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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, taffy-tuchus.
The Salami Is For Display Purposes Only 25-July-2005 7:03 a.m.
I found what appeared to be a dried yak ear in the backyard. (Is that similar to finding a horse head in your bed?) This thing was enormous and covered with ants. I toyed with the idea of snapping a picture of it for your enjoyment, but figured I'd just tell you about it. And besides, it would have made such a romantic photo; I didn't want you to get the wrong idea and think I was hitting on you. I am hitting on you, but don't want to be that obvious.
At first the ear appeared to be a gianormous fat petal plucked from some otherworldly plant, dragged or dropped into the yard by some happy plant-eating critters. Upon further inspection I noticed the veins and the dried blood where it had been severed from some poor animal's head. I found a stick and nudged it a bit, hearing the tap of the wood against the hardened flesh. Never one to keep dried yak ears strewn about the yard, I went into the house to get a latex glove (the kind I use to examine my friends and various other dinner guests). Went back outside, put the severed ear in a plastic bag and into the trash on the side of the house. Goodbye huge dead ear.
But now I can't stop wondering how it got there. How does something like that end up in a person's yard? Also, I'm thinking it would have made a nice macabre little pillbox hat for some Goth chick. Well, there's always tomorrow.
Speaking of tomorrow, it keeps showing up quicker and quicker, doesn't it? Every time you turn around, there it is. It's really freaking me out lately. Time is zipping by like a fly with a turbo engine. It's hard to keep up. Half the time I'm there in tomorrow, which, of course, is today once you get there, and I'm thinking it's several days previous. I don't actually believe time exists, but in this place it is one of those things we've all sort of agreed upon, so it feels real to us. I have a theory as to why time seems to be moving at a more rapid pace: we are wishing away the days. So many of us work jobs we find dissatisfying, or we spend our time some other way which sucks the marrow right out of our bones, and we end up wishing for the weekend or next week or three months from now when we'll be able to do something we like better than what we're doing now. Have you ever noticed how many times a week—a day—you find yourself wishing for a day beyond the one you're currently living?
I have been trying to get out more lately. Been spending too much time at home with the cats. I have plenty of cats. They're lovely and all, but they are needy as all mother-glorious hell. Also, I've begun licking my hands after I eat instead of using my napkin, and it's not the best habit I've ever developed. Picked that up from the cats. In addition to this, whenever a door is closed, I cry and scratch on it repeatedly. I also chew plastic bags, and will totally make a snagged nest of your favourite sweater if you leave it out. So, I went out on the town the other night. Was West Hollywood always so lonely and empty? Were many of the people seemingly unfriendly and poser-like? I'm thinking it was probably like that back when I used to spend more time in that area, but there are just so many bloody people here now and this stuff really sticks out. We drove past these clubs where people were melting into each other like hot crayons. There wasn't a lick of space to be found between bodies.
There wasn't any space between billboards either. It's sad; the whole city is an advertisement. On the way home I imagined unscrewing my head to pour out the ads that had crept into my brain. Dove (the soap) wants you to know you're allowed to be a woman now and have some curves. You no longer have to resemble a fourteen-year-old boy with boobs. Thank you, Dove. Without you I'm nothing.
I realized when I got home and was getting ready for bed that I had only shaved one leg. I found that quite enjoyable.
We stopped at Drake's that night before venturing home. Drake's is a sex shop where they carry a wide (and long) assortment of dildos and whatnots. Of course, we're the only dorks who would go in there specifically to buy incense, but somebody's got to do it. There's an incense brand called Majestic Incense that has been sold in various stores in the West Hollywood area for many years, and I'm fond of the sage and the vanilla. So I collected a few packages and we browsed a bit. I was delighted to discover Stroke My Salami was out on DVD! What a treat. Glad I didn't let my excitement show too much, what with the one unshaven leg and all.
We saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the other night. I found it most enjoyable and kept wondering what Roald Dahl would think of it. Perhaps he's popped in from the spirit world to watch it once or twice. Am I the only one who thought Johnny Depp looked like Mary Tyler Moore with those teeth and that wig?
Some guy wrote to me earlier to tell me he enjoyed reading the previous entry, that it was "amusing and creative to a point." He continued, "You did have me scratching my head a bit with your tree branch descriptions."
From that entry:
I would love to live in a tree house. Sometimes I imagine my house is way up in a tall tree, shaded by lush green leaves, securely embraced by smooth, cool branches.
I thanked him for checking out my site and let him know I would make a note of his confusion. So you know what he did? He wrote back to tell me how it would have been better written. I'm leaving the typos intact.
"Yeah sorry but such is the life. ..'lond [sic] dark limbs stretched out around me. Their knots, cracks, and dimples filling my pores and curves with warmth as the [sic] wrap 'round me to the glow of my smile.' That's the direction I'd have taken, I'm afraid cool and smooths [sic] branches are something I know not of."
Had I been attempting to be all poetic and shit, I may have emptied the trees of their sap for a more precious description, but I thought some smooth, cool branches sounded awesome for my tree house. After all, it's my fantasy. Knots and cracks and dimples filling my pores and curves sounds like cellulite and stretch marks to me. I've got some of that good stuff already—don't send more. You build your tree house in your tree and I'll build mine in the tree of my dreams. And let's hope you never need to borrow a cup of sugar from me, because for sure my sugar won't be sweet enough for you.
Arrogance sucks. Keep it to yourself.
Quote From My World
"Are you supposed to stay away from peaches or pears?"
"Both."
"That's weird because peaches are so normal."
Well, Jesse and Judie are running around the kitchen, jubilantly playing with the sponge I use to wash the pans. I'm off to play the part of the killjoy. Thanks for reading.
Linda
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