loo-KAY-see

For a while I'd been looking for an excuse to break out my cowgirl boots. (Right, like that excuse I "needed" to eat that third cupcake last night. Bleh ... that was stupid.)

Anyway, I'll be heading back to Texas in four days to see family and I'm really looking forward to it.

I spent a lunch a few days ago talking to a fellow Texas A&M grad I recently met at my apartment complex of all places (WHOOP!) about how different Tennessee is from Texas. They're really not too far apart on normal everyday life. There's just something about Texas that makes people from there feel like they've got something in common when out of the great Lone Star state.

We're arrogant cusses. What can I say? Our state rocks and yours sucks balls. Facts are facts.

Oh, and people around here don't have a goddamned clue about TexMex. Dry rub and fried foods, they've got down. A decent enchilada ... nope.

But back to the point, I'm wearing my freakin awesome Lucchese boots today so don't mess.

It's stupid to say shoes put me in a good mood. It wasn't slipping them on and not flinching even a bit when Crystal Method started playing on my computer. It was just the thought of getting to go back home. Texas will always be home and I will always want to spend time there even if I never take up residence there again.

Gawd dayum.

Run for it

I tell you, it's really goofy how much random crap you're given for doing something healthy. You give blood and you get all kinds of stuff. Lifeblood offered a chance for donors to get free Baskin Robbins ice cream through August.

I ran the Chick-fil-A 5k with a good friend on Labor Day. I had just gotten to the point where 3 miles wasn't an incredible mountain to climb, and the 5k was a way to gauge just how well I was running it. I finished in less than 30 minutes.

Anyway, I came away with all this free stuff for no reason. Some of it is junk. I don't ever use coozies (or however it's spelled) and the binoculars say "Viagra" on the top of them.

Since Pfizer was a sponsor, there are pads of paper for prescription drugs including Zoloft. It's too bad exercise produces endorphins or the majority of race participants might be interested. Other than that, it's mints, a free Chick-fil-A sandwich and pens. It might not be fancy crap, but it was still all free.

So, let this be a lesson. Should you want a random assortment of stuff for doing something beneficial for your health, run races or give blood. No, I kid. Don't do it for the swag, do it because you want to. It's still fun to get stuff. Congratulations, it didn't kill you! Here's a pen.

Raining bitches and douchebags

It's raining like hell today. Roads are flooding and accidents are keeping people locked in traffic. Against my better judgment, I head over to the local mall to look for some things for my apartment. I have yet to find curtains I like and I'm still searching for nice pillows for my couch.

I go to Pottery Barn and don't find what I set out for but find something worthwhile all the same. After finally getting the attention of a store rep while the rest remain firmly entrenched in setting up the new Halloween offerings (jeez, people, it's still August), I buy my selection.

My debit card has an image of the college I attended.

Clerk: "Did you graduate from that school?"
Me: "Yes, I did."
(one point awarded for observation skills not entirely lacking)
Clerk: "And you didn't stay there?"
Me: *eyebrow raise* "No, I decided to branch out a little."

What the hell? Stay there? Uh, yeah ... whatever.

Scratching my head, I make my way over to Macy's to look at curtains. As I wander through the housewares, I manage to make my way into the most tomblike and somber area of the store. There's furniture and home furnishings all around but nary a soul to be seen.

I pass a service desk where two women are posted. For the sake of brevity, I'll call them Bitch 1 and Bitch 2.

Bitch 1: "May I help you?"
Me: "Yes, I'm looking for curtains." I point over to where I think there are some curtains hanging.
Bitch 1: "We don't have curtains."
Macy's. No curtains? Is she kidding? Even if the online selection is wider than the store, they have curtains. Maybe they're not in this area, but somewhere they have curtains.
Me: "Really? OK, thanks."
Bitch 2: "Have you tried J C Penney? They have some nice curtains."
Me: "Been there." Forgive me, O great ones, for trespassing on thine hallowed ground of outdated and cheap veneer furniture.
Bitch 2: "What about Pottery Barn? They have some nice curtains there, too."
Me: *holding up Pottery Barn bag* "I looked there, too."

All this time, Bitch 1 has been staring at me as though I'm going to try to sneak a dining table into my bag and run off.

Good Lord! I know I look a sight having come in out of the rain, but I don't look like trouble. Fine, Macy's, if you don't want my money I'm not going to make an effort.

I'm a little bugged about that brush-off, so I make my way to Victoria's Secret. What can I say? A chance to regain a little sauciness helps.

I look around, disappointed I hit the store in between seasons when there's very little selection. While I'm perusing some undies, three guys walk up to a store employee nearby.

Dude: "Where can I get an application?"

Alright, dude, I know from how you're dressed you're not looking for a stockroom job. I also know you brought your buddies with you to prove you have the balls to ask for the application. My best guess is he likes the thought of an employee discount to keep his womens in lacy drawz. Good luck, douchebag.

Whatever is falling from the sky is making people weird.

Jerks

There's nothing like seeing a dead dog in the middle of the road when I drive home to fuel my misanthropy.

It was a German Shepherd and most likely a puppy judging by its size.

*sigh*

Like bunnies?

There are too effing many of these around my apartment complex. They're nasty little jerks, too. I bet they're mostly male. Ha!

These geese stick around through all kinds of weather. I would have thought they'd migrate based on the seasons, but this mass seems content right here through the whole damn year. There are at least 2 dozen more that didn't fit into the frame.

Hmm, I've never tried foie gras ... *picks up meat cleaver*

Shifting gears

So, several conversations, several days lacking news posts and several bouts of frustration later, I've decided to take this blog in a new direction.

This was mainly started as a bit of an experiment -- a way to get used to the informality and conversational style of blogging. I feel I've failed miserably at both and that it would be best to take this post up from the bottom-dwelling subject that is my own personal thoughts and feelings to a level less self-absorbed and boring.

I also became disenchanted with the idea of discussion through blogging. From what I can see, there is very little actual conversing and even less that is edifying. An atmosphere in which outrageous insults are thrown for merely expressing an opinion (however uneducated or naive it might be) is not a sphere in which I would like to call myself a member.

Without further ado, in the next few weeks, I'll begin posting about one of my hobbies. I like to cook.

It has always bothered me how there will be left-over ingredients from some recipe in amounts not usable for another round of whatever dish called for them in the first place. So, from time to time, I take such ingredients and try to come up with something new to do with them. Sometimes it's a surprising success, other times it's a complete wash.

Before I go much further I should say that I am wholly amateur in this cooking endeavor. I have no formal training save for the instruction provided by my mother. It's simply an enjoyment of mine to take an assortment of "castoffs" and make something entirely unexpected and tasty from them.

As this develops, I hope shortcuts and cheats will expose themselves so I can further my ability to ad lib in the kitchen. Take notes at your own risk.

Subcutaneous

I give myself nerdgasms for remembering biology terms. It's the little things ...

Anyway, it should be apparent right now that plenty of things get under my skin in a hot hurry. That skin is far thinner than it should be. I know. I'm working on it. But I don't think I'm very aware of just how thin other people's skins might be.

Here's the enigmatic punchline for all but one: I don't care if you agree with me or not. It's your life anyway and I'm certainly no one to tell you I know better. However, I know I was the conductor of my own little emotion-filled philharmonic who used all the same tactics to get back where I thought I wanted to be. So, at least in my case, finality was a must.

I hate to be the situational jerk since I do think there are absolutes in life, but we all want to think we've got the answer. I'm right and you're wrong. It's not that simple when you're talking about society and I tend to forget that a lot.

I want there to be something absolute to stick to because I get tired of the same things happening over and over. I get tired of people being how we all know people can be while forgetting that I haven't changed a bit. And maybe that's the crux of the problem. I'm frustrated that I can't figure out how to fix these interpersonal clusterfucks, but maybe I'm just frustrated I can't even figure out my own problems most of the time.

We don't need fixing. Ultimately, we need the bitch who won't realize she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. We need the doormat. We need the sniveling little prick who stabs us in the back. We need the insecure, quiet one with the nervous laugh and we need the swaggering asshole who doesn't even realize how condescending he sounds.

To be frank, I hate when I feel like a problem is all about striking a balance. It's that nasty little running theme to my life that bores me to tears. Why couldn't it be something exciting like learning how to tap my inner strength or learning how to express compassion? Instead, it's got to be how to figure out how the hell not to go off the deep end all the damn time. It's far more interesting to launch myself toward one end of the spectrum and watch the fireworks than try to figure out where to stand so I can keep the least amount of sparks from flying.

I'm fascinated by the Pucks who wreak havoc, turn the tables and upset everything in their path. I would much rather be the fire than the salve and I hate not getting to.

Steady, girl ...

Parentology

I really need to pick Theogeo's brain about her nifty little add-on that shows her how people found her blog. I want to know if anyone searches on Google for "parentology" and ends up in my La La Land.

My mother came to visit me last week. She's gone now, and thankfully doesn't read this blog.

Parents are infuriating, aren't they? To them, you're this kid who never really grew out of that awkward phase in between adoring them and hating them. I think that's what they're most comfortable with, really. That's the point where they're ok with the jerk because they know you're human. It's also the point where you still think they're amazing for all that parental stuff.

At one point during my mother's visit, she looked at me and said one thing she'd really like to experience in her life is "seeing that twinkle back" in my eye.

Yeah, I'll get right on that ...

Her significant other is an intensely perceptive man, God bless him. He picked up right away on that slight eyebrow raise I ardently tried to suppress. "Well, she just got contacts, so you can't see it." I of course voiced my agreement right away. "Yeah, I really do think the slight blue tint cuts down on the glare ..."

Mom didn't bite. "No, I just want to see you be your happy self again."

Alright, back the truck up a second. This whole weekend, they've been drinking at least a bottle of wine between them at each dinner. That's not much for the boyfriend, but my mother is as much a lightweight as I. Also, not two hours earlier, she had been standing in my living room in my apartment while I was in my kitchen preparing their damn food deciding where I should put the couch that she just thought was the greatest and best and bought for me without asking. I would like to think it was just the wine talking like when I became increasingly emotive this time.

That whole week with my mother around left me scratching my head. Is it just a parent thing?

Maybe I should change the name of this blog to "I don't get it" because that seems to be a running theme. But really, I don't understand the parental mind. It's a completely different value set from mine. Different issues take on different significance for parents and the gravity of these issues grows exponentially. This whole "just be happy" thing is making me crazy at how ludicrous it is and the only conclusion I can get to is one I already knew: I don't ever want to be a parent.

My mother spent half the trip trying to act like her relationship with Mr. Perceptive was all daisies and demure conversation when I was around. She even messed up a bed she didn't sleep in so I wouldn't guess (well duh) that they weren't in separate rooms.

*Side note: There are 2 points to pulling this off that she completely missed.
1) If you always make the bed, then just make it look like you made the bed. I'm going to know you're trying to make it look like something if you always do the exact opposite.
2) If you do leave the sheets mussed, at least leave a head dent in the pillow. No one leaves the bed unmade but still fluffs the pillows.
I had to mention these because, well, it's kind of funny.

The only reason I mention that is because it's so goofy and ridiculous that I can't help but attribute it to this parental sense of responsibility for the delicate psyche of ones children. She's trying to make sure she doesn't shock me with normal human behavior because I see her as my mother, not some random chick on a getaway vacation with her boyfriend.

I could take issue with her and say it's really stupid posturing since she brought me up to observe what's really going on, stick to the truth and all that good parenting stuff. I could point out that she taught me to grow up and be a productive member of society. But none of that conversation would accomplish anything. No matter how parents hope and plan for the best with their children, it still seems they're not willing to admit that baby started drifting away as soon as he or she started walking in the first place.

I don't get how that could be sad to a parent since ... I wouldn't want to deal with dirty diapers and "spit up" in the first place let alone forever.

How could you not be happy or at least relieved that all your planning and training grew up to be self-sufficient and generally functional in a grim and messed up world?

I'm not really getting at the point I'm trying to make and I guess that's just as well.

Now where'd I leave my paci???

This is certainly an incomplete thought, but ...

I was trolling along through one of my favorite blogs. I'm too chicken to tell you which blog it was, but she's very witty, ballzy as hell and funny. It led me to a blog post by someone of the opposite sex ruminating over part of what the former had said.

I'm still pondering, but they both have me sitting here thinking I understand where they're both coming from, but it seems like neither of them can move past the limitations of their positions.

The first blogger is very candid about her personal life. She talks about just how she'd wipe the stupid grin off some guy's face and make sure he never forgot how badly she handed him his ass. The second blogger was saying he sympathized with wanting to do that, but he edits himself constantly for fear that desire to dominate be misconstrued as something sinister.

Something about the whole thing is bothering me and I can't put my finger on it.

These two people who seem to be travelling completely different paths and philosophies of life are essentially stuck on the same problem from opposing sides. The woman senses she can't actually do the very thing she wants to do. She'd have to go through too much trouble and manipulation to set it all up. She can't be that dishonest to finally reveal the truth in the end.

The man seems convinced being too real and being too much what he wants to be is offensive. He can't shed the façade that makes everyone else comfortable no matter how much he'd like to challenge and disprove other people's impressions.

And I don't believe either of them.

I've read through blogs where the woman pretended to be something other than the vixen she is and I'm quite confident the man has misjudged his inner strength. Maybe I judge them too harshly, but it seems highly probable that both are operating under skewed self-perceptions.

I have a theory that every time a person tries to honestly evaluate themselves on a psychological level, it's wrong and they're not being honest at all. People don't want to look at the real motivators. People believe they're generally good, right? Why would they ruin that ability to cope with everyday life by being honest about who they are deep down inside?

This woman could be as maniacally conniving as she wanted and she'd have every guy within a 50 mile radius under her thumb inside of 2 weeks. She would love it and she'd probably hold onto the position of authority for quite a while, but she's telling herself "no, that's not me."

This man more than likely simply wishes he had the guts to seize some control, some power. He wants it and he thinks he could have it all. He's telling himself "that's me, but I can't show anyone."

What's worse is I can sympathize with both. There are myriad instances where I've wanted to lash out and show people that I'm not going to be pushed around. In fact, I'm going to kick ass and take names. I end up checking myself saying "no, you don't charge in with both barrels blazing. You're too worried about the consequences." And I am. There are other times that I think "if he wasn't married I would do so many things to him ..." No I wouldn't. Who am I kidding?

What are these? These warped perceptions that plague us from both sides. Are we who we really think we are? Are we at this point on the cycle or this one? Are the proud among us fooling themselves? Are the humble being too harsh in judging their own actions?

I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how to define this person that is me ... this person who can despise a character trait and defend it in the next breath.

Mirror mirror on the wall, tell me who I am. Tell people who they are. I don't think we're up to the task.

Talking gibberish and twitching

I find myself at a loss, again, to figure out what the hell is going on. Most of the time, I feel like I'm either talking to a wall or that I'm a stranger in a strange land who doesn't speak the language.

Half the time, I try to express what's bothering me and it ends up going off the deep end into something I never intended. I attempt to vent some frustration, maybe gain a little clarity through that, but it's always misunderstood. It ends up the receiving end is offended and hurt, destined to take what I said as a very loud "I hate you."

Then there's the other half of the time where what I say has absolutely no effect. I'm not taken seriously at all and people make jokes at my displayed level of irritation. There's the refusal to acknowledge that there's any weight to my arguments or observations.

And I don't get why. Am I prone to too much hyperbole to the point people think I must really hate them if I use such lively words? Is my point lost because I can't offer a solution that's immediately recognizable as a better method?

I'm either on mute or the amp is set to 11.

Someone help me get off this thing because I don't know how. You try to be calm and flexible, able to make changes and go with the flow for the good of the group. Then it ends up coming back to bite you on the ass because everybody wants a chance to stretch the rubber band the direction they want it to go. I snap because they found the breaking point, and the reaction is always the same. I somehow strike a nerve that leaves them feeling hurt and me feeling like a jerk for hitting it.

The conclusion to that being: they're just human and I shouldn't react so strongly to them doing what they think is the right course of action. And I always feel like my "just human" tendencies are shunned. I'm not allowed that argument.

Then you know you reach that point where you're going to blow unless someone gives you a padded cell in which to scream and beat the walls. But venting only gets you so far. No one cares. The more I remind myself of that the more I wish someone did.

In my mind, I keep coming to the phrase "I can understand to some extent that ..." ending in something more or less akin to the philosophy that people are people and they will never be anything but their own self-absorbed, limited selves barely able to comprehend past their own noses. This misanthropic hypocrisy stares back at me in the mirror, I'm well aware.

But I'm so sick of acting like everything should be shoved down and ignored because "people are people are people." If you don't say anything, no one will know, right?

So I say something ... half the time to a wall. The wall neither comprehends nor feels any compunction toward empathy. Conversations with walls end with phrases stating sympathy but not showing it. And there's always that "but" at the end that makes my blood boil. "I know, but what do you want me to do?" "I know it's irritating, but I can't do anything about it." The invalidating "but" that makes any show of understanding before it into nothing more than a defensive tactic to keep the situation from escalating.

Sometimes life feels so very very false.

Insomnia

It's 5 in the morning and I can't sleep. This happened last night, too. I already cleaned my apartment so now I have nothing to do. My mind won't shut up.

I'm leery of getting too personal on this blog. There are too many stories of professional suicide and blogging being the culprit. Not that I have anything to say anyway. My job is ... fine. My apartment is ... fine. My life is generally OK.

Ugh.

Introduction

I had a few reasons for creating this blog and several reasons for skipping the headache altogether. But here I am at 2 a.m. staring at a screen for my first post.

I'll tell you the reasons why I was against creating this blog.

For one, I'm not a fan of blogs. I don't surf the blog roll or whatever it's called when you waste hours disagreeing with someone online. Most blogs I've encountered have been some variation of catharsis, sciolism and self-aggrandizement. It is one person who is shouting into the wind in hopes someone will hear the cries of an inevitably brilliant, sharp-witted individual who just wants what's right. In short, I tend toward sarcasm far too readily.

Since I consider myself entirely uninteresting, I think no one will want to read the awkward outpourings of my angst and frustration. Hell, I've tried to talk myself out of it three times already from sheer boredom.

Finally, I know I'm going to be sporadic at best in updating this damned thing. I'm too moody.


And now, I'll tell you the reasons why this blog was created.

The face of my career is changing and I have to learn to keep up. I work as a page designer for a metro newspaper. Since more people are turning to internet news sources, I must learn to work on the web.

I tend to do this kind of thing anyway. When I was in college, I had a Word document that was really nothing more than a journal of venting. I'd add an entry whenever my passive-aggressive tendency to keep my mouth shut made my head want to explode. It was a way to scream in someone's face without reaping the consequences. So talking to anyone and no one is honestly not very disconcerting at all.

That brings me to the name for this blog. I mean it as a play on words and a frustratingly persistent fact of life. Being as random as I am, plenty of my thoughts are tangential to the rest. There is only one point of connection between each. Most of the time, I'm the only one who gets the connection ... mostly because it's so archaic or obscure it's not worth contemplating. It makes me feel like a Pavlovian experiment in triggers. I've been pre-programmed by pop culture to immediately recall a line from a movie or show at least three times in any given conversation.

At the same time, I'm still stuck on the circle. The tangent keeps going off into uncharted territory while I'm this annoying little thing caught in the cycle. I'm one point on an infinite scale. I wouldn't be missed if I wasn't there, but I can't get off. Everything about my life feels like it's going around in a circle to the point where I'm beginning to believe there really is no such thing as coincidence. And it's extraordinarily mundane.

I had a friend compare me to Woody Allen, and that seemed so insultingly true that he had to be right. An actor I have very little regard for is just as ridiculous as I. I try to be resistant to how life can be simplified to cloyingly rhythmic clichés and at the same time unable to find an explanation that contains more truth. We are what we eat. Hindsight really is 20/20. Time invariably heals all wounds. This is my hell, my Hallmark brand quip that refuses to die no matter how overused and trite it has become. Damnit!

So, since a number of writers were madder than hatters, I might as well get used to ranting and raving before the men in white coats come knocking on my door.

Enjoy.