Hi, I is Lara. I is kina dum. Why? I is pore. If you is pore, you is dum. I went to the docter today. That there docter gamme sum paper for them pills people. Them pills people woonent gimme them pills cuz I is on that Oregun Helth Plan. Itsa plan for people tah pay fer them pills and stuff. So I went to the pills place and gavem my paper frum the docter tellin me I cud get sum pills. So they sed no. They sed my paper can get changed, and cuz I is pore, I’m gonna messen with the paper so theys gonna ax the docter if I rally gotta have pills cuz they thank I made up the pills paper. Kin you balave that? So they woonent gimme any pills for my bladder. Dang me. An the Oregun Helth Plan also wants to no why tis I want eleven dollar pills. They gotta call the docter and ax why I gotta get antibodies. Why I take antibodies? Cuz, I is pore and I muss be a druggie who makes up the pill paper. Itsa shame fer me cuz the docter was close up wen the pills people callem up. Them pills people coonent ax the docter if I made up the paper and coonent ax the docter if I is a druggie tryin tah get sum antibodies. Sheesh.
Showing up. Showing up. Showing up. As a writer, it is necessary for me to show up. I don’t have any desire whatsoever to work on the important things tonight. I have no desire whatsoever to work on unimportant things tonight. I have nothing spectacular or funny to say. I am boring. I recognize this. I also know why. I have not slept well recently. Over time, the lack of sleep draining causes sustained retardation in my brain. About the only thing I am capable of doing well (and well is the key word here) is watching South Park videos. Small problem. South Park Zone won’t let me watch South Park videos. I tried reading a book. I realized I had read a page with zero comprehension of the words in front of me. This means I have reached a state of brainlessness rarely achieved, even for me.
So here I sit, starting paragraphs with the word so. This is not a good thing. Oh, guess what I saw today? The back of a street sign had a foot tall green penis and balls drawn on it. There were little squirties coming out the top. Isn’t that original? I thought it was. Particularly the choice of green as a color for the penis. Perhaps that helped to make the penis stand out.
One of my bank accounts is a big, old mess. I have this account I use for Milla’s money. Well, I thought there was a deposit made that wasn’t, so a bunch of crap went overdraft. Here’s the thing, the crap that went overdraft was from point of sale purchases. What does this mean? It means that I used a debit card. I asked the bank to explain to me why they would approve the point of sale charge if there was no money in the account. Why not simply say no, this card is useless? Well, they could not answer this. Instead, they charged me $25 for the first two $7.75 purchases, then $28 for additional purchases, one for about $37, another for about $60, and a third for $20. There were a couple of others. Here’s the other thing. I had one big charge for $200, this was the one that caused the problem. It put the account overdrawn, then all these piddly ones came after. So I said to the bank, if that hadn’t gone through, none of the other stuff would have gone overdrawn. The bank person told me they put through the big charges first. At this point I noticed that indeed, the charges began with the largest and proceeded down in denominations. What does this mean? It means a big purchase makes you overdraw, then all the little nickel and dimey crap comes through and runs up BIG money for the bank. Isn’t that a great money-making scheme? The guy on the phone said it was because big purchases were more important. Oh really, you think so? I think it’s a scheme for your bank to make more money. Add to that the fact you allowed point of sale purchases to go through when there was no money in the account. He said my pointing that out was being abusive. Since I was speaking in a calm, normally volumed, well modulated tone of voice, I found this confusing. Abusive? I asked. How in the world is my pointing out that your bank is ripping me off abusive? I would say that your bank is abusive. He then asked if there was anything further he could do for me. I told him he could go and take a hike. Yes, perhaps that last line was abusive. I’m a bad person. I admit it. I guess paying $156 in fees for purchases totaling less than that makes me this way. Yes, I know there are those out there who would get all judgmental on my ass for not knowing about the deposit in the first place, but there are extenuating circumstances. Another person puts money in that account and I thought he did it. The judgmental people can now be original and say see what you get for doing your own thinking? Yes, I do. I get abusive, that’s what I get.
Well imagine that. I managed to eke out more than one paragraph. Wonders never cease. I didn’t even think while I did it. I suppose it is not necessary for me to point that out, my not thinking. It’s probably quite evident from what I’ve written. I know this. In my altered, brain dead state, I am able to fathom that my writing is pitiful. But I’m showing up, that’s what I’m doing. I’m having impure thoughts too. Isn’t that nice to know? You don’t know what they are. I could be thinking about sewage in the Willamette River. That would be an impure thought. You probably thought I meant sex, especially since I mentioned seeing the giant green penis drawing. But there are other things out there I could be thinking about that are impure. I’ll never tell.
Maybe it is evidence of my friend choices, but I realized the other day while trying to justify again to another friend why I want to live somewhere else that I actually was justifying myself. After I got off the phone I started thinking about all the people in my life who have made it their business to question my choice and to try and talk me out of it and it leaves me wondering why the fuck they think that’s okay. I would not question their choice to live somewhere else or make any other decisions. And it isn’t simply a matter of people asking out of curiosity either. They genuinely question me like they think it is their job to talk me out of it. I don’t get it. It’s my life. Part of me can hear them reasoning that they just want to make sure I’ve thought things through. The irony in this statement is that I would be willing to bet most of these people would describe me as one of the most responsible, unfrivolous people they know. I have heard all of them say something to this effect at one time or another. Yet when I make a decision they wouldn’t make, they try and talk me out of it and claim it is for my own good.
Now that I’ve noticed this is going on, I’m going to point it out to people when they do it. We’ll see how quickly the backpedaling begins when I ask someone why they are questioning my choices, what they hope to gain from the interaction. I’m not justifying myself any more. I do not make huge decisions lightly. I have my reasons for making the choices that I do. They may not be the same reasons or choices another person would make, but that is one of the beauties of being human, we are individual and can be different.
A friend of mine emailed me about the second house sale falling through. She said, “You’ve been living in a perpetual house of horrors for several years now.” Exactly. That is exactly how it has been. So I want to make a locational change in an effort to 1) get away from the perpetual house of horrors, and 2) perhaps live a life without a perpetual house of horrors. Is that too much to ask? These people who question my choices haven’t lived my life. They don’t have what I have here. Their situations are different.
In honor of America naming its top 7 wonders, I have decided to offer a top 7 wonders list of my own. These are things so quintisentially American, it would be shameful not to offer them their own place in infamy. Drum roll please…
Walmart: A wonder in sheer, unabashed corporate greed.
George Bush: It’s a wonder that someone this complicatedly messed up is the president of the US.
Strip Malls: A wonder at the absolute lack of any sense of aestheticism.
Sound bites: A wonder that it is possible to boil any complicated issue down to a few seconds and make it appear black and white.
Mcmansions: A wonder of greed, lack of necessity, and waste.
Fast food: A wonder for its ability to combine obesity, magnificent deterioration of health, and sheer ugliness, all under one roof.
Insurance: A wonder because it manages to convince people it is protecting them while simultaneously ripping them off.
So there you go, my top 7 wonders of America. Ain’t it grand?
Another sale just fell through on my house. I swear to god, I have a fucking cloud over my head. Just shoot me now and get it the fuck over with.
So Yahoo says I can get a summer body in 4 weeks. Wow! A summer body. Just what I always wanted! I’m going to have to get me one of those. I’m not sure if I have to order it from Yahoo or if I can search around for a better deal on the internet. I’m hoping if I shop around, it won’t be terribly expensive, especially with gas prices what they are. I’m hoping the summer body I find is tall. I like tall bodies. And not terribly muscular, but toned. Yes, toned would be good. Of course, that would mean the body would probably have to be somewhat young so the muscles haven’t atrophied or anything. I don’t particularly care what color skin it has, as long as it’s not scraping off or something like that. I really would like my summer body to actually have skin. And tan would be good, but not fake orange tan, real tan, if it’s still fresh and not peeling. I would prefer my summer body has not been mutilated or otherwise defaced. Bodies like that are probably cheaper, but yuck, you know? I wonder what they do to the bodies to keep them from smelling bad. Summer deodorant? And I’ve heard finger and toenails keep growing. I wouldn’t want my summer body to have icky nails. It might be kind of cool if my summer body has hair that has grown longer. I could braid it or maybe even turn it into dreads.
Overall, I’m pretty excited about getting a new summer body. The winter/spring one is starting to decompose and I was considering moving it into the compost pile. This will be a great way to start the season!
Well I finished the absolute beginner book on how to play the bass. In fact I got to the point where if I have a piece of music and it is just the notes, I can play it. I do not know how to just play anything by hearing it. I do not know how to do anything fancy like wiggling my fingers or sliding them except for fun. I do not know how to do anything very complicated. But simple baselines, I can do them. I also got fairly fast, at least on the same song over and over. Given a new piece, it would take me 20 tries to go fast if the song required it. Maybe more. Going fast is difficult. It also seems like once I get it one finger goes awry and I screw it all up again. Guess I’ll have to keep practicing, but I like practicing because it makes my brain empty in the same way writing does.
Anyway, it was fun. I love the long, low notes. They resonate.
I have been hearing all the pundits and dj’s on the radio talking about the “explicit” Miley Cyrus photos in Vanity Fair. On and on and on. One woman on NPR just would not shut up about how horrible it was, how sexualized she was, how taken advantage of, what a wretched human Annie Lebowitz was, how Miley was being exploited, how her parents were to blame for this travesty. Just listening to her was enough to make me want to punch the radio.
I get Vanity Fair. It arrived in the mail. Curious what all the fuss was about, I opened to the photos. What the fuck? I heard from one radio commentator how the photos with her dad were incestuous. What a load of crap. What kind of culture do we live in that a father sitting as this man is with his daughter is considered incestuous? It says more about the people who automatically assume sexuality between two people of opposite sex than it does about the objects of this photo. There is nothing incestuous about it. It is intimate, yes, but that does not make it sexual. And why shouldn’t a father and daughter be intimate? It is healthy; it doesn’t mean they are going to fuck.
Regarding the photo of Miley’s back, it depicts her as the woman she is becoming. There is nothing pornographic about it. Again it says so much more about the people who find a photo like that disturbing and their own twisted views on sexuality than it does about Miley. The photo is sensual. Her back is beautiful. She is lovely and growing into a woman. Why is it Americans find it so disturbing that a young woman of 15 could possibly have a sensuous body? Why does sensuality automatically equal sex? And why is it wrong for someone to view this photo and want sex with this woman just because of her age? Our sexuality doesn’t magically turn on at age 16 or 18 when we can suddenly legally “consent” to certain activities. We are born sexual beings. The fact that our culture finds sexuality abhorrent is a problem with our culture, not the peoples’ bodies in the culture.
This country is so puritanical, I can hardly stand it. Grow up people. Humans are sexual beings. How do you think we procreate? I believe so much of the sexual vioence in this country comes from repressed rage at unexpressed and disallowed sexuality. There is also the assumption that anything without clothes is automatically ready to fuck. Put a male and female together, even a parent and child, and if they are touching or in any way intimate, they are automatically ready to fuck. Take a sensual photo of a young woman’s body and she is being exploited to fuck. It’s crazy.
I don’t expect to change anyone’s mind. America is such a mess, any voice of reason is lost in the din. I can say this though, Miley Cyrus’s photos were beautiful, intimate, sensual, and in no way incestuous or pornographic. Anyone who thinks otherwise is the one with the problem. Those people should head into therapy and try to figure out what that problem is.
Holy criminy. I don’t look at my eyebrows for a few days and the damn things completely take over. Yikes. Little sprouts here and there and everywhere. It’s not a pretty picture. I wonder if electrolosis really works and if it does if it costs much and if it doesn’t if it hurts. If all these pieces can be satisfied I ought to go and get some in order to negate the requirement that I remove these hairs with tweezers every three days if I would like to avoid a forest across my face. Frida liked that look. It doesn’t work for me. I’m too pale.
I hurt my back. I spent 20 minutes bent over picking up dog poop out of the backyard, tried to stand up, and that was that. My back was out. I have had difficulty walking, moving, sleeping. I’m beginning to improve. I have not had the back strength to sit and write. I have had lots of interesting things I have wanted to write about, then I think of my desk and chair, my back gives a twinge, and that is the end of that. Back trouble is not conducive to a writing career, at least for a person who does not have a laptop.
I have another offer on my house. It is a good offer. There is another offer in backup if this one falls through for some reason. It’s not as good as the other, but it isn’t bad either. Both potential buyers are in love with my house. I have said all along that I want someone who loves it to buy it rather than some investor who is just going to rent it out.
Last night the man and I went to a hookah lounge and smoked a blueberry hookah. Or rather an exotic blueberry hookah. Every flavor is exotic, but when we asked for blueberry flavor, he said, Exotic blueberry. Oh yes, our mistake. Interesting little experience. Lots of over-synthed techno pop eurotrash music that after a few hits off the hookah thingy wasn’t so obnoxious, although it would not have been my first musical choice. I tried blowing smoke rings. Can’t do that. I tried blowing out just one nostril without covering the other one with my finger. Can’t do that either. I’m not a smoker, never have been, so all those little smoker tricks are lost on me. Overall though, it was fun to try something new.
Darling Milla, my NINE year old, is off on a trip with her class. They went to a farm. It’s in Silverton. She gets to milk goats, among other things. Lucky for her it is supposed to be merrily warm over the next few days. If I had to go camp on a farm and milk goats, I would infinitely prefer merry warmth to icy chilliness.
Now I have a drumming lesson. I like drumming. I love bass. I am not taking official bass lessons. I have been using a dvd. I would like to take bass lessons, I just haven’t done it yet. Plus I’ll need to find a decent bass teacher. I don’t want to waste time or money on a crappy bass teacher. So off I go to bang on percussion instruments and make noise. That is if I can remove myself from this chair. The back is not happy I sat this long. I realize this is a pathetic post. It’s my effort at showing up since the painful back has kept me off track a few days. It is what it is.
So one of the comments on my blog from earlier asked me to write about what I’m thankful for. I’m thankful for a lot of things. The thing is, sometimes when I feel like crap I just want to write about feeling like crap to get the thoughts out of my head. It doesn’t mean I lie around in my bed all day staring at the wall moaning and lamenting my crappy life. Nothing of the sort. Writing is how I work such things out and expel some of the negative energy. Right now, I don’t want to go through some laundry list of my thanks. I’m not all frou frou about that stuff and sitting and writing out a list on THIS blog would feel frou frou. So for now, I’m not going to do it. Suffice to say I am fully cognizant of the fact I’m not living in a concentration camp, I have plenty to eat, and I have a magnificent daughter who loves me. That isn’t so bad.
I saw this book at the library today called God’s Politics. I only saw it as I was walking by so I did not examine the contents of the book, but I had the thought immediately upon seeing the title that such a thing proves that god is a construct of man because politics are a construct of man. Why would any god have need of politics? It’s foolishness. Politics are the process by which groups of people use to govern one another and to decide who gets what. If god were a supreme and single being, what would be its need of politics? It would have control of everything and would have no need to bargain. In any sense where a god could be involved in politics, god would be a human construct, a way to complicate the political process.
I find it so ironic that people who believe god wants things one way think god wants it their way. They seem so unable to consider a universe where there might be one god that wants it some other person’s way. In that regard, the god becomes a further extension of the self and a justification for something the person either isn’t willing to say alone or for which the person has no honest justification. It’s the devil made me do it reversed. The god is constructed to back up an idea or to stand for that which the person can not or will not stand for alone. The reliance on the god becomes a way to remove personal responsibility. Ironically enough, in our society, the religious person is automatically afforded a moral compass and assumed responsibility simply by the fact of being religious. Again, the requirement for actual personal responsibilty or development of an actual moral compass is lessened simply via the association. This is simply absurd.
These are just the thoughts that fumbled through my brain as I wandered the aisles of the library in search of books to play my bass. Politics, religion, and bass guitar. Who could ask for more than that?
So it’s been a while since I wrote because I was in San Diego having a BLAST. It was so much fun. Unfortunately, on top of the blast, I had the worst sore throat I have ever had in my entire life. It lasted from the day I arrived until yesterday. I finally scheduled an appointment and went to the doctor today, but I was already feeling improved. The doctor did a strep swab and found nothing. He said I had a really nasty virus. I knew that. It still kind of hurts to swallow, but not like before.
I started a new part time job today. I enjoy the work. The attorney I’m working for is really cool. He’s totally down to earth and laid back, but does a great job and gets the work done. I’m liking the part time thing. I came home today with enough energy to write, which is saying a lot. I used to come home from my day job too whipped to write even a note. This will be good.
We changed my house listing today and dropped the price again. It is now $25,000 less than when we started and $26,000 less than the appraisal from this winter. This sucks, but I can’t pay for it now, so better to get what I can than lose it.
That’s all the news there is to update. Nothing much else exciting going on in my life other than the conference I attended. It was given by Steven Forrest, an astrologer whose work I see as changing the entire field from one of bullshit fortune telling into something that can be useful in people’s lives. I learned SO much. I came home wanting to work with all the charts I’ve done and talk to people about it. I love being able to offer some insight into a soul’s evolutionary journey. Plus I made some amazing friends and had some unbelievable experiences. Like the ghost.
Two nights after arriving, my roomie and I were awakened at 2:10 a.m. to three succinct, LOUD bangs on the wall. I had earplugs in and the bangs still sounded loud. I took out my earplugs and lay there in the dark. I finally asked my roommate if she was awake and heard the sounds. She said she had. We could see the light around our hotel room door. There was no one outside. We were also on the second floor so footfalls outside the door rattled our room. There were none. The room behind us was empty and no one was above us. The sounds seemed to come from the wall behind my bed. Since I had had the wretched sore throat, I turned on the light to get up and get some Ibuprofen. I went to the bathroom counter and the Ibuprofen was no where to be found. It was completely and utterly gone. We searched high and low, all the bags, on the floor, behind the refrigerator. It was simply not there. Through this experience, I felt a heaviness in the room and kept “seeing” in my mind a woman in the bathroom standing in the bathtub. She was wearing a long black dress with a high neck and long sleeves. It was of heavy material, like wool. Her hair was brown and pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She appeared to be in her thirties. The next day we told everyone about our experience. People looked at us slightly askance, but it was what it was. We were not joking. One person said we should try and tell the ghost to leave. That night, the two of us imagined sending the ghost on her journey. We told her she needed to move on to her place.
That night when I returned to my room, the energy there felt much less oppressive. My roommate and I both slept more soundly than we had since arriving. The next morning, I arose to get ready for the day. My roommate was in the shower. As I began sifting through my toiletries, there on the top of my bag was the Ibuprofen bottle. It was so weird. I think we sent the ghost on her journey and she left the bottle she could not take with her. I know it sounds bizarre, but this story is true.
Last Thursday was Milla’s birthday. It’s true. My baby is nine. She’s not a baby anymore. She is a full grown girl. She’s amazing. It blows my mind I made this new human. She is such a delight right now. She has been FANTASTIC in the mornings. She gets up, takes her shower, gets dressed, combs her hair, eats her breakfast, brushes her teeth, and is all ready to go. I get up, pack her lunch, drive her to school, and come back home, all in about ten minutes. I love it. We’ve been on time every day for months now. I hope this doesn’t jinx it! Next Saturday is Milla’s party. She was in Colorado with her dad on her actual birthday. It was the first birthday in her life I did not spend with her but I figure since her dad has missed the last four, he was entitled to have her for one. She loves it, she gets two parties. What kid could want more than that?