5-6-2006
Yoga for the Sexually Frustrated
Maybe this makes me weird.
There's this yoga program on Oxygen every day at 6 a.m. I love watching it when I get ready for work. I don't do yoga. I've never done yoga. It's mesmerizing. All the loose fitting earth-tones. Steve Ross' soothing voice. The token fat guy in the group, who while no more limber than a table, is certainly more limber than I. I cannot turn the shit off.
The other morning Steve told his class to partner up. One person sat on the floor while their partner kneeled behind them. The seated person was supposed to bend forward, while the partner pushed their back down. Then Steve says, "some people like to give massages here." Mouth agape, I watched as they flashed to one sweaty girl rubbing another sweaty girl's back. I said, "what the fuck?!" and leapt at the t.v. turning it off. I was never going to make it to work if this kept up.
Yesterday I'm watching, and they're doing stuff I'd never seen before. It looked harder. Steve gets down on the floor to show the class some modified shrieking leprechaun position or something, then he pulls his leg back to his back. "Just keep pulling until you know what happens."
You know what? Again I say, "what the fuck?!" Only this time I say it as I'm leaping onto the floor into the modified shrieking leprechaun and pulling my leg back to my back. How the hell else was I supposed to figure out what, "you know what," was? Was I going to have a mind-blowing orgasm? Were doves going to shoot out my ass? Sadly it seems like, "you know what," is just a nice way of saying, "until you're in so much pain that you want to cry like a little girl." I guess you never know until you try.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
XIV
5-2-2006
Wet T-shirt Democracy
The only thing I needed to accomplish after work today was voting in the primary. I love voting. It's my favorite thing in the world. When I was little, I didn't look forward to my sixteenth birthday like so many other kids. I looked forward to the eighteenth, the point at which I'd finally be able to take part in the democratic process with which I had always been so infatuated.
I have to wear a white shirt to work. Black pants as well. I believe this is called a uniform.
There are some things in this world about which I'm not so bright. Or perhaps I'm just defiant. Yes, let's go with defiant. One of these things is the way I protect myself from the rain. I protect myself with denial. I refuse to carry an umbrella. No one looks cool carrying an umbrella. Well, no one but Charlie Chaplin, and if you notice, he never really had his opened. Anyway, I certainly don't look cool carrying one. Something I came to terms with years ago was that people also don't look cool walking around dripping wet. Sadly, by the time I came to this realization, the no umbrella thing was so deeply set within me that there was no turning back.
I guess the point I'm driving at is, it was raining pretty hard when I left work this morning. Did I let that stop me from my voting destiny? Hell no. Instead I turned lemons into lemonade. I gave democracy something that's very dear to me. Something that I've given less than a handful of people over the course of my entire life. I marched into that polling station shoulders back and wet, white shirt clinging. I let democracy get to second base. It seemed only right after a 25 year love affair.
Call me crazy, but I think that when things work out the way they should in November, my Girls Gone Wild moment at the polls today will be at least partially responsible. Flash the political system, get a governor you can stand. It only seems fair.
Wet T-shirt Democracy
The only thing I needed to accomplish after work today was voting in the primary. I love voting. It's my favorite thing in the world. When I was little, I didn't look forward to my sixteenth birthday like so many other kids. I looked forward to the eighteenth, the point at which I'd finally be able to take part in the democratic process with which I had always been so infatuated.
I have to wear a white shirt to work. Black pants as well. I believe this is called a uniform.
There are some things in this world about which I'm not so bright. Or perhaps I'm just defiant. Yes, let's go with defiant. One of these things is the way I protect myself from the rain. I protect myself with denial. I refuse to carry an umbrella. No one looks cool carrying an umbrella. Well, no one but Charlie Chaplin, and if you notice, he never really had his opened. Anyway, I certainly don't look cool carrying one. Something I came to terms with years ago was that people also don't look cool walking around dripping wet. Sadly, by the time I came to this realization, the no umbrella thing was so deeply set within me that there was no turning back.
I guess the point I'm driving at is, it was raining pretty hard when I left work this morning. Did I let that stop me from my voting destiny? Hell no. Instead I turned lemons into lemonade. I gave democracy something that's very dear to me. Something that I've given less than a handful of people over the course of my entire life. I marched into that polling station shoulders back and wet, white shirt clinging. I let democracy get to second base. It seemed only right after a 25 year love affair.
Call me crazy, but I think that when things work out the way they should in November, my Girls Gone Wild moment at the polls today will be at least partially responsible. Flash the political system, get a governor you can stand. It only seems fair.
XIII
5-1-2006
Appalachian Bubble Bath
I have a lot to write, and not a lot of time to write it. A few casual observations.
The Columbus chapter of the GOP (Grand Old Party, Republicans) is located on the corner of High and Gay. I wonder if W. knows.
Today at the protest that's been outside our building for the last month, one of the men protesting punched one of the women he was protesting with right in the mouth. They called an ambulance and everything. I nearly pissed my pants. I love my job.
When I went to pay my rent today, there was a group of 4 girls and 1 guy just loitering in front of the planned parenthood. Is it wrong that I was having the kinds of thoughts I was having? Like what if they were all there because they had all slept with that guy in the last couple months, and he just called them this weekend to tell them that he has genital herpes, and they had all gone together to get their tests and various creams to help with the sores?
Now I'm in the coffee shop, and the local Scrabble club is here. The guy in the club whom I've always found most obnoxious walked in and announced that he went to this other local Scrabble club meeting this weekend. Then he more or less called the other team a bunch of pussies and morons. It takes a big man to make fun of a fellow Scrabble player. Seriously, Dude. You're world revolves around Scrabble. Ever thought about going out and getting laid? It's a lot more fun, and it might even clear up your acne. I promise.
Anyway, no point to this. It's just feels so wrong to go so long without writing.
Appalachian Bubble Bath
I have a lot to write, and not a lot of time to write it. A few casual observations.
The Columbus chapter of the GOP (Grand Old Party, Republicans) is located on the corner of High and Gay. I wonder if W. knows.
Today at the protest that's been outside our building for the last month, one of the men protesting punched one of the women he was protesting with right in the mouth. They called an ambulance and everything. I nearly pissed my pants. I love my job.
When I went to pay my rent today, there was a group of 4 girls and 1 guy just loitering in front of the planned parenthood. Is it wrong that I was having the kinds of thoughts I was having? Like what if they were all there because they had all slept with that guy in the last couple months, and he just called them this weekend to tell them that he has genital herpes, and they had all gone together to get their tests and various creams to help with the sores?
Now I'm in the coffee shop, and the local Scrabble club is here. The guy in the club whom I've always found most obnoxious walked in and announced that he went to this other local Scrabble club meeting this weekend. Then he more or less called the other team a bunch of pussies and morons. It takes a big man to make fun of a fellow Scrabble player. Seriously, Dude. You're world revolves around Scrabble. Ever thought about going out and getting laid? It's a lot more fun, and it might even clear up your acne. I promise.
Anyway, no point to this. It's just feels so wrong to go so long without writing.
XII
4-24-2006
Phone Sex at Work
Sometimes I'm astounded by my own stupidity.
A woman from our home office called the store today. She sounded very much like this girl at one of the other stores. This other girl and I always flirt in the least sincere, obviously kidding manner imaginable.
Now, the woman who actually called, she's super nice. She's also a real adult. You know, the kind you don't proposition over the phone. Of course, what do I say when she says, "hi Carrie?"
I say, "ooh, I've missed you so much." in a voice that doesn't sound the least bit professional, at least not in my profession.
She says, "what?" I'm still not sure if it was the kind of "what" that someone says when they really didn't hear you or if it was the kind of "what" someone says when they can't believe they heard you correctly.
Sadly, I still thought it was this other person, so I said, "I said I miss you." This time I didn't use my lusty voice but still. . .
"She said, oh I miss you too."
Then I realized it wasn't who I thought it was, so I back-pedalled at the speed of light.
"Oh, well you know, I haven't talked to you in a while, and you were off on Friday, and you should call more often just to say hey, and it's Monday, I'm just feeling goofy."
I kind of feel like curling up into the fetal position.
Alas, this is not that first time I've done something like this. The last time was when I worked at the bookstore. My boss' name was Jeff. I had a friend named Jason. I was waiting for Jason to call. The phone rang. Someone answered it. They called back for me. I said, "is it J-dog?"
They said, "yeah."
I picked up the phone, "hey spooge."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, hi Jeff!"
I think not learning from your mistakes is a textbook symptom of mental retardation.
Phone Sex at Work
Sometimes I'm astounded by my own stupidity.
A woman from our home office called the store today. She sounded very much like this girl at one of the other stores. This other girl and I always flirt in the least sincere, obviously kidding manner imaginable.
Now, the woman who actually called, she's super nice. She's also a real adult. You know, the kind you don't proposition over the phone. Of course, what do I say when she says, "hi Carrie?"
I say, "ooh, I've missed you so much." in a voice that doesn't sound the least bit professional, at least not in my profession.
She says, "what?" I'm still not sure if it was the kind of "what" that someone says when they really didn't hear you or if it was the kind of "what" someone says when they can't believe they heard you correctly.
Sadly, I still thought it was this other person, so I said, "I said I miss you." This time I didn't use my lusty voice but still. . .
"She said, oh I miss you too."
Then I realized it wasn't who I thought it was, so I back-pedalled at the speed of light.
"Oh, well you know, I haven't talked to you in a while, and you were off on Friday, and you should call more often just to say hey, and it's Monday, I'm just feeling goofy."
I kind of feel like curling up into the fetal position.
Alas, this is not that first time I've done something like this. The last time was when I worked at the bookstore. My boss' name was Jeff. I had a friend named Jason. I was waiting for Jason to call. The phone rang. Someone answered it. They called back for me. I said, "is it J-dog?"
They said, "yeah."
I picked up the phone, "hey spooge."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, hi Jeff!"
I think not learning from your mistakes is a textbook symptom of mental retardation.
XI
4-16-2006
He wasn't just an Andrew Lloyd Webber Musical
I've a thought about Jesus
Now, I believe that there was a guy named Jesus. He was probably a pretty good guy. I picture him at a lot of Phish shows. He wore Berkenstocks. Probably smoked a lot of reefer. Of course, like any brilliant politician (and most crazy people) he said a few unpopular things. He pissed the wrong people off. They nailed him to a T. They buried him in a cave. Couple days later, the gals go back to the cave.
"Holy shit. He's not here. He done resurrected, (their English wasnt so hot back then). We gotta go tell everyone!"
So the girls run screaming out of the cave. They tell the town gossip that Jesus is alive and walking among them, and within the hour, the whole fucking world knows about it. There are Jesus sightings all over the place, which I can understand. I mean, have you ever started waving to someone you were sure was an old friend only to realize that it wasnt. You feel pretty lame, but you try to play it off, right.
Well, a few days later, lets say 40, a couple of the gals go back to the cave. One of them wants to carve, "MM + JC 4ever" on the wall. She walks in, and there he is. Just like they'd left him. "Girls, girls! Come quick. It's Jesus. Hes been right here behind the milk the entire time."
"How many times have I told you, sometimes you have to move shit around to find something. It's not just going to jump out at you."
Now the shit really hits the fan. They realize all at once that for the last month, people have thought Jesus was alive. How the fuck were they going to explain that one?
They run back to the old group.
"John, Paul, George, Ringo! Do you guys still keep those journals?"
"Yeah, what of it? We dont want to hear it. We told you. We're not gay. We're just sensitive."
"We don't care about that. Its just we've got some bad news, and we just need to make sure we get it in writing. The Man is dead."
"Yeah right."
"No, we mean it. Really, really dead this time."
"Well, how? Where is he?"
"He was in a . . . uh . . . well, that doesn't matter. We saw him ascend to the heavens with our own eyes."
"Well, did he say anything on his way up?"
"Yes, he said, join me in a few hundred years for a reunion tour. Meet me in Utah."
He wasn't just an Andrew Lloyd Webber Musical
I've a thought about Jesus
Now, I believe that there was a guy named Jesus. He was probably a pretty good guy. I picture him at a lot of Phish shows. He wore Berkenstocks. Probably smoked a lot of reefer. Of course, like any brilliant politician (and most crazy people) he said a few unpopular things. He pissed the wrong people off. They nailed him to a T. They buried him in a cave. Couple days later, the gals go back to the cave.
"Holy shit. He's not here. He done resurrected, (their English wasnt so hot back then). We gotta go tell everyone!"
So the girls run screaming out of the cave. They tell the town gossip that Jesus is alive and walking among them, and within the hour, the whole fucking world knows about it. There are Jesus sightings all over the place, which I can understand. I mean, have you ever started waving to someone you were sure was an old friend only to realize that it wasnt. You feel pretty lame, but you try to play it off, right.
Well, a few days later, lets say 40, a couple of the gals go back to the cave. One of them wants to carve, "MM + JC 4ever" on the wall. She walks in, and there he is. Just like they'd left him. "Girls, girls! Come quick. It's Jesus. Hes been right here behind the milk the entire time."
"How many times have I told you, sometimes you have to move shit around to find something. It's not just going to jump out at you."
Now the shit really hits the fan. They realize all at once that for the last month, people have thought Jesus was alive. How the fuck were they going to explain that one?
They run back to the old group.
"John, Paul, George, Ringo! Do you guys still keep those journals?"
"Yeah, what of it? We dont want to hear it. We told you. We're not gay. We're just sensitive."
"We don't care about that. Its just we've got some bad news, and we just need to make sure we get it in writing. The Man is dead."
"Yeah right."
"No, we mean it. Really, really dead this time."
"Well, how? Where is he?"
"He was in a . . . uh . . . well, that doesn't matter. We saw him ascend to the heavens with our own eyes."
"Well, did he say anything on his way up?"
"Yes, he said, join me in a few hundred years for a reunion tour. Meet me in Utah."
X
4-16-2006
Chicken-fried Jesus
Oh it's Easter. This is a very big holiday for my people. The atheists, that is. "Seriously, he did what? You believe that shit?" I think I was 7 or 8 the first time I had that conversation with someone.
It was my best friend, Joseph Stargel. He's a pretty strict Southern Baptist. I'm really surprised that more people weren't forbidden from associating with me when I was younger.
The first time it was decided that maybe I shouldn't play with someone was, Krista Kettering. Her family was Baptist too. I think I was 6? Maybe a bit younger. She and her brother were explaining to me how Mary was Jesus' mom. I said, so Mary was married to God? They were appalled. They told their mom. It was decided maybe we should all take a break from each other. Now there were two types of logic happening there. On some level I understood that God and Mary must have gotten it on in order to make Jesus, and I guess I thought that only married folk got it on. Imagine that. And I'm the one with questionable morals. Looking back on it, I'm not sure how much stock I put in the Ketterings. I also remember Kyle, the oldest boy telling me that babies came out of their mothers' butts. Then there was the summer that, after a pig roast, they put the head of the pig way up in a tree. It didn't look good, and it stunk to high heaven by the end of the summer.
I really don't want to come off as an ignorant heathen. I've read lots of the Bible. Leviticus 20:13 is my favorite bit (obviously). I went to church every Easter until I was 10ish. I took my mom to mass a few times after she had surgery and couldn't drive herself. I actually enjoy a good Catholic mass. They're much more aesthetically pleasing than the long, boring Protestant services my father used to drag me to.
In lighter news. One night a few years ago, I was sitting with a friend. We started talking about the whole Body of Christ thing. The ol' Holy Communion. We started a list of other ways you could eat Jesus. You know, besides the gross cracker. Here are just a few: Jesus Kabobs, Jesus au gratin, lemon pepper Jesus, Jesus marsala . . . The list goes on and on really. Basically, any way that you could prepare a meat, potato, or pasta, throw our Savior in the mix, and there you go.
Well, that's enough blasphemy for one day. Everyone have a happy Easter, and keep your eyes on the sky for the next few days. Does Christ rise in the east and set in the west, or is it the other way around?
Chicken-fried Jesus
Oh it's Easter. This is a very big holiday for my people. The atheists, that is. "Seriously, he did what? You believe that shit?" I think I was 7 or 8 the first time I had that conversation with someone.
It was my best friend, Joseph Stargel. He's a pretty strict Southern Baptist. I'm really surprised that more people weren't forbidden from associating with me when I was younger.
The first time it was decided that maybe I shouldn't play with someone was, Krista Kettering. Her family was Baptist too. I think I was 6? Maybe a bit younger. She and her brother were explaining to me how Mary was Jesus' mom. I said, so Mary was married to God? They were appalled. They told their mom. It was decided maybe we should all take a break from each other. Now there were two types of logic happening there. On some level I understood that God and Mary must have gotten it on in order to make Jesus, and I guess I thought that only married folk got it on. Imagine that. And I'm the one with questionable morals. Looking back on it, I'm not sure how much stock I put in the Ketterings. I also remember Kyle, the oldest boy telling me that babies came out of their mothers' butts. Then there was the summer that, after a pig roast, they put the head of the pig way up in a tree. It didn't look good, and it stunk to high heaven by the end of the summer.
I really don't want to come off as an ignorant heathen. I've read lots of the Bible. Leviticus 20:13 is my favorite bit (obviously). I went to church every Easter until I was 10ish. I took my mom to mass a few times after she had surgery and couldn't drive herself. I actually enjoy a good Catholic mass. They're much more aesthetically pleasing than the long, boring Protestant services my father used to drag me to.
In lighter news. One night a few years ago, I was sitting with a friend. We started talking about the whole Body of Christ thing. The ol' Holy Communion. We started a list of other ways you could eat Jesus. You know, besides the gross cracker. Here are just a few: Jesus Kabobs, Jesus au gratin, lemon pepper Jesus, Jesus marsala . . . The list goes on and on really. Basically, any way that you could prepare a meat, potato, or pasta, throw our Savior in the mix, and there you go.
Well, that's enough blasphemy for one day. Everyone have a happy Easter, and keep your eyes on the sky for the next few days. Does Christ rise in the east and set in the west, or is it the other way around?
IX
4-10-2006
Clubbing Baby Seals
I fucking love working downtown.
Here's what I saw today.
I'm looking across the street. There's a rather big girl and a scrawny boy. They're fighting, but it looks like play fighting. Then it starts to get kind of intense. Next thing I know, big girl's right boob is completely out of her shirt. It wasn't just sort of out. It was way out. She was wearing a jacket that was zipped up most of the way, so where the zipper stopped was right up under her boob. I'm not doing a very good job of describing it, but just close your eyes and imagine a big, floppy boob suspended, as if independent of the rest of the body, in the middle of someone's torso. Some people should not leave home if they're not wearing a bra. She is one of these people.
Earlier in the afternoon, some crazy woman came into the store. I asked her if she needed any help. She said, "No, I was just outside and I saw the annointing in your cookie jar, so I had to come in. It looked just like the resurrection that I saw in middle school. I just need to deal with this."
It just doesn't get better than the shit I see every day.
Clubbing Baby Seals
I fucking love working downtown.
Here's what I saw today.
I'm looking across the street. There's a rather big girl and a scrawny boy. They're fighting, but it looks like play fighting. Then it starts to get kind of intense. Next thing I know, big girl's right boob is completely out of her shirt. It wasn't just sort of out. It was way out. She was wearing a jacket that was zipped up most of the way, so where the zipper stopped was right up under her boob. I'm not doing a very good job of describing it, but just close your eyes and imagine a big, floppy boob suspended, as if independent of the rest of the body, in the middle of someone's torso. Some people should not leave home if they're not wearing a bra. She is one of these people.
Earlier in the afternoon, some crazy woman came into the store. I asked her if she needed any help. She said, "No, I was just outside and I saw the annointing in your cookie jar, so I had to come in. It looked just like the resurrection that I saw in middle school. I just need to deal with this."
It just doesn't get better than the shit I see every day.
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