ass or face?

I have occasionally heard this question bandied about, usually by very ugly fat and hairy guys in their late 20's or 30's. What it boils down to is that supposedly once a chick hits 40, she has to make a choice. ass or face. work on body, or work on looking younger. of course, i always thought this to be hogwash, created by undersexed, paunchy geek types. not that it was even relevant to me, neither being super-beautiful/hot nor ugly/fat. but, maybe they are right. the problem here...i still haven't made a choice. so ass and face be damned. i've been cursed by peeps i stills wouldn't fuck....

missing a part

i miss the feeling of just lying down in the middle of the grass, or the woods. with my head on a dirty log and just chewing on whatever i picked up from the ground next to me, or examining it so carefully that i knew it so intimately. staring into the sky. freezing cold, boiling hot. just feeling-but too young too realize it would ever not be this way-in touch with the dirt, the earth..the i don't know. the feeling that i did not have to be anywhere, at any time. in control of all that i didn't have to do.

next

shortly after my brother was born, and after the apartment i described in last post, my parents bought a house. this is the house that i grew up in. It was a small two-family in a lower middle class sub-development. the house, sucked. but it was on a corner lot and the neighborhood layout was great. we ran around all day and all night throughout the woods, aside a huge river and through a massive expanse of cemetery. it felt as if we had miles and miles of playground-- because we did. we ran around like the lord of the flies and no one, and i mean no one paid us any attention. it was perfect fodder for the proverbial child abductor. children everywhere, wild, lawless, available and unsupervised. the setting was so removed from parental contact that it seemed like a movie set, where the kids find a body and......

things i remember, sometimes

my first memories are from when i was around 3 yrs old. i don't remember everything from that time, but i have windows that open now and again from ages 3-5. some of what i might remember....

the apartment in which my mother, father and i lived. it was big, but shoddy and in a really weird naked place in a lousy town. i don't remember all of the rooms though. in the front of the house (which i now think faced east) there was a bedroom to the left, my parents room. To the right another room which seemed like a sort of sitting/sun room, that contained a narrow, white, 50's styled table. i have one distinct memory of my mother feeding my brother in that room and it was blindingly sunny and she was laughing. i remember the living room, which was west of the two front rooms. twirling in circles on the linty rug until i felt really, really sick. i remember watching tv on the couch and listening to the radio in there. i remember one visit when my grandmother was there visiting and how they laughed so hard at me when i told them that i had found something black in my ear and had eaten it. just west of the living room was the kitchen. it was large but a little on the dark side. just to the southside of the kitchen was another small bedroom. i think sean and i shared it. i know he slept in there. funny i don't remember about me or where i slept.

we had at least one pet bird. it got out and was flying all around the apartment. i think it flew out an open window and my father looked for it, but never found it. we may have gotten another.

one day, my grandfather took me fishing in a park that i can't remember the name of. we had gone to woolworths first and purchased an orange colored kids fishing pole. i caught a fish. it was ugly and brownish. we put it in a bucket and carried it home. it was behaving very sluggishly when we got home. he put me down for a nap, and when i awoke, i ran to see my new pet. he wasn't in the bucket anymore. my grandfather told me that while i was asleep, the fish was crying and had asked to be returned to the pond to see his friends and family, so he brought him back to the place he belonged. i cried.

i remember the day that my brother was born. it was sunny and warm. i went with my dad and maybe someone else in a big tannish colored car to pick him up at griffen hospital in the morning. he got into the back seat, and i think he was in my moms lap. i think someone took me for ice cream later that day.

i remember walking with my mom and my brother in his stroller down a big hill to a place to get my vaccinations. it hurt and left a big round mark that i don't have anymore, but had all through elementary school.

once we were in a grocery store and my mom was short of money to cover the total. she was so embarassed as she had to remove items from the cart. i was unplussed until i saw the look this young man gave me. it was a look of pity which i did not know then, but suddenly i felt bad too.

i remember people coming over to our house to visit a lot. there seemed to be someone there in the afternoon all the time. but in the morning, it was just me and my mom. and then, me and my mom and my brother. my dad always had 2 or 3 jobs and never seemed to be around, especially this early in my life.

this blog scares me

I know that saying that makes me seem even older than I already am. People blog regularly and no big whoop. But for me, it's like eating a spider or something for someone else.

I've mostly always kept a journal, and it was a concrete possession, something I could hold and touch while containing the written versions of thoughts and feelings that I could not. I poured every thought on every thing into my marble notebooks, filling them up, then quickly hiding them in a dark chest in the bottom of my closet, praying they would never be found. When I was younger, I would take great pains to personalize my journal with stickers, doodles and decorations, but god forbid anyone looked inside it. Funny to call such attention to the outside of something and then 'slam' no further do you get. Hmmm...am I shrinking myself here?

Anyway. This is the exact reverse to me. Guts on the outside so to speak. I suppose that is because i assume that i may post the same type of things that I used to write in my journal. Most of my friends who have blogs rarely, if ever, post things of a personal nature-they mainly review and post opinions about the news and politics. I wonder what shape this will take, if I decide to continue with this.