update

So, after we had all been imbibing a bit last night, J decides to call mean girl (post below) and pretend it was a wrong number. Who answers? An older asian woman with no command of the english language. Triple checked the digits. Whatthe....?

new campaign

I was probably drunk when the memo went out, so please fill me in. When exactly was the bill passed that people should be as fucking mean as they can possibly be (without necessarily going to jail) to strangers?

I just called a friend on her cell phone, turns out I used an old number. Youngish-sounding hipster girl (nonsense music playing behind her was the clue) in a loud bar/restaurant answers.

Me: "Hey, what's up?"
Bitch: "Umm excuse me...do I KNOW you?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry is this _____?"
Bitch: "WHO IS THIS!!!!!"
Me: "Oh, I am so sorry, I must have an old number"
Bitch: "Um. Hello. Why don't you check your numm-bbers before you dial? Please don't call me again, I really don't need extra phone calls from losers. Ummmmm, ok?" in most perfect condescending voice ever, and showing off for friends who were laughing behind her.
Me: Blood swirling before my eyes in the pattern of the perfect stroke. "Um, ok, cunt"

And this is one very small example. Everywhere I turn, people are as mean as they can get away being with at the moment. From throwing the groceries with a little too much oomph, to intentionally parking so that it is difficult (but not impossible) for someone to get around them. To the retail worker who responds to a question with such disgust that you check your face for brown smears. To the sanitation workers who look you in the eye, when they spill shit all over your sidewalk and keep moving with a subtle smirk. To the constant and seemingly random choices of property destruction. To the repetitious threatening overtures at innocent normal human interactions. And so on, et al, blah,blah.

As many of you may know, I can be as mean as any motherfucker on earth. However, I guess I just wasn't apprised of the fact that this is what i am now SUPPOSED to do (having always been scolded in the opposite direction). But, now I am so constantly angry that I am a dangerous person. Sort of like the Robin Hood of rage.

EDIT: Thanks for the tip, gihyb!!! So if you have any crank call bones in your body: here's her #. 646-209-7709. Her name, minions.

funk

Every so often, the cruel manifestations of the pathologies of abuse, neglect and ignorance weigh so heavily upon me that I can barely stand or breathe.

harold and maude

love it. don't care if it dates me. just love it. hate whats her face in rosemarys baby, but long to be her h&m character in my real life.....

harry chapin

i was at summer camp the day that harry chapin died. i was in the 'mess hall' when i got a call over the speaker that i needed to get to a phone because my dad had an urgent call for me. i walk slowly to the phone, going through who may have died and how i could handle it, my brother? my mom? grandparents? slowly shuffling through the red clay dust.

Pick up, hey dad. harry chapin died. both of us cry for like 10 minutes. not sure if i'll ever get closer to anyone than my dad at that minute.

birthdays

I fizzled.
On my 3rd grade report card, "Regina is the type of child who never lets anyone forget it's her birthday. She talks too much in class and too often seeks attention from staff and classmates. She seems to be more interested in 'clowning around' than in her actual schoolwork" Yet I was the sole 3rd grade honor student, and got the fucking ribbon to prove it, biiiitch. Ms. Powell was a fucking bitch but she will be another post.

Now: i couldn't give a flyin shamrock that it was my birthday. except that being born on a lesser holiday people tend to remember it and every year I get awesome blast from the past correspondences. This week I got re-intouch with 2 friends, and heard from 3 others that I hadn't heard from, just because they remembered my birthday was on st. patricks day. that's not such a bad trigger, right kg?.

ps. fuck ms powell-fo-evah

totally scared

FYI- Having my son was no easy task. Many, many miscarriages and problems throughout. That being said, he's just the very best thing that has ever happened in my life.
I am oldish, ok, just fucking old. I want him to have a sibling, he needs and deserves it/him/her. And I want it/her/him, i really do. Do I tempt fate and get knocked up? I can't afford straight up adoption (as they don't seem to have payment plans-imo only the really rich get to adopt, because it's at east a 15K straight up thing, and yet it's against the law to buy a kid? adoption IS buying a kid in current mode, i call bs on the whole process). The metronome ticks and I am paralyzed.

freecycle-ing

I am a big freecycler. I have only gotten things twice, but have given a bunch of stuff away. I am glad that someone else can use my leftovers, but I gotta say, the dance is a bit more than I can stomach at times. The flood of emails. The i-need-to borrow-my-goduncletwiceremoved's-car -and-can-come-on-an-odd-numbered-thursday-topickup. Not to mention that anyone under the age of 30 these days does not have one ounce of manners.

short

i am short, but not as short as i drive. i drive as close to the steering wheel as i can get, you can't get a mouse hair between me and the wheel. it's like a "i'm alert and safe because i am closer thing". yet this inspires a constant fear that an airbag is going to explode in my face. in an average 20 minute ride i flinch and deflect my face to the left or right probably like 10 times, just waiting for the thing to blow. i think i may also be a few nickels short of a dollar.

the donner party

this is a topic that is close to me. these tough fuckers (86 people, mostly men, but women and a buncha kids) travelled 2k+ miles from indiana toward california through some of the roughest terrain imaginable, by choice, in nothing more than tents-on-wheels. they made the unanimous mistake of agreeing to a shortcut costing them days and miles, winding up only a few hundred miles from their ultimate destination. in the end this was a fatal decision for almost half of them. the remaining half, (and even half of them never resorted to eating their dead) had been on almost a years journey and spent their days in rugged ways that none of us have ever experienced. i do not begrudge them one bite of their mealchoices.

okay donner props ^^^^.

now....reasons we SHOULD eat people:

1. wasted meat in the ground. we talk about global warming and excess cattle/methane probs etc.

people die every day. eat them. recycling. Or if you prefer, hello, "the Road" (without the hunting)

2. funeral picnics (they aren't new but.....). As long as I didn't look ugly (or really no one had to really carve my bits) , I would rather have my friends and family eat me than pay 5k for a casket. gina-brisket (maybe with some cabbage)! much more fun than current funerals.

3. PC: no more need for formeldehyde and all the other chemicals used for embalming.

4. a ceremony time saver. rather than a funeral and then back to the house for a sandwich, just merge the two.

Recipe for me:
one quart of baby oil
lotsa salt
lotsa pepper
gianormous grill

brown me for one hour (preferably during prime tanning hours 12-2)
crematorium for at least 8 hrs

serve with spicy sauce of choice.

playin god

Ok. I know i tend to be a bit overly concerned about population control, but this is way fucking out of control. This morning, I had a parent meeting with 3 parents, (2 of the kids keep jumping the one kid). 3 mothers.....................26 kids betwixt (all moms younger than me) . Keeping special ed alive. shaking head again.

sniper

So, I am so intrigued by the bb sniper in the projects in front of my school, i decide today that i am going to solicit a shot in order to try to csi the shit. i go out, lurk a bit, case out all the pj windows (thinking that there will be one or two open ones aka: "clues". but gotdamn if not every single window in entire building was open, no green there and my taxpayer money flying out the windows) and stand still (he/she only shoots at stand stills). nuthin. walk back toward door. whoosh. bb right by my ear, hits door and bounces. police come, as usual they are too bored to care and nothing happens. 15 shots thus far, no investigation, no care. isn't that a bob marley song? i have a mtg tomorrow, but monday i am coming in camo with binoculars and i am solving this case.

posh spice

I am not exactly a pop-culture person. Example: tonight was the first night i ever actually laid eyes upon victoria beckham. wow. i thought i was staring nurse zira straight in the eyes.

art (in my world currently)

got home tonight at 6:30. giyhb took giyhbjr to some art party in time square. psyched to have a few minutes alone. on the fridge, a construction paper cutout with some really primative attachments, a one-eyed bear. (i am certain that i will see the second eye in his diaper tomorrow. ) i bawl. my non-speaking sons attempt at artful communication.

extrania

I know that i am a female anomaly, but i absolutely hate shopping. it is too overwhelming and busy and confusing and just a waste of time in my eyes. I walk into a mall or a store and immediately fall into this state of braindeadedness that i cannot explain. i have heard that the oxygen level is elevated in casinos to keep gamblers awakeix (which i like), and i swear that the opposite is going on in the average mall. as soon as i get in, i'm the dumbest mudskipper that ever snailed across a pile of prehistoria. evidence... shit i buy. I rarely shop (for me) and when i do, i walk out with 1000 bags of shit that could go straight into the very large goodwill pile in the northeast corner of our bedroom. you could snowboard down that pile. i am just not good at it.

i used to dress in-my-own-fashionable-ish-way. but i believe that aliens probed me and removed that part of my brain. so now i just wish i could wake up in the morning and jump into my sanctioned union suit so i wouldn't have to think about it, or go to macy's or the gap ever again.

target practice

My school secretary was shot today. One in the abdomen, one in the shoulder. While smoking a cigarette in front of the school. Pause. With a BB gun. Kids in the projects, having a little fun target practice from a window. She is fine. I shake my head.

As a kid, we would frequently use our friends as target practice as we pumped our "10-pumps" and have them walk back and forth like ducks as we shot at them. Getting hit did hurt, it stung, but not that bad. You took your turn and that was that. Unless you ran. Then you got the full ten pump straight in the ass at close range. I only have one remaining BB scar on my pinky. Mind you this was in fairfield county, ct. I shake my head.

Mind you, secretary was extremely upset. Emotionally troubled. Five days off with pay at tax payers expense. i shake my head.

my head never stops shaking.