Ugly Font and Silly Dots

just give me time; the blog is getting a makeover. comments and cuteness to return soon.

old friend: you know missie sometimes you just have to trust in god to provide.

me: sure, but don't forget: 'it's a fine line between faith and stupidity'.

old friend: haha, true.

as a card holding member of the christian community, i typically don't ask for much; hell, i don't even take up space at church (most) sunday mornings. but my tolerance is fading for this ever growing epidemic of over-spirituality: of believing you don't have to worry about finicial security because your going into the ministry; of young christians getting married to someone after half a year of dating because they've fabricated the voice of god telling them that he/she's "the one" when really they just want to get laid. or i've even heard stories about someone selling their house to help mortage the new church building because they believe it's the will of god. it's bullshit people. 'believers' need to start using their nogen- their god given logic and common sense. or could it be that i'm wrong and my worst fear is true, that what is logical is not spiritual?  

heaven help us all.

if only laziness was a feat of accomplishment:
 
it's almost 11am and i'm still in pjs; still have yet to make my bed or even eat breakfast, because you see, all that takes energy whilst this morning i have decided to take an adment stance against expediating any form of such energy. so much to the extreme that even though my libido is about to explode into outerspace, i refuse to remedy the problem.

but at 12o'clock i promise to return to the functional and productive world at large. perhaps: eat breakfast, brush my teeth, wash my face, ______, finish reading Jonny Panic and the Bible of Dreams, get ready for work, and if i'm really good, stop on my way to work and register for classes this fall. it's just one of those days, you know?!?   

shhhh, secrets:

"when the going gets tough the tough get.....", well more like it, they go to hooters by golly. yes siree, that fine establishment of big boobie waitresses with bleached blonde hair serving up some delicous spicy chicken wings in their tiny orange shorts and nude colored stockings; that place where the broosky never goes warm because those big boobie mamas put ziploc bags of ice in the pitchers; that place i never thought i'd go to unless i was with a group of dudes or a boyfriend who swore to me he only wanted to eat there because their chicken sandwhich is 'the BEST in TOWN'. but sure enough, i thought wrong. and i'm no longer afraid to admit it, i like eating at hooters from time to time; and yes, i ate there by myself one day when the craving for chicken wings and french fryes hit me like a brick house. but never, and when i mean never- i mean- nevereverever did i think that one day i would sucumb to the desperation of Needing/"wanting" a job there. that was until, one day,  i did. sure, sure i like eating at hooters but anybody who knows me knows, i'm no hooters girl. i wear glasses that lorie would call "tina fay" frames. though sure-sure i have rather proportinate titties for my size, neverless i still like to keep them on the D.L as much and as best as possible. nor have i ever been into dating guys for their money, their tan, or their truck; in addition, i could care less for 90% of male attention, 95% of exhibitionists, and pretending to be nice to obnixious anyones 100% of the time. which is why, the idea of applying to be a hooters babe revolted me so much that it took four different trips to the BIG OWL before i could bring myself to walk in and ask for an application. and when i finally did, i bombed. not at first but as the questions went on, i finally cracked into laughter when asked if i was ok with singing and dancing if needed. still i was desperate, so through the chuckle i replied, "sureeee".  needless to say, i never got the call back. but believe you me, I was more than perfectly OK with that; however, with the rejection i began to wonder, "am i not good enough for hooters? is it my hair? my eyes? my nose?. what do those other girls have that i don't?" then came monday. i went to hotel zaza to apply for a cocktail waitressing job and with extra time on my hands decided to apply at a few other bars in the area as well. two uptown bars later, i had a frenchman offer to me a cocktail job right there on a spot. not being good enough for hooters while being perfect for a posh upscale bar...,cool with me.

"meaningful-anxiety syndrome", that is the neurosis my, bachelors in psycology, brother-in-law prescribed me of having. and he is absolutely correct, i am the type who needs to feel that there is something meaningful in anything and everything i do: relationships, jobs, time, purchases, vacations, education, blogging, etc, and etc. i blame it on christianity; on the virgo personality trait; and, on middle child syndrome, and though at times i'm glad it exists there are those other times, i wish i wasn't always weighed down with the feeling of needing all the ingrediants of my life to be so; to have, in paramount terms, not only significant intention but in some manner of fashion, a signifcant outcome. i wish i could be content with the things and people in my life being nothing more than a buffer of time, of me being just another number and face; of one day leaving this earth with no real contributation given, or impact made. but i can't, no matter how much nietchze i read or sex and the city i watch; no matter how deep the holes are that i dig or how high the hurdles are i face...i want purpose that goes beyond the content for mediocricity and shallowness; i want to think on my death bed that i helped make this world a better place, that my existence left a positive dent and that those i chose to be in it, i loved and proved myself loyal, through words and action, with all my heart and soul. i get so down, so upset with myself, and with god, when that goal seems afar off from actualization. that's when i'll take a walk, and i remember that little sign on my 8th grade english teacher's wall that said, "if it is to be, than it is up to me". god granted: all i can do is my best.

a horse is a horse

i wake to find fuzzy demiurgic monsters slowly crawling under my bed, glancing up at me in my igaloo of white blankets, exposing their sharp singular tooths as they lick their hot pink lips with great delight. one jumps up on my bed in mid lick, white feathers shoot from the seams in my comforter like rockets that float, and before i have time to pull the covers over my head it pins itself: it's mouth to my ear, and with a chilly hiss that tickles like Emo, whispers to me, what i suppose to be a message revealing their secrets and purpose for me; however, it's a cryptic forbidden language that i've only read about, not yet attained. and before i have time to tell it that i don't understand, my tummy growls so ferociously, that before i can blink (not twice but once), it, in a poof-esque instant, disappears. "damn you last nights cucumber and hummus sandwhich for not holding me over for a measly twelve hours!!!", i , with emphasis on the damn, moan then groan then open my window so that i may fling myself to the earth two feet below. the month of july is approaching it's end, but instead of the air being warm and stagnant like it usually is, it's cool as a cat and it's flooding my room as it battles the curtains. white linen curtains versus cool soft breeze. go breeze go. "life is worth living once again", i moan then groan then lift myself back from the end of the window-sill, out of my bed and onto the hardwood floor covered in the dust of anjou pear incense from the night before's nightly ritual that i 've now found to be fouled by the fan. last night was also an evening of beethoven and a boring book about weimar culture; of twirling elephants and tigers and tulips in red and green and blue and orange dancing on my walls- my new cool lamp synchronized with the spinning vinyl. already this morning i'm feeling antsy, like unless i feed this urge to create, i'll peel over in my seat right this second, dead as a door knob. metaphorically, of course.

quick..what a weird word, quuiiicccckkkkkkk:

sometimes, i really dig dallas. even uptown (despite the people in uptown). but my favorite spot is lakewood. i like looking at the cyclists on my way home from work everyday. i like thinking, "yah, that's what i'm going to do first thing tomorrow: bike the lake." even though, every morning, i wake up and think, " nah, i think i'm going to get stuff done instead-it's too effin hot". i can't put my finger quite on it but there is this peculiar and yet ambient nature to the city that makes me dig it, despite it's disappointing short-comings. it's not something i think the average joe schmoo will ever realize, but it's so definately here; and some mornings, i lavish in it. today i went over to marks to see if he could fix my record player, of course he's on tour, and so as i'm heading back to live oak, i see andy's car. so i stop and knock on his door. there are beer bottles everywhere, i assume from the party rach and i missed last weekend. andy isn't there but his room-mate is and so drew and i talk for a bit, play ketchup, and i leave. back to live oak, and down to good records, because it's been awhile and i just got paid. there's a new guy behind a counter, another overly devouted polyphonic fan, who helps me fix my record player and tries to talk me into buying the new albumn. i leave with a fixed record player and the thermals, thank-you very much. i haven't been myself for the past week. i just started. and it explains alot but it doesn't justify me making someone else put up with me as i ride this emoutional roller-coaster of over-sensativity and irrationalism. i think it's time to do as my doc says and get on the pill. i'm so sick of this happening to me every month. screw gaining the extra weight. being a size 0 is awesome but being normal 30 days out of the month is even more awesome. but dallas. back to dallas. it's friday night and i want sushi, sushi on mckinney!!! i want to go to the nasher sculpture center too. maybe even see a movie. i'll call adam to see if he's game. jon, i wish you were here. ps-sorry.

i have 22 "things to do":
 
one of which is to find out, definatively, what i need to do about my warrants. a few weeks ago, i frequented all the cities where i am in violation to set court dates and etc, but, to no avail. the various clerks couldn't find anything in there system about me-not even proof that i once had an outstanding ticket or warrant in their city. nor has anything come in the mail like it was suppose to.  it would be nice to think that i've fallen through the cracks but the repurcusions of assuming such good fortune would be aweful. i also need to find a second job so i can visit jon and michelle in september. i've been to a few different restraunts, plastered my resume on the internet, and whored myself to corporate america, but once again, to no avail. sitting in my back seat is my record player; i need to take it into radioshack to see if they can fix it for me because i'm dying to listen to longwave and the reindeer section and my bloody valentine and the beatles. i finally have a computer, i even have dsl, but since i'm without a desk to put it on, it's currently collecting dust on my floor. so that's another thing i need to do: buy a desk and dust, return mrs. eggert her bike, buy febreeze and two curtain rods, do laundry,  scrub the bathtub, pull weeds in the garden, clean out car, make lots of money, be perfect, be lovely, put others before myself, work-out, eat only organic foods, shave legs twice a day, read the bible and all the great thinkers, email everyone back(ecspecially christina in romania), call my old friends and set up lunch dates, make copy of lease aggrement, mail michelle her package, send erik a "hello/i miss you" card, and if i time, finish the new york times crossword.

this past weekend i:

-drank margarita after margarita after margarita.
-took a margarita to-go style from matidios.
-biked ten miles in the heat of the day.
-went to a gallery of goblets.
-fell asleep in my clothes twice.
-woke up in my bathing suit once.
-ate edame constantly.
-watched the marathon of blow out on bravo.
- supposedly left twelve messages on someones voice mail.
-missed the "party of the year" because rachel forgot to set the alarm, albeit she was very toasty after the blue rita.
-was beaten in a swimming race
 
what about you? 
 

licking my thumb and sticking it into the wind:

the intimidation invloved from too much time slipping by; it's substance, without an outlet, now lost in my memory proves to be an additional resistance in this attempt to recap/to catch up/to get my fingers a'moving, therefore due to this developmental arrest i'm oh-so annoyed because i'd really like to spill it all, fill you in, sort and scatter; classify and document each and everyday in each and everyway: what i'm reading, what i'm listening to, how i feel about this and about that, and those suprises that whip my head around before i have a chance to catch my breath; that which abdons me clueless with streak after streak of it's peculiar composition.

i love toffee nut lattes. i love waking up without an alarm clock buzzing in my ear and checking my email with said latte in hand. it makes me grin from ear to ear. i love spending time with my parents: the three of us with our toes catching worn out waves as we dose off under the corpus sun, playing scrabble at the local coffee house, or just that other stuff that goes unnoticed all too often, like helping my mother clear the kitchen table or my father reading me aloud some article in the paper he finds to be blashemous concerning the republican party. i love jeff buckley. i love hello(and goodbye) kisses. i love working out so hard, sweat drips from off my nose. i love blue jean jackets that fit like a glove. i love my new thirft store skirt that has tea pots and something, in french, about vegetables and soup printed on it. i love it when i've spent a long day at the beach and have sun kissed cheeks to show for it. i love my orange kitty, Clover and making mixed cds for my friends. i love it all in way that abuses the word itself but neverless- does justice to my adoration and enthusiasm.

i have a dozen incomplete posts in my draft file that, later tonight, after i get back from seeing spiderman 2, i hope to finish; and then, to write something new-something interesting.

it all began with mexican lasagna:

i'm aiding in the clarification of many dear souls thanks to this article . and after i get through reading this, i'm jazzed about getting to this.

every time i see the new mtv "not rated for adults" commercial i laugh myself to tears. has anyone seen the one where the old man seems to be having a heart attack-he's lying on the ground grasping at his chest as he tells his wife how much he loves her, the camera zooms in to capture the look of utter fear on the faces of the grandchildren and the son in the background calling 911. all of a sudden the old man starts to laugh; everyone is confused, the old man blurts out,"i punked you soooo good. oh you should have seen the look on all your faces". it's effin hillarious.

i went out last night for some margaritas with rachel and ended up with a new gay boy pumping me on his bike back to my car. we made silly sounds with our voices as we went over the cobblestone streets. we giggled about breakfast at tiffany's. we drank too much. we made plans for scrabble and wine. and then we went to see the 100 inevitables at the barley house. it was everything i needed and more: a million friendly faces, toby pointing with an added wink, a shot of tuaca and advise, and a cute and witty gay boy as the cherry on the top.

up until tonight, i had never desired to be any closer to the moon than i am here on earth. but as i drove home from work, it was so much more spectacular than usual- a tantalizing bright white, with the canvas behind it, so clean and blue; so vast and so curious. i felt like joe versus the volcanoe (with no volcanoe or vengenance against mother nature. just me in my car and the moon lightening up the night sky in such a glorious manner of grandioseness and lucidity that if i tried, i would be able to count the craters by name). everything about it had me wishing i could be closer-that i could go up there, and i began to regret that one day i will die without ever seeing the view from that destination; that all i will have took was the reverse image and not the experience.

my favorite section in the paper is the Discoveries/ Science Times, and in those sections, my favorite articles, the ones concerning pebbles from Mars or Saturns newly discovered moons or the (note, hypothetical) theory that the universe is expanding. i just can't get over the intricacy; and yet, how so very perfect it all fits togather. it baffles me that with technology as advance as it is, we (being a society as a whole) ignore or refuse the blantant evidence of God's divine handmanship; that we (still a whole) search for anything else to be the answer to the, already solved, equation. but this, science and god's omnioscent nature, is not my area of expertise...by any laughable means. i simply noticed the moon tonight seemed bigger and brighter than i remember having ever seen it before and wished i had wanted to be an astronaut as badly as i do right now when once upon a time, life was my f'in oyster.

ohhhh to taste, not just imagine.