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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, lover.
Mindfully Unfocused 13-Dec-2004 Afternoon
My mom bought me a book called The Power Of Focusing, and I really liked the first few pages I read. And then I started reading another book, and then another. And still another. I have a mound of books piled on my bedside table. I have half-read books sitting there wondering what the hell went wrong. If I could focus long enough to stay with the Focusing book I might have happier, more satisfied books.
Speaking of books, you know how the other day I said I was going to make a dent in my holiday shopping if it was the last thing I did? I would like to plead insanity, please. I was bewitched by a bookstore, I swear. Has that ever happened to you? Afterward, when the voodoo wore off, I was wandering the streets of my city like a little lost lamb. Thankfully I had a stack of pretty new books to keep me company. I more than intend to make that dent at some point tomorrow with my lovely partner in crime. But until then I shall list for you the new books we bought. I was holding them while we shopped and kept setting them down on piles of other books, and just knew we'd end up purchasing something we didn't intend to buy that was accidentally added to our pile during that business of setting down and picking up. And we did, but it seems like a really enjoyable book, so let me hear a "hells yeah!" for happy accidents.
The Year Is '42 Nella Bielski My Invented Country Isabel Allende Dear Professor Einstein: Einstein's Letters To And From Children The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath Cane River Lalita Tademy Ella Minnow Pea Mark Dunn (the happy accident)
And I was the girl who declared she would not buy another book until she had read the 400328 books she already owns. I'm a book hooker. What can I say? I love words. I love when they are all perfectly aligned together forming another world. When I walk into a bookstore I see thousands of different worlds all waiting to be discovered.
Have you ever had a piece of See's candy? Ever experienced the displeasure of biting into one of the dark chocolate covered Lemon Pledge pieces? Hell, I bite the chocolate off and polish the furniture with those fuckers. That is just all kinds of wrong and I would really like to discuss this issue with the person who came up with that particular flavour. It's probably the same person who threw a bloody fit when their ant spray flavour was vetoed by Mrs. See.
Jesse is sitting above me on the armoire eating his foot. He makes that activity look so relaxing and delicious. Jesse is a cat, by the way. He has been obsessed with the laundry room today, particularly with the trash. He would like very much for me to open the lid so that he may spend the afternoon eating the contents. I forgot to close the lid last night and found him inside the thing, grocery shopping, no less.
Ever since I was a kid I've enjoyed asking people whacked-out "what if" and "what would you do" questions. I'm still waiting for an answer to one of those questions that will knock my socks into another galaxy. When I ask something like, "What would you do if the next time you saw me I was wearing a remote-controlled cape, a bodysuit, a bad wig, and go-go boots while chewing happily on a stick of butter?" I don't want to hear, "I would. . . get you some help."
I'm doing it again; I am jumping from subject to subject. It's the focusing problem, most likely. Here's a subject. People keep asking me why I call myself the grumpiest girl. What makes me so grumpy? Injustice. Stupidity. Lying really pisses me off, but in my opinion that falls under the category of injustice. God, it is maddening to be told lies. The trouble is that I usually know when someone is lying to me. I get a strange feeling in my abdomen. Trying to tell someone you know they are lying to you is awkward to say the least, and usually not worth the trouble anyway. Then there are the obvious lies told to you that leave you with the certainty that the teller of said lies thinks you're a complete moron.
I went out to dinner once with someone who told me I was the most beautiful woman they had seen since they moved to Los Angeles. Earlier in that conversation this person had talked at length about the beauty of a certain actress they had waited on at work, and how that actress' beauty rendered them nearly speechless. Yet here they were blabbing up a storm to me, the most beautiful woman they'd seen in Los Angeles. OK. I would have been more than happy with "I think you're pretty." I don't need to be the most beautiful woman in the city. I don't even need to be the most beautiful woman in the room.
There is far too much stupidity floating around. Stupidity can grate on a person's nerves. Unless they're stupid, in which case they are probably just thrilled to be in good company. One of my neighbours who lives in a corner house had a mess on his (really the city's) parkway lawn when a large truck took off a huge branch of the parkway tree. This little guy looks perpetually unfriendly, waters his lawn displaying his large, naked, hairy potbelly, is obviously afraid of women—your basic heartthrob. Anyway, he walked out to the curb like monkeyboy, all ready to take on this branch that dared to drop on what I am almost certain he believes is his property. He dragged it in a series of drags off the curb and into the street. But that wasn't satisfying enough, so he dragged it farther and farther away from the curb until the thing was an accident waiting to happen. And instead of moving it away from the corner, he left it right near the curve of the sidewalk, so that someone turning right would have to swerve out of the way to miss it. The very best part was watching him go to walk away from his manly retaliation, then stop quickly, turn around like a gunslinger who had reached his last step before a duel, and give the tree a "take that, asshole" look before walking off all puffed up into the house.
New topic. You know, I have been approached by men countless times in my life with the request or the order to smile. I have even received a few emails from men asking why my bio photo is sans smile. I visit my dentist regularly. I floss daily, brush thoroughly two or three times. I even massage my gums with Vitamin E oil. Are men so needy as to require a woman to appear elated when in their presence? Do they take it personally if we're just busy thinking or walking or living our own lives (or stuck in a photograph)? I have yet to figure out this mystery. How about walking up to a few biker dudes tomorrow, fellas, and telling them to smile? Let me know how that goes.
And another topic. Why are homophobic people so eager to talk about homosexual people? Wouldn't you think you'd want to avoid a subject if it offended or disgusted you? They bring up gay people more than gay people bring up gay people. Jesus. Are there a great many heterosexual folks who have been brutally attacked by crazed gays? Why all the hate?
I wonder, if we all knew we were going to die tomorrow, would we still spend time judging the people we're judging right now? Would it matter anymore? We waste our time here. We tie ourselves tightly to our beliefs and run our mouths off until someone gets hurt. We place more importance on money than we do on people. Do we even see each other anymore? When you look at me, what do you see? My clothes? My hair? My watch? Who am I to you? I have news for you: I am you. I don't know how to explain that, but in one way or another it is true.
I am chomping on popcorn and would like to take this opportunity to say Paul Newman makes delicious microwave popcorn, that stud. I am slouching like a slob of sorts in this chair. I am wondering if I will ever indeed finish reading the Focusing book.
Well, I'm off to finish this bowl of popcorn and thrill the masses. I have no idea what I mean by that, so there.
Linda
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