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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, slappyhooves.
Let It Rain 04-March-2006
I seem to never remember the jokes that people tell me. Countless times I have heard "A dog walks into a bar..." but have yet to hear the outcome of that particular canine's jaunt. Or maybe I just don't remember. Is it always the same dog? I have a feeling there are several outcomes; a deep pocketful of punch lines from which to choose. And I know none of them. This fact forces me to eat several Girl Scout cookies. You understand.
It is raining here and this pleases me to no end, like a good lover. The sky is a powdery gray-blue. The soggy, slick street is mirroring that hue, and it all tastes like Smarties. I don't know why; it just does when I look outside. A day that tastes like candy is worth writing about, even if it's only one small paragraph. I hope you can taste it too. Unless you don't like Smarties.
The rain gnaws at my bones like a hungry old rat. I love it anyway. I love how quiet the world becomes, how introspective and reflective (and some other words ending in ive) it all seems. I love the darkened tree trunks and the yellow rain boots. I haven't had rain boots since I was a kid. Were they red or yellow? They may have been red. They always took my bloody shoes off right along with them. That seemed inevitable. I remember the combined smells of the lunches in the classroom when we would have to eat inside on wet days. Whoever got chicken noodle soup was lucky. My mom used various cookie cutters to give our lunches pizzazz. Other kids were envious of my Santa-shaped bologna sandwiches. It's weird how much better peanut butter and jelly tastes when it's in the shape of a Halloween cat. I love my mom.
I've got all this old stuff I am looking at, mulling over, sifting through. I wake up every day with the same box beside my bed. You can't see it, but it's there. I lean over the side and bring it onto the bed with me before I've even opened my eyes to the day. I start reviewing the contents, select the sharpest items, the ones that require care in handling. Some mornings I am kind to myself: I feel the sharp things and leave them in the box. Other mornings I stab myself repeatedly with the jagged parts. I wake up and make the same old, tired agreements every day. One day I want to wake up and decide to do everything differently. A day where I don't even recognize the choices I've made because they look and feel nothing like the usual.
I want to drive to the desert, get out of the car, and scream. I want to leave my old beliefs there and drive back home without them. Let some vultures eat them and poop them out in great, big, messy, biodegradable turds. Why not? They are useless to me.
The sun just sharply pierced through the gray. My cat Judie is kicking my ass at the moment. The back of her head is so cute. She is watching a tiny bird flitting about the rosebushes. She looks like she is wearing a cat suit. My cat Augustine wore a wig all her life. At least it looked like a wig. We would make up stories about how we had caught her washing her wig in the kitchen sink that morning (she didn't want us to know it was a wig), or how she loved to shop at Bella's Superfoxy Wigs For Cats, because of the great selection, but mostly because Bella smells like catnip and is such a fantastic conversationalist.
Well, would you look at that? I stepped away to do some stuff and morning transformed into night, and then into morning again. It's officially the next day. Oy, the nerve. Sadly, the rain has stopped. I guess I could always blast the sprinklers and kid myself.
The other night it became glaringly apparent that some people take the whole complimentary toothpick thing in restaurants a bit too far. Those slender wooden spears are positioned near the exit for a reason: so you will take one with you when you go and pick your teeth in the privacy of your car. We went to a hoppin' deli for a sandwich after seeing a truly enjoyable play, mostly because it was the only place open at that hour with edible food. There was a guy, probably early thirties, who I swear was giving himself a root canal with that fucking toothpick. This went on for the duration of our stay, which lasted about 40 minutes.
I know, I know, I could have refrained from looking at him, but you know how that goes. His two male pals didn't seem to notice this guy's ongoing dental procedure; they were too enthralled with Patrick Swayze's mullet, which was titillating deli patrons around the restaurant on the large plasma screens placed strategically all over the joint to ensure that you and your dining partner(s) properly ignore one another during your meal. Next Of Kin was the film. Fine piece of celluloid. Anyway, I was kicking myself for forgetting my camera, because at one point this guy was digging so deep that he was slipping down lower and lower in the booth, bent on extracting several teeth along with whatever hunk of meat was caught between them. It was almost erotic, save for the fact that it wasn't. I was waiting for blood to spurt and teeth to fly, longing for goggles to protect my eyes from the possible peppering of dental shrapnel. And wishing for photographic documentation with which to thrill the masses.
This reminds me of a lady I used to know. I don't believe she knew a thing about manners. And I'm not even talking about the ones that are drilled into your head, I mean the common ones you can sense on your own by being aware of other people and having consideration for what they might not want to see you doing. Like flossing your teeth with your hair. The first time I saw this, I think my head fell off. You have to know Cerine to really get the whole picture, and it would take several hours to semi-accurately describe this lovable yet obnoxious woman as I experienced her, for she is quite a complex character. But let me just tell you that the first time I witnessed this, we were dining at a pretty nice restaurant. Upon finishing her meal, she grabbed a few strands of her own hair, brought it to her mouth and began flossing her teeth with it, licking the bits of food off the hair as she went, then finally sucking the remaining food particles from the hair after she'd completed her dental hygiene process.
I did in fact say "The first time I saw this," because I put myself in the position to behold more of this atrocious dining behaviour after the initial episode, which is due mostly to the "yet lovable" part of Cerine. Hey, even the folks who bite off and chew their own toenails (or yours) have friends.
I think it's important that we discuss briefly a few search engine strings that brought people to this site.
how to make your underpants white again Try a time machine.
huge tit aunt linda story Just one enormous tit and an Aunt Linda. What could be better than that?
why do girls use the bathroom more than boys Because they're smarter than you.
who's boobs their your boobs not my boobs whos boobs No boobs for you.
how to keep my wifes boobs from sagging Well, you've got your work cut out for you, toots. First you're going to have to defy gravity. No, wait. First you will have to grow a brain for yourself, and then you can work on the gravity thing. After that you can tackle those sagging asscheeks of yours, because you're starting to look like Michael Douglas from behind without your shorts.
anne murray gospel I live by it.
cayenne peppers - they smell like Wizard dung?
big jar boobs Jugs!
if you love me you'll accept i spank you Yes, and if you love me, you'll accept this telephone pole up your rump.
pictures of what your mouth looks like after chewing After a meal, my mouth bears an uncanny resemblance to Bill Murray's left earlobe. What does yours look like after a good chewing?
bugs that get you drunk Well, this is just a legend, so don't take my word for it, but I've heard it's wasps that'll get you good and tanked up. You have to catch two with your fingers, using care not to injure them, take them out for a fine meal of fish and chips, and then sing them assorted show tunes. By the end of the evening, you will be as drunk as a skunk in a bunk, oh runk.
are arm injuries sexy on women This just leaves me to wonder who asked this—a woman with an injured arm who wanted to find out whether she would still be desirable during the healing process, or some guy who gets off on slings and casts and wounded lady-limbs. Either way, it makes me proud to be a person and share the world with people who search the internet for this rubbish.
I had a maxi pad bulge The sequel to the 1949 film I Was A Male War Bride.
sexy women in see through night shirt How many women can you fit into one nightshirt?
my mind is telling me know, but my body is telling you that it's high time you learned the difference between know and no.
what is the difference between girl cat and boy cat Girl cats don't have twin cotton puffs under their tails. Also, boy cats aren't nearly as adept at billiards as girl cats.
what really happens in a girl shower room Ethel Merman comes back to life, leading the girls in a spirited, choreographed rendition of "Everything's Coming Up Roses", with leg kicks and everything. And they are all dressed in snowsuits the whole time.
my cat is gay Join PFLAGC like I did! (Parents and Friends of Lesbian and Gay Cats.) There's always a fine assortment of Italian cookies at the meetings, and the atmosphere is warm and friendly. And nobody picks their teeth.
Quote From My World
"Are you talking about the part
where your vibrato went crazy?" "You're not allowed to remember that; you're just allowed to think it's fabulous."
Well, I'm off to shiver my timbers. Thanks for reading.
Linda
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