A list to hold you and me over until an undetermined date, dammit
What I have discovered as a result of not having an internet connection for the last five days:
Scabs are amazing: Wow. The body actually grows its own band-aid. When the band-aid isn't needed anymore, the body discards of it. Who needs band-aids decorated with cartoon characters or changes colors in water? My natural band-aid is decorated with the hip and fashionable characters known as "Dried-Up-Blood-Cells." And although it doesn't exactly change colors after being exposed to water, it does get kind of mushy.
People don't like it when you talk about scabs: Apparently, there is a stigma against our good buddy, the scab. When you bring up your recently discovered admiration of the scab, you will be considered "disgusting," "uncool," or "smelling-of-eggs." The expressions that you'll receive will not be of the understanding ilk, but rather of the kind that are associated with a person that frequently screams out "Arm-Hair Sweaters For Sale." No one wants to buy a sweater made out of arm hair. Apparently, no one really wants to talk about scabs, either.
You should not use your answering machine as a popularity contest polling device: After coming home, one of the hilights of my day is to press the flashing button letting me know that, in my absence, a few of my friends were thinking of me and decided to leave me good tidings of joy in the form of a digital message. To my horror, the last couple of days the bright flashing button has delivered nothing but emptiness- emptiness in the form of 15 messages for Lipman and a mere 2 for myself. (One was actually a message for Lipman and myself from our landlord. But he said my name first, which means that the call was totally for me.) Of course, if I were living in Florida, this 15 to 2 ratio would mean that I was by far Ms. Popularity. However, I do not live in Florida. Apparently I am no longer 'reach out and touch'-able. Was it the scab conversation(s)? Nah. My friends are busy. It's hot outside, maybe their phones melted. Or perhaps I should take up my end of Ma Bell's dainty skirt and give it a good ringing.
I have a growing fear of elevators: I've been having nightmares about being in an elevator, usually by myself, at times with a couple of Asian decent... and the doors close and we start to descend. However, an awful jerk occurs and the elevator plummets. It falls so quickly that I am lifted off the ground and hit the ceiling, my face pressed against the grate and I can hear the fan spinning as the wind from the elevator shaft gushes through it. Sometimes the elevator doors open as we drop and, if the Asian couple is with me, they scream "Stay away from the open doors! Stay away from the open doors!" over and over again. The floors whizz by and at times I can catch glimpses of the horrified people who witness our quick passing. It's a sickening feeling... I've yet to actually hit the bottom of the shaft. Once I pushed the alarm bell, thinking that perhaps doing so would somehow save me.. but a large inflatable raft popped out instead. Not useful in the least. Not one to usually analyze my dreams, I am taken with the fact that this one has popped into my brain for the past couple of months. I've concluded that this dream is reflecting the following feelings I've had lately: loss of control over certain aspects of my life, fear of taking risks/ seizing opportunities, food allergies to soy products, and the need for reliable fall-back plans if my safety nets happen to have a few holes. Oh, and that I have a fear of elevators. Yeah, I figured that one out, too.
I always use the men's room when I go to clubs: When I have to pee, I have to pee. Usually the women's bathroom at clubs is occupied and the occupation will take sometime as my fellow females tend to take their time in urinating, primping, and adjusting boobage/buttage.etc. This is totally understood- you're at a club- ultimate hunting grounds for a good cocking and you're just making sure that the nectar is fresh. It's all good with me. However, my scent of nectar will be that of warmed-over piss if I wait outside the bathroom door too long. If the men's room is open, I'm using it. Besides, urinals are damn hilarious to look at when you're a little drunk. It's a win/win situation. (There you go, Nils. Hope that helps.)
There is a large empty box of beef jerky outside the patio window: What the hell is that empty big box of beef jerky doing out there? Is there beef jerky around here?
Ranger is praying with monks as I type: Apparently his Monkin' Across The Nation tour is going really well. Maybe he'll bring me back something Jesusy.
I miss you.
I can't tell you how much I miss not having LadeeLeroy access whenever I want. A tear drop falls. From my face. Onto my scab.