NB: Canada does not exist because it's 1:15 and I've wasted too much time in photoshop tonight.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
surly mermaid
I started typing that I miss winter. But that is far from the truth. I miss the varying fall colors and how pretty winter can be... before it just isn't. I miss hot beverages and down comforters and snowflakes. Sure, Texas can bedazzle the biggest fake tree I have ever seen with millions of twinkly lights. And because it isn't 50 below zero people can actually enjoy it. But photographs like these aren't happening in Texas any time soon. It is a Minnesota thing.
The photography is all by Elena Stanton. I would love to claim that her amazing artistic talent runs in the family, but I am an artistic dunce and can't take a good pic to save my life. But being able to see the winter without being in the winter makes me finally love it.I have no friends, but I get a lot of mail.
Most of the time I have trouble coming up with an opening line.
Bea and I had something that teetered on the edge of another argument, and despite some hurtful name calling, I compared myself to a Nazi before it could drastically escalate into another 4-day event, effectively ending the argument. We spent the rest of the day spamming The Management's Facebook about leggings and our wedding music. We did pretty well, but there's still needs to be some more Murder Ballads in there. Only a few people get to see how Bea and I interact quite as much as the Management. In fact, I'm willing to say that the only person who really gets to see us in our full glory is our mail men. We send each other some weird ass shit. I don't want to go too much into our old timey correspondence, for fear of taking the fore- out of Bea's -shadowing.
Hey, speaking of mail, I got some mail today. (Transitions are for chumps). Half of it was complete shit. That half was people kindly informing me that since I've recently risen above the poverty line, I have to give them money if I want to keep living in light. And at this time of year there is only about 37.45 minutes of sunlight, so I need electricity.
But, luckily, I got something else. Bea has been sending me postcards, and here's a sample of what's been coming in my post.
There is a signature on each one. This one is located above the silky smooth caramel of her sun kissed thigh.
Franco is clearly a man who understands women. More on that later.
Bea and I had something that teetered on the edge of another argument, and despite some hurtful name calling, I compared myself to a Nazi before it could drastically escalate into another 4-day event, effectively ending the argument. We spent the rest of the day spamming The Management's Facebook about leggings and our wedding music. We did pretty well, but there's still needs to be some more Murder Ballads in there. Only a few people get to see how Bea and I interact quite as much as the Management. In fact, I'm willing to say that the only person who really gets to see us in our full glory is our mail men. We send each other some weird ass shit. I don't want to go too much into our old timey correspondence, for fear of taking the fore- out of Bea's -shadowing.
Hey, speaking of mail, I got some mail today. (Transitions are for chumps). Half of it was complete shit. That half was people kindly informing me that since I've recently risen above the poverty line, I have to give them money if I want to keep living in light. And at this time of year there is only about 37.45 minutes of sunlight, so I need electricity.
But, luckily, I got something else. Bea has been sending me postcards, and here's a sample of what's been coming in my post.
There is a signature on each one. This one is located above the silky smooth caramel of her sun kissed thigh. 
Franco is clearly a man who understands women. More on that later.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
I've been mostly dead all day.
I'm so glad Bea posted. I was afraid she was never going to post, and we might have to have a confrontation about it. Bea and I having an confrontation is like watching a blind, three legged dog chase cars. We have no business doing it, and its both pathetically feeble, and hilarious to watch.
Bea was right. I did take my own advice last night, and contrary to my normal M.O. partook in the New Year's Festivities with the Management. And by that I mean, there was a lot whiskey. When midnight struck I was outside, wrapped in my Snuggie brushing snow off a car. This was pretty much the ideal way to ring in the new year in my opinion. (As a side story: I fell down on the stairs into the bushes. Now from this, you might assume I was falling down drunk. I am not sure if that's the case, because as point of fact, I am just really clumsy. I am not sure how I should tell the story later, as I can never tell what I should be more embarrassed about, that I drank so much that I lose my balance, or that, in all sobriety, I simply fall down a lot.)
Consequently, I spent the majority of today in bed, alternating between sleeping and watching old episodes of King of the Hill. This is not much different than how I was planning to spend my day anyway, with the exception of getting my laundry done. And let's be honest about this, there was only 30-60 chance I was actually going to get that done. The more I explore the option, alcoholism doesn't seem like it would disrupt my life style all that much.
The worst question I ever get asked is "So what you'd do today?" If I were answer that question honestly and frankly it would be something along the lines of "I watched 7 episodes of One Tree Hill, because I'm curious as to how much bullshit TV I can handle before my brain explodes, while Bea and I texted 93 times.* Oh, and I ate a bunch of cheese." Since I can't really say that to people without having to answer some heavy questions about my fundamental word view, I usually just say "Oh, nothing too exciting". A lot of my conversations are spent trying to frame my life in a way that seems like its interesting enough where people don't become overly concerned about my anti-social tendencies but aren't interested enough to have any sort of follow up questions. It's really hard to appear to be an open book, and simultaneously be pathologically secretive about how you actually conduct your affairs.
Bea might have to overcome her own disinterest in her life to be able to blog, but I am having trouble overcoming my own self conditioned behavior, which makes me panic at the thought of confessing all the weird as shit I do. I mean, I live alone for a reason here. There's something oddly titillating about all this honesty.
So, even though it's midnight, I am going to wall paper my entry way with the trashy romance novel style post cards and eat some cheese before I go to bed.
*This is a real statistic.
Bea was right. I did take my own advice last night, and contrary to my normal M.O. partook in the New Year's Festivities with the Management. And by that I mean, there was a lot whiskey. When midnight struck I was outside, wrapped in my Snuggie brushing snow off a car. This was pretty much the ideal way to ring in the new year in my opinion. (As a side story: I fell down on the stairs into the bushes. Now from this, you might assume I was falling down drunk. I am not sure if that's the case, because as point of fact, I am just really clumsy. I am not sure how I should tell the story later, as I can never tell what I should be more embarrassed about, that I drank so much that I lose my balance, or that, in all sobriety, I simply fall down a lot.)
Consequently, I spent the majority of today in bed, alternating between sleeping and watching old episodes of King of the Hill. This is not much different than how I was planning to spend my day anyway, with the exception of getting my laundry done. And let's be honest about this, there was only 30-60 chance I was actually going to get that done. The more I explore the option, alcoholism doesn't seem like it would disrupt my life style all that much.
The worst question I ever get asked is "So what you'd do today?" If I were answer that question honestly and frankly it would be something along the lines of "I watched 7 episodes of One Tree Hill, because I'm curious as to how much bullshit TV I can handle before my brain explodes, while Bea and I texted 93 times.* Oh, and I ate a bunch of cheese." Since I can't really say that to people without having to answer some heavy questions about my fundamental word view, I usually just say "Oh, nothing too exciting". A lot of my conversations are spent trying to frame my life in a way that seems like its interesting enough where people don't become overly concerned about my anti-social tendencies but aren't interested enough to have any sort of follow up questions. It's really hard to appear to be an open book, and simultaneously be pathologically secretive about how you actually conduct your affairs.
Bea might have to overcome her own disinterest in her life to be able to blog, but I am having trouble overcoming my own self conditioned behavior, which makes me panic at the thought of confessing all the weird as shit I do. I mean, I live alone for a reason here. There's something oddly titillating about all this honesty.
So, even though it's midnight, I am going to wall paper my entry way with the trashy romance novel style post cards and eat some cheese before I go to bed.
*This is a real statistic.
LIFE IS PAIN, HIGHNESS
From the sound of things Honey went ahead and took her own advice last night. And it is probably about time I took her advice to me as well, “just POST already.” She has been terribly disappointed in me and I’ve been spanking myself with episodes of One Tree Hill in an attempt to atone. But even I don’t deserve that and my Netflix queue keeps insisting that, due to my past preferences, I need to watch Apocalypse Now and Toddlers in Tiaras ASAP. RESET. So here goes.
Since the beginning of time I have begun every essay or paper I have written or any correspondence I write with an apology. “Sorry I know this isn’t any good, I’ll do better next time,” “I accidentally took too much excederin and then wrote this letter with my left hand, sorry.” This honestly isn’t caused by gratuitous self-deprecation on my part, I swear. Sorry if it comes off like that. I don’t really have the problem of under appreciating myself. It is that I feel the need to acknowledge that I am not living up to my full potential so that “they” know that I know that this tripe isn’t the best I can do.
I have touched on this before several times but here it is again - Honey and I share the characteristic of being kind of unemotional about things. And when we try to explain to someone what we mean when we say we are robots, we run into the problem of trying to convey “I just don’t care about people’s problems and feelings… but I care about yours.” I can imagine that never seems genuine. The reality is that I think most problems people have could be solved by being less self indulgent and just change it already instead of complaining about it. Now that is obviously not universally applicable and most people aren’t me so I hold them to lower standards anyway. And I totally do care about YOUR feelings, with all the others I was just pretending, but never with you. But as I have mentioned before, I have very little regard for my feelings as well. Usually I ignore them and wait for them to pass.
The combination of these two character nuances makes posting on a blog really, really, difficult for me. It never really crosses my mind to call up a friend or whatever and catch up and, like, list things that happened in my life, or feelings I had, or thoughts or whatever. As you can imagine, conversations with me are completely one-sided. There is a lot of deflection and me awkwardly saying “oh nothing, what else is new with you.” Not because I have nothing going on, but because the last thing I want to do is listen to myself blather on about it. I usually get bored halfway through a sentence and abort the mission entirely. When I ask myself “do I really need to say this out loud" the answer is rarely "yes." Writing blog posts requires more commitment than that, so I’ve been avoiding it. But I am getting the apologies out of the way now and hopefully we can work through my inadequacies together.
Next up, I expound on how to stalk someone the right way.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
I need to drink more.
Management was nice enough to buy honey from me before the holiday and only casually mention (I assume as my holiday gift) that I haven't posted in a while. There is something about only casually mentioning my short comings that makes the guilt so much worse. I mean, I might as well be Bea.
I've been trying my hand at this writing thing, and I realize that its driving me to want to drink. The problem is, i haven't actually gone in my cups. That's where my problem comes from. I finally get the stereotype of creative people with substance abuse issues. Its because you stop worrying about sounded retarded when you're plastered.
Let's take for example my "corporate retreat" last week. First of all, corporate retreat? There are, at best, 5 of us working here, and at worst, just me. Let's be real. We all work within 20 feet of each other in a 45 degree freezer box with no windows. I imagine only gangrenous (spelled that right on the FIRST TRY) civil war veterans understand the sort of camaraderie we share (I had to google that spelling). We don't need no stinkin' retreat.
But apparently, having "values" and "goals" are important to a company. This is really in direct opposition to my life philosophy which says that values are what tether you to the anchor of your goals.
The only thing that kept me from quitting on the spot was the promise of alcohol. Free alcohol. So all five of us gathered around the conference table. After about a case of beer later, we came up with our grand sweeping corporate value: SUCCESS. Thank GOD we cleared that up. I mean, I was skeptical when I heard that we needed this retreat to help us gain focus and perspective. But when I heard that we shooting for success? Man, that just opened up whole new vistas before me. I had been self sabotaging left and right.
Of course, all sarcasm aside, there were only FIVE people. And four of them thought that this was pretty ground breaking. Like, real self congratulatory stuff. So, I drank to see if some how beer could turn the asinine into the sublime.
It didn't. But I managed to fake my way into some participation points. And isn't that the joy about being slightly buzzed? You can get excited about all sorts of miserable shit. HECK YES, I want to be successful, that is a great idea! Sustainability? Integrity? Other vaguely positive sounding buzz words? Sign me up! Concrete plans about achieving specific time-lined goals? GTFO. Not now.
I am always amused by myself even when I am as sober as a church mouse, but being drunk makes me all sorts of enthusiastic, and I can get behind ANY idea. Management accuses me of being salty. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I think it means I'm cranky. When I am drunk, I am such a happy drunk. And I am always drunk inside my own head, but the self-consciousness usually keeps the giggles inside. But Drunk Honey (who is usually getting judged by Sober Honey) isn't afraid of sounding dumb. In fact, I am pretty sure she embraces being a complete dullard. And even lacks some of the situational awareness required to know how dumb she's being.
Drunk Honey has great ideas. That being said, I'm going to hunt down some whiskey and see if I can't get some more blog posts humming along.
I've been trying my hand at this writing thing, and I realize that its driving me to want to drink. The problem is, i haven't actually gone in my cups. That's where my problem comes from. I finally get the stereotype of creative people with substance abuse issues. Its because you stop worrying about sounded retarded when you're plastered.
Let's take for example my "corporate retreat" last week. First of all, corporate retreat? There are, at best, 5 of us working here, and at worst, just me. Let's be real. We all work within 20 feet of each other in a 45 degree freezer box with no windows. I imagine only gangrenous (spelled that right on the FIRST TRY) civil war veterans understand the sort of camaraderie we share (I had to google that spelling). We don't need no stinkin' retreat.
But apparently, having "values" and "goals" are important to a company. This is really in direct opposition to my life philosophy which says that values are what tether you to the anchor of your goals.
The only thing that kept me from quitting on the spot was the promise of alcohol. Free alcohol. So all five of us gathered around the conference table. After about a case of beer later, we came up with our grand sweeping corporate value: SUCCESS. Thank GOD we cleared that up. I mean, I was skeptical when I heard that we needed this retreat to help us gain focus and perspective. But when I heard that we shooting for success? Man, that just opened up whole new vistas before me. I had been self sabotaging left and right.
Of course, all sarcasm aside, there were only FIVE people. And four of them thought that this was pretty ground breaking. Like, real self congratulatory stuff. So, I drank to see if some how beer could turn the asinine into the sublime.
It didn't. But I managed to fake my way into some participation points. And isn't that the joy about being slightly buzzed? You can get excited about all sorts of miserable shit. HECK YES, I want to be successful, that is a great idea! Sustainability? Integrity? Other vaguely positive sounding buzz words? Sign me up! Concrete plans about achieving specific time-lined goals? GTFO. Not now.
I am always amused by myself even when I am as sober as a church mouse, but being drunk makes me all sorts of enthusiastic, and I can get behind ANY idea. Management accuses me of being salty. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I think it means I'm cranky. When I am drunk, I am such a happy drunk. And I am always drunk inside my own head, but the self-consciousness usually keeps the giggles inside. But Drunk Honey (who is usually getting judged by Sober Honey) isn't afraid of sounding dumb. In fact, I am pretty sure she embraces being a complete dullard. And even lacks some of the situational awareness required to know how dumb she's being.
Drunk Honey has great ideas. That being said, I'm going to hunt down some whiskey and see if I can't get some more blog posts humming along.
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