This is good. I think I could get used to being like Colin Farrell.

It's actually rather exhilarating. Like a roller coaster.

(from convert_me, by way of mintogrubb)

"You don't convince someone by pushing what you believe against what they believe. It is when their belief system is questioning itself that you can lean in and offer what you want them to do or believe as the answer to the instability. Point out contradictions inherent in their belief system and they themeselves may throw it out of balance. Get them to question one end of their beliefs using another end and then offer your meme as the solution to the feelings of doubt."

So I hadn't been at Scare Escape for awhile, and I walked in, and Blair asked me, smiling, if I was avoiding her. I told her I wasn't. I just hadn't been in for three weeks or so.

So she was wearing something nice, and low-cut, and on the sound system was playing Ravel's "Pavane for a Dead Princess," and Blair was doing her crossword puzzle, oblivious, and I just sort of kept looking at her, a little at a time, her tan, her neck, her legs, her hair, her cleavage, her tan, her neck, her legs, her hair, her cleavage, and back again. And she asked me about a couple of crossword-puzzle clues, and then told me about her boyfriend, oblivious, about how he was gentle and smart and funny.

Then she excused herself to go to the ladies room, and when she was out of the room, I turned to the only other patron, a rather large Hispanic man, and said, "I know I'm fifteen years older than her, but I would kill or die to make love to her." And he nodded and said he understood.

And I'm home now and for some stupid reason I can't stop crying.

"The world will look up and shout, 'Save us!' And I'll whisper . . . 'No.'"

"Some people got lost in the flood, some people got away all right. . . ."

I had dinner with my sister tonight. I've been fighting (well, arguing, I mean) with her off and on all week. Her husband and her two kids are in Washington, climbing Mount Ranier.

I think this week's arguments were a last desperate gasp on my part to try to have some sort of bond with her. But it's impossible. She spent dinner interrupting me and basically sparing no opportunity to attack me in every petty way possible. I don't think she even knows *how* to be nice or kind or decent to people. We had gone to the Barnes & Noble at Waterway Mall after dinner, and we were on the way back to her house, where my car was parked. And I tried one last time to TELL her something about myself, something personal.

. . . And she started arguing with me. I just wanted her to listen, and she began arguing with me. Then she interrupted and tried to TOP my story with one of her own, as if to say "you think you have it bad, see how *I* have it . . . " And we stood there arguing in her front yard for a moment, then she turned her back and walked in her house. And I called her a bitch, or rather I called her closed front door a bitch, and drove home.

I can't talk to her. Not anymore.

This is my family. Or rather, this would be the family I should have had. I never had a family. I had a collection of psychopaths who were related to me and just happened to live in the same house. I never had a family. Not one that you would recognize as such.

I don't think I want to talk to her, ever again, or at least for a long time. Tonight was the last straw. Actually, I think Friday was the last straw, but like anyone in denial, I just didn't want to admit it.

The only affectionate creatures I've encountered this week were my sister's four dogs. They love me. Or maybe all they wanted was the salt on my hands.

The ideal woman is like Thai food: sweet and hot at the same time. (She is pretty, isn't she? Pity about her missing left arm.)

Damn you, Google! Sweet and hot at the same time--how well you know me!

Answers to a test about whether I am a "bad boy" and whether I like "bad girls."

Results:

     FLIRTING WITH THE DARK SIDE -- Don't worry, you're only moderately evil. You might be like Lance Armstrong, clinging to a clean image while stamping on hearts. You're too close to call, which is probably a good thing. Keep the ladies guessing! (47% of readers tested like you.)

(Great. I really didn't want to be Colin Farrell.)

and

     You like your girls playful, nice, and saccharine sweet. You prefer Reese Witherspoon to Carmen Electra.

(I'm calling an audible and requesting Reese Witherspoon with Carmen Electra's body.)

LSD: 1900
MDMA: 1600
Mushrooms: 950
Salvia: 525
Alcohol: 475
Cocaine: 400
Heroin: 225
Marijuana: 200

LSD and X = off the chart (no surprise there), mushrooms = make me puke, salvia = perfectly legal, alcohol = breakfast of champions, cocaine and heroin = meh . . . marijuana = last?!? Who wrote this test? Marijuana beneath heroin? Alcohol beneath salvia?

So . . . I'm going to take a big bong-hit of sage (since it's legal) and drive around the neighborhood for awhile making U-turns and K-turns. Then I'm going to eat a big handful of acid and relax.

This moment of Zen was brought to you by Alan Watts.

It's a sad commentary on our lives that we can't seem to express genuine emotion anymore, especially on the Internet, without being accused of "starting drama." I remember when there WAS no such thing. People expressed their emotions, and the worst that was ever said of them was that they "wore their hearts on their sleeves." There was no such accusation as "causing drama." If you felt pain or anger, then that's how you felt. You didn't have to worry about some smart-ass that you'd never met in Wisconsin or Montana (or Yorkshire or Alice Springs) accusing you of a social flaw for being honest about your feelings. It was considered a GOOD THING, or at least a neutral subject, not an excuse for everyone to take one free shot.

Now taking applications for my personal harem. No dullards. Those women with IQ's of less than 130, or who don't know the name of the character Samuel L. Jackson played in the Star Wars movies, or the name of the creator of the Hellboy comics, or the name of the butler in the Hellsing anime, need not apply.

Although it is illegal to drive while drunk, it is not illegal to play Grand Theft Auto IV while drunk. Terrorists win! Fuck you, Bush!

What makes a man a man? A friend of mine once wondered. Is it his origins? The way he comes to life? I don't think so. It's the choices he makes. Not how he starts things, but how he decides to end them.

--Hellboy, final lines


Over the years, what do your failed relationships amount to? Just an ever-expanding list of songs you can't bear to listen to anymore.

At the gang-bang, I'd probably be the guy standing toward the back, thinking to himself, "Poor girl--she was probably molested as a child."

. . . I can't believe you'd kill me for a field of empty holes.

(It's all I have.)

Your pain runs deep.

(What do you know of my pain?)

Let us explore it, together.
Each person hides a secret pain.
It must be exposed and reckoned with.
It must be dragged from the darkness and forced into the light.
Share your pain.
Share your pain with me, and gain strength from the sharing.

(Where did you get this power?)

The power was within you.

(I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my heart.
How can I repay you for this miracle?)

- - - - - - - - - -
If I had any skill in psychology at all, any empathy, I could do this, or something like this. I've seen people who were this good with other people. I want to be able to do this. I want to be able to help people like this.

On the other hand, some people get really, really mean when you try to help them.

I was in the Half-Price Books today. In the mens room, there's a sign in the stall reading "PLEASE DO NOT FLUSH FOREIGN OBJECTS DOWN THE TOILET." And I immediately thought, "Like a sombrero?"

Also, in the "Trivia" section, you can see how she constantly went over-budget. Oh, and she had a "huge opening." (Must have been all those previous boyfriends.) And then did very well on video.