Just when you thought it was safe...

Just when you thought you had run out of hangers and there were no more hangers and you might have to buy more hangers and you thought, "But how did I run out of hangers..."

Oh, my gods! A bazillion hangers! Okay, maybe fifty. Fifty...seven, let's go with that number. I haven't actually counted, but I'm sure it's more than thirty and probably less than a bazillion. That's totally a real scientific number by the way.  I heard it the other day on NPR. A visiting science dude said that when Julius Caesar blew out his death rattle as he died, he blew out a bazillion carbon atoms and that's why you weigh less in the morning than you did the night before even if you haven't pooped yet. 

So, fifty-seven hangers just hanging in my closet, clothes-less.  Unemployed, as it were. That's still a lot of hangers.  They wait until I leave, then they get all tangled up together like a Roman orgy.

"Et tu, Brute?"
 

Hangers. You just can't trust them not to murder you in the Senate.


Magical fields and fireflies...

I think I'm finally getting a hang of Blogger's dashboard. I like how I can list my favorite blog reads there and they can sort them for me.

Here is a short entry, something I posted on Facebook last night but wanted to save and find again more easily to perhaps expand it into an longer reflective essay someday.

 

pictured posted by Curanderismo, the Healing Art of Mexico

 

 

From late last night about quarter after 10 pm.

 

We just took a drive in the Jeep, with the top off. It's pretty dark and the stars are out and we drove to Shabbona and the cornfields were silent and green and I could smell the honeysuckle.

That's it. Time to hang with TheMan for a bit before I have to drive to work.


Added at 5:30 pm. The comment controls are still confusing me. I want to delete stuff off the list of comments on my dashboard, thinking I don't need all that stuff listed...but I don't think I can do that. I can only delete it off the list on the dashboard if I also delete the original comment. Swear words.



Only the finest irreverence can be found here...

Now that I’ve determined I want to do this blog writing thing again, I’ve run up against the problem that I don’t have time to blog properly every day, not in the way I truly want to, which is in depth. I need a couple of hours usually to research and type up a good entry.

But sometimes inspiration comes to you in a flash! Or a song! Or a mistaken radio setting!

I have my clock-radio set to use the radio as a wake-up instead of the alarm, so I can claw my way to consciousness every morning listening to the dulcet tones of whoever is talking on NPR at the time I need to get up. But the dial must have gotten bumped because today at six am I awoke to a man singing about how wonderful it was going to be to, “…walk beside you…”

“Aww,” my foggy brain thought of walking beside someone through life… “how sappily adorable. Make it stop, please? Why are they playing this romantic shit on NPR?” But no, NPR had not gone inexplicably saccharine, the radio dial had gotten bumped slightly from 89.5 WNIJ (DeKalb NPR) to 91.1 (Positive, Encouraging, K-Love). I was still too groggy to get up and hit the snooze button or change the dial.



Giraudon/Art Resource, NY

"I've been watching you sleep."

The song continued and singer asked would he stand there in awe or fall on his knees…he was lyrically imagining a meeting with Jesus Christ. I assume after the singer had died; I don’t know if Jesus comes to visit people while they’re still alive. I think the angels are supposed to do that.

So…I’m not a Christian. We’ll get into what my spiritual beliefs are another time. But I do wonder about Jesus, whether he was a real person and really went through all those trials and how did he feel afterwards? What was his favorite food? Did he like travelling or was he all about just getting back to the hotel?  Was he an introvert or an extrovert? Did he miss not having sex or did he actually have sex and they covered it up later?

picture credit: The Passion of The Christ

"Ow."

 

If you could truly meet Jesus, what would you ask him? Ignore that bit about you not having any knowledge of Hebrew or Aramaic and Jesus not speaking your language…you can communicate, okay? We’re imagining here, don’t piss on my fun. If you could ask him stuff, what would you ask him and why? Be creative please, don’t give me fifteen versions of, ”Dude, what is up with your followers? Some of them are really scary!”

"Tell me, what was it really like to arm-wrestle Satan? Did you guys get a beer afterwards?"

 

If you think this entry smacks of a Cracked.com article, you are correct! I've read far too much of them lately. Right now I don't care if I'm derivative. But in the interests of being slightly more intellectual here is a vastly more scientific idea of what Jesus may have sort of looked like, from Popular Mechanics. Yeah, I know, just read it.

picture credit: BBC photo library

The Real Face of Jesus

 

 

 

 

Our story up to now...

So I got married. At the courthouse.

Yeah, more about that later what I really want to talk about is OH MY GOD the stuff I am finding in my apartment as I clean out 8 years of pack rat living. Seven bags of trash out of my sons' room so far and that really worries me.  Although, when they came over to help me haul stuff to the car yesterday they were entirely unconcerned over what the bags might contain. True hoarders would be terrified at anything being thrown away, true pack rats would be worried that something important had been tossed with the junk...maybe they're not crazy.  A large portion of it was old papers, broken toys, pencil stubs, broken pens, and all the other things boys think are neat when they're pre-teens. I think they moved the porn so I wouldn't find it. At least...I hope they did. Don't worry, Dexter is 21 and DB is 18...so it's okay for them to have porn. I just do not wish to know what kind of porn they prefer.  I'm going to stop saying porn now.

Some random stuff I found:

• 10 lids to plastic storage boxes, varying sizes.
• 5 pairs of DB's shoes
• 4 belts, only one of which fit DB now
• 4 pairs of headphones
• 2 wired computer mouses (mice? that sounds weird)
• A partridge in a pear tree

Okay, that last one is an exaggeration, but honestly, it could've been growing in the closet and we'd never have known.

Hell hath no fury...

....Like a woman scorn'd.  That's actually a misquote but I have bigger fangly fish to fry, so let's move on.

(Grumble) This Thanksgiving season I am grateful my many first-world problems, because no matter how many of them I have...they are just that. On to my rant. It's too soon for my red wave; I don't know why I have so much free-floating anger. I am searing with anger right now that has no explanation...and you get to read about it! If you choose to. If not, s'okay.

Here we go.
The certitude of many men when they think they know something makes me want to spew obscenities. LOUDLY. They rarely say, "I read..." or "I heard..." or "In my experience..."

They will flatly tell you you're wrong, proceed to spout their "facts" as if dropping pearls of wisdom in your poor, stupid, misinformed little girl head.

When you look it up and prove you did actually know what you're talking about... or carefully explain why their experience is not your experience... they ask you why you're making such a big deal...or give you the look that means the same...and just say "oh," or words to that effect. The nicer ones will add, "Sorry."
The response that makes me most angry is, "I guess that's okay." Oh, well now that I have your permission to know my own body/life/mind better than you I feel so much better about your patronizing verbal dick wagging.

Why AM I making such a big deal? Because NOBODY likes to be told condescendingly and flat out that they're wrong. Asshat.
Also, I'll wager you dollars to doughnuts that women in third-world countries would agree with me, they're just too busy barely surviving to make a blog entry about it.

Do you think dick wagging should be hyphenated?

I like water, but this is a bit much.

Did you ever feel like you were going along just great...you were handling stuff...your situation isn't the best but you could still be happy...and then inexplicably you feel like you're alone and drowning? Like you were floating along just find and then were suddenly just sucked to the bottom of the ocean by your own mind? Yeah...like that. I hate it when that happens.

Also?  Trying to find an image of the bottom of the ocean by googling "bottom of the ocean" images gets you lots of pictures of butts.  Some of them naked.  Just a warning.  Or a suggestion, whichever you prefer.

Such is life...right now

I feel extraordinaly bohemian today. It's screaming to get out. It's bubbling up from the core of my ocean underground, filling up my brain and surging at the floodwall at the back of my throat. It brings hurricane winds howling at the gate of convention necessary to my current survival. Beware my impending bohemian rhapsody.