like she was going to tell EVERYONE, right?
"This is too much to carry around inside your own head. It'd be better for you to share the burden. Your best friend would gladly help you, and then you could support each other."
That made sense. She knew she was rationalizing, but she was past caring. She didn't even jump at the sharp rap on the door behind her.
"Is everything okay in there?" she heard concern fighting irritation in her best friend's voice from the other side of the door.
"Fine! Just fine, i had to clean up a bit of a mess," she called back, standing up to open the door. She inhaled deeply and fought down the guilt of what she was about to do. The lock slid back with an audible click. No turning back now, she thought, as she composed her face. The disease plastered a smile on it for good measure.
Her friend pushed past her and looked at her strangely. "You don't look too good," she commented critically.
She sighed inwardly and gave in. "I'm fine, really. But you wouldn't BELIEVE what Jessica just told me!"
Her friend looked eagerly at her and leaned in closer. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and the disease flew free from her mouth, into her friend's ear, infecting her mind. Relief and guilt inundated her as she drew her friend in and shared the gossip.
"What?! That whore!" her friend exclaimed, giddy with the same burning desire to spread the gossip that she herself was just fighting with. The intensity of her friend's eyes made her blurt out the thing that had tormented her only moments ago:
"Don't tell anyone, okay?" She could see the struggle beginning behind her friend's eyes. She felt a little pity for her friend and knew that her request was futile.
"Oh, no! I promise! I would never! . . ." The protestations went on. It was like her friend had heard her earlier, similar oaths and was parroting them back at her, a cruel reminder of her own broken promises. She remembered uttering them and truly meaning them. The disease, she shamefully admitted to herself, was stronger than her.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
A Longer-Than-Necessary Prelude To The Story Of Why I Hate Squirrels
I woke up on the retarded side of the bed this morning. When i was assembling my lunch before i left for work today, i pulled out four slices of ham (1 point), some lettuce, a wedge of laughing cow cheese (1 point, and a delicious substitute for mayo on a sammich), an apple (1 point), and a can of Amy's cream of tomato soup (2 points). Yummy soup and sammich day at work, perfect for the dreary drizzly kind of day it was already shaping up to be :D
Except that I completely forgot the bread. Way to go, Einstein.
So lunch time rolled around, and Steve and Jessica decided to eat at El Amigo (which i jealously tried my best not to think about. . . nope, no thoughts of chicken gorditas here!). That worked out well for me, because El Amigo is in the shopping center next door to a grocery store where i could go in and score some bread while Jessica picked up their bags of Mexican tastiness. Yay, plan in place, we set out for Scherrerville.
We took Jessica's new Honda Pilot so she could show it off to me (bonus: we didn't have to use MY gas). While i was playing around with the seat warmer and some of the other gadgets, she swerved violently onto the right shoulder. Startled, i looked around trying to see what she was trying to avoid. . . there were no obstructions in the road, and we were the only ones driving on this street. Noticing me looking around, she said, "I almost hit a squirrel. Poor thing, he's gotta be getting cold!"
Without thinking, i kind of snarled at her, "You should have hit that fucking thing!"
She looked at me, nonplussed. "Why?"
I just stared at her. There was no possible WAY i could have missed telling her the Why I Hate Squirrels story. So that's all this lunchtime story is: a prelude to the Why I Hate Squirrels story.
Except that I completely forgot the bread. Way to go, Einstein.
So lunch time rolled around, and Steve and Jessica decided to eat at El Amigo (which i jealously tried my best not to think about. . . nope, no thoughts of chicken gorditas here!). That worked out well for me, because El Amigo is in the shopping center next door to a grocery store where i could go in and score some bread while Jessica picked up their bags of Mexican tastiness. Yay, plan in place, we set out for Scherrerville.
We took Jessica's new Honda Pilot so she could show it off to me (bonus: we didn't have to use MY gas). While i was playing around with the seat warmer and some of the other gadgets, she swerved violently onto the right shoulder. Startled, i looked around trying to see what she was trying to avoid. . . there were no obstructions in the road, and we were the only ones driving on this street. Noticing me looking around, she said, "I almost hit a squirrel. Poor thing, he's gotta be getting cold!"
Without thinking, i kind of snarled at her, "You should have hit that fucking thing!"
She looked at me, nonplussed. "Why?"
I just stared at her. There was no possible WAY i could have missed telling her the Why I Hate Squirrels story. So that's all this lunchtime story is: a prelude to the Why I Hate Squirrels story.
The Story Of Why I Hate Squirrels (may they all die in a fire)
It started as a scritching in the wall of my bedroom in that primitive apartment on S. 76th Ave., which I dismissed in the beginning as a tree branch dragging across my window. I was working the midnight shift in those days at my current job, and the sun light streaming into my 90+ degree bedroom was hard enough to try to sleep through without this annoying scritch-scritch making my life difficult. It would stop after a few minutes, and just as i was finally dropping over the edge of sleep, it would come again. Scritch. Scritchscritchscritchscritch. Silence. This couldn't be a tree branch.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, the scritching became more or less continuous. It now sounded like i had a family of huge mice (I had to think to myself "huge mice", because "rats" made me want to run screaming from the place never to return) living in my bedroom wall. The scritching gave way to gnawing noises, and occasional tussels punctuated by injured animal noises were becoming a regular thing. If i pounded on the wall, they would stop making noise for a couple of hours, but eventually this ceased to faze them at all and they would carry on regardless of how much i pounded and yelled. I took to trying to sleep on the couch during the day, but my couch was nothing more than a two-recliner loveseat that even I am too short to comfortably lay on for very long. Uncomfortable couch or sharing a bedroom with a family of some variety of rodent were the only two choices i had at the time. My step kids had a bunk bed in the other room, but for some reason i just didn't feel right sleeping in either of their beds, so i returned to my own room, unaware of the surprised that awaited me there.
I walked into the room to see a dark spot on the wall that hadn't been there before. It was a hole. So the bastards had finally broken through, i thought, as a tiny head poked through the wall, and after seeing me, withdrew back into the safety of its lair.
That was a squirrel head!
I had squirrels living in my wall! I was both relieved that it wasn't rats after all, and exceedingly annoyed at the undisputable evidence that there were indeed rodents living in my wall. With the last vestiges of my denial dispelled, I took a folding TV tray and propped it up against the hole in the wall so that they couldn't come through while i slept, then laid down to make the huge effort it now took to sleep through all that scritching, scratching, gnawing, fighting and general ruckus the squirrels relentlessly engaged in.
Over the course of the next few months, the squirrels broke through the wall in numerous places. The whole wall underneath the window was rapidly on its way to becoming one big patch kit. I would come home sometimes to find nothing wrong with the wall, and sometimes i would come home to several more holes in the same day. Snow and rain came through the holes into my room. We'd called the landlord several times, and though he did his best to make repairs and keep them out, they always returned. The last thing i wanted to do was lay poison in there, have them die in the walls, and cause a stench. I thought the noise and wall breaches would be easier to live with than the smell of decaying rodent, though not by much.
One afternoon after i'd finally gotten to sleep, i thought i felt something gently land on the foot of my bed. I'm a pretty light sleeper. I sometimes dream so vividly that it wasn't unusual for me to be asleep and dreaming, thinking i was awake. I ignored the gentle landing as i'd ignored so many other times when my dreams startled me awake. Then the darting movements began, and i opened my eyes to see the thing i'd been dreading over the course of the last year or so: a squirrel frozen in mid step on the foot of my bed, contemplating me with its beady black little eyes and walking on me with its dirty, potentially rabid little paws. I screamed before i could bite it off, and the squirrel leapt for the portal to sanctuary, the bushy tail disappearing behind it with a little flourish. I shakily gathered my blanket and pillow and went to sleep in Ryan's room.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, the scritching became more or less continuous. It now sounded like i had a family of huge mice (I had to think to myself "huge mice", because "rats" made me want to run screaming from the place never to return) living in my bedroom wall. The scritching gave way to gnawing noises, and occasional tussels punctuated by injured animal noises were becoming a regular thing. If i pounded on the wall, they would stop making noise for a couple of hours, but eventually this ceased to faze them at all and they would carry on regardless of how much i pounded and yelled. I took to trying to sleep on the couch during the day, but my couch was nothing more than a two-recliner loveseat that even I am too short to comfortably lay on for very long. Uncomfortable couch or sharing a bedroom with a family of some variety of rodent were the only two choices i had at the time. My step kids had a bunk bed in the other room, but for some reason i just didn't feel right sleeping in either of their beds, so i returned to my own room, unaware of the surprised that awaited me there.
I walked into the room to see a dark spot on the wall that hadn't been there before. It was a hole. So the bastards had finally broken through, i thought, as a tiny head poked through the wall, and after seeing me, withdrew back into the safety of its lair.
That was a squirrel head!
I had squirrels living in my wall! I was both relieved that it wasn't rats after all, and exceedingly annoyed at the undisputable evidence that there were indeed rodents living in my wall. With the last vestiges of my denial dispelled, I took a folding TV tray and propped it up against the hole in the wall so that they couldn't come through while i slept, then laid down to make the huge effort it now took to sleep through all that scritching, scratching, gnawing, fighting and general ruckus the squirrels relentlessly engaged in.
Over the course of the next few months, the squirrels broke through the wall in numerous places. The whole wall underneath the window was rapidly on its way to becoming one big patch kit. I would come home sometimes to find nothing wrong with the wall, and sometimes i would come home to several more holes in the same day. Snow and rain came through the holes into my room. We'd called the landlord several times, and though he did his best to make repairs and keep them out, they always returned. The last thing i wanted to do was lay poison in there, have them die in the walls, and cause a stench. I thought the noise and wall breaches would be easier to live with than the smell of decaying rodent, though not by much.
One afternoon after i'd finally gotten to sleep, i thought i felt something gently land on the foot of my bed. I'm a pretty light sleeper. I sometimes dream so vividly that it wasn't unusual for me to be asleep and dreaming, thinking i was awake. I ignored the gentle landing as i'd ignored so many other times when my dreams startled me awake. Then the darting movements began, and i opened my eyes to see the thing i'd been dreading over the course of the last year or so: a squirrel frozen in mid step on the foot of my bed, contemplating me with its beady black little eyes and walking on me with its dirty, potentially rabid little paws. I screamed before i could bite it off, and the squirrel leapt for the portal to sanctuary, the bushy tail disappearing behind it with a little flourish. I shakily gathered my blanket and pillow and went to sleep in Ryan's room.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Missouri: The Show-Me [Your Tits] State
The funniest thing happens once you cross over the border from Illinois to Missouri. You don't notice it right away since this border is smack-dab in the middle of St. Louis, and the only things in your sight are the rush-hour traffic you didn't leave early or late enough to avoid, and the pretty arch glittering in the late afternoon sun.
But once i left the distractions of St. Louis city limits behind behind me, i began to notice it: Missouri sure likes its porn! It started with a billboard.
Simple, inobtrusive (and by that, i mean it's just text with no. . . more visual description of services offered), but attention grabbing. Okay. There's an adult video store ahead, no biggie. I drove on to find this gentle reminder
with a little more information. Ah, there's an arcade included! Score! Nothing really struck me as odd about it. . . i mean, everyone needs something to do on a Saturday night, and this place doesn't really have all the entertainment options of a thriving metropolis. I drove on again, without giving it a whole lot of thought until a few miles past the Arcade, i spotted another one.
Two, within fiftyish miles. The longer i drove through Missouri, the more porn shops i noticed. Some were small, simple establishments, discreetly advertised
while others wanted to make damn sure i noticed them
Some were blunt, cut-to-the-chase, and boringly named
while others were blunt, cut-to-the-chase, and a bit more creatively named.
Some were considerate to the needs of their clientele and were conveniently located next to overnight accommodations
while others considered the budget and disability needs of their customers.
Some were completely unremarkable in any way at all.
One of them even appeared to have multiple locations (or the owners had the same idea and are completely unaware of the other).
This one occupied an entire strip mall.
This one catered specifically to the early birds.
It would seem everyone in Missouri is open and okay with the porn industry and the fun it can bring. Except these guys.
But they clearly appear to be in the minority.
I'd never seen so many public opportunities for jerking off in one state in my entire life! I took these pictures from my car while i was driving home from Oklahoma, so if the quality is amiss in some of them. . well, i defy you to take better pictures while trying not to wreck. One thing is certain, though: if you're traveling through Missouri and you're lonely, you have no one to blame but yourself! Opportunity has kicked in your door and given you a lap dance.
But once i left the distractions of St. Louis city limits behind behind me, i began to notice it: Missouri sure likes its porn! It started with a billboard.
Simple, inobtrusive (and by that, i mean it's just text with no. . . more visual description of services offered), but attention grabbing. Okay. There's an adult video store ahead, no biggie. I drove on to find this gentle reminder
with a little more information. Ah, there's an arcade included! Score! Nothing really struck me as odd about it. . . i mean, everyone needs something to do on a Saturday night, and this place doesn't really have all the entertainment options of a thriving metropolis. I drove on again, without giving it a whole lot of thought until a few miles past the Arcade, i spotted another one.
Two, within fiftyish miles. The longer i drove through Missouri, the more porn shops i noticed. Some were small, simple establishments, discreetly advertised
while others wanted to make damn sure i noticed them
Some were blunt, cut-to-the-chase, and boringly named
while others were blunt, cut-to-the-chase, and a bit more creatively named.
Some were considerate to the needs of their clientele and were conveniently located next to overnight accommodations
while others considered the budget and disability needs of their customers.
Some were completely unremarkable in any way at all.
One of them even appeared to have multiple locations (or the owners had the same idea and are completely unaware of the other).
This one occupied an entire strip mall.
This one catered specifically to the early birds.
It would seem everyone in Missouri is open and okay with the porn industry and the fun it can bring. Except these guys.
But they clearly appear to be in the minority.
I'd never seen so many public opportunities for jerking off in one state in my entire life! I took these pictures from my car while i was driving home from Oklahoma, so if the quality is amiss in some of them. . well, i defy you to take better pictures while trying not to wreck. One thing is certain, though: if you're traveling through Missouri and you're lonely, you have no one to blame but yourself! Opportunity has kicked in your door and given you a lap dance.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Metamorphosis
The night air was close and warm, the shore not far off, though i couldn't see it in the starlit darkness. She swam a bit further out than me while i stayed back, hesitant and a bit afraid with one foot buried up to the toes in the security of the sand beneath me. I heard her swim back to me, felt her take my hand.
"It's okay, i won't let you drown," i heard her say with laughter in her voice. She didn't need to say that, i knew she wouldn't let me drown. Nevertheless, i couldn't help being afraid.
"We can stay here near the bottom, if you like."
"I like."
She laughed at my silly fear and drew me a little more firmly on the sand. I could now stand with both feet flat on the ground, and the water barely cleared my shoulders. I heaved a gentle sigh of relief. I wanted to learn to swim, i really did! But the initial plunge was terrifying to me. I knew that one foot farther, and the sand would only be inches away from my feet, but the sea might as well be bottomless if i couldn't touch the ground and keep my head above the waterline.
I felt her gently probing fingers on my chest, pushing me gently back as she swept my legs out from underneath me. I lie just at the surface of the water, not really floating because of her hand on my back keeping me up. I could hear her soothing voice telling me to relax, and i did my best. Really, it wasn't so bad, this laying at the water's surface. The sea rocked me gently on its bosom, stroking the length of my body gently with its lapping waves, urging me to let go and be one with it.
I looked up at her and she smiled.
"Stay relaxed. My hand has not been supporting you for at least five minutes, and you're staying up just fine. I'm going to step back and float next to you."
Panic threatened to seize me, and i felt myself sinking. I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe calmly. "Not yet," i said, thrusting the tremor from my voice. She nodded, but did not return her hand to support me. Gradually, i eased the tension in my shoulders and back, and let the sea carry me once again. I felt her move away from my side and down toward my feet.
She took my feet in her hands and pushed them together, closing my slightly parted legs. She began rubbing my feet gently. As she worked her way from my toes to my heels, she trailed her fingers up to my ankles, running the palms of her hands along my closed legs. Back and forth, she rubbed my legs gently, concentrating at the areas where my legs met. I held my breath, my heart quivering in anticipation as she worked her way up my calves and toward my thighs, always gently, brushing her palms over me.
My skin flared with heat where her hands touched me. I could feel the sea around me growing warm with the heat her hands left in my skin. She was halfway up my thighs when i could no longer contain my excitement.
"It's happening, isn't it?" She only smiled at me, her gentle touching the affirmation i was looking for. She ran her hands across my buttocks and over my nethers, up to the middle of my belly and back. The sea warmed me, helping my legs forget, helping me forget. She withdrew her hands from me and let the sea finish the job she started. I felt the gentle caresses of the water, molding me, reshaping me, every change a pleasure building towards ecstasy. She lay back in the arms of the sea next to me, her reassuring presence keeping me still as the changes she wrought in me came to their climax.
"It's done," she told me unnecessarily. I could feel the warmth subsiding, and the pleasure bleeding out of me into the sea. The sea accepted my emotion, taking its due payment for its help in my becoming.
"Can i look now?"
"Yes!"
I flexed my knees, feeling the power of them. The water was too shallow, but i didn't move just yet. I looked down at what used to be my legs. In their place, scales glittered so brilliantly back at me that at first i could not discern the colour. I moved slightly below the waterline and saw that from my navel down had become a deep ochre, with crimson tips. It was the most beautiful fish i'd ever seen, and it was me. I touched my scales, and they were tough like armour, but smooth and supple. I would become nothing's dinner.
My heart sang with joy, but my joy was fettered by the shallowness of the water. Where i once felt safety and security, i now felt hemmed in and trapped. I felt her take my hand and guide me toward deeper waters. I left my fear upon the sand.
"It's okay, i won't let you drown," i heard her say with laughter in her voice. She didn't need to say that, i knew she wouldn't let me drown. Nevertheless, i couldn't help being afraid.
"We can stay here near the bottom, if you like."
"I like."
She laughed at my silly fear and drew me a little more firmly on the sand. I could now stand with both feet flat on the ground, and the water barely cleared my shoulders. I heaved a gentle sigh of relief. I wanted to learn to swim, i really did! But the initial plunge was terrifying to me. I knew that one foot farther, and the sand would only be inches away from my feet, but the sea might as well be bottomless if i couldn't touch the ground and keep my head above the waterline.
I felt her gently probing fingers on my chest, pushing me gently back as she swept my legs out from underneath me. I lie just at the surface of the water, not really floating because of her hand on my back keeping me up. I could hear her soothing voice telling me to relax, and i did my best. Really, it wasn't so bad, this laying at the water's surface. The sea rocked me gently on its bosom, stroking the length of my body gently with its lapping waves, urging me to let go and be one with it.
I looked up at her and she smiled.
"Stay relaxed. My hand has not been supporting you for at least five minutes, and you're staying up just fine. I'm going to step back and float next to you."
Panic threatened to seize me, and i felt myself sinking. I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe calmly. "Not yet," i said, thrusting the tremor from my voice. She nodded, but did not return her hand to support me. Gradually, i eased the tension in my shoulders and back, and let the sea carry me once again. I felt her move away from my side and down toward my feet.
She took my feet in her hands and pushed them together, closing my slightly parted legs. She began rubbing my feet gently. As she worked her way from my toes to my heels, she trailed her fingers up to my ankles, running the palms of her hands along my closed legs. Back and forth, she rubbed my legs gently, concentrating at the areas where my legs met. I held my breath, my heart quivering in anticipation as she worked her way up my calves and toward my thighs, always gently, brushing her palms over me.
My skin flared with heat where her hands touched me. I could feel the sea around me growing warm with the heat her hands left in my skin. She was halfway up my thighs when i could no longer contain my excitement.
"It's happening, isn't it?" She only smiled at me, her gentle touching the affirmation i was looking for. She ran her hands across my buttocks and over my nethers, up to the middle of my belly and back. The sea warmed me, helping my legs forget, helping me forget. She withdrew her hands from me and let the sea finish the job she started. I felt the gentle caresses of the water, molding me, reshaping me, every change a pleasure building towards ecstasy. She lay back in the arms of the sea next to me, her reassuring presence keeping me still as the changes she wrought in me came to their climax.
"It's done," she told me unnecessarily. I could feel the warmth subsiding, and the pleasure bleeding out of me into the sea. The sea accepted my emotion, taking its due payment for its help in my becoming.
"Can i look now?"
"Yes!"
I flexed my knees, feeling the power of them. The water was too shallow, but i didn't move just yet. I looked down at what used to be my legs. In their place, scales glittered so brilliantly back at me that at first i could not discern the colour. I moved slightly below the waterline and saw that from my navel down had become a deep ochre, with crimson tips. It was the most beautiful fish i'd ever seen, and it was me. I touched my scales, and they were tough like armour, but smooth and supple. I would become nothing's dinner.
My heart sang with joy, but my joy was fettered by the shallowness of the water. Where i once felt safety and security, i now felt hemmed in and trapped. I felt her take my hand and guide me toward deeper waters. I left my fear upon the sand.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Retreat
We were in one of those radio station dead zones as we drove through the middle of the New Mexico desert. I had my choice between Spanish channels (which all sounded the same to my monolingual ears), country stations (which all sounded the same to my alternative-oriented ears), static and the very occasional classic rock station.
[flip]
sssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhshhhhshshshshshshs
[flip]
John McCain: "Me gustarÃa mencionarles sólo un par de cosas, y en primer lugar, un poco de franqueza. Como bien saben, estamos.....
Great, you can't even get away from politics in the middle of the desert, i muttered to myself as i changed the station.
[flip]
Well I'm goin' back as soon as I can raise the cash
Cause Canada is not a place that I wanna had in my past
Canadian women Canadian clubs...
Ugh! Somehow i just couldn't believe there was country music in Canada. Especially Tom T. Hall. I petulantly decided i was never going there as i turned the dial again.
[flip]
I want you smothered want you covered like my Waffle House hashbrowns
Come quicker than FedEx never reach an apex like Coca-Cola stock you are inclined
To make me rise an hour early just like Daylight Savings Time
Yay, Bloodhound Gang! This station couldn't be bad! I decided to leave it here for a while. I noted my mother in the driver's seat next to me shifting uncomfortably as the sexual innuendo poured out of the speakers thick as molasses in the Arctic circle. Good. That's what she gets for dragging me to this Hell-hole in the first place, i thought spitefully. I could be attending the birthday party of the most popular girl in school, but NO! Instead, we're driving out to the middle of nowhere for a stupid retreat. What the hell are we retreating FROM, anyway? HE'S the one who retreated from US with that slut who was only three years older than me. I glared at my mother, silently blaming her. You don't need a spiritual retreat, you NEED a face lift. . .then maybe you could keep your man, i thought venomously at her. Somehow she always drove the ones i liked away.
Instant karma paid me a visit and ruined the sanctuary i'd found on the radio dial, punishing me for my unfair thoughts. I cringed when i heard the familiar chorus from that awful Argent song.
Hold your head up. . WOAAAH! Hold your head high. . .
"Who chooses this crap, anyway?! How do you go from Bloodhound Gang to THIS", i burst out, shattering the silence of the last six hours. My mother arched her eyebrow at me and turned the radio off.
"We could always just talk, you know," she pointed out.
I cursed my forgetfulness as i pined for the CD collection i left sitting on the couch out in plain view, positive if i left it there i would remember it as i walked out the door. I sat there, not even looking at her. The minutes ticked by, and she shrugged her shoulders.
"Have it your way," she sighed, trying to sound indifferent. She switched the radio back on.
. . . results may vary.
I heaved a great huff of teenage frustration as i redoubled my efforts to find something tolerable to listen to. We still had another two hours to go.
Week 32 Topic: Results may vary...
bonus points
(hard, 2 points): Incorporate a trip to Canada.
(easy, 1 point): Include a Blood Hound.
[flip]
sssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhshhhhshshshshshshs
[flip]
John McCain: "Me gustarÃa mencionarles sólo un par de cosas, y en primer lugar, un poco de franqueza. Como bien saben, estamos.....
Great, you can't even get away from politics in the middle of the desert, i muttered to myself as i changed the station.
[flip]
Well I'm goin' back as soon as I can raise the cash
Cause Canada is not a place that I wanna had in my past
Canadian women Canadian clubs...
Ugh! Somehow i just couldn't believe there was country music in Canada. Especially Tom T. Hall. I petulantly decided i was never going there as i turned the dial again.
[flip]
I want you smothered want you covered like my Waffle House hashbrowns
Come quicker than FedEx never reach an apex like Coca-Cola stock you are inclined
To make me rise an hour early just like Daylight Savings Time
Yay, Bloodhound Gang! This station couldn't be bad! I decided to leave it here for a while. I noted my mother in the driver's seat next to me shifting uncomfortably as the sexual innuendo poured out of the speakers thick as molasses in the Arctic circle. Good. That's what she gets for dragging me to this Hell-hole in the first place, i thought spitefully. I could be attending the birthday party of the most popular girl in school, but NO! Instead, we're driving out to the middle of nowhere for a stupid retreat. What the hell are we retreating FROM, anyway? HE'S the one who retreated from US with that slut who was only three years older than me. I glared at my mother, silently blaming her. You don't need a spiritual retreat, you NEED a face lift. . .then maybe you could keep your man, i thought venomously at her. Somehow she always drove the ones i liked away.
Instant karma paid me a visit and ruined the sanctuary i'd found on the radio dial, punishing me for my unfair thoughts. I cringed when i heard the familiar chorus from that awful Argent song.
Hold your head up. . WOAAAH! Hold your head high. . .
"Who chooses this crap, anyway?! How do you go from Bloodhound Gang to THIS", i burst out, shattering the silence of the last six hours. My mother arched her eyebrow at me and turned the radio off.
"We could always just talk, you know," she pointed out.
I cursed my forgetfulness as i pined for the CD collection i left sitting on the couch out in plain view, positive if i left it there i would remember it as i walked out the door. I sat there, not even looking at her. The minutes ticked by, and she shrugged her shoulders.
"Have it your way," she sighed, trying to sound indifferent. She switched the radio back on.
. . . results may vary.
I heaved a great huff of teenage frustration as i redoubled my efforts to find something tolerable to listen to. We still had another two hours to go.
Week 32 Topic: Results may vary...
bonus points
(hard, 2 points): Incorporate a trip to Canada.
(easy, 1 point): Include a Blood Hound.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Electing The Anti-Christ Is A One-Way Ticket To Hell
I have a lot of things i want to blog about right now, but before i do, i thought i'd share this conversation i had with one of the guys at work today. We'll call him "Bob".
It started with me and a friend of mine (we'll call him "Paul") discussing Mrs. Palin and her daughter's current plight. Paul was giving his opinion that he didn't think it would affect the Republican vote because all they care about is whether she's going to keep the baby and get married to the father. I was expressing my skepticism at her ability to sell this to the Family Values Save-It-For-Marriage conservatives.
Bob was bringing me a basket of freshly opened syringes when he politely interjected himself into the conversation (which i didn't mind, Bob's a pretty nice guy and the conversation was far from private). He asked, "Is it going to cause you not to vote for Mc Cain?" I laughed a little and said i'd never been planning to vote for Mc Cain, but even if i had, then chances are a teenage pregnancy in the family wouldn't have been a deal breaker for me.
Bob looked aghast. "You're not voting for him, are you?"
Me: You mean Senator Obama?
Bob: Yes, him.
Me: Actually, i probably will
Bob (looking sadly at me): Well, gee, that's too bad. I really liked you, Christie.
Well, that certainly creeped me out, but i kept the smile plastered on my face and asked: What do you mean by that?
Bob (looking around him briefly before whispering): Don't you know? He's the Antichrist!
Me (doing my best to keep a straight face): You really think so?
Bob: YES! I know it's not in the bible anywhere, but i'm pretty sure you're going to Hell if you elect the Antichrist to public office.
Me (refusing to look at Paul, knowing i'll burst out laughing if i do): Huh. Well, i suppose the election of the Antichrist probably won't work too favourably with the Almighty at all. It's definitely something to think about.
Bob (smiling at me and patting my hand): There's a good girl.
Now, don't get me wrong, i wasn't really laughing AT Bob. It was just a very strange conversation; I never really thought i'd be having a conversation about the pros and cons of electing the Antichrist to office. And he was so very earnest about the whole thing! I couldn't help but giggle a little on the inside.
It started with me and a friend of mine (we'll call him "Paul") discussing Mrs. Palin and her daughter's current plight. Paul was giving his opinion that he didn't think it would affect the Republican vote because all they care about is whether she's going to keep the baby and get married to the father. I was expressing my skepticism at her ability to sell this to the Family Values Save-It-For-Marriage conservatives.
Bob was bringing me a basket of freshly opened syringes when he politely interjected himself into the conversation (which i didn't mind, Bob's a pretty nice guy and the conversation was far from private). He asked, "Is it going to cause you not to vote for Mc Cain?" I laughed a little and said i'd never been planning to vote for Mc Cain, but even if i had, then chances are a teenage pregnancy in the family wouldn't have been a deal breaker for me.
Bob looked aghast. "You're not voting for him, are you?"
Me: You mean Senator Obama?
Bob: Yes, him.
Me: Actually, i probably will
Bob (looking sadly at me): Well, gee, that's too bad. I really liked you, Christie.
Well, that certainly creeped me out, but i kept the smile plastered on my face and asked: What do you mean by that?
Bob (looking around him briefly before whispering): Don't you know? He's the Antichrist!
Me (doing my best to keep a straight face): You really think so?
Bob: YES! I know it's not in the bible anywhere, but i'm pretty sure you're going to Hell if you elect the Antichrist to public office.
Me (refusing to look at Paul, knowing i'll burst out laughing if i do): Huh. Well, i suppose the election of the Antichrist probably won't work too favourably with the Almighty at all. It's definitely something to think about.
Bob (smiling at me and patting my hand): There's a good girl.
Now, don't get me wrong, i wasn't really laughing AT Bob. It was just a very strange conversation; I never really thought i'd be having a conversation about the pros and cons of electing the Antichrist to office. And he was so very earnest about the whole thing! I couldn't help but giggle a little on the inside.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Drowned
It became increasingly obvious that the rain would not abate anytime soon. Georgia and i looked at each other and came to a silent mutual agreement that the house must be abandoned lest we die with it. I looked around the house sadly, and i felt it give its silent understanding. This did not make the decision to leave it here to drown any easier, but it made no sense to sacrifice ourselves with it. I looked at the rest of the group when the first wave of mental pushes came at me. By the uncomfortable looks on everyones' faces, i could tell they were experiencing the same uncomfortable battle with the house: the compulsion to leave when we wanted to stay with it. Jim said, "It wants us to go. We should go". Silently, we filed out to the van and piled in, barely noticing the water pouring off our now-soaked clothing and hair.
Georgia took the wheel and eased us onto the dirt-turned-mud road. I hoped we wouldn't get mired and have to walk. The air was so saturated with water that breathing was nearly impossible, and i didn't think we would survive. Thinking of the house drowning by itself while we drowned elsewhere made me feel numb with futility. Jim took my hand and i looked at him. He was having the same feelings. I pushed them to the side and focused on the road. We were approaching a section that had been washed out. I waited for Georgia to veer off in another direction, but she was driving straight for it. I looked at her in alarm, and discovered she'd passed out or fallen asleep. It didn't matter which, because we plunged right into the water a heartbeat later.
I got out to see if backing up would be a possiblilty. As soon as i shut the door, i saw the water suddenly pull the van all the way under. Horrorstricken, i dove in behind it without thinking. I hoped i would be too small for the water to notice as i tried in vain to jerk the doors open. The water started to crawl through the vents, and soon fountains were gushing into the interior of the van in the water's frenzied attempts to drown us. There was nothing i could do. I could feel the water's smirking malice as it watched my friends and family throwing themselves at the ceiling, trying to stay above the surface. The water lazily pulled them back under, just below the surface, and then released them again, so that they could gasp and sputter, only to be jerked back under as they inhaled, missing the air and giving the water access to their insides. I shut my eyes. There was just no telling what kind of damage the water could do once it got inside you.
Almost simultaneously, all struggling ceased. Crowing triumphantly, the water slammed itself back into the vent, exiting the way it had come in. How horrid that all they air they could have needed was now all around them if they were alive to breathe it! I wondered if i would be able to open the doors if all the water left. Gradually, the water began to seep back in. Apparently, leaving this vacancy was too much effort for the water to sustain.
Once the van had refilled, the door came open easily. I jerked Georgia out first and pulled her to the surface. Once we reached solid ground, i turned her on her side, hoping i could coax the water out now that it was cut off from itself. She shuddered a bit and then sand began to pour from her mouth. I picked up her feet and tipped her upside down to make sure it all came out. The sand liquefied back into water, and the pile-turned-puddle ran back down to the lake. I gently began to massage her temple until her menu came up. I selected 'revive' from my short list of options, and she opened her eyes.
"The water is getting closer, we'd better hurry, " i told her.
We both dived back under and returned with my mother and my sister. Following my lead, she turned my sister upside down and let the sand pour from her mouth. As before, the sand liquified and rushed back to itself. Georgia returned to the water to bring Jim and Ryan while i massaged my mother's temple. It took a little longer, but her menu came up and 'revive' was an option. I heaved a sigh of relief and moved on to my sister. I was able to revive her too.
When Georgia broke the surface, i took Jim from her and she brought Ryan out of the water. Quickly, we began emptying them of their sand. It didn't seem as though the sand was pouring as quickly from their mouths, and a growing realization that the previous puddles had communicated our doings to the larger body of itself slowly dawned on me. The sand was doing its best to stay in side.
Panic-stricken, i began to shake him violently, desperately trying to dislodge the sand. All at once it came out, but when it liquefied, it did not return to itself as it had previously. We were to be spied upon. No matter. I began to massage Jim's temple. Nothing happened. Fighting my growing despair, i tried the other temple. No menu. It was too late, the water had killed him. I turned to Georgia, and saw that she had no luck either. I felt the weight of grief crush me like the pressure of an ocean. Though the water had not entered me, it had killed me all the same. My body just hadn't realized it yet.
The living group of us decided to return to the house while the road remained. I took the dead group of us and slowly began trudging toward the waiting water. It opened its arms to us like a murderous lover, and pulled us gently in.
Georgia took the wheel and eased us onto the dirt-turned-mud road. I hoped we wouldn't get mired and have to walk. The air was so saturated with water that breathing was nearly impossible, and i didn't think we would survive. Thinking of the house drowning by itself while we drowned elsewhere made me feel numb with futility. Jim took my hand and i looked at him. He was having the same feelings. I pushed them to the side and focused on the road. We were approaching a section that had been washed out. I waited for Georgia to veer off in another direction, but she was driving straight for it. I looked at her in alarm, and discovered she'd passed out or fallen asleep. It didn't matter which, because we plunged right into the water a heartbeat later.
I got out to see if backing up would be a possiblilty. As soon as i shut the door, i saw the water suddenly pull the van all the way under. Horrorstricken, i dove in behind it without thinking. I hoped i would be too small for the water to notice as i tried in vain to jerk the doors open. The water started to crawl through the vents, and soon fountains were gushing into the interior of the van in the water's frenzied attempts to drown us. There was nothing i could do. I could feel the water's smirking malice as it watched my friends and family throwing themselves at the ceiling, trying to stay above the surface. The water lazily pulled them back under, just below the surface, and then released them again, so that they could gasp and sputter, only to be jerked back under as they inhaled, missing the air and giving the water access to their insides. I shut my eyes. There was just no telling what kind of damage the water could do once it got inside you.
Almost simultaneously, all struggling ceased. Crowing triumphantly, the water slammed itself back into the vent, exiting the way it had come in. How horrid that all they air they could have needed was now all around them if they were alive to breathe it! I wondered if i would be able to open the doors if all the water left. Gradually, the water began to seep back in. Apparently, leaving this vacancy was too much effort for the water to sustain.
Once the van had refilled, the door came open easily. I jerked Georgia out first and pulled her to the surface. Once we reached solid ground, i turned her on her side, hoping i could coax the water out now that it was cut off from itself. She shuddered a bit and then sand began to pour from her mouth. I picked up her feet and tipped her upside down to make sure it all came out. The sand liquefied back into water, and the pile-turned-puddle ran back down to the lake. I gently began to massage her temple until her menu came up. I selected 'revive' from my short list of options, and she opened her eyes.
"The water is getting closer, we'd better hurry, " i told her.
We both dived back under and returned with my mother and my sister. Following my lead, she turned my sister upside down and let the sand pour from her mouth. As before, the sand liquified and rushed back to itself. Georgia returned to the water to bring Jim and Ryan while i massaged my mother's temple. It took a little longer, but her menu came up and 'revive' was an option. I heaved a sigh of relief and moved on to my sister. I was able to revive her too.
When Georgia broke the surface, i took Jim from her and she brought Ryan out of the water. Quickly, we began emptying them of their sand. It didn't seem as though the sand was pouring as quickly from their mouths, and a growing realization that the previous puddles had communicated our doings to the larger body of itself slowly dawned on me. The sand was doing its best to stay in side.
Panic-stricken, i began to shake him violently, desperately trying to dislodge the sand. All at once it came out, but when it liquefied, it did not return to itself as it had previously. We were to be spied upon. No matter. I began to massage Jim's temple. Nothing happened. Fighting my growing despair, i tried the other temple. No menu. It was too late, the water had killed him. I turned to Georgia, and saw that she had no luck either. I felt the weight of grief crush me like the pressure of an ocean. Though the water had not entered me, it had killed me all the same. My body just hadn't realized it yet.
The living group of us decided to return to the house while the road remained. I took the dead group of us and slowly began trudging toward the waiting water. It opened its arms to us like a murderous lover, and pulled us gently in.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Women Are Disgusting
My husband took me to see Wall-E today. I'd like to mention that it's yet another in the long list of awesome Pixar movies. But that isn't really what i wanted to talk about.
As most people who are even casually acquainted with me know, i am cursed with a hamster's bladder. I usually wait until the previews start, and then i get up and hit the bathroom, making it back in time to catch the beginning of the movie. This usually allows me to sit through a whole 90ish minute movie without getting up to pee. Usually. It doesn't really help that Jim buys me the Bladder Buster sized soda, but i digress.
Anyhow, the previews came on and i got up to find the bathroom. I walked in and entered the first stall and was immediately glad i looked down before getting down to business, because someone had pissed all over the toilet seat. Annoyed, i moved to the next stall down. That one was in even worse shape than the first. . . complete with piss all over the seat and a dirty tampon applicator on the floor. In the third and fourth ones, someone's lunch had apparently rebelled against their bowels, though thankfully it didn't find its way onto the toilet seat. The fifth one was clean.
It's worth mentioning that all the stalls in the bathroom have those paper ass-barriers and paper bag-lined feminine hygiene receptacles hanging on the walls. It's also worth mentioning that this is a common occurrance.
So i have to ask: why are women so fucking disgusting?! Why do four out of six stalls have to be completely unusuable because these bitches can't see fit to use the sanitary tools available to them or flush the toilet (something i'm SURE these hypocritical supertwats yell at their hapless husbands and children about when at home)?
And how does a woman micturate on the toilet seat in the first place?! Is she standing up man-style? Or is she doing that hover-thing that our grandmothers taught us to do in public bathrooms? If she's going to do that, why can't she lift up the seat? Others would care so much less if she splashed on the porcelain than the seat itself. But what the hell is wrong with using the paper ass-guards? That's what they're there for! And has our regard for the next woman fallen so low that we can't be bothered to dispose of used sanitary items in the receptacle? Don't even get me started with the lazy bitches who neglect to flush after their public dump-taking. Yes, it's a natural function that can't always wait until we get home. Understood. But no one wants to KNOW you couldn't wait until you got home! With that much inattention to public cleanliness, i hope they at least remembered to wipe their own asses.
But the people i feel worst for are the theater employees. Some poor sap has to go in there and mop up urine and all other manner of nastiness behind these women who've regressed back to their two-year old bathroom habits. Probably for minimum wage. So if you're a conscientious user of public restrooms, kudos to you, and thank you for being a good example of a decent human being. If you're one of these oblivious or uncaring degenerates, clean up your act or strap on a diaper before leaving the house so others don't have to clean it up for you.
As most people who are even casually acquainted with me know, i am cursed with a hamster's bladder. I usually wait until the previews start, and then i get up and hit the bathroom, making it back in time to catch the beginning of the movie. This usually allows me to sit through a whole 90ish minute movie without getting up to pee. Usually. It doesn't really help that Jim buys me the Bladder Buster sized soda, but i digress.
Anyhow, the previews came on and i got up to find the bathroom. I walked in and entered the first stall and was immediately glad i looked down before getting down to business, because someone had pissed all over the toilet seat. Annoyed, i moved to the next stall down. That one was in even worse shape than the first. . . complete with piss all over the seat and a dirty tampon applicator on the floor. In the third and fourth ones, someone's lunch had apparently rebelled against their bowels, though thankfully it didn't find its way onto the toilet seat. The fifth one was clean.
It's worth mentioning that all the stalls in the bathroom have those paper ass-barriers and paper bag-lined feminine hygiene receptacles hanging on the walls. It's also worth mentioning that this is a common occurrance.
So i have to ask: why are women so fucking disgusting?! Why do four out of six stalls have to be completely unusuable because these bitches can't see fit to use the sanitary tools available to them or flush the toilet (something i'm SURE these hypocritical supertwats yell at their hapless husbands and children about when at home)?
And how does a woman micturate on the toilet seat in the first place?! Is she standing up man-style? Or is she doing that hover-thing that our grandmothers taught us to do in public bathrooms? If she's going to do that, why can't she lift up the seat? Others would care so much less if she splashed on the porcelain than the seat itself. But what the hell is wrong with using the paper ass-guards? That's what they're there for! And has our regard for the next woman fallen so low that we can't be bothered to dispose of used sanitary items in the receptacle? Don't even get me started with the lazy bitches who neglect to flush after their public dump-taking. Yes, it's a natural function that can't always wait until we get home. Understood. But no one wants to KNOW you couldn't wait until you got home! With that much inattention to public cleanliness, i hope they at least remembered to wipe their own asses.
But the people i feel worst for are the theater employees. Some poor sap has to go in there and mop up urine and all other manner of nastiness behind these women who've regressed back to their two-year old bathroom habits. Probably for minimum wage. So if you're a conscientious user of public restrooms, kudos to you, and thank you for being a good example of a decent human being. If you're one of these oblivious or uncaring degenerates, clean up your act or strap on a diaper before leaving the house so others don't have to clean it up for you.
Friday, May 2, 2008
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