Descargar play lord of the ocean Efortuna En Pc
2 years ago
Thursday, February 18, 2021
Read More and More? Haha, Very Funny
Look, I know. But, I'd rather have it say "read more" twice rather than have people saying things like "Damn, you blabber on and on."
I Never Noticed I Couldn't See the Leaves
When a friend from college got contact lenses, she told me, "It's like all of a sudden I can see in 3-D." I wear contacts, so I knew what she meant. The world just seems a little closer, a little more realistic. That's how I began to feel yesterday. I woke up feeling like I was back; I have returned from the darkside.
DaVinci was having a football weekend, and I'm a little tired of it. Saturday night was spent drinking with FaceMom, another wife of the group. She went crazy a few years ago and left her husband and two kids to be a lesbian. We talked for hours about being crazy, and the stupid things we've done. Sober and in the real world, I'm not so sure we could be friends. Apparently, we have a lot in common. It felt kind of good to talk to someone about things I've never told anyone. We talked about men and mistakes. We talked about sex, anguish, and coping techniques. Oh, the sweet relief of honesty. I had never even told my therapists some of the things I told her. We talked about times we've cheated and been cheated on. We talked about the men we miss, the ones who made us feel great, the ones who made us feel worthless. We told each other about things we wish we could've avoided (even if it means a different life now). I've told people about my suicide attempts, just never felt understood until MomFace. She told me about what happened to her as a child, her mother, and what she thinks that means for her now. I told her about the drugs, the men, and cutting myself. As long as we don't got insane together, I finally feel like I can talk to someone about all of this.
The second part of my football-free weekend involved a friend from high school. I haven't seen him in years, so I was expecting it to be all "blast from the past." It was so much better than that! We hung out for hours and talked books. Books! Real books! Borges, Marquez, Lawrence, Pinter, Beckett, Frisch. Like I said before, I'm good at writing about literature. I just never learned the professional terminology, like what kind of approach it is, and what it is I'm doing. Nor have I ever read anything about it. Thank goodness for Grad Students! He has since sent me a list of books about the approach and theories about it. I have hit the jackpot, and grad school is going to be so much better now. We're both going to read selections from Borges's Collected Fictions and meet up around Thanksgiving to talk about them. Like a book club. Like friends.
I have never been happier to have a friend.
DaVinci was having a football weekend, and I'm a little tired of it. Saturday night was spent drinking with FaceMom, another wife of the group. She went crazy a few years ago and left her husband and two kids to be a lesbian. We talked for hours about being crazy, and the stupid things we've done. Sober and in the real world, I'm not so sure we could be friends. Apparently, we have a lot in common. It felt kind of good to talk to someone about things I've never told anyone. We talked about men and mistakes. We talked about sex, anguish, and coping techniques. Oh, the sweet relief of honesty. I had never even told my therapists some of the things I told her. We talked about times we've cheated and been cheated on. We talked about the men we miss, the ones who made us feel great, the ones who made us feel worthless. We told each other about things we wish we could've avoided (even if it means a different life now). I've told people about my suicide attempts, just never felt understood until MomFace. She told me about what happened to her as a child, her mother, and what she thinks that means for her now. I told her about the drugs, the men, and cutting myself. As long as we don't got insane together, I finally feel like I can talk to someone about all of this.
The second part of my football-free weekend involved a friend from high school. I haven't seen him in years, so I was expecting it to be all "blast from the past." It was so much better than that! We hung out for hours and talked books. Books! Real books! Borges, Marquez, Lawrence, Pinter, Beckett, Frisch. Like I said before, I'm good at writing about literature. I just never learned the professional terminology, like what kind of approach it is, and what it is I'm doing. Nor have I ever read anything about it. Thank goodness for Grad Students! He has since sent me a list of books about the approach and theories about it. I have hit the jackpot, and grad school is going to be so much better now. We're both going to read selections from Borges's Collected Fictions and meet up around Thanksgiving to talk about them. Like a book club. Like friends.
I have never been happier to have a friend.
She Was Just Whistlin' Dixie and Walkin' with a Can of Bug Spray
These next few posts will probably be very short, and I may even miss a few days here and there. I have plenty of excuses: I tend to not write as much when I'm not in an episode; business is picking up and my bosses think I should be busy with that; I just got a slew of books I've never heard of to read about literature I have memorized; I get too easily distracted by the internet; etc. But I do have things to write about... mostly good things, too.
I just got done laughing my ass off at the article and comments over at Mommy Wants Vodka. Today's post was on being a klutz and/or having to make up excuses for the remains of injuries. I confess, I, too, am a trip to the E.R. waiting to happen. The article made me reminisce about all my fun injuries: slamming my finger in a car door because I was trying to flip off and get in at the same time; opening my dorm door into my face and breaking my nose; getting glass stuck in my foot because a stray cat touched my leg, scaring the crap out of me, and I dropped the glass while screaming "You rob me, I'll kill you;" walked into a stop sign because I was looking for a four-leaf clover... Sadly, there's more.
Aside from a serious case of distraction, I have recently borrowed books from the library. I do this often, because I'm poor. The two I have now are by Umberto Eco, and they cover, well, I don't know, I haven't started yet. I am introducing myself to literary theory. Looking for information about what I do with literature, I had a friend and a former professor recommend books. Between the two, Jackpot!!!!! Maybe I'll really learn something now. I mean, besides how to read. I was in my third year of college when I took this amazing class and felt, literally, like I had just learned to read. I was an English major, so it was kind of a big deal for me. I can't wait to go to grad school!
I have a problem keeping friends. I meet someone, and if the "like" is mutual, we become friends. That's easy. I am a terrible friend. First of all, I hate text messages, and rarely respond to them- but I drunk text all the time. Second, I'm not very reliable as a supporting person. I support most arts, and I will go to public readings, performances, exhibits, and shows. I rarely go to things I have to pay for if they are "those types" of things. Third, I am also not really good at comforting the unhappy, angry, bereaved, etc. I'm a great drinking buddy. Fourth, I have a history of losing friends because I am crazy. I have lost friends because of unfounded suspicions, mishearing things, being too clingy, and sleeping with them, or trying to.
It's rare for me to be friends with someone for more than two years. I hate to admit this, but I'm sort of bewildered by my relationship with DaVinci. I mean, the wedding was kind of sudden, so I'm always waiting for it to implode. Like he'll wake one day and realize we don't belong together. If he does, he's right. If he doesn't, well, I married someone who puts up with me. I love DaVinci; he's such a trooper. He's brutally honest, and tells me when he thinks the crazy is coming on, even when it's just me. He's also a little mean, and on more than one occasion has lied to make me think I'm crazy. Granted, he confessed later after he found out that I called my sister in tears thinking I had started having delusions (which would be new for me, but not unexpected). It was funny, much later. Much, much later.
So, I sometimes expect that it was wrong to marry him. Both of us being children of divorce, it's not something we'd ever consider. He's ten years my elder and interested in things that bore me to sleep. Somehow, though, he's perfect for me. I don't trust my opinions, normally, because I have slept with too many people (numbering more than I will admit to anyone- if I could remember them all- and including 4 females). Everyone else thinks it was a great idea, including him! So it must be right. He's the only person I know of who would have stayed with me through my: running away in the rain barefoot and in pj's, trying to run over him with my car, applying to grad school, etc. And the really fucked up part, he's always right. I mean, ALWAYS. He's only been wrong about a few things: the definition of "impeach," a few wrong moves in bored/card games like Mancala and Cribbage, and just how dangerous I can get during an episode. He's learned from each error he's ever made, and makes fewer and fewer mistakes as the days pass. It's eerie. So, he was right in choosing me. Had to have been.
And I lucked out. I probably would have married anyone. That's a very scary thought for me. I would have married anyone. I would have married The Pretender, and lived my life in Vegas being treated like an unfortunate excuse for a trophy wife. I would have married The Poet, and have to spend my life in this city that I'm trying to escape. I would have married EverSmile, who would give up on me after a few uncalled-for events. I would have married PunchDrunk, who would have taken all my pills and lost all my money. I would have married anyone. And I lucked out. I married the one guy who makes me smile every day. He tries his hardest to make things consistent, so that I can detect changes in myself. He loves me, and asks me questions. He allows me to be his lover and his whore, without making me feel obligated or guilty. He lets me buy him presents for his birthday, and introduces me to new things. I've married the man who lets me love him.
It doesn't get better than that realization.
Today's theme was brought to you by a Pinterism, "lists."
I just got done laughing my ass off at the article and comments over at Mommy Wants Vodka. Today's post was on being a klutz and/or having to make up excuses for the remains of injuries. I confess, I, too, am a trip to the E.R. waiting to happen. The article made me reminisce about all my fun injuries: slamming my finger in a car door because I was trying to flip off and get in at the same time; opening my dorm door into my face and breaking my nose; getting glass stuck in my foot because a stray cat touched my leg, scaring the crap out of me, and I dropped the glass while screaming "You rob me, I'll kill you;" walked into a stop sign because I was looking for a four-leaf clover... Sadly, there's more.
Aside from a serious case of distraction, I have recently borrowed books from the library. I do this often, because I'm poor. The two I have now are by Umberto Eco, and they cover, well, I don't know, I haven't started yet. I am introducing myself to literary theory. Looking for information about what I do with literature, I had a friend and a former professor recommend books. Between the two, Jackpot!!!!! Maybe I'll really learn something now. I mean, besides how to read. I was in my third year of college when I took this amazing class and felt, literally, like I had just learned to read. I was an English major, so it was kind of a big deal for me. I can't wait to go to grad school!
I have a problem keeping friends. I meet someone, and if the "like" is mutual, we become friends. That's easy. I am a terrible friend. First of all, I hate text messages, and rarely respond to them- but I drunk text all the time. Second, I'm not very reliable as a supporting person. I support most arts, and I will go to public readings, performances, exhibits, and shows. I rarely go to things I have to pay for if they are "those types" of things. Third, I am also not really good at comforting the unhappy, angry, bereaved, etc. I'm a great drinking buddy. Fourth, I have a history of losing friends because I am crazy. I have lost friends because of unfounded suspicions, mishearing things, being too clingy, and sleeping with them, or trying to.
It's rare for me to be friends with someone for more than two years. I hate to admit this, but I'm sort of bewildered by my relationship with DaVinci. I mean, the wedding was kind of sudden, so I'm always waiting for it to implode. Like he'll wake one day and realize we don't belong together. If he does, he's right. If he doesn't, well, I married someone who puts up with me. I love DaVinci; he's such a trooper. He's brutally honest, and tells me when he thinks the crazy is coming on, even when it's just me. He's also a little mean, and on more than one occasion has lied to make me think I'm crazy. Granted, he confessed later after he found out that I called my sister in tears thinking I had started having delusions (which would be new for me, but not unexpected). It was funny, much later. Much, much later.
So, I sometimes expect that it was wrong to marry him. Both of us being children of divorce, it's not something we'd ever consider. He's ten years my elder and interested in things that bore me to sleep. Somehow, though, he's perfect for me. I don't trust my opinions, normally, because I have slept with too many people (numbering more than I will admit to anyone- if I could remember them all- and including 4 females). Everyone else thinks it was a great idea, including him! So it must be right. He's the only person I know of who would have stayed with me through my: running away in the rain barefoot and in pj's, trying to run over him with my car, applying to grad school, etc. And the really fucked up part, he's always right. I mean, ALWAYS. He's only been wrong about a few things: the definition of "impeach," a few wrong moves in bored/card games like Mancala and Cribbage, and just how dangerous I can get during an episode. He's learned from each error he's ever made, and makes fewer and fewer mistakes as the days pass. It's eerie. So, he was right in choosing me. Had to have been.
And I lucked out. I probably would have married anyone. That's a very scary thought for me. I would have married anyone. I would have married The Pretender, and lived my life in Vegas being treated like an unfortunate excuse for a trophy wife. I would have married The Poet, and have to spend my life in this city that I'm trying to escape. I would have married EverSmile, who would give up on me after a few uncalled-for events. I would have married PunchDrunk, who would have taken all my pills and lost all my money. I would have married anyone. And I lucked out. I married the one guy who makes me smile every day. He tries his hardest to make things consistent, so that I can detect changes in myself. He loves me, and asks me questions. He allows me to be his lover and his whore, without making me feel obligated or guilty. He lets me buy him presents for his birthday, and introduces me to new things. I've married the man who lets me love him.
It doesn't get better than that realization.
Today's theme was brought to you by a Pinterism, "lists."
It Was the New Scarf Which Had Her By the Throat
There have been very few moments in my life where I felt like I stood out and meant something to someone. I am not a leader by any means; and I am a stubborn follower. If the term didn't gross me out, I might consider myself to be middle management. That's a very dirty phrase. I've taken part in some really odd conversations, where my brain just sort of sparks and I suddenly make valid points or say something beautifully true.
My first time hanging with a particular group, and they were discussing Deja Vu (sp?). The theory in discussion was that your brain holds a sort of script about what you expect to see and hear. For instance, when you go to Taco Bell, you know the kid's gonna say "Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order, please?" The same goes for even your wackiest friends. Just because you know them to say outlandishly funny and uncalled-for things, you still have an idea of what will spill out. Well, that's a good theory, but what if it's a new situation? My ass blurted out, "Sometimes it seems more like I'm remembering what happened before I actually know what happened." The psych major turned to me and said, "That's actually what the most prominent theory says. Pretty smart for a freshman."
There was more that followed, including a lot of "You sure you never covered this before?" Thanks, but I'm not stupid. I mean, I do stupid things- because I sometimes lack emotional control and reactions. I actually think about things, though.
Same group, a few years later, they were discussing the upcoming presidential election. "Why does it have to be a Tuesday? My boss is never there on Tuesdays, and that's the one day I can't leave." "Well, I know it's always the first Tuesday after the first Monday, not necessarily the first Tuesday of every November." "Really? That's strange. Why not just call it the first Tuesday of November, since that's after the first Monday?" I don't follow politics, but I have this one- "The first Tuesday of November doesn't always follow the first Monday. If November 1st is a Tuesday, then the first Monday is almost a week later." "Then why would they specifically say 'the first Tuesday after the first Monday?'" Me, again, knowing things, "Because the 1st of November is All Saints Day, and this nation was founded on predominantly Catholic/Christian principles. No one was going to vote on a holiday." Score one for me.
Within the same conversation, a few minutes later, I scored again. "Hmm. I know that the Church of England is, you know, ripped off from the Catholic church, but why don't we have anything like that here?" "Because this isn't England?" And I strike again, "We do, it's the Episcolpalian (sp?) church... it's just like the Anglican Church. Remember when Catholics and Protestants didn't really get along? That was during a lot of the initial travels to and colonization of the new world. People who didn't fit in with their area got sent away or left." No, I was not a genius, just used common sense. I am so proud of that one night. Yeah, I rock.
Also, on a date with The Pretender, I said something kind of pretty. I was rocking out to some awesome song, and I rock out with the volume deafening and always sing along. After the song, I lowered the volume and apologized. "I'm sorry. That's just such a great song. I have to listen to it at the top of my lungs." I realized how stupid I sounded, and blushed. But I've always liked what it meant to me.... to love a song so much that it becomes a part of you, and comes out through you as well as your speakers. To listen at the top of your lungs...
Alright, that's about all I've got for now. I'm a little busy as of late. I just like reminiscing about moments like that when I felt brilliant, in all of its meanings.
My first time hanging with a particular group, and they were discussing Deja Vu (sp?). The theory in discussion was that your brain holds a sort of script about what you expect to see and hear. For instance, when you go to Taco Bell, you know the kid's gonna say "Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order, please?" The same goes for even your wackiest friends. Just because you know them to say outlandishly funny and uncalled-for things, you still have an idea of what will spill out. Well, that's a good theory, but what if it's a new situation? My ass blurted out, "Sometimes it seems more like I'm remembering what happened before I actually know what happened." The psych major turned to me and said, "That's actually what the most prominent theory says. Pretty smart for a freshman."
There was more that followed, including a lot of "You sure you never covered this before?" Thanks, but I'm not stupid. I mean, I do stupid things- because I sometimes lack emotional control and reactions. I actually think about things, though.
Same group, a few years later, they were discussing the upcoming presidential election. "Why does it have to be a Tuesday? My boss is never there on Tuesdays, and that's the one day I can't leave." "Well, I know it's always the first Tuesday after the first Monday, not necessarily the first Tuesday of every November." "Really? That's strange. Why not just call it the first Tuesday of November, since that's after the first Monday?" I don't follow politics, but I have this one- "The first Tuesday of November doesn't always follow the first Monday. If November 1st is a Tuesday, then the first Monday is almost a week later." "Then why would they specifically say 'the first Tuesday after the first Monday?'" Me, again, knowing things, "Because the 1st of November is All Saints Day, and this nation was founded on predominantly Catholic/Christian principles. No one was going to vote on a holiday." Score one for me.
Within the same conversation, a few minutes later, I scored again. "Hmm. I know that the Church of England is, you know, ripped off from the Catholic church, but why don't we have anything like that here?" "Because this isn't England?" And I strike again, "We do, it's the Episcolpalian (sp?) church... it's just like the Anglican Church. Remember when Catholics and Protestants didn't really get along? That was during a lot of the initial travels to and colonization of the new world. People who didn't fit in with their area got sent away or left." No, I was not a genius, just used common sense. I am so proud of that one night. Yeah, I rock.
Also, on a date with The Pretender, I said something kind of pretty. I was rocking out to some awesome song, and I rock out with the volume deafening and always sing along. After the song, I lowered the volume and apologized. "I'm sorry. That's just such a great song. I have to listen to it at the top of my lungs." I realized how stupid I sounded, and blushed. But I've always liked what it meant to me.... to love a song so much that it becomes a part of you, and comes out through you as well as your speakers. To listen at the top of your lungs...
Alright, that's about all I've got for now. I'm a little busy as of late. I just like reminiscing about moments like that when I felt brilliant, in all of its meanings.
She Was Feeling Angry... And Justified
I'm going to start this off with a reminder that I am a bad friend. Terrible. After I realize that I have lost a friend, I find myself writing to them years later explaining that I'm insane and I'm sorry, but I understand. We never get back to the level of friendship we were at (because they have learned that I'm clingy and crazy), but for the most part they forgive me. Sometimes, though, I'm actually the sane good friend.
You see, I have a friend, StressExcess, who, by her nickname, you can understand that she's a tense person. Yes, her life is stressful- but who's isn't? She has disowned her family, lost most of her belongings during a natural disaster, and is not living her dream life. Now, I know I'm being a tad critical when I say this, but 1) she disowned her family because they were bad for her (they did not leave her, either- her choice); 2) I lost a lot of things in that disaster as well, but you know, it was just stuff; 3) she doesn't know what she does want, only what she doesn't; and her husband is living out his dream with her help, and they do have a pretty good thing going and things are getting better for them all the time.
StressExcess is a good person. She planned my entire wedding, and kept it a surprise for me. How awesome is that!?! She has talked me down through a lot of bad times, including The Pretender hitting me and cheating on me. (Which is a little fucked up because he's now apparently dating her BFF from her new home.) She's always been there. I've tried my best to be there for her, as well. I really did. But it gets all fucked up because, as responsible as she and her husband seem, they forget to be considerate. For instance, we took in her, her husband, her two brothers, her sister, and her father during this natural disaster (thankfully, it was the college years- the Pretender and I lived together away from "home" where the disaster hit hardest), as well as another friend, for a few days. She and her husband up and left. Her dad took the brothers to a hotel. But she left the sister. They left her sister! She had no car and no job, and they all left. We got one note, written in lipstick on a mirror (which is a bitch to clean) that said, "Had to go back to get some things. Thanks for the couch." That's it. They never came back for her. For two months this girl stayed with us, for some unexplained reason. This includes seeing them every week for something we were all a part of... they just never mentioned her or anything. I know, right?
Well, last night was no different. Haven't seen her in a year, and she lives like five or six states away. She's flying in to my area! She asks me not to tell anyone she'll be in town, because she just wants a vacation with her husband. Stupid me thinks she told me because she wants me to know, like she wants to see me. I suggest dinner, or seeing each other on one of the TWO days I have off this week. "I'm sorry, I just want to chill with [mother-in-law] and stay low-key. We could meet up somewhere and just say 'hi.'" WTF??? Say HI? She's not in my city, she's an hour and a half away, but still closer than she's been for a year. I have two whole days, and just want to see her for a while for one of them. She wants to say hi? Then, a friend from the city she now lives in, who is dating The Pretender, is coming in later this week and wants to go sight-seeing in MY city. Okay, fine, I'm not invited. But I get to "say hi" and this bitch gets a fucking tour for a day? Yes, as a matter of fact, I do feel snubbed.
Her appendix decided to get all explodey while on this vacation. Her husband calls me, and I ask if we can visit, because, well, I'm worried and it's a good excuse to drive and see her anyway. Yay! I get my visit. He gives me the address, and DaVinci is gonna drive us there after work. After work... I get off at 6:30, to drive an hour and a half there to see a sick friend and an hour and a half back to go to work in the morning. I text them both when we leave my work, and say we'll be there about eight. Get 15 MINUTES from there, and her husband calls me. "Ugh, 3xE? Where are you?" "At the Taco Bell (ick) grabbing a quick bite before we get to your mom's." "Stay there. We forgot you were coming, and were on our way to a movie." Basically, DaVinci and I drove for 3 hours for Taco Bell and StarBucks. Sure, I got to see them; and boy, don't I feel relieved that I got to see my best friend?
You see, I have a friend, StressExcess, who, by her nickname, you can understand that she's a tense person. Yes, her life is stressful- but who's isn't? She has disowned her family, lost most of her belongings during a natural disaster, and is not living her dream life. Now, I know I'm being a tad critical when I say this, but 1) she disowned her family because they were bad for her (they did not leave her, either- her choice); 2) I lost a lot of things in that disaster as well, but you know, it was just stuff; 3) she doesn't know what she does want, only what she doesn't; and her husband is living out his dream with her help, and they do have a pretty good thing going and things are getting better for them all the time.
StressExcess is a good person. She planned my entire wedding, and kept it a surprise for me. How awesome is that!?! She has talked me down through a lot of bad times, including The Pretender hitting me and cheating on me. (Which is a little fucked up because he's now apparently dating her BFF from her new home.) She's always been there. I've tried my best to be there for her, as well. I really did. But it gets all fucked up because, as responsible as she and her husband seem, they forget to be considerate. For instance, we took in her, her husband, her two brothers, her sister, and her father during this natural disaster (thankfully, it was the college years- the Pretender and I lived together away from "home" where the disaster hit hardest), as well as another friend, for a few days. She and her husband up and left. Her dad took the brothers to a hotel. But she left the sister. They left her sister! She had no car and no job, and they all left. We got one note, written in lipstick on a mirror (which is a bitch to clean) that said, "Had to go back to get some things. Thanks for the couch." That's it. They never came back for her. For two months this girl stayed with us, for some unexplained reason. This includes seeing them every week for something we were all a part of... they just never mentioned her or anything. I know, right?
Well, last night was no different. Haven't seen her in a year, and she lives like five or six states away. She's flying in to my area! She asks me not to tell anyone she'll be in town, because she just wants a vacation with her husband. Stupid me thinks she told me because she wants me to know, like she wants to see me. I suggest dinner, or seeing each other on one of the TWO days I have off this week. "I'm sorry, I just want to chill with [mother-in-law] and stay low-key. We could meet up somewhere and just say 'hi.'" WTF??? Say HI? She's not in my city, she's an hour and a half away, but still closer than she's been for a year. I have two whole days, and just want to see her for a while for one of them. She wants to say hi? Then, a friend from the city she now lives in, who is dating The Pretender, is coming in later this week and wants to go sight-seeing in MY city. Okay, fine, I'm not invited. But I get to "say hi" and this bitch gets a fucking tour for a day? Yes, as a matter of fact, I do feel snubbed.
Her appendix decided to get all explodey while on this vacation. Her husband calls me, and I ask if we can visit, because, well, I'm worried and it's a good excuse to drive and see her anyway. Yay! I get my visit. He gives me the address, and DaVinci is gonna drive us there after work. After work... I get off at 6:30, to drive an hour and a half there to see a sick friend and an hour and a half back to go to work in the morning. I text them both when we leave my work, and say we'll be there about eight. Get 15 MINUTES from there, and her husband calls me. "Ugh, 3xE? Where are you?" "At the Taco Bell (ick) grabbing a quick bite before we get to your mom's." "Stay there. We forgot you were coming, and were on our way to a movie." Basically, DaVinci and I drove for 3 hours for Taco Bell and StarBucks. Sure, I got to see them; and boy, don't I feel relieved that I got to see my best friend?
She Might Want to Play a Different Part
Just read something super-funny over at Texts From Last Night:
(505): Thank you for holding my vodka while the police let me ride their horse.
I'm currently reading three books. The first is Anti-Story, a collection of alternative short fiction. I've been reading it for three years. It's fantastic. I keep re-reading selections, and am reading others for the first time. It's my "leave in the car and take with me everywhere" book. I can read a shorter or longer piece depending on the wait I have... or a harder piece if I'm around Pink Velour and Co., like last night.
The second book is my "leave at work" book. When I'm not distracted by customers or the internet, I do read a lot here. It's Umberto Eco's On Literature. It's a collection of essays and lectures he's given. I like it at work because it's a lot of short pieces, and I can skip selections. I mean, really, I don't and shouldn't read some of the articles because a few are on specific works with which I am not familiar enough to get that deep into. An article that mentions Karenina? Sure, I know she dies and even how. But an article solely on Dante's Paradisio? Don't know enough about it, just the Inferno.
My bedtime book is also Eco, Limits of Interpretation. These are my first experiences reading about literature, reading about theory. I'm very relieved that I can follow this. His writing is very...well, palatable. Even knowing that English is not the language it was written in, it still has a clear voice to it, and the vocabulary is accessible. I read this at home as an excuse to lay in bed, not watch television, and stay up late. Pretty interesting stuff, too. Other than a linguistics class I once took (that turned out to be cross-listed as a cognitive science class and way over my head) I've never thought of literary theory as having graphs and charts. I guess it makes sense, though. My mentor always drew things to help us get what she was talking about.
Going back to Pink Velour and Co.: Spent a bit of yesterday hangin' with MommyJubs and her husband. She said she usually has too much going on (remodeling the house and watching two kids) to get into a book. I told her she should read short stories or poetry. It's better than vacummig while the baby's asleep, right? She's got potential to learn things. Went to Pink Velour's house later last night, MomFace was there as well. I had some pictures of my new neice (cute as a button) tucked into the pages of On Literature. Pink Velour's comment was, "Wow, that's a big book, I don't know how you read so much." "Oh, it's not that bad. This is mostly short stuff." "I could never bring myself to read such a big book; it's too hard." She really thinks that the bigger a book is, the harder it is to read.
This summer, just to pass time at work when HR said we couldn't get on the internet, I read Terry Goodkind's entire Sword of Truth series. It was a fantasy series written for adults (lots of rape and BDSM). It was a nice series; I enjoyed it. The great thing about libraries is that I can read a metric fuckton of books for free. An added bonus to the library is that most of their copies are hardcover, and in excellent condition. Pink Velour honestly thought for a while that I was reading one or two HARD books a week! I was so honored.
I'm a bit of a book snob. This is shocking to me, because, well, I'm not that well-read. I know a lot about literature without having actually read most of it. Moby Dick, Invisible Man, Wuthering Heights, Eliot, Blake, Shakespeare- I'm a pro at most of it. I'm familiar with a lot of American Lit, but I am more educated In British Lit. World Lit is my weakest point, but I can still hold my own in a conversation if the other person isn't too into it. That's what makes me a big ol' book snob: other people.
True Conversations between DaVinci and the girl who cuts his hair:
"I just bought this book. I mean, I don't really read or anything. But it's about how to keep your boyfriend from cheating on you."
"Sounds like a good book."
"It's okay. I mean, well, it doesn't say what to do if he's already cheated on you."
"Does it say to leave him?"
"My BFF said I should leave him too, but I dunno. I just bought that whole book."
and, yes, it gets better:
"My wife and I watched Hamlet 2 last night. It was pretty funny, you might like it."
"I've never seen the first Hamlet."
"Well, you can watch Hamlet 2 without having seen the first one. It's like a separate movie."
"Well, was that one good?"
"Yeah. It's a tragedy by Shakespeare. It's not as funny as Hamlet 2, so I don't know if you'd like it as much."
"Wow, how do you know so much about Hamlet?"
DaVinci is my genius. My own pocket book of facts; my go-to guy for do-it-yourself projects. He cannot take care of himself, but he's a pro if you're not him. He went to college for accounting, and dropped out because "it was bullshit that I had to take so many classes about shit I already knew." He still helps MommyJubs' husband, and he's the next in line to be the VP at the bank for which he works. Does DaVinci work at a bank? No, DaVinci works in a marine supply warehouse. Yeah, doing manual labor. He has done it on and off for about nine years. But he does damn near everything on his own. He enjoys being his own man, and knowing everything and how to do anything. He was told as a child and later on as an adult that he may have Asperger's- a high-functioning form of autism. He's never been officially diagnosed. I do see it sometimes, in his little odd characteristics. However, (and this shocks people because he's not really a nice person) he's friendly and people seem to love him. He's honest and really efficient. He is a loyal friend, and hates bullshit. I don't know. I don't think it's Asperger's; I think he's just a great person.
(505): Thank you for holding my vodka while the police let me ride their horse.
I'm currently reading three books. The first is Anti-Story, a collection of alternative short fiction. I've been reading it for three years. It's fantastic. I keep re-reading selections, and am reading others for the first time. It's my "leave in the car and take with me everywhere" book. I can read a shorter or longer piece depending on the wait I have... or a harder piece if I'm around Pink Velour and Co., like last night.
The second book is my "leave at work" book. When I'm not distracted by customers or the internet, I do read a lot here. It's Umberto Eco's On Literature. It's a collection of essays and lectures he's given. I like it at work because it's a lot of short pieces, and I can skip selections. I mean, really, I don't and shouldn't read some of the articles because a few are on specific works with which I am not familiar enough to get that deep into. An article that mentions Karenina? Sure, I know she dies and even how. But an article solely on Dante's Paradisio? Don't know enough about it, just the Inferno.
My bedtime book is also Eco, Limits of Interpretation. These are my first experiences reading about literature, reading about theory. I'm very relieved that I can follow this. His writing is very...well, palatable. Even knowing that English is not the language it was written in, it still has a clear voice to it, and the vocabulary is accessible. I read this at home as an excuse to lay in bed, not watch television, and stay up late. Pretty interesting stuff, too. Other than a linguistics class I once took (that turned out to be cross-listed as a cognitive science class and way over my head) I've never thought of literary theory as having graphs and charts. I guess it makes sense, though. My mentor always drew things to help us get what she was talking about.
Going back to Pink Velour and Co.: Spent a bit of yesterday hangin' with MommyJubs and her husband. She said she usually has too much going on (remodeling the house and watching two kids) to get into a book. I told her she should read short stories or poetry. It's better than vacummig while the baby's asleep, right? She's got potential to learn things. Went to Pink Velour's house later last night, MomFace was there as well. I had some pictures of my new neice (cute as a button) tucked into the pages of On Literature. Pink Velour's comment was, "Wow, that's a big book, I don't know how you read so much." "Oh, it's not that bad. This is mostly short stuff." "I could never bring myself to read such a big book; it's too hard." She really thinks that the bigger a book is, the harder it is to read.
This summer, just to pass time at work when HR said we couldn't get on the internet, I read Terry Goodkind's entire Sword of Truth series. It was a fantasy series written for adults (lots of rape and BDSM). It was a nice series; I enjoyed it. The great thing about libraries is that I can read a metric fuckton of books for free. An added bonus to the library is that most of their copies are hardcover, and in excellent condition. Pink Velour honestly thought for a while that I was reading one or two HARD books a week! I was so honored.
I'm a bit of a book snob. This is shocking to me, because, well, I'm not that well-read. I know a lot about literature without having actually read most of it. Moby Dick, Invisible Man, Wuthering Heights, Eliot, Blake, Shakespeare- I'm a pro at most of it. I'm familiar with a lot of American Lit, but I am more educated In British Lit. World Lit is my weakest point, but I can still hold my own in a conversation if the other person isn't too into it. That's what makes me a big ol' book snob: other people.
True Conversations between DaVinci and the girl who cuts his hair:
"I just bought this book. I mean, I don't really read or anything. But it's about how to keep your boyfriend from cheating on you."
"Sounds like a good book."
"It's okay. I mean, well, it doesn't say what to do if he's already cheated on you."
"Does it say to leave him?"
"My BFF said I should leave him too, but I dunno. I just bought that whole book."
and, yes, it gets better:
"My wife and I watched Hamlet 2 last night. It was pretty funny, you might like it."
"I've never seen the first Hamlet."
"Well, you can watch Hamlet 2 without having seen the first one. It's like a separate movie."
"Well, was that one good?"
"Yeah. It's a tragedy by Shakespeare. It's not as funny as Hamlet 2, so I don't know if you'd like it as much."
"Wow, how do you know so much about Hamlet?"
DaVinci is my genius. My own pocket book of facts; my go-to guy for do-it-yourself projects. He cannot take care of himself, but he's a pro if you're not him. He went to college for accounting, and dropped out because "it was bullshit that I had to take so many classes about shit I already knew." He still helps MommyJubs' husband, and he's the next in line to be the VP at the bank for which he works. Does DaVinci work at a bank? No, DaVinci works in a marine supply warehouse. Yeah, doing manual labor. He has done it on and off for about nine years. But he does damn near everything on his own. He enjoys being his own man, and knowing everything and how to do anything. He was told as a child and later on as an adult that he may have Asperger's- a high-functioning form of autism. He's never been officially diagnosed. I do see it sometimes, in his little odd characteristics. However, (and this shocks people because he's not really a nice person) he's friendly and people seem to love him. He's honest and really efficient. He is a loyal friend, and hates bullshit. I don't know. I don't think it's Asperger's; I think he's just a great person.
Quick and Easy, Just Like Stir-Fry
The girl I work with used to date the loser-drug-addict type. We've all been there. They separated (i.e. she kicked him out of her life because she has a daughter to watch out for) a few months ago. Well, little known to us (the 8 or so of us in this department), she was kind of still seeing him. The fucker died- DIED- yesterday on her day off. Fell out a window or something. This means overtime for me and sad times for her. But I have to admit, I'm a little relieved. He was not a good person.
I think I'll start doing the one-minute writer in here. It'll give me something to go on everyday, and there's a Fiction Friday! I guess there will be the one-minute section, and maybe a blurb about goings-on or events as I need to vent about them. Of course, I make no guarantees. On anything. Other than right now, all I want is a fruit smoothie.
I think I'll start doing the one-minute writer in here. It'll give me something to go on everyday, and there's a Fiction Friday! I guess there will be the one-minute section, and maybe a blurb about goings-on or events as I need to vent about them. Of course, I make no guarantees. On anything. Other than right now, all I want is a fruit smoothie.
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