Hallo-weenies
Hey Voodoo Childrens! I would very much like to wish you all a very happy Halloween. Your Voodoo Queen is ill, and managed to gather herself up enough to go to work (what a freakin' dedicated one I be). Whatever you do, please be careful tonight. Be safe, and look out for each other. It's a strange time we're all in, so we need to get over ourselves and lend a helping hand.
I showed up in costume. Scrubs. I am, therefore a nurse. What kind of nurse? The one that shaves the pubes before surgery. hahaahaha oh god, sorry. I was going to come with a glove dipped in chocolate and say I was a proctology nurse. That's not nice! So I just wore the scrubs, and all is well. I got to work, one of my students said, "You're a nurse!" I replied curtly, "It's because I'm Filipino, isn't it."
Anyway, I need to take some meds so I don't pass out, but in a meanwhile, this is what's playing in the Voodoo Lounge Mp3 player...
- Les Nubians - Makeda
- Dave Matthews Band - So Much to Say (Thin Air Acoustic)
- Diana Krall - Under My Skin, Frim Fram Sauce
- Sade - Kiss of Life
- Lifehouse - Hanging by a Moment
- BB King - Knock Me a Kiss
- Joe Sample/Lalah Hathaway - Fever
- Eagles - Take it Easy
Peace,
Voodoo
Vegas Redux
This was my third trip to Vegas. My first was a business trip. My second was for my cousin's graduation. Now, for my cousin's wedding. (different cousin, but you know what I mean)
I stayed at the Luxor. My family was stuck at the Tropicana and the San Remo, both old school, and I was supposed to chill with them, but as life would have it, I was not included in the bed count. So off to the bougie Luxor I went. It was a nice stay, all the good ish in one place. I didn't go clubbing, much to my dismay, as I didn't have a patna to roll with (gotta have that wingman), and I spent a lot of time with family, and that was cool. I got to reconnect with some cousins I haven't seen in years, and get to know my nephews and nieces.
But Vegas did leave some interesting impressions on my mind. I'll skip directly to those.
- "Let's not break up now. Let's just have a good time while we're here." She was crying, he was following behind her. She was determined to have fun, I guess.
- 20-50% drop in tourism makes for bad times, and it was DEAD in Vegas, from what I'm used to.
- The guys with the M-16's look really menacing, and so much so that I was curious what they'd actually do if confronted with danger.
- The 2 hour wait? Not necessarily a bad thing, most people just do it in stride.
- I saw quite a few guys who were absolutely gorgeous sitting down. Once they stood up, they were too short. Stock plummets. Sell!
- In Vegas, people who are not normally hooches become hooches. People who are hooches, turn it up a notch and become superhooches.
- The California Casino, on Fremont Street, has some really cute guys. And most of the clientel is Hawaiian. Hubba hubba.
- Northern California air, GOOD. Nevada air, BAD.
- Poolside, I watched the folks walk in and out. I saw two big Mr. Olympias making their move over to where I was. I saw them, and watched as they got suited down to get some sun. They were fairly massive behemoths. I was glad they didn't get into the way of my sun! They stripped shirts. Muscles. Everywhere. Kinda pasty. It's okay, we're working on that today. Not bad looking. Off come the sandals. Off come the pants. EW! TEAL GREEN LITTLE SPEEDOS! I put my head back down and went back to sleep grossed out.
- Cabs are cool, but some of the guys who drive them are freakin' WEIRD. Case in point is the one guy who came straight out of a cartoon and was so animated that he nearly lost control of the vehicle twice, and almost plowed down some tourists.
- Being one of the few girls in the Sports Book who know what's going on is freakin' COOL. Dudes dig it.
- Is it me or are the cocktail girls the most tired, upset and cranky chicks you'll ever meet?
- The Pink Taco. Great name for a taco joint in Vegas.
- I need a vacation from my vacation.
Love from,
The Voodoo
Voodoo Takes On Vegas
And this is what I
ran into...
I got your pony ride right here! More gory Vegas details when I glue all the bar napkins together...
Voodoo
Notes to Self
Don't go out to a bar the night before you have to wake up early.
Don't ever put your keys hanging from the back of your pants because you got no pockets.
Don't drink too much.
Don't forget to look behind you when you get ready to do your thang in the toilet.
Don't wait too long to fish your keys out of the toilet.
Don't worry, it was a good thing that you didn't make water before getting into the water.
Don't tell anyone about the water incident.
Don't accept another drink from anyone when you're already tipsy.
Don't accept IMs from exboyfriends.
Don't learn, do you?
Peace, love and applesauce. So, any ideas on where to go in Vegas? Blogback.
I'm off like a prom dress.
Voodoo
The Soul Grows Deeper
What is a soul? Is it the spiritual side of a person that understands what the brain doesn't? Is it the place where all memories are stored from the lives past and the lives that we are living today? Is it the vibration that passes through us? I don't quite know, maybe it's all of those things, and none of those things, all at once.
I like to think of the concept of the soul in this way: soulmates are the people in our lives that we instantly connect to and feel a profound deepness with. We return to our soulmates over and over in different lives, in different eyes, but we return to each other because that is where we belong. Are soulmates sexual? Not always. But there is a connection that supercedes that. And that is what the soul is, a transferable part of ourselves made up of our unique histories and lives that passes from one body to the next, with the thought that we are always and forever will be learning and building on to our selves.
The soul is the part of us that forges our strength, the place where we are truly ourselves and feel that it is okay to be there. Just like that. It is simple and not complex, but feels complex because to condense words and lives into simple phrases is difficult to do. You try it. What are you about? Go ahead. One phrase, and nothing trite, mind you. The soul is the part of you that you can count on to protect you in duress, and lift you in times of joy. It takes pictures for you to remember later on in life. Good pictures too.
I find that the soul is the part of me that I can count on to remember when I try to forget. It listens when no one else does. It forgives and wipes away tears.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the quality of soul in our world today, and part of that thought process
precipitated the need for this blog. And I know, that reflection is the most powerful way to come to terms of understanding ourselves and the world that we live in. Cultivating the soul is not a
travail that requires religion, work or baring one's ills and crimes, but it does require reflection of the most critical sort, that we are able to take a hard look at who and what we are, and what we hope to one day be.
Aspire to greatness, it's okay, and it's expected.
Off to Vegas I go tomorrow, my babies. I wish you all the best of weekends, and I will be computer free...I think. I raise my Ketel 1 Cosmo to you.
Love and kisses,
Voodoo
Voodoo Vents
Ever look into the eyes
of a woman who's been sexually assaulted?
They're no longer her eyes
They're the eyes of a woman who
Isn't herself, isn't able to be
Safe in the confines of her own body
And space
Around her.
Her eyes, red from the crying,
Staring off into space as
If you don't really matter
Because really you don't
Even though you're trying hard as hell
To be there.
Present.
Words don't come easily,
In those few moments
Where we're trying to connect and understand
The feelings and the shared moment.
Her eyes swim around in her head
Searching for the answers
Written in the distance, on the floor, on the wall
On the ceiling,
In your
eyes.
I have dealt with many women like this in my work, and each time it burns holes equally into my mind and heart. The concept of counselor aloofness doesn't mean we turn off our feelings, and the truth is we feel so much yet the moment doesn't allow us to feel and empathize THAT way. I sit quietly and search for the words in my head and find that sometimes it's better to be quiet and offer your presence instead. Our exchange only took a few minutes, but to be present is so difficult that it effectively knocked me out for the rest of the day.
I don't know what else to say, but try my hardest to make sure I never see eyes like hers on any woman. It's just not right for anyone, for that matter, to feel that kind of hurt and pain...
Voodoo
Moving Through the Speed of Life
I came across
this by chance, and couldn't take my eyes off it. I was also listening to an acoustic version of Lifehouse's
Hanging by a Moment, and you know, it sorta felt like a video. Check it out if you have the time.
Voodoo
Everyone Thank Mista J
I took this from brotha's
page. I thought it was so tight, I gaffed it.
I'd really like to:
-Kiss this guy
-Learn how to drive stick
-Take pictures with a real 35mm camera
-Swim in the ocean with the seals
-Grow my hair long so I can feel the wind whip it around me as I run around
-Tell Gar that he's a fucking bitch sometimes
-Take all my friends to Bodega Bay again
-Blow kisses at someone famous
-Find Osama bin Laden and make him say sorry
-Show others how to be creative without trying
-Teach someone how to sing and write
-Teach education courses at Harvard
-Be someone's hero
-Sleep next to someone
Colors that provoke me to think:
Black--the color of shadows and absence
Brown--Kayumanggi, what an elder called me, and said was my native name
Purple--royalty, Crown Royals
Blue--Adios Motherfuckers with friends at Boone's
Orange--Do you work for Cal Trans?
Red--the ideal color, my favorite color, my energy and my passion
Green--the East Coast in the Fall
Pink--heeeeeeeeeeeeey
Yellow--sunflowers waving in the sun
White--daisies, my favorite flowers (white roses come in second)
important numbers:
30--received my doctorate, went to spain
29--year that the baby clock went off, and I cried when it happened
27--I found love, that fucker
24--felt pain and exacted vengeance
23--my athletic jersey number in grammar school, years I was in school
22--age at which cut all my hair off (it was waist length)
21--felt like i wasn't going to see 25
20--changed majors because I couldn't do calculus
18--three boyfriends and a whole lotta drama
17--"the Harvard recruiter wants to see you. I think you're good to go." it changed my life.
15--age at which I busted for making out
13--times I did the nooky
10-- times I could have avoided the nooky because it wasn't all that
7--my number
5--years of college
4.5--average penis length
4--times i've said i love you and meant it
3--times i've been cheated on
2--number of kids i want
1--life to live, so do just that. get busy living or get busy dying.
0--regrets.
P's.
Voodoo
Love
I was wandering about Tower Records tonight, partially to get some new music, and partially to get out of my house, and see what the rest of the world is doing. I meandered through the isles, doubling back more than a few times as I eagerly sought out things to buy. There are things of course I wanted, and those are drastically different than the things that I need, but I picked up CDs, DVDs and other little things, caressed the edges with my fingertips and lusted heartily after the little things in life. I clutched five CDs to my chest as well as two DVDs and headed to the register.
What does this have to do with the title "Love"?
Lots of things, I suppose. We talk about love in a casual manner, in a way that some say cheapen the meaning, but the experience of love itself remains elusive and without so much of an acknowledgment that we actually co-exist. I write this from the deepest recesses of my soul, not because I am living la vida solo these days, but because the search is universal in a sense. And it came to me as I wandered through the stores I visited tonight. Love drives us, not necessarily romantic love, although that has been known to start a few wars or two, but love is the motivator. Love is the thing. That's it. Love is the THING. If there is something you love to see, you keep a picture of it in your mind. If there is something you love to eat, you crave it until you find it upon your tongue again. If there is something you love to do, you will either clear your schedule to make sure it happens, or you will forget about your other priorities to be able to do it. At all costs.
Love drives us. Love moves us. Love is. The THING.
Love mobilizes the mind to rationalize the two opposing forces in order that the outcome we desire, yet is not necessarily the one we should have, go down without a hitch. Love leaves you with a taste in your mouth and leaves you yearning, and again, as if I have to remind you, this isn't necessarily romantic love (for those of you with the taste for, well, you know). Love makes you blind, gives you the strength you thought you never had, picks you up and when it looks at you, and you at it, you feel as if you are the only person in the room. That my friend, is a beautiful feeling.
It is the highest high, the mover of mountains, the most painful of deaths, the most rewarding of all. Once removed from our object/person/vibe/place of desire, we are nothing. There is nothing but space, and the void we fall into consumes us entirely.
Love, I hate you, I want you, make me whole.
Revolutionaries are guided by love. Love of country, love of freedom from oppression. Teachers are guided by love. Love of student, love of learning. Religion. Music.
Gastronomy. Nations. Violence. Hatred. Racism. Peacekeepers. All love. All driven by the forces we often do not call love, but feel it in the recesses of our soul, even when shopping at Tower Records.
Love is defined in so many ways, all dependent on person, location, reason, language, and I could go on. Love gives us reason, defines us for what we want to be. It chooses us, we do not choose it, and we feel its forces upon us as we sleep in the visions of our dreams. Dreams - the deepest of our subconscious speaks to us there. Now how scary is that? Long after the person is gone, we find the memories coursing through our veins, and it is the memory we hold dearest. Love is the reason why we hold onto things: maybe to regain that past, to remember the feeling, to give us purpose.
I don't know where this is going, and to think that I had all of this in my mind. That LOVE, which is THE THING, means so much to us, yet we acknowledge it so rarely, and can only recognize it when it is romantically affiliated. Yet, I bet, even then, when the love of your life, whoever she/he is, is standing before you, you are never quite sure, but have the inkling that this indeed, is love.
So chase after love, and let it guide you, but go with wisdom, and may you find the love(s) of your life.
Love,
Voodoo
Kick Ass
Okay kiddies, I think I've found my new design. I think most of you, except Beer Can, that damn dirty ape, will think that this is good.
At any rate, I'm still tweaking it. There are some things missing, like the archives, but I'm workin on it as we speak. Props and love to Andrea at
B8Graphics for the hook up.
Take care, and I'll blogatcha later tonight.
Voodoo
Under Construction
Sorry kiddies, I'm in the process of changing things around. Please be patient! If you have any feed back, let me know. I'm kinda lost on where to put the links, etc. So if you have any bright ideas (because bright is what you are...) Let me know. I'm open to suggestions, and although this isn't my final decision of the layout, your feedback is always important. I will put up the new design tomorrow which I think is better and cuter. Just hit the (your turn, baby) tag at the end of the post.
Voodoo
PS: Someone pass the ibuprofen, my knee is shot (fell on it on a hardwood floor) and my forearms and wrists are killin' me from volleyball. Time for a nice hot shower!
This is a Reprint from last Valentine's Day...I pulled it out of the Voodoo Mailbox for a friend...
Voodoo Says Shhhh.
We are consumed with chatter. Talking. Yammering. Speaking. I don't know if you've ever heard silence, but chances are, if you ever have, it's not very comfortable. There is a void that needs to be filled. There is an emptiness and a certain vulnerability that comes with talking. It's not easy, especially between significant others. We tend to search for words to say, for things to talk about. It's uneasy because you say to yourself, "I'm sure there's something to say."
I would like to ask that for some moment today, that you sit back and listen to silence. Don't try to talk, don't try to fill in the emptiness with idle chatter. It's going to be hard, but for a moment, just be. Be. That's right, don't do SHIT, Voodoo babies, and it'll be one of the best things that you can do in your day. Think about nothing, just inhale and exhale.
I know for many of you this will be hard. I don't recommend that you do it when you're mid-conversation with someone, that's bad form. Don't do it while you're working with heavy machinery. Do it when you're at an impasse, and you need to listen to your surroundings. It's a meditation of sorts. Listen to what's going on around you, to the sounds that pass through our day. How much have you missed while you're busy making the world go around? Turn off your radio when you drive. Try that one too.
I would also like to talk about another kind of silence. It's the comfortable silence. The one that two people can share with each other and not fear that anything is wrong. It's the most wonderful thing in the world, at least I think. I don't know if you can find this with another person, but if you can, hang onto it. To him. To her. I think, Voodoo Babies, that the most blessed thing we can do for each other is honor the silence rather than break it.
That's enough for now. Now just sit. And think on it.
It's the things that aren't said that sometimes matter most.
The things that are said, sometimes get in the way.
But the trick is knowing what it is that you have to say
And that you don't.
I wonder, if together, we can just be,
And enjoy
When what needs to be said,
Has been said,
And that which remains inside
Is already known,
And doesn't require a word.
Shh.
Voodoo
The Psychic
"I know you.”
I turned around and saw a small woman pointing at me. She was short, European, had dyed red hair. She was wearing a yellow dress and had fliers in her hand. She was stocky, sort of a bright looking sunspot on an otherwise nondescript street.
I had been walking up and down Clement Street looking for something to eat. Thai, I mused. I had my ATM card clutched in my hand. It was afternoon, and I took off from work to be alone for a bit, and to get some food that wasn’t available on campus which usually meant that it was not going to make me sick. The last few days left my stomach reeling…
“I know you.” She walked up to me and said, “I can tell you things!” She got really excited and started fluttering her arms around. She started to look like a little fat chicken with orange fliers in her wings. I watched her with mild amusement.
“Excuse me?” I asked her as she circled me like some kind of fat yellow shark.
“You are powerful, strong. Your aura is bright!”
“That’s nice…” I said. Bright. Hm. I’ll have to check on what that means later, I said to myself. I wondered what color it was. Auras have colors associated with them, so I heard. I suppose mine would be well, let me see if she’ll tell me.
“There is someone in your life!” She chirped. The shark was now a fat songbird. “Someone you care about deeply, and that person cares about you too! I know you, I do really know you.”
“Who you talking about?” Truth was, there was someone there, but it was long since over. A summer something. She looked at me for a moment, and said, “You must come with me.” By now I was not only amused, but I was intrigued. Against my better wisdom, I followed her.
We entered a stairwell, and I looked up, the sign said “Madame Psychic.” Now I knew two things were going to happen: I was going to do something I’d never done, and I would also get a kick out of whatever was going to go down. The stairs to her place were the greenest green I have ever seen in my whole life. It was an extremely plush green carpet that left traces of my footprints when I walked up the stairs.
I followed her into the back of the flat, to a small room. I noticed a phat TV, stereo, a sunken eyed child sitting in the floor on the way to the room. I took mental notes. We sat down, and she stared at me with beady eyes. I smirked. She lit a candle, clasped her hands in front of her and sighed deeply. "There is much to tell you. Things you need to know now." I nodded, concerned about what she was going to tell me. "But first--"
There is always a but first, you ever notice that? I am going to give you the grand prize,
but first...I love you, and want to give you the world
but first...BUT FIRST BULLSHIT. You know, but first is always a prelude to some really janky stuff. I ticked off all the times I heard
but first in my life. I could barely restrain my laughter.
"But first," she continued, "I require twenty five dollars."
See, I told you. I didn't know how to approach this. I paused for a moment. I knew I had the money in my wallet. But let's test this true psychic. "I don't have any money."
"Hmm. That is bad. How about a check."
"Nope."
"How about a credit card? There is an ATM downstairs, Bank of America."
I smiled, and said, "No, I don't have either." I scanned her thoughts and saw her mind racing with how to get that money in her palm. She grabbed my hand, "You must know, right away, get the money, I urge you." I pulled my arm away gently, and kindly thanked her for her time. I walked out of the house, looked at the sunken eyed kid and headed down the stairs. I could hear The Psychic sighing.
I walked out into the sunlight laughing to myself, and I turned around to look at the woman's flat with the green glowing sign. I wondered if she could, in her psychic eye, see me pulling out the twenty dollar bill and paying for the food. Or if she could see me trying to out-psychic the psychic.
I turned on my heels and headed for the Thai restaurant that I loved, and ordered the usual: Pad Thai and Thai Fried Rice.
And I found her again, out on the street plying her trade. She didn't blink when I walked by.
Voodoo
PS: This is a true story.
Lustful Thoughts and Lyrics to Match
Yesterday...so hectic. But alas, much fun. Interesting. Very interesting.
I woke up at 10, headed to the Head Case's place, turned blond. Mother Voodoo doesn't like it very much, so that means it's a good thing. I wind up staying too late, and then race to Beer Can's so that I can get my ass over to the
Bridge School Benefit. Since I don't really listen to any of the dudes who were
playing, that is, REM, Ben Harper, Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews, Jill Sobule, Billy Idol, Tracy Chapman and Neil Young, I thought it might be interesting to check it out and enjoy it.
Problem.
No tickets.
I am too bourgeois to go anywhere without tickets, so I sucked that up and said, due to Beer Can's assurances, that this would NOT be a problem. He wanted in via scalpers. At any rate, our trip there was fraught with 1) him not knowing where the damn thing was ("What's the matter, are you fucking high?" I shrilly replied.), 2) a visit to a friend's plac, 3) McDonald's shit fest, 4) Cigarette stop, and 5) somewhere in there, wanting to yak. Yakkage due to combination of Beer Can's incessant honking the horns and screaming "bridge school" and McDonald's greasy shit festering in my virgin stomach...such was a brief few moments.
We got to the Shoreline. And what looked like Beer Can throwing up a peace sign was a request for TWO tickets. No love. Then we stood in line for the next 3-4 hours. Well, make that
I stood in line for that long while Beer Can went in search of tickets. Using my Zen Master skills, I just stood and people watched the whole time, and made friendly conversation with the old dudes who were in line around me. Sure enough, we heard Billy Idol play. While we were in line. We heard Tracy Chapman play. While we were in line. We heard Ben Harper. While we were in line. This is starting to look really fresh, and Beer Can nearly nuts himself because "If we miss Dave Matthews, I'll be so pissed." Then the line moves.
And moves some more.
We move a total of 30 feet into the hallowed area known as The Box Office. Plunk down 52.50 each and baby, we're 7 rows from the front. Yes, THE FRONT. Is Dave Matthew's zipper down, I don't know, because I'm so blinded by the stage lighting I'm so freakin' close. People are smoking out everywhere around me, not my thing (The Voodoo is Drug Free, thank you very much). At any rate, the next few hours that we were there, I got to listen to some good music that I don't normally listen to, but I'm sold, baby. Lots of fun, good times, and chillin', what more could you really ask for?
Lemme just say this, my dears, what wound up being an unsurety, wound up being a most excellent time out. I totally enjoyed myself. Funny how that happens, isn't it? When you have the least expectation, life just seems to be a beautiful thing. I've learned to appreciate that more and more in my life, and I certainly hope that you can all come to that. The biggest joys are in the least expected nooks. Last night was like that.
Oh speaking of which, add onto the list of qualities that a man must have in order to qualify for the position of Voodoo Concubine (which I will expound further on in due time), you must add that he has to sing, that is, sing not necessarily well, or sing like any particular person, but he just has to sing. And that is just one way to win a Voodoo's heart.
I gotta bounce out to Davis for a small speaking engagement, but here's a shout out of love to my Voodoo Babies and to Beer Can...Git you back later on tonight.
Voodoo
Introducing YOU, the Voodoo Baby of my Life
Okay kids, a few months back, I tried to do some of them dotcomments so that my readers, the beautiful and lovely Voodoo Babies, who I just love and worship so much, can share their thoughts and words with me and the rest of you Voodoolized Ones.
So at the end of this blog you'll see something that says, "Your Turn"
Click there, and add your comments, your words, your wisdom, your wedding proposals, your lustful thoughts. It's all on you now, so I fully expect that you'll contribute to that vast piece of wisdom known as the Voodoo Lounge.
P's baby, it's all you.
Voodoo
Voodoo Writes Her Obituary
Last night, I found myself in an alley, drinking a beer, smoking a cigar and chillin with the Beer Can. A homeless guy comes by, selling the Street Sheet, a newspaper that he needs to sell in order to get some money for a place to sleep. He's relatively well dressed, for a homeless person, and he approaches me. Part of me is so used and immune to the plight of homeless men and women, that it's really easy for me to say, "sorry man" when I'm greeted with a gruff plea for money and an open hand. But I was chilling outside the Irish Bank, having a relatively nice evening, and he asks me for some assistance.
I smile, ask him to hang onto the paper, but take my dollar. He smiles, and somehow or another, I ask him to sing a song for me. He proceeds to start singing "Living for the Love of You" by the Isley Brothers. We laugh, I nudge up the range a little bit, we laugh more. He moves on after a thank you and a slight admonishment for smoking a cigar ("Cause you're a lady," he says. Beer Can interjects, "That's no lady, mister.") I'm feeling cool, watching out of the corner of my eye as he makes his move throughout the mostly white crowd swilling beer and posing. By now, Beer Can and I are ready to leave. He returns back to me and starts to sing again, and we do most of the song together. A good time, a good song, good company, a nice cold beer and a cigar, and I'm happy.
And that's how I want to be remembered.
She knows how to make you laugh and sing, and she can bring out your light in the dark. She'll buy you a drink and offer you a pull off her cigar, but most of all, she'll never make you feel like she doesn't care, because somewhere underneath it all, she really does. Remember me thusly: a grin, a laugh, and never too busy for you.
And with that, I can die happy.
Voodoo
Bald Head of the Month
I would like to welcome into the ranks of such luminary domes as Alonzo Mourning, Vin Diesel, and that God known as Patrick Stewart is Arnold Vosloo.
Who the hell is Arnold Vosloo?
Imhotep from the Mummy and the Mummy Returns, dammit, what a papi, I must say.
Okay, he's not UBER fine, but that boy's got skills.
I am a sucker for a pretty smile. It'll floor me each and every time.
And then they open their mouths, and all kinds of dumbness flow out. How attractive is that. Anyways, back to the man of the month. I just finished watching The Mummy Returns. I'm stunned, it's such a good movie, lots of fun and not to mention Brendan Fraser. Gay or not, big ups. Encino Man ruled as far as I'm concerned. And Oded Fehr, I'm having a heart attack over here.
Well, props to
Arnold and his South African accent. Much love, and can I rub yer dome?
Voodoo
Vexations
It vexes me, darlings, that whenever I've been in the shower complete with a shower curtain, the curtain blows inward and sticks to my legs. It creates a feeling of eerie "don't touch me there you freak." You know that feeling, don't you?
But then again, none of you have been near Dirty Boy.
Anyways, I digress. So this shower curtain floating up and sticking to my legs. I always wondered, maybe it was the water. Maybe my sheer magnetism. Maybe my bristly leg hairs were grappling for something to cling to. I don't know. But I tell you who does
know...This dude actually went out and discovered the phenomena.
Can we say, too much time? Well read it and be astonished about the forces at work in your shower, and I'm not talking about pissing down the drain or how a hot shower makes...me...sleepy.
Wait, it gets better. Nose picking. Adolescents. Go hand in hand, right? Here's
WHY. Four times a day? YES someone actually did a study on this TOO. Shit, what's next?
THIS is what's next. Try not to laugh. I might buy you a pair.
And finally, remember, this is considered "
A Work of Art."
Smile for me, honey!
Voodoo
What Are You Thinking?
Two nights ago, I had a dream that someone from my past came back into my life. That is, after some time away from the Voodoo, he out of nowhere emailed me and told me he was dying. I didn't email him back, but I sat back in my chair and started to think about the shit I went through with this guy. I started to feel some kind of remorse over the whole thing, and then I remembered all the bullshit I went through.
I, in my dream form, snapped into Zen Master mode. I closed the email window and went on with my day.
Soon, another message came. It was laced with pretty pictures of bells, wedding rings, and people all dressed in wedding finery. At the end of a very long scroll were words of regret and apologies, something toward the effect of sorry for never asking you to marry me.
Again, I entered Zen Master mode. Instead of reacting like I normally did, I sat back again, and pondered the situation and felt at peace with myself rather than bubble up with inferno rage like I normally would have in this situation.
I woke up a while later, feeling a bit tired as I have been in the last few weeks, and I found myself wondering what the fuck is going on with my subconscious self when I'm sleeping. Maybe all this Zen Master stuff isn't working. Maybe repression isn't working. Maybe I should just chill out and have a beer.
But then again, at 5:19 AM, beer isn't exactly the best thing.
Breakfast of champions, Zen Mistress,
Voodoo
Guess Who's Having a Baby!
Okay kiddies, here's the tale of the tape.
Friday meant Oktoberfest with the Beer Can, appropriately named for his 1)love for beer, and 2) penchant for pissin' after consuming said beer. We polka'd. We drank. We drank some more. Fun in the midnight air, and don't step on the puke! Met up with the So-Called Shy Guy and his merry men, and continued to North Beach where I got bitched at for poking a rubber anus and vagina in Big Al's adult emporium. He wouldn't bitch if he knew how good it felt. To me, at least. I had to keep an eye out just in case I had some students on my trail. Can't be too off the hook, you know.
On Saturday, lots of fun and baby socks for my dear friend, The Man Stealer. World of Curls and I hosted the Baby Shower of Epic Proportions (as evidenced by the amount of food). Lots of fun, lots of cute guys (YES!), and even a dip in the pool.
Here's the
pictures to go with the event. Blessedly enough, there were lots of things we didn't wind up doing (some games, etc.) and World of Curls said that it was going to be saved for MY baby shower.
Yes, I have to tell everyone out there. I am going to have a baby. I didn't want to tell anyone, nor did I want to break the news before I told my parents and brother, but I'm going to have a child. I mean, one of these days, I'm going to have a child, NOT now, or anything like that. All you guys out there take a cumulative deep breath, especially those guys I've been spending a lot of time with. I gotta find a good donor out there who'll be a good pops first. God knows there are lots of donors, but no fathers I've met yet...
At any rate, here's an observation I'd like to make: we had the baby shower and it was the bringing together of the wife's friends and husband's friends. I mean, they were together for a bit, but they didn't really interact with each other. Oh well. I was torn because I'm a member of both crews, so to speak, but I felt really awkward. I got issues, childrens.
The weather was beautiful, but a little warm for some folks. I was loving it, and I wished that I could sit outside, but that wasn't happening. I was busy running around. I wanted to go out last night, but I was tired as tired could tired and I wound up staying home. I heard it was a beautiful night for a walk in the City, but I'll have to take his word for it. Tonight I was in Alameda watching Buff Bagwell play hockey. My boy got a hat trick, so that's gravy, so we went to Gordon Biersch where we celebrated that and his victory. I dropped my cell phone from the deck into the bushes, and I couldn't find that fucker. So Buff had to ask a guy at the next table to call my phone so I can dig for it in the bushes. Cute. But it worked. Lots of girls tonight, and Buff and Shoe Seller were happy.
I was happy to be out, enjoy the cool breeze and a good weekend of fun with friends from back in the day, and spend the weekend looking at cute boys. Oh yah, lots of those. So on Monday, back to reality, and back to work. I can't wait for the next weekend to do it all over again.
Voodoo
Como Fue por Ernesto Duarte
Como fue
No sé decirte como fue
Ni sé explicarme que pasó
pero de ti me enamoré
Fue una luz que iluminó todo mi ser
Tu risa como un manantial
Llenó mi vida de inquietud
¿Fueron tus ojos o tu boca?
¿Fueron tus labios o tu voz?
Fue a lo mejor la impaciencia
de tanto esperar tu llegada.
Más, no sé, no sé decirte cómo fue
ni sé explicarme qué pasó,
per de ti me enamoré.
--a mi amor, si no te conoce en este momento...te espero, mi sueno.
Te llevo en mi alma.
Voodoo
The Fatal Flaw
This is a post that I wrote a few years ago, and I thought it was interesting enough to bring back. At the end is the updated revisions.
We all know him. He's the most wonderful guy in the world, BUT...
But what, girlfriend? But he was incarcerated for murder and grand theft auto? But he likes to beat the shit outta me? But he has a wife and kids? But he has a boyfriend already?
But WHAT?
The Fatal Flaw is the one thing that definitely makes a guy a no-no. That means stay away. Run away would be better, but he's just ever so perfect. You can bring him home to mom, but advise him to not show off his swastika tattoo or show how he fought off a shank while in Charlie Block at San Quentin. The history of the Fatal Flaw is this. When you first meet this special person,
you find all the wonderful things that this person does. Oh, he's so all that. He's fine. He's smart. He can hold a conversation. He opens doors for you. And a few weeks later, something happens. The ugly side of things comes out. He starts to do that facial tick every time you say, "Honey, would you mind picking up after yourself?" He stares in the mirror more than you do. You caught him wearing your underwear.
But you know what, you say to yourself, hmmmmmmmm.
"Oh, it's just a one time thing, it's no big deal." Oh yah right, it's no big deal,
IT IS THE DEAL. Run away, lose his number and go into the Federal Witness Program. Not kosher. Do not pass go, forfeit the $200. Okay, so I might be a little harsh on this topic. But time after time, I have heard someone (girl or boy) say,
(insert name here) is so cool, but if only he/she didn't
(insert heinous Fatal Flaw here), then it'd be perfect." Well, I hate to break it to you, baby, but
THE ONLY THING YOU CAN CHANGE ABOUT A PERSON IS HIS/HER SOCKS.
And maybe then the Fatal Flaw isn't too much to deal with if it's just stinky feet.
Helpful hints:
- You just can't change a person, so don't bother trying.
- If it bothers you now, chances are, it'll bother you later.
- If someone told you you had a "Fatal Flaw" what would you do?
- You will spot the Fatal Flaw immediately. Do your background search immediately.
- Don't think that the Fatal Flaw will go away. It just gets worse.
- Oh yah, your friends will point it out before you do.
Of course you understand that I'm being facetious, don't you Voodoo Children? Of course you are. You're all so bright. It is my honest and certain belief that there are things that you just can't tolerate in certain people, and that makes the relationship pretty fuckin' doomed if you ask me. Honestly, I love the way in which we rationalize things. Rationalization, my lovelies, is trying to reduce the friction that occurs between two opposing values and making what would normally be a bad situation all good. Somehow. So that makes certain things tolerable: his accent, his nose picking habit, his lack of want of commitment, his wandering eye. Now you know, honies, that I am using the proverbial HE to be a she/he thing, cause girls, we got 'em too. Fatal Flaws. And more clarification lends itself to that there are SOME people who have more than ONE Fatal Flaw.
There are some wonderful men, lots of whom I've met and adored with a passion best described by sweaty palms and googoo eyes, but once that Fatal Flaw reveals itself, they instantly turn into a hideous beast. Plummetting stock! Beware! But to be fair, there are men out there with Flaws that are not worth the dump and run strategy. Flaws can be bad things, but once you get to know them, and YOURSELF, because that's what it's really about, you might find that their Fatal Flaw is a charming quirk you might fall in love with. It depends again, on the individual in question. Either you can hang or you won't, and it's even more important to state that one person's Fatal Flaw may be another person's orgasmic trigger. You never know, the way you point with your lips might just bring someone to ecstacy and make another cry his/her ass off.
But remember this, my babies, Voodoolicious as you are, we all got flaws. I know what mine are, and maybe you know yours, but when you understand what they are, it'll help you understand yourself a whole lot better. Put your cards on the table, baby, I know you ain't perfect, but who really is? And I just might fall in love with you. God help us all ;-)
VOodoO
Oktoberfest
Oktoberfest is drunkfest.
This is drunkfest.
Therefore, this is
Oktoberfest.
Enjoy,
Vudu
Deductive Reasoning.
Deductive reasoning is the way in which to uncover the "truth" by using logical chains of thought.
All A is B.
m is B.
Therefore, m is A.
All men are dogs.
Nekkid Barrel Man is a Man.
Therefore Nekkid Barrel Man is a Dog.
Isn't this fun.
This is what we went over in class today. Chains of reasoning that are difficult to understand, but we use them all the damn time in real life. That is, we use logic to determine what it is we are going to do today, what we are going to think today, etc. Rationalizations abound, and we use THOSE to justify our train of thought and our processes of doing things.
Girls like to pee en masse.
I am a girl.
I like to pee en masse.
Now the difference between good logic and bad logic, both of the above forms are BAD logic, by the way, is the coherent argument that is created by proper form and proper content. Girls pee in groups. That is a pretty good fact. We all know that. We also know that I'm a girl. But that doesn't mean that I take my wizz breaks with the others. Not always true.
God is love.
Love is blind.
Ray Charles is blind.
Therefore, Ray Charles is God.
My students insist that I should change Ray Charles to Stevie Wonder. Kids these days....
Stereotypes are based on faulty assumptions and logic. Making generalized statements are based on realities that are not always in check. Content may not be appropriate, yet logical validity exists. Sounds crazy, huh. But think about it. What are the generalizations that you've made today? What are they based on?
Just a thought about the craziness. Breaking down things into manageable peices makes life a little easier, but harder to look at. We challenge assumptions, only to have our own challenged. Are you ever the same afterwards? I doubt it. But knowledge makes a bloody entrance. Go with it.
Voodoo
Left Behind
The thoughts of almost a month ago still somewhat fresh in my head, I look out into the skyline and wonder if that will change at some point in the future. I sit under a tree with some students, shoot the breeze, watch the world pass by and then I went to teach my class.
The class was uneventful, just a lot of talking about the topic at hand, deductive reasoning. I looked outside the door and saw a herd of students moving quickly outside the building. I glanced at my watch and noticed that it was only 2:30PM, and that a class must have gotten out. I went on with the material, and at the end of class, I walked to our main department. I noticed that the lights were off, and that there was a sign saying that the office was closed. A man from Plant Services, or we thought, looked at us with a slight grin, "Is everyone out of the class?" We nodded, and he went on his way.
The Gar and I thought it was wierd, so we headed back to our office, and then we were stopped by the campus police. "No one is to enter the building. Please evacuate campus until 5:30 this evening." I panicked because I didn't have my cell, my keys, my bag, nothing. I was basically stuck like chuck. The Gar offered to take me home, and we stood around trying to figure out what was going on. The campus officer in charge of public safety informed us that there was a bomb threat to the entire campus. Soon the President came by to talk to us. I begged an officer to let me back into the building, and he grudgingly let me in to grab my things. I locked up quickly and ran out.
Suffice it to say, in a matter of minutes, the campus was barren. Students went to wait by the soccer fields and the baseball field, the appointed areas in which to meet. Our evacuation plans were not formed well, and there was a lot of confusion. We returned to campus two hours later to close things at the office. It turns out that the bomb threat cleared most of campus at 2:30. That's the herd of students going by my room. All offices were shut down. The offices were locked. Access to all buildings denied. And yet I went on teaching.
My staff, who closed down their office, didn't bother to get us out of the building. They're only two doors down.
They left without a word.
I was shaken to say the least, not because of the possibility of a bomb going off SOMEwhere. I was more shaken by the fact that everyone else was aware except of me. It's somewhat frightening to think that others would not attempt to find their colleagues. Maybe I'm being a bitch about it, but imagine if everyone left their offices, and no one told you. Someone went to other classrooms, apparently to tell them about the news.
They bypassed us.
Livid? Yes. Scared? Yes. Bomb threats happen, though, all the time. During midterms and finals, these things happen. Students don't study? "There's gonna be a bomb." Students pissed off? "Clear your campus by 4-5." In a time like this, these kinds of frivolities aren't taken lightly. I certainly hope that someone is held accountable for this bullshit. In a meanwhile, life goes on. Until this issue is resolved around the world, I suspect we'll have to live a little bit on our toes. It's a shame, but that's life in an age of war.
Dig it,
Voodoo
Nocturnal Omissions
God, I am tired.
Friday, worked, went to the GIANTS game. Saw Barry hit #71 and #72. Jumped up and did the hustle. History, baby, that's all I gotta say. Nipple hard ons for days. Good shit, now if only we can get to the post season.
I did the LSATs on Saturday. Drunken Master, Beer Can and World of Curls I love you guys. Thanks for helping me out. Next time, DON'T GET PERVED THE NIGHT BEFORE.
After LSATs, drove down to Fullerton to see Cynical. I had to fight with the Voodoo Parents to go, because as life would have it, no one was down to roll with Voodoo. Now kids, it's one thing to flake with purpose. Like you got shit to do, and that I understand. But come on now, don't dog a sister out on some shit that she had to do. I'm not tearin' up the two dudes who were supposed to roll with me (one of whom is an apostle, tsk tsk), but in general, don't pull that weak shit on me. That's the easy way to get on the SHIT list. You remember the SHIT list, don't you?
Insert flashback sequence music and squiggly lines here ;-)
The Shit List- Exboyfriends with "can't let go" problems that just want to call and say hi. ALL THE TIME. You were thinking about me? Well, I wasn't thinking about you! Go away and gimme back my SHIT.
- People who flake on you for bullSHIT reasons! I'm a counselor, we know these things, and you ain't that fuckin' slick!
- People who borrow money from you constantly, then you see them ballin' with another friend. WITH YOUR MONEY!
- People who have no game.
- People who fall for people with no game.
- If you're late, CALL, goddammit.
- Stop talking to my breasts, they can't answer you back. And if they could, they'd tell you what an asshole you are.
- SIGNAL when you're changing lanes.
- Did I say you could call me by my nickname? No? Then don't.
- I might talk ghetto, act ghetto, and be ghetto, but that STILL doesn't give you the right to follow me around the store!
- Liking someone and not being able to do anything about it. SHIT!
- Girl, he might be your man, but he's with YOU, so don't trip if he peeps the Voodoo! hahahaha Sorry, had to put that in there.
Okay, back to reality.
At any rate, I drove down to Fullerton by myself. Yes, all 416 miles to my destination by myself. My folks didn't want me to go, but I insisted, and I used my Jedi mind tricks to free myself of their reign of terror and headed out the door and onto I-80 towards SoCal. In turn, I had to make sure I packed 24 CDs to listen to, food from the LSAT, and my cell phone at the ready. Talked to a couple of people on the way down to resolve myself that I was going to be okay. Talked to The Boy Wonder, which is always a great pleasure. Driving somewhere always allows one to reach a unique zone of repeated moments of clarity, and I had a few. I won't go into them now, since moments of clarity are best examined for a few days before unleashing what could possibly be a life-changing event upon the world. I pondered my recent bout with Manorexia, not to be confused with Boylimia. I also pondered my next big move in life (Roma or Parigi?). I pondered my reason for living. I pondered my next seduction. I pondered the recent terrorism. I pondered about the things I still need to do in life. I pondered the things I've accomplished. As you can see, it was a very eventful trip. Which reinforces, in my mind, that it's not the destination, it's the journey...
I arrived at the plush Chase Suites. Wait, change that to the 70's Sex Hotel Chase Suites. In-room jacuzzi complete with spotlight. King size bed. Partition to brace yourself for the backdoor action. Couch. Rotating Singapore Sling Chair. No free porns, though. Cynical rolled through, we went to Rock'n Bowl, Anaheim's version of Cyberbowl. Pounded a Ketel One Cape Cod on an empty stomach, and it's time to go. 3AM. I'm tired, and there's a guy who looks like a guy I dated in college. Memories. Empty stomach. Buzz. Tired. Phone calls from boys in LA who want to hook up. Time to get dropped the fuck off so I can sleep!
The next AM, this morning, actually, we have brunch with the Jedi Council. Myself (Yoda), Cynical (Obi Wan), Luke, Wedge/Watto/Wookie, and Han Solo South. We discussed football, the current terrorism crisis, and developed a new vocabulary you might be interested in:
Ways in Which to Utilize the Current Terrorism Crisis to Discuss Your Failed Dating Habits Discreetly With Friends- The consulate has severed all diplomatic ties.
- A bombing run is in effect.
- The flag has been lowered at the consulate.
- The staff has evacuated the consulate.
- Negotiations of peace have failed.
- A coalition has been formed against the enemy.
- The world does not recognize the regime as a legitimate government.
- The cruise missile has missed its target.
- The current line of propaganda has rendered the situation at a standstill.
- Summon the Department of Defense, we're under attack.
- "I'm not going to send a 2 million dollar missile to hit a $10 empty tent and a camel's ass." - Dubya
- Raise the white flag.
- Smoking the enemy out of his/her cave is useless.
- Biological warfare at its worst.
- What would Bill Clinton do?
I headed back to SF around 4, got back here around 10:20. It's a long drive. Lots of trucks, cars, etc. It's the weekly pilgrimage, I suppose. I hate driving back, it's such a long trek, but again, time to think. It's actually nice too because you don't have to worry about a lot, just keep focused on the road. Make sure the trucks don't mow you over. Make sure no one follows you out of the truck stop, etc. My brother, Buff Bagwell, was kind enough to call me every so often to make sure I got home okay. I was kind enough to put Air Supply songs on his voicemail as a reward. He cussed me out for that one.
I'm glad to report that Cynical is doing okay. We got a lot of good quality time in, talking and jiving like we always did. It's nice to reconnect with friends, isn't it. Unfortunately it wasn't in the best of conditions. I'm glad I could be there for the short time I was and that I could share this time with you all.
I'm off to catch up on my sleep. Gotta work tomorrow: "columbus day". Whatever.
VoodooLove
The Things I'd Say
One Now that you're of that age, what
are you doing to do with your life?
Two I know life ain't easy, but does that mean you gotta take the easy way out every single fucking time?
Three You'll never know love as long as you haven't defined it for yourself.
Four I tend not to feel sympathy for people who can't even take care of themselves yet ask for the hand out.
Five Do you honestly think I care?
Six When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. You don't throw them back at the person who gave them to you, asshole.
Seven Beauty is best defined by things that are unseen.
Eight I think the world would be a better place if it didn't have egos, too much pride, and pollution.
Nine Why yes, I'd like another.
Ten Okay, ex-boyfriends, stop calling me unless you've got something really damn good to say. And that damn good thing better not be "I'm seeing someone who reminds me of you."
Eleven Just because you paid for dinner does not make you a baller. Try doing that every single time we go out, then you might earn it. Oh yah, and another thing, why is it that guys don't pay for dinner anymore? Or is it that I go out with CHEAP guys? I'm not a gold digger, but damn fellas!
Twelve Sometimes the best thing you can do for a relationship is to call them just to say hi. Who says you need a reason to talk?
Thirteen IIt's cold as fuck in San Francisco, but there's no other place I'd rather be. Okay, maybe except Paris.
Fourteen I'd rather be alone and content than in a relationship with someone who leaves me wanting.
Fifteen So what's your excuse?
Sixteen If you think I'm badass now, wait until I get pissed.
Seventeen Girls, stop treating your men like they're dogs, and maybe they'll stop acting like it. Boys, quit treatin' your chicks like bitches and maybe we'll ease up. Be nice to each other, and you'll be surprised at how good your relationship can be.
Eighteen Diamonds might be good, but your honesty is better.
Nineteen Going down isn't bad. It's your FUNK that is bad. Take a shower and for heaven's sake, stop crushing ears or pulling on my head.
Twenty War is never the answer. Violence begets violence. Wage peace.
P's.
Voodoo
Coaching
I don't know if I mentioned this to you before, but I, along with Buff Bagwell, coach an 8th grade girl's volleyball team. It's not easy to work full time, then race home and then go to practice, and handle working with these hormonal freaks who can barely pay attention to direction much less their coach. I'm doing this partially to stay active, and another to give back to my community and spend some time with some new kids.
It's a major test of my patience, really, and more or less what I do at work. I enjoy it and all, but sometimes you just want to throttle someone every now and then. Most of the time I'd rather throttle myself just to relieve myself of this misery.
I haven't played ball in such a long time, and it's not that hard to get into it, but I tell you, getting winded is not my idea of fun. Chasing balls is hard freakin' work, my babies! I hate to admit it, but I was hurtin' for a bit. I hit the floor a few times, and now I have bruises on my knees. I also have a nice bruise on my wrist. I'm exhausted. But it's nice to be out and about these evenings. I get to see their game improving, which it is, and that's great. I wish I had more time to mentor them and work with them on other levels. They're so young, and already I have a good idea of who's going where in life.
Funny when you watch sports teams, you already know who they are as individuals by paying attention to their habits and their intensity. Girls who slack off and mess around, I shake my head sadly. Girls who are focused and present, I am hopeful for. I want to be able to see them later in life, as I have been able to do with other teams I've coached, and their temperments have remained constant, but with some variation. For the most part, however, I see that things never really change. They just get taller.
As a child growing up, I always liked playing games because it gave me an outlet for all that energy. I didn't have to think too hard, or be the smart girl. It was nice like that. Playing games meant learning new things and meeting new people. Interacting in another way that didn't make one person stand out. We all played. Sometimes when I watch sports, I think about the players and what they were like as children. Interesting, isn't it. Some players musta been real pricks as kids too.
Talent combined with a really shitty attitude is just not cool. We honor our athletes without much of a second thought, but when they're assholes, there is a reserved cheer that goes through the crowd. Congrats, and all, but you're an asshole. Barry Bonds comes to mind. Hm. He tied the record tonight, and that's cool, but who in the dugout is cheering wholeheartedly? Maybe his kid.
Well, enough of sports for tonight. I'm going to rest my old bones and enjoy my evening. Much love to you all....
Voodoo
PS> Hey Wolfie, I love you bro! Check out
your directory entry. I also updated all the entries as well.
PS2> Much love to my boy PaiGow for calling me after all these years. So nice to hear your voice, and yes I miss you lots too. You'll always mean something to me. See you in LA....
Writer's Block
Children, stuff to write floating in my head. Designs of layouts floating in my head. Dreams of saying the things I've always wanted to say floating in my head. Things I want to do floating in my head. Spirit floating in my head.
Swimming. Playing. Dancing. Running. Hiding. Crying in my head.
So much to say, things to do, people to love, if I could only stop for a moment--
......................
Voodoo
Belated Birthday
In Honor of
Mista J's Belated Birthday (I am truly a moron otherwise I would have figgerred that it was 10/01, not 10/10, dammit)...I am writing this blog nude.
This may or may not be the truth, but happy birthday anyway, my brotha man, I'm sorry I missed the day. I look forward to seeing your ass tomorrow as we roll (a la Drunken Master) at
Rex Navarrate's show.
Peas, my brother, blackness!
Voodoo
Quote this.
It never ceases to amaze me about folks who want to see their name in the Voodoo Lights. I get asked all the time, "Are you going to write about me?"
It's cute and all, but really folks, don't ever get asked to be put in the paper, or the page for that matter. You might not like what's put out there...:-) Not that I always have something cranky to say about someone. But if you just do something bizarre as in
hey, i'm from the Bay Area, gimme some love! quoth the Drunken Master, I might have to talk some shit.
The truth is, I love talking about my friends. They're wonderful. They're amusing. And they are just chock full of good quotes
Bet you've never been penetrated like that before I squealed. Fear not, you can be yourselves around me...Just don't get pissed at me when you see your brand new identity going where you never thought possible
Does it smell like Downy down there? said the Beer Can.
I always have my friends appear in my written work, especially my fiction. It's great to see them racing through what I've written, only to hear them say at the end, Where am I? Conceited fucks. God, I love you.
Great, I'm going to masturbate vigorously with that thought, said Suavecito.
But, there are some very lovely moments that I try to write about, and that's to keep things balanced. And in particular, Saturday night comes to mind. I was out with Beer Can. He asked me, "What are you going to write about tonight?" I thought about it. I could do the usual talk about what we did, where we went, struggles with urinary issues. Staring up at the sky during one of the many stops we took during our walk, we pondered over secret lives of office mates in the buildings that towered over us. And in between those spaces was a lot of silence.
The real test of friendship is: Can you literally do nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy together those moments of life that are utterly simple? They are the moments people looks back on at the end of life and number as their most sacred experiences.
-- Eugene Kennedy
In any relationship, be it friendship or intimate, or mere acquaintances, the quality of it is best gauged by the ability to remain together without the need to fill in the spaces. Whether those spaces be time, words, or even miles, silences that are comfortable are priceless. Now, let's be clear about this, this is not a Me and the Beer Can issue. There are lots of people in my life where their presence means the world to me, and we don't always have to yap away at life. There are times for that, and times for other things like silence.
Even in their absence, they fill my life with meaning and peace.
May you find that in your life, and may you also have great quotes and times to share for eternity.
Man, I'd like to fuck her crooked eye straight. Thanks, Buffy. I'll never forget those cherished words. Now shut the hell up!
Voodoo
