It's 7:10 pm on Monday. I'm in the office with "The Moon" (the small fluorescent above my desktop) lighting the whole basement alone. Looking on my desk directly in front of me I see 2 empty beer bottles (from yesterday,) a half empty beer bottle (from today,) a Santana cd, a clothes pin, a digital camera, a can of compressed air, paint splattered sun glasses, and a tube of lipstick - color: Rosy Outlook.
iTunes is randomly singing - currently, it's Ani DiFranco Reckoning. I swear, the next song will be the theme to Maude! Such is the beauty of iTunes.
My dog is laying beside me, panting in his sleep, tongue sprolled out as if in hopes for to catch the magical Milk Bone fairy as she flits from here to doggie heaven. When I die, I wanna come back as my dog. He's got a peachy keen life, man. And he's pretty easy on the eyes. And finally, for the love of all things beany, I'd be able to fart at will whenever, wherever, without second thought because, dammit, I'd be a sassy assed dog. Heh heh. Go on with your nasty self, Boy. I don't blame you a bit.
Sheryl Crow Can't Cry Anymore
There is a strange role reversal that happens in families as the children become adults - and even parents. I'm thinking of my relationship with my mother as well as the current dealings with my inlaws. Sometimes, when I'm feeling overwhelmed with emotions or situations or stresses or whatever and need to get some perspective, I try to imagine how I would deal with such situations at age 18 or 19. When I think about that and am undeniably gut busted with laughter at the inappropriateness or ineffectiveness of the 19 year old reaction, it makes the whole situation come into perfect perspective and my choice is clearly and easily made.
Split Lip Rayfield John
My dog thinks he's a cat in one way and one way only - he thinks he can climb trees. Yes, oh yes, Hank dreams of being a tree climber. He has been jumping and flailing himself towards the top of several trees in my yard lately in a desperate attempt to show those damned uppity squirrels who the hell is boss in Hank Land, thankyouverymuch. Today, though, today was different. Today, my Mr. Hanky, the Christmas Pup (thanks, JM Bill,) managed to climb into my maple tree. Yes, my friends, all 5 feet of him, tail to nose, was in that Maple tree in my front yard. What a freak!
Mary Chapin Carpenter Shut Up and Kiss Me
Um, this song does not inspire me.
Don McLean American Pie
I cannot listen to this song without thinking of Tisha Crawford. She's no longer Tisha Crawford, but you know, whatever. The summer between my 8th grade and Freshman years (or was it Freshman - Soph summer -- No I think Fresh....) Tisha had a BBQ party at a lake house. Apparently this was an annual thing for her and her family, but I was such a friendship circle butterfly, this was the only year I managed to be in her crowd at summer time to be invited. I remember the bikini I wore (I'm sure I blinded some folks for life -- that was clearly not a pretty picture,) and the food and such. And I remember listening to Steve Miller's The Joker and Don McLean's American Pie. Good times.
The Marshall Tucker Band Can't You See?
If thinks don't clear up with my inlaws soon, I'm gonna go fucking insane. The stress between families, the kids being freaked out about the absence of their grandparents, my Inlaws psycho crazy bullshit thought process is only causing the issue to get worse, and NO ONE WILL LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE long enough for B and I to really think about it in a way so as to make a decision.
Speak of the devil, there goes the phone.
How freaking interesting --- the next song on iTunes??
... Jack Johnson Losing Hope
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