Pardon my Appearance.... Or Should I say Dis-appearance?

Pardon my appearance! I am currently under construction.

No, really.... I am simply an emotional Cancerian who doesn't do too well at spreading herself thinly. Rather, I like to hover over an issue and pretty much analyze and process the hell out of it until there ain't nothin' left to examine.

Got some life issues that I'm dealing with that just have me emotionally spent. I promise to get back to the scene soon.

Love to all! See you soon, Dahlinks!

'Cause DMB Loves The Kids...

The most trying thing about major holidays and being so far away from family is that... well, you're so far away from family...

I was on some serious nostalgia when I made this video last month. But watching it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It features my family and the hubby's family, with a special emphasis on the kids, cause you know...

DMB loves the kids.

And yes, I know it's a Christmas video. But so what? Sit back, shut up and feel the love, dammit.

Enjoy!

Diahrrea, Confucianism and The System

I don't feel like being "on" today. So I called in sick.

Mind you, I work three days a week. But, whatever....


I just wouldn't pull my arse off the imitation leather, ie, leatherette floor chair thingie (displayed w/Hello Kitty in a previous post) that we've got here, so I had to come up with a good excuse.

A Japanese excuse.





Which is laughable. Because there is no such thing. Japanese people don't take off work. They come in with raging fevers, grotesque pus-oozing postules, Beri Beri, you name it.



It's the Confucianism thing, probably. Oh, and they cover everything up with a nice, sanitary face mask.



But they don't stay home. Duty, honor and Obedience and obedience to Duty and Honor, you understand.



Now, naturally, they are quite accustomed to us self-indulgent foreigners calling in sick. But this time, I felt I had to really make it good because... well, I felt guilty...

So, I said I have diarrhea.




Who can argue with that?


I mean, you can't argue with diarrhea. Diarrhea always wins.


You can't reason with diarrhea. Diarrhea does what the hell it wants to do.


You can't negotiate with diarrhea. Diarrhea tells YOU what to do.

But I don't blame Diarrhea. I blame the system. It's the system that makes us tell all sorts of lies in the name of... of, hell, I just don't feel like going to work today.

Dismantle the system and you dismantle all the lies.

Dismantle the system and you dismantle the heart of Deception, and let's face it, Pure Evil, as we know it.

I'm convinced.

Now just tell me where to actually find the system and we'll go somewhere with this.... as soon as I pry my ass cheeks off this leatherette floor chair thingie.

The Young and The Old--Part One

I was talking to my girl, Erin, in Sweden, about some people that we both know who have kind of flip-flopped emotionally and done some pretty silly things over the past year.

She said, with the slightest sensation of awe. "But you've always stayed consistent."

I laughed. "I know who the #^** I am. I don't have to trip."

Guess that's what happens when you get old.

Allow me to illustrate some of the differences between the old and the young that aren't talked about too often.

ARGUING

See, young folks like to argue--oh, I'm sorry. Did I say argue? I meant debate.... yeah, well, whatever ...

I don't argue. Not about anything important, anyways. Why should I waste your time and mine trying to convince you of what I already believe in?

CHANGING THE WORLD

Young folks think that the world is full of injustice and that those of a higher consciousness and with the energy and conviction to do what's right can actually change things.

I'm not trying to change shit. I can't even stop myself from cleaning out a bag of cheese popcorn in less than fifteen minutes tops, no matter how many times I say, "Now, Girl, there's at least three servings in this here bag."

I mean, really, who am I? At this point, I'm just trying to keep things simple and be happy.

Do I mourn the loss of my previous aspirations to change the world? Not really. And how can I explain to my younger sister, who sadly announced (after I had refused to get angry over some 'intolerable' situation) that I had "settled" ,"become complacent" and was "disillusioned".

I shrugged. Perhaps so. But it's hard to tell that to a younger person who is still bent on declaring the world a horrible place that needs to be revamped immediately that the real struggle, the true struggle is inside (yourself--the soul--if you will) ?

You can't.

I applaud the naive arrogance of the young who put so much stock in their existence that they honestly believe that the fate of the universe hinges on their shoulders. I think anyone who considers themselves intelligent fancies that they are a lot more important to the scheme of things than they actually are.

I think it is after after you go around the block a few ( and after Life puts you on your ass a few times ) that you realize that the universe consists of a lot more than your ideas of what should and should not be.

The world will keep turning, the sun will rise and set, children will grow up and civilizations will ascend and decline--despite or in spite of you. The ultimate plan is so much bigger than we could even pretend to imagine.

And let's face it. In the scheme of things, we, as individuals, are just not really that important.

Does it mean that I don't think we should strive to make things better? Certainly, we should!

But let's just say my focus is a lot more tuned to my er, abilities.

I can't change the world. But maybe I can put a smile on somebody's face or make them feel like they are less alone on this day, sponsor a kid in Africa, vote for Obama, recycle. (I recycle, dammit!)

And then after that, when my day of altering the fate of the universe is done, I can focus on my more immediate mission:

To perfect that chai recipe. A glass would be just perfect with this cheese popcorn.

Drunken Confessions And Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

My husband loves to drunk call me. Whenever he can resist the hypnotic song of the television and actually goes out with his friend, Jorge, I can always expect a call sometime around 3 in the morning.









His latest drunk call was apparently a confessional.


Me: Hello.


Him: Hi, I'm drunk and I love you.



And the fun continues from there, people.





Me: Love you, too, Dear.





Him: I gotta confess (referring to the latest news of a cheating husband we know) that secretly I'm glad because this has made me look like a better husband.



Me: (laughing) I see.



Him: I told Jorge in the midst of all this, you forgot you were mad at me. (laughs)



Me: (silently) No, I haven't. I'm still trying to think of ways to make your life a living hell. Stop laughing. Now.




(Okay, I must admit I have forgotten WHY I'm mad at him, but nevertheless, the vague sensation of pissed-offedness lingers.)



Me: (out loud) Any other confessions?

Him: "I secretly like romantic comedies. I try to act like I don't."


Me: I see.

Him: And just remember that I love you-- no matter how much I fuck up in the future.

Me: So, is this your way of apologizing in advance?

Him: (laughing and feeling quite satisified with himself for his cleverness, I presume) Exactly.

(He then proceeds to sing Bon Jovi's 'Always'. Very off key, I might add. And I proceed to hold the phone far away from my ear.)

Me: How about just saying sorry? Two syllables. That's it.

Him: Uh, I think there's a bad connection... I love you... Bye...

Nice.

The Noisy Neighbor

I am the neighbor everyone hates. I know it. Feels bad to be the one. But...


I am noisy. As hell.





(And yes, as I write this, I am currently playing my latest musical obsession--BOSSA NOVA--at 3:25 in the morning. My neighbors are saints, I tell you...)


Moving furniture at odd hours of the night.
Getting the urge to hammer something into the wall just before midnight.
Loud music.
Burning various things (walls, curtains... all by mistake, of course.)

That's me.


I've only had one neighbor who was noisier than me. In Ohio. Eastern European accent. Older guy. Lived alone. Liked to give me random cd's. (introduced me to Kitaro, so I can't complain) and give me unwrapped, uncovered dishes from his home country on gorgeous china.



... Oh yeah, and repeatedly ask me for dates, even in the presence of others.

I had to finally beg a male friend to kiss me passionately in the parking lot as he watched us from his window.

After that, there were no more requests for 'the disco'. I'm not sure if it was the kiss or the fact that some time after that, he was arrested in a bizarre 'domestic incident'.


Either way, his eventual eviction meant I could recall my crown as the noisiest neighbor. And I realized something about myself...


'Tis better to be the noisy one and potentially piss off others than to be pissed off by someone else, No?

Crazy Eights...The Condensed Version (Because Doing It Right Is Too Much Work)

So, Illahee tagged me for Crazy Eights. Now, naturally, I didn't truly follow the instructions. Please check out Illahee's post for the ahem, proper, way to do this here thingie!


In the meantime, here's 8 things I’m passionate about:



1. Chillaxin'.

Yes, PLEASE don't come to my place unannounced. I can't be held responsible for the years of therapy it might take to cleanse some of you more tender folk of the experience.








Enter at your own risk!!!!!



2. Eating.




And you haven't any idea how much courage it takes to post this picture. I didn't even shower on this day. Last time I'll ever do that. Apparently shower water has a beneficial effect on the thighs, hence mine look enormous in this picture.



And just in case, you underestimate my dedication to eating, notice the barely hidden gleam of pure E-VILLE as I pose for this photo. I'm trying to look pleasant, but I'm waiting for the waitress to bring round two. Fried shrimp, if I do recall correctly....

3. Teaching.

I get sick of teaching. All the time. Every day I fantasize of being able to finally embark on a lifestyle with no classrooms, no textbooks, no curriculums. But it's the only thing I can say I was born to do.

4. Reading. Mainly non-fiction.

5. Rating people's asses.

First, I see your face, then I see your ass. Man, woman, child. Doesn't matter. I'm hardwired to check out your caboose and either give it the stamp of approval or my condolences. Either way, I'm checking out your butt.

My husband is the only person I've ever met is more of an ass fiend than me. No doubt our kids will be some sort of closeted ( please be closeted!) anal-driven, booty-crazed freaks.

6. Keeping in mind that I am a spirit having a human experience--as opposed to the other way around.

7. Pretending to be rich while on vacation.

I'm not interested in seeing how the locals live. I'm from Brooklyn. Doesn't get more local than that. This means only four and five star hotels. The most expensive restaurants. Shopping 'till I drop.

...And then doing overtime for the next two months to pay the credit card bill. (shut up!)

This is me in a market in Hong Kong. Shopping bag in one hand. All I needed was a shisk kebob in the other to have experienced pure bliss on the earth plane.

8. Music (all genres), Art and Meditation.