Are you rushin?
Today just breezed through...didn't do much at work, but I just learned of a place open to visit in Paris...I might wind up there, if all works out right. I think I'm going, but maybe I'll take someone with me this time. Any takers?
At any rate, I'm going to pack, I'm headed to Vegas tomorrow. I'm sorry I haven't given you much substance lately, but work is starting to get to me and I can't contribute what I'd really l like to. Give me a few days.
Be back with an update,
Voodoo
Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!
Tuesday, April 30, 2002
Sunday, April 28, 2002
So that's what happened
Thanks to some very high tech artistry and a lot of talent, Fabloaf brings us the Macromedia Flash and Java Appletized version of what happened last nite. This is not for the faint of heart, but to those of us who were there, we will cherish those moments forever.
By the way, I'm never going to Miyake's again.
Tell Toad, Moby, and that psycho Mark the leeching waiter I said what's up if you're ever there.
Voodoo
Thanks to some very high tech artistry and a lot of talent, Fabloaf brings us the Macromedia Flash and Java Appletized version of what happened last nite. This is not for the faint of heart, but to those of us who were there, we will cherish those moments forever.
By the way, I'm never going to Miyake's again.
Tell Toad, Moby, and that psycho Mark the leeching waiter I said what's up if you're ever there.
Voodoo
Sounds like food poisoning
He puked, she puked, she almost puked, I puked. Another night out with the brl crew. Mmm. Bile.
Seen and heard:
"Dance it off!"
"I am too off the hook right now."
"He's where?"
"Oh shit, the robot."
"Hey, that muthafucka got a free shot."
"Damn, she's sleeping. It's time to go."
"Why am I called "dickhead"?"
"Yah, you better take him home."
"Don't make me take this further, young buck."
"I got tolerance, baby."
I can't even go there right now. As scheduled, off the hook by 9, dancing by 9:30, and home by 1:30. Hope you're all drinkin' water cause that hangover is gonna be a bitch.
Voodoo
[addendum: it's 8:244/29/02, 8:24AM, I'm awake as hell, and no hangover. I wonder what that says about me in general.]
He puked, she puked, she almost puked, I puked. Another night out with the brl crew. Mmm. Bile.
Seen and heard:
"Dance it off!"
"I am too off the hook right now."
"He's where?"
"Oh shit, the robot."
"Hey, that muthafucka got a free shot."
"Damn, she's sleeping. It's time to go."
"Why am I called "dickhead"?"
"Yah, you better take him home."
"Don't make me take this further, young buck."
"I got tolerance, baby."
I can't even go there right now. As scheduled, off the hook by 9, dancing by 9:30, and home by 1:30. Hope you're all drinkin' water cause that hangover is gonna be a bitch.
Voodoo
[addendum: it's 8:244/29/02, 8:24AM, I'm awake as hell, and no hangover. I wonder what that says about me in general.]
Saturday, April 27, 2002
I look like crap, the car looks great
I love my little car, even though it's not very much to look at nor is it much to behold. Lately I've been treating Peaches (that's the car's name) like crap because I can't find time in my schedule to wash it down and remove that fond protective dirt covering. In other words, I'm lazy as hell. My Voodoo Babies, precious ones, I'm confessing that some days I'd rather lay in bed and stare at the cobwebs rather than do the important little things like my car maintenance. Alas, it's done.
I lost my slipper a few times, almost toppling myself to the ground due to my lack of suction cups on my feet. My shirt, soaked. Shorts, soaked. (Don't worry I didn't wear the white teeshirt this time). Life is grand because my hoo-ride now glistens in the sun. It's a new car, from all angles. I even shook out the mats. Filth, I tell you.
I found a sock, some shoes, a box of swisher sweets (empty), some loose change, and a phone number of a guy I met in college who bitched at me: "you never called me after you left Davis." Well, sugar, I didn't want to. Tossed his card into the back seat. Sure thing buddy. Your game was weak then, and it is now.
I think I'm going to hit the shower, get some rest and prepare for brl Social #3: the Miyake Experience.
Peas,
Voodoo
PS: Any cute guys want to wash my car for me on a regular basis? Email me.
I love my little car, even though it's not very much to look at nor is it much to behold. Lately I've been treating Peaches (that's the car's name) like crap because I can't find time in my schedule to wash it down and remove that fond protective dirt covering. In other words, I'm lazy as hell. My Voodoo Babies, precious ones, I'm confessing that some days I'd rather lay in bed and stare at the cobwebs rather than do the important little things like my car maintenance. Alas, it's done.
I lost my slipper a few times, almost toppling myself to the ground due to my lack of suction cups on my feet. My shirt, soaked. Shorts, soaked. (Don't worry I didn't wear the white teeshirt this time). Life is grand because my hoo-ride now glistens in the sun. It's a new car, from all angles. I even shook out the mats. Filth, I tell you.
I found a sock, some shoes, a box of swisher sweets (empty), some loose change, and a phone number of a guy I met in college who bitched at me: "you never called me after you left Davis." Well, sugar, I didn't want to. Tossed his card into the back seat. Sure thing buddy. Your game was weak then, and it is now.
I think I'm going to hit the shower, get some rest and prepare for brl Social #3: the Miyake Experience.
Peas,
Voodoo
PS: Any cute guys want to wash my car for me on a regular basis? Email me.
Friday, April 26, 2002
Snarf
You know you're a Marina chick when.....
1. You're afraid to go to Balboa because you have gotten together with too many of the male patrons.
2. You have a toasted noah's bagel with lite cream cheese and a jambajuice for breakfast every morning and you can't figure out why your bebe boot cut black lycra pants are getting snug.
3. You've dated 18 men in the last four months and you're still single.
4. You have a crush on a bartender.
5. You have dated someone who used to date your roommate's best friend's sister's cousin, or your roommate.
6. You've had a Chambers Punch in the last two months.
7. You know that red is the "new black".
8. The only consideration when buying your cell phone was the weekend minute plan.
9. Your haircut costs ! more than a small car.
10. You need to blend two lip-pencils, plus a lipstick & a gloss, just to get your shade.
11. You have a contraband tube of Retin-A from Mexico somewhere in your home.
12. About married friends... on the weekends you ask "What the hell were they thinking?" on weeknights you think "I bet she's getting a foot massage right now"
13. You've won bingo at Ace Wasabi.
14. The only time you ever cook a full meal is to impress a guy.
15. You feel that $25 is a bit "pricey" for a mani/pedi combo.
16. If the MAC store were to close, you'd picket.
17. You didn't think of "Swingers" as a hip, funny movie. To you it was a social documentary on the mysterious behaviors of single men. You took notes.
18. You regard e-mail as a flirting device with editing capabilities.
19. You have worn body glitter for no other reason than it's Saturday night.
20. You have 18 pairs of black shoes, not including the ones in your strappy sandal collection.
21. You know the difference between midnight black, jet black, off-black, gray black, and black black.
22. You have no Full Fat items in your refrigerator. Except wine, because they don't make Cakebread Lite.
23. You have attended the Polk Street Fair, the North Beach Fair, and the Union Street Fair, but have never bought a craft. (There were crafts there?)
24. You own a Jetta, Saab 900, Audi, or RAV-4. It's about a year old, but it only has 12 miles on it because you take Muni to work & cab it on the weekends.
25. The 12 miles on your car are from going to Trader Joes that one time for Tuna Jerky, Toblerone, and wine.
26. You place the invention of self-tanner on the level of the wheel.
27. Johnny Love has hit on you.
28. You read "The Rules", thought they were bullshit, had a bad dating encounter, and raptly reread "The Rules" again.
29. You only feel like going to the gym on "thin days" (logic?).
30. You have ! driven taxi drivers crazy by telling them "No, we don't want to go here, let's go to another bar across town" - all because there are no cute guys in line.
31. You have given your phone number to a guy, he's called, you made a date, and you have absolutely no recollection of what he looks like.
32. You've bought new undergarments because you haven't done laundry in so long.
33. You secretly think that Surreal Neal of Super Diamond is kinda cute.
34. You've used the "It's not you, it's me" line at least once in the last year.
35. You've danced on the bar at Mars Cafe.
36. You've pulled an item from the laundry, sprayed a little perfume in it, waved it around, and declared "It's not so bad"
37. You've gone to a restaurant with a friend, ate the complimentary bread, split a salad, each had a bottle of wine and called it dinner.
38. You have made a visit to Good Vibrations in the last 3 months.
39. On a given Sat night, you have made a pre-dinn! er drink plan, a dinner plan w/ drinks, and a post dinner drink plan.
40. You have not taken the bus b/c they don't take ATM cards.
41. You go to Sports Bars to "play the game" v. watch it.
42. An average workout at Gorilla SPorts is 1 hour: 5 min makeup application/workout prep, 35 min chatting with pals, 15 min on treadmill, 5 min scoping the scene
43. You realize you have tapped out on all of your friend's friends as prospects and they all know each other.
44. You post laundry list ads in the W seeking M and for the perfect guy with no intention of ever responding to any of the responses you get, and you do it for a sense of self worth: the more responses you get, the better you'll feel about yourself.
--copied from Craigslist my other time killer. Feel like an inside joke? It sure is.
Voodoo
You know you're a Marina chick when.....
1. You're afraid to go to Balboa because you have gotten together with too many of the male patrons.
2. You have a toasted noah's bagel with lite cream cheese and a jambajuice for breakfast every morning and you can't figure out why your bebe boot cut black lycra pants are getting snug.
3. You've dated 18 men in the last four months and you're still single.
4. You have a crush on a bartender.
5. You have dated someone who used to date your roommate's best friend's sister's cousin, or your roommate.
6. You've had a Chambers Punch in the last two months.
7. You know that red is the "new black".
8. The only consideration when buying your cell phone was the weekend minute plan.
9. Your haircut costs ! more than a small car.
10. You need to blend two lip-pencils, plus a lipstick & a gloss, just to get your shade.
11. You have a contraband tube of Retin-A from Mexico somewhere in your home.
12. About married friends... on the weekends you ask "What the hell were they thinking?" on weeknights you think "I bet she's getting a foot massage right now"
13. You've won bingo at Ace Wasabi.
14. The only time you ever cook a full meal is to impress a guy.
15. You feel that $25 is a bit "pricey" for a mani/pedi combo.
16. If the MAC store were to close, you'd picket.
17. You didn't think of "Swingers" as a hip, funny movie. To you it was a social documentary on the mysterious behaviors of single men. You took notes.
18. You regard e-mail as a flirting device with editing capabilities.
19. You have worn body glitter for no other reason than it's Saturday night.
20. You have 18 pairs of black shoes, not including the ones in your strappy sandal collection.
21. You know the difference between midnight black, jet black, off-black, gray black, and black black.
22. You have no Full Fat items in your refrigerator. Except wine, because they don't make Cakebread Lite.
23. You have attended the Polk Street Fair, the North Beach Fair, and the Union Street Fair, but have never bought a craft. (There were crafts there?)
24. You own a Jetta, Saab 900, Audi, or RAV-4. It's about a year old, but it only has 12 miles on it because you take Muni to work & cab it on the weekends.
25. The 12 miles on your car are from going to Trader Joes that one time for Tuna Jerky, Toblerone, and wine.
26. You place the invention of self-tanner on the level of the wheel.
27. Johnny Love has hit on you.
28. You read "The Rules", thought they were bullshit, had a bad dating encounter, and raptly reread "The Rules" again.
29. You only feel like going to the gym on "thin days" (logic?).
30. You have ! driven taxi drivers crazy by telling them "No, we don't want to go here, let's go to another bar across town" - all because there are no cute guys in line.
31. You have given your phone number to a guy, he's called, you made a date, and you have absolutely no recollection of what he looks like.
32. You've bought new undergarments because you haven't done laundry in so long.
33. You secretly think that Surreal Neal of Super Diamond is kinda cute.
34. You've used the "It's not you, it's me" line at least once in the last year.
35. You've danced on the bar at Mars Cafe.
36. You've pulled an item from the laundry, sprayed a little perfume in it, waved it around, and declared "It's not so bad"
37. You've gone to a restaurant with a friend, ate the complimentary bread, split a salad, each had a bottle of wine and called it dinner.
38. You have made a visit to Good Vibrations in the last 3 months.
39. On a given Sat night, you have made a pre-dinn! er drink plan, a dinner plan w/ drinks, and a post dinner drink plan.
40. You have not taken the bus b/c they don't take ATM cards.
41. You go to Sports Bars to "play the game" v. watch it.
42. An average workout at Gorilla SPorts is 1 hour: 5 min makeup application/workout prep, 35 min chatting with pals, 15 min on treadmill, 5 min scoping the scene
43. You realize you have tapped out on all of your friend's friends as prospects and they all know each other.
44. You post laundry list ads in the W seeking M and for the perfect guy with no intention of ever responding to any of the responses you get, and you do it for a sense of self worth: the more responses you get, the better you'll feel about yourself.
--copied from Craigslist my other time killer. Feel like an inside joke? It sure is.
Voodoo
Pencil Thin
Yesterday morning I was at a meeting for two damn hours on some new technology for my campus. A campus portal to be exact. I got there on time (a rarity, I assure you), and sat in the dark (I didn't feel like turning on the lights). I waited for more people to come in (40 RSVPs, only 7 people sitting there). No one else came. Life sucks like that.
Then I saw it. The speaker had no upper lip. I stared at her for a while and tried to make out a discernable upper lip, however, I was quite amused to see that it really was a lip, however, it was in the shape of a frown. Thin. I had a friend who was in the same predicament, and she used to fill in her lips, that is, draw with her lipliner an upper lip, which basically means, to those of you uninitiated, she drew a line where she wanted her lip on her skin above her faux upper lip and filled it in with her lipstick. Like clowns do, and come to think of it, that's not a bad comparison.
I couldn't get my eyes off her upper lip. I'm the kind of girl who loves full lips. Why? They kiss better, for one thing. Another thing too is a story about my childhood. Not having the stereotypical pinay flavor in the looks department, I was forever being assailed for the cast of the roll of the genetic dice. Too this, too that, lips too thick. Etc. Lips too big? Are you serious? So it's been somewhat of a issue if you will. Embrace that which is maligned.
Who knows, maybe she's embracing her upper lip. Beats me.
Is there anything to embrace? I thought. How does she smile? Does she smile? How does she sip coffee? When she drinks milk, does the white mustache go all the way up into her nose? When she wears lipstick, does it get all over her teeth? Does she do the fill-in thing with her lip? Is that why she always looks so sad?
Oh well, we're all different, physically and mentally, etc etc ad nauseum. Just another observation of the
Voodoo Child.
Yesterday morning I was at a meeting for two damn hours on some new technology for my campus. A campus portal to be exact. I got there on time (a rarity, I assure you), and sat in the dark (I didn't feel like turning on the lights). I waited for more people to come in (40 RSVPs, only 7 people sitting there). No one else came. Life sucks like that.
Then I saw it. The speaker had no upper lip. I stared at her for a while and tried to make out a discernable upper lip, however, I was quite amused to see that it really was a lip, however, it was in the shape of a frown. Thin. I had a friend who was in the same predicament, and she used to fill in her lips, that is, draw with her lipliner an upper lip, which basically means, to those of you uninitiated, she drew a line where she wanted her lip on her skin above her faux upper lip and filled it in with her lipstick. Like clowns do, and come to think of it, that's not a bad comparison.
I couldn't get my eyes off her upper lip. I'm the kind of girl who loves full lips. Why? They kiss better, for one thing. Another thing too is a story about my childhood. Not having the stereotypical pinay flavor in the looks department, I was forever being assailed for the cast of the roll of the genetic dice. Too this, too that, lips too thick. Etc. Lips too big? Are you serious? So it's been somewhat of a issue if you will. Embrace that which is maligned.
Who knows, maybe she's embracing her upper lip. Beats me.
Is there anything to embrace? I thought. How does she smile? Does she smile? How does she sip coffee? When she drinks milk, does the white mustache go all the way up into her nose? When she wears lipstick, does it get all over her teeth? Does she do the fill-in thing with her lip? Is that why she always looks so sad?
Oh well, we're all different, physically and mentally, etc etc ad nauseum. Just another observation of the
Voodoo Child.
Thursday, April 25, 2002
The Voodoo Autobiography
In a fit of blog jealousy directed at Dick in the Glass, I have completed my bio page. Hope it makes sense! I actually really like it. It is, after all, my life ;-)
Ciao for now,
Voodoo
In a fit of blog jealousy directed at Dick in the Glass, I have completed my bio page. Hope it makes sense! I actually really like it. It is, after all, my life ;-)
Ciao for now,
Voodoo
Wednesday, April 24, 2002
Making a list
Things I'd rather be doing right now:
Funny, almost most of it involves work. Life is funny that way.
What would you rather be doing? You know where the comments are.
Voodoo
Things I'd rather be doing right now:
- There is a beach in Villefrance sur Mer that is calling my name.
- Having a Bass Ale. Okay so it's a little early.
- Sleeping in.
- Having a almond roca soy mocha, reading the paper and writing.
- Having brunch somewhere with a friend.
- Teaching.
- Getting a phone call from some cute guy.
- Kickin' it with the balding Banana Republic suede jacket ad dude.
- Singing.
- Grabbing a friend and heading down to LA for a visit to the Cynical One.
- Making out with the balding Banana Republic guy wouldn't be too bad either.
- Working on my book.
- Blogging. Oops, I am doing that.
- Livin' large in another country (see #1).
- Chatting.
- Planting flowers in the garden.
Funny, almost most of it involves work. Life is funny that way.
What would you rather be doing? You know where the comments are.
Voodoo
Tuesday, April 23, 2002
Rolling thru the Mish with Project Mayhem
I got off work today after doing literally nothing while giving my students projects. I managed to start cleaning out my drawers in order to prepare for my change in office. It was a beautiful day out, but there was work to be done. Somewhere. I just couldn't find it.
Project Mayhem tracked me down and we met up for le diner at ChaChaCha at the Original McCarthy, also know as Cha3. I have to be honest, I avoid going there often like some of my other colleagues at the office (there's one three blocks away from school). But it'd been some years since my last visit, so off to Cha3 we go. Project Mayhem is on the other side of town and will be a few minutes, but I'm already there so I head down a few blocks to the 99 cent store to buy candles. One white one for me and a purple Virgen de Guadalupe for my student's altar. She'd like it, I smiled to myself. I paid my 2.15 for both of them and headed down the street.
Sure enough, I find Project Mayhem traipsing to the Cha3. We head out to the restaurant, settle in and order up. I ponder a glass of sangria, but know if I take on a cup, it'd serve as wonderful truth serum, and I know better. Really I do. I watch glass after glass pass by me with a lustful stare, and I promise myself to get some the next time I'm around. The rest is history.
It was nice to be in the Mission again, roaming around the streets like I used to in high school, stopping in penny stores, gawking at cheap things. Wandering amongst the smells and sights and sounds of the area. The Mission is a great neighborhood full of community, but also with its share of drama and destititution. With the influx and now receding tide of dot.bombs, the area is back to its earthy, homey feel. I wanted to walk around more, flash back to a time and day when it was cool to be. Just be.
Voodoo
I got off work today after doing literally nothing while giving my students projects. I managed to start cleaning out my drawers in order to prepare for my change in office. It was a beautiful day out, but there was work to be done. Somewhere. I just couldn't find it.
Project Mayhem tracked me down and we met up for le diner at ChaChaCha at the Original McCarthy, also know as Cha3. I have to be honest, I avoid going there often like some of my other colleagues at the office (there's one three blocks away from school). But it'd been some years since my last visit, so off to Cha3 we go. Project Mayhem is on the other side of town and will be a few minutes, but I'm already there so I head down a few blocks to the 99 cent store to buy candles. One white one for me and a purple Virgen de Guadalupe for my student's altar. She'd like it, I smiled to myself. I paid my 2.15 for both of them and headed down the street.
Sure enough, I find Project Mayhem traipsing to the Cha3. We head out to the restaurant, settle in and order up. I ponder a glass of sangria, but know if I take on a cup, it'd serve as wonderful truth serum, and I know better. Really I do. I watch glass after glass pass by me with a lustful stare, and I promise myself to get some the next time I'm around. The rest is history.
It was nice to be in the Mission again, roaming around the streets like I used to in high school, stopping in penny stores, gawking at cheap things. Wandering amongst the smells and sights and sounds of the area. The Mission is a great neighborhood full of community, but also with its share of drama and destititution. With the influx and now receding tide of dot.bombs, the area is back to its earthy, homey feel. I wanted to walk around more, flash back to a time and day when it was cool to be. Just be.
Voodoo
Flashback #1
I rolled over in bed and accidentally hit him. Hard. I jammed an elbow in his back and promised myself that I'd apologize in the morning. I rolled over, unable to sleep. I watched the ceiling fan swirl around. I felt warm, so warm that I wanted to crack open a window, but that would be fruitless, damn that painted shut window. He stirred and I felt myself tense up. It'd been some time since I last shared a bed. Maybe too long. Every move seems to take me from edge where sleep lay. Dammit dammit dammit.
I turn around, brush the hair out of my eyes, and stare at his back, and watch him breathe. The ceiling fan shushes me over and over, and I scoot over closer and rest my cheek on his back. I tuck my legs behind his. He grabs my hand and pulls it around him. It now rests on his chest. Heartbeat. I hold my breath for a minute and wonder if he always does this, or is it just me.
"That hurt. Don't even say you're sorry." I heard him smile.
"Sorry." I moved closer. He did too.
The ceiling fan shushed us to sleep.
I rolled over in bed and accidentally hit him. Hard. I jammed an elbow in his back and promised myself that I'd apologize in the morning. I rolled over, unable to sleep. I watched the ceiling fan swirl around. I felt warm, so warm that I wanted to crack open a window, but that would be fruitless, damn that painted shut window. He stirred and I felt myself tense up. It'd been some time since I last shared a bed. Maybe too long. Every move seems to take me from edge where sleep lay. Dammit dammit dammit.
I turn around, brush the hair out of my eyes, and stare at his back, and watch him breathe. The ceiling fan shushes me over and over, and I scoot over closer and rest my cheek on his back. I tuck my legs behind his. He grabs my hand and pulls it around him. It now rests on his chest. Heartbeat. I hold my breath for a minute and wonder if he always does this, or is it just me.
"That hurt. Don't even say you're sorry." I heard him smile.
"Sorry." I moved closer. He did too.
The ceiling fan shushed us to sleep.
Sunday, April 21, 2002
In Defense of Women
This was inevitable.
Most women out there aren't golddiggers/bitches/hoes/insecure/ad nauseum I am sick of people, men AND women, constantly harping on the frailties of woman. Granted, there are a few out there that make the rest of us look like wenches, and we suffer the brunt of the of the flack. We are left to fight against the image protrayed by said women, and combine that with the daily barrage of visual images and social stereotypes meant to confine and narrow our potential, to find that there are women out there who buy into it and set us up for even more challenges, it really does a number on our psyche, our emotions, and our self-worth. There are good women out there, and god help them stay that way.
Not all women want the husband, car, kids, big house. Some of us are damn happy where we are, single, chillin', and doing whatever we damn please. Some of us want the pre-packaged middle class existence too. If we choose to be single, we are not dykes, lesbians, or frigid, as one of my students so succinctly said. It also doesn't mean that all we want to do is have sex with anyone that crosses our path.
Quit trying to fix us, really The challenge of a lot of relationships is a woman's want and need to talk about things. Sometimes incessantly. Problem is, most men think that this is an open plea for help. As important as it is for you to feel needed, we don't need to be fixed. Externalized processing is one of the ways in which women deal with conflicts, and nine times out of ten, we have conflicts that just need to be talked out, not fixed by someone else, just talked out by us. It's hard to do, but all I ask is that you listen. We appreciate that much more than you telling us to get over it and do something about it already. WE ARE.
Women aren't babysitters/moms/food sources This is a strange thing because I know women can mother too much, in other words, take too much initiative and develop those wonderful co-dependent relationships. Sure, we'll help out, but these kinds of things are best shared. Pick up after yourselves, for god's sake. We're not maids.
All it takes is one manTo fuck it up for the rest of the men in the world. If somewhere in her past a man did her wrong, guess what, she's going to carry that with her for a while. As ready as she seems to be with you, etc...She's always looking out for the tell-tale signs of a relationship bent for hell. It's not fair, I know this, but be sensitive to that fact, and things will work out okay. Women tend to want to submerge themselves slowly rather than jump in. Consider the Toe in the Water Test, if you will. Trust me, if you haven't learned from listening what's she's the most afraid of, cancel those subsequent dates.
What's good for the goose Women do love to be spoiled, face it. Why? It's because we receive so little feedback from men in a relationship, that when we receive material things, it's a way of validating that we've made the right choice, or see that it's your way of communicating "you have chosen wisely". BUT for the Love of Pete, don't think that every woman will want the same thing at the same point as previous relationships. If there's one thing a woman will hate it's to find out that she's not that unique little flower. I've seen ex's and currents run into each other with the same piece of jewelry. Now that's cute. Each of us is different, and that means you'll have to do a little work to find out the peculiarities, but it'll be worth it, trust me. Oh yah,and while you're at it, provide the feedback...talk to her for a change. Which leads me to...
Say hello That's all, make conversation. Step up. And if a woman slams you, it's probably not even worth it in the first place. But take initiative and a simple hello will do.
Finally...what do women want?I couldn't even begin to tell you. But if Dick in the Glass can narrow it down to one thing such as sandwiches, this is one thing I want: to lay in bed on Sunday mornings with someone and read the paper. To lay in bed at night reading a book. To sit on the steps at night chillin with some wine. Simplicity speaks volumes,and there's no need for grandiosities, although they can be nice. It's the sharing of a bond with the Fuzzy Monkey that makes it worthwhile. Period.
Of course the caveat is, as with the "In Defense of Men" piece, that women and men are individuals. You won't necessarily agree with what I've written, and you just might think I'm freakin' GOD for writing this ("I heard that." "Oops, sorry, you know what I mean."). And that's okay. I think the bottom line is that we know so little about the opposite sex, and our very own partners, that we go on making the same mistakes over and over without growing or changing for the better. In retrospect we are stronger for our failures, but we are weaker if we don't learn from it.
You know where the comments are.
Voodoo
This was inevitable.
Most women out there aren't golddiggers/bitches/hoes/insecure/ad nauseum I am sick of people, men AND women, constantly harping on the frailties of woman. Granted, there are a few out there that make the rest of us look like wenches, and we suffer the brunt of the of the flack. We are left to fight against the image protrayed by said women, and combine that with the daily barrage of visual images and social stereotypes meant to confine and narrow our potential, to find that there are women out there who buy into it and set us up for even more challenges, it really does a number on our psyche, our emotions, and our self-worth. There are good women out there, and god help them stay that way.
Not all women want the husband, car, kids, big house. Some of us are damn happy where we are, single, chillin', and doing whatever we damn please. Some of us want the pre-packaged middle class existence too. If we choose to be single, we are not dykes, lesbians, or frigid, as one of my students so succinctly said. It also doesn't mean that all we want to do is have sex with anyone that crosses our path.
Quit trying to fix us, really The challenge of a lot of relationships is a woman's want and need to talk about things. Sometimes incessantly. Problem is, most men think that this is an open plea for help. As important as it is for you to feel needed, we don't need to be fixed. Externalized processing is one of the ways in which women deal with conflicts, and nine times out of ten, we have conflicts that just need to be talked out, not fixed by someone else, just talked out by us. It's hard to do, but all I ask is that you listen. We appreciate that much more than you telling us to get over it and do something about it already. WE ARE.
Women aren't babysitters/moms/food sources This is a strange thing because I know women can mother too much, in other words, take too much initiative and develop those wonderful co-dependent relationships. Sure, we'll help out, but these kinds of things are best shared. Pick up after yourselves, for god's sake. We're not maids.
All it takes is one manTo fuck it up for the rest of the men in the world. If somewhere in her past a man did her wrong, guess what, she's going to carry that with her for a while. As ready as she seems to be with you, etc...She's always looking out for the tell-tale signs of a relationship bent for hell. It's not fair, I know this, but be sensitive to that fact, and things will work out okay. Women tend to want to submerge themselves slowly rather than jump in. Consider the Toe in the Water Test, if you will. Trust me, if you haven't learned from listening what's she's the most afraid of, cancel those subsequent dates.
What's good for the goose Women do love to be spoiled, face it. Why? It's because we receive so little feedback from men in a relationship, that when we receive material things, it's a way of validating that we've made the right choice, or see that it's your way of communicating "you have chosen wisely". BUT for the Love of Pete, don't think that every woman will want the same thing at the same point as previous relationships. If there's one thing a woman will hate it's to find out that she's not that unique little flower. I've seen ex's and currents run into each other with the same piece of jewelry. Now that's cute. Each of us is different, and that means you'll have to do a little work to find out the peculiarities, but it'll be worth it, trust me. Oh yah,and while you're at it, provide the feedback...talk to her for a change. Which leads me to...
Say hello That's all, make conversation. Step up. And if a woman slams you, it's probably not even worth it in the first place. But take initiative and a simple hello will do.
Finally...what do women want?I couldn't even begin to tell you. But if Dick in the Glass can narrow it down to one thing such as sandwiches, this is one thing I want: to lay in bed on Sunday mornings with someone and read the paper. To lay in bed at night reading a book. To sit on the steps at night chillin with some wine. Simplicity speaks volumes,and there's no need for grandiosities, although they can be nice. It's the sharing of a bond with the Fuzzy Monkey that makes it worthwhile. Period.
Of course the caveat is, as with the "In Defense of Men" piece, that women and men are individuals. You won't necessarily agree with what I've written, and you just might think I'm freakin' GOD for writing this ("I heard that." "Oops, sorry, you know what I mean."). And that's okay. I think the bottom line is that we know so little about the opposite sex, and our very own partners, that we go on making the same mistakes over and over without growing or changing for the better. In retrospect we are stronger for our failures, but we are weaker if we don't learn from it.
You know where the comments are.
Voodoo
In Defense of Men
Maybe you notice, maybe you don't, but lately, the whole men vs. women thing has gone to the heads of folks these days, myself included. The reasoning behind a lot of the drama stems from a certain je ne sais quoi, maybe angst, maybe affection, maybe because everyone's bitching about it and maybe because there's nothing else to talk about. I was thinking last nite about the whole debate, and from whence it came, and I thought to myself, to be fair, that it was important for me to give equal time to the things that guys do right, rather than harp forever on the things that guys do wrong. Because, face it, people who bitch constantly are a pain in the ass to be around, honey.
Most men out there aren't assholes Surprise surprise, guess what, there are some good men out there. There are men out there who don't cheat, play around, waste your time and harangue you for sex. There are also men out there who listen, talk, and know the difference between love and lust. Granted, they're few and far between, and not all of them are gay. These traits are not limited to below average looking men, as I've heard, but to men of all shapes and sizes. Superficiality is a big thing to women, and once you can get past someone's looks, you may be pleasantly surprised about the quality of character.
Guys would appreciate a night off every now and then I grew up with guys, therefore I've learned a thing or two about how they operate (sounds like a Discovery Channel show). One of the worst things that a homegirl can do is clamp down on a brotha and demand all of his time and energy. "I need to be around him all the time." "If I don't see him, then I can't trust him." Now you wonder why your menfolks are trippin' over spendin' time with you, why they run out of ideas, why they don't take initiative anymore. Give a brotha some space, let him have boy's night out, etc. You know you need a girl's night out every now and then, guess what they do too. Trust him to have a good time. Like I always say, you can get your appetite anywhere you want, but eat at home.
Men aren't filler. I've learned that guys need to feel needed. They dig feeling important because they're contributing something to you: they helped you out with your car, they reached up on the top shelf for ya, or they broke you off five times (it happens, trust me). But don't be expectin' brotha to fill in all the time. Sometimes you have to do thangs on your own (like the aforementioned night off, etc). You were able to do certain things before he got there, so cut him some slack already. Get on the chair, and get it yourself. And while you're at it, quit using that whiny voice to get your stuff done. It's like nails on the chalkboard.
Communicate Why is it that girls don't tell boys what's on their mind? Why is it that men get frustrated about being in relationships with someone who doesn't communicate? Similarly, why is it that women get upset when a guy won't talk? Why is it that women talk constantly about something and when the guy tries to help out, she gets mad? Well...let's see, it's because we communicate differently. The problem is when we expect the Other to comprehend what we're talking about without clarifying what we're talking about in the first place. Hey honey, when I'm curled up and look sad, it's because I'm feeling out of it, and just need you to just sit there with me for a bit and listen to me bitch, but don't try and fix me, I just need bitching space. Hey, wow, we just avoided a big fight over "well, why don't you--" and "quit bitchin' about it and do something--" Yah, you know what I'm talking about. For hevvins' sake, go out there and talk to each other. You're adults.
Maxim/FHM/Stuff/Playboy/Hustler is not a threat to your relationship Unless of course, he's spending more time with it than you. You read Cosmo, so let him have his mags already.
There is one thing that you can change in your man His socks. Like I said in The Big Aiyah, don't look at men for their potential. What you see is what you get. Women tend to romanticize men to the extent that they are figments of the imagination. We think, oh maybe I can tweak him here and there, but guess what that's a pipe dream at best. If he wants to change, he will, but the worst thing you can do is force it on him. He'll just hate you for it.
Your good looks will only get you so far But after that, if you have no substance to you, then it's just a waste of time. This goes for men too. If you wish to be a serious contender, your looks are going to be important. Not that you need to look a certain way, but the way you carry yourself affects others and really says something about you. It shows: your confidence, your self-esteem, your inner self shows. But that merely opens the door. Once you're in, you need to be able to carry it. You'll need a level of depth that is real and honest. Anything else is transparent and honestly, it will get you shown the door.
I think that's enough for now, and while I have skewed this in the defense of men, it's equally important that the flip side, women, be considered.This is a two way street we're talking about here. I'm just doing my part to make sure that it's out there and said. If you agree or even disagree, you know where the comments are.
Peas love and be good to each other,
Voodoo
This blog is lovingly dedicated to: The Louisville Slugger (soon to come to BRL), The Boy Wonder, and Quiet Storm (also soon to come to BRL), and the other men in my life. XO
Maybe you notice, maybe you don't, but lately, the whole men vs. women thing has gone to the heads of folks these days, myself included. The reasoning behind a lot of the drama stems from a certain je ne sais quoi, maybe angst, maybe affection, maybe because everyone's bitching about it and maybe because there's nothing else to talk about. I was thinking last nite about the whole debate, and from whence it came, and I thought to myself, to be fair, that it was important for me to give equal time to the things that guys do right, rather than harp forever on the things that guys do wrong. Because, face it, people who bitch constantly are a pain in the ass to be around, honey.
Most men out there aren't assholes Surprise surprise, guess what, there are some good men out there. There are men out there who don't cheat, play around, waste your time and harangue you for sex. There are also men out there who listen, talk, and know the difference between love and lust. Granted, they're few and far between, and not all of them are gay. These traits are not limited to below average looking men, as I've heard, but to men of all shapes and sizes. Superficiality is a big thing to women, and once you can get past someone's looks, you may be pleasantly surprised about the quality of character.
Guys would appreciate a night off every now and then I grew up with guys, therefore I've learned a thing or two about how they operate (sounds like a Discovery Channel show). One of the worst things that a homegirl can do is clamp down on a brotha and demand all of his time and energy. "I need to be around him all the time." "If I don't see him, then I can't trust him." Now you wonder why your menfolks are trippin' over spendin' time with you, why they run out of ideas, why they don't take initiative anymore. Give a brotha some space, let him have boy's night out, etc. You know you need a girl's night out every now and then, guess what they do too. Trust him to have a good time. Like I always say, you can get your appetite anywhere you want, but eat at home.
Men aren't filler. I've learned that guys need to feel needed. They dig feeling important because they're contributing something to you: they helped you out with your car, they reached up on the top shelf for ya, or they broke you off five times (it happens, trust me). But don't be expectin' brotha to fill in all the time. Sometimes you have to do thangs on your own (like the aforementioned night off, etc). You were able to do certain things before he got there, so cut him some slack already. Get on the chair, and get it yourself. And while you're at it, quit using that whiny voice to get your stuff done. It's like nails on the chalkboard.
Communicate Why is it that girls don't tell boys what's on their mind? Why is it that men get frustrated about being in relationships with someone who doesn't communicate? Similarly, why is it that women get upset when a guy won't talk? Why is it that women talk constantly about something and when the guy tries to help out, she gets mad? Well...let's see, it's because we communicate differently. The problem is when we expect the Other to comprehend what we're talking about without clarifying what we're talking about in the first place. Hey honey, when I'm curled up and look sad, it's because I'm feeling out of it, and just need you to just sit there with me for a bit and listen to me bitch, but don't try and fix me, I just need bitching space. Hey, wow, we just avoided a big fight over "well, why don't you--" and "quit bitchin' about it and do something--" Yah, you know what I'm talking about. For hevvins' sake, go out there and talk to each other. You're adults.
Maxim/FHM/Stuff/Playboy/Hustler is not a threat to your relationship Unless of course, he's spending more time with it than you. You read Cosmo, so let him have his mags already.
There is one thing that you can change in your man His socks. Like I said in The Big Aiyah, don't look at men for their potential. What you see is what you get. Women tend to romanticize men to the extent that they are figments of the imagination. We think, oh maybe I can tweak him here and there, but guess what that's a pipe dream at best. If he wants to change, he will, but the worst thing you can do is force it on him. He'll just hate you for it.
Your good looks will only get you so far But after that, if you have no substance to you, then it's just a waste of time. This goes for men too. If you wish to be a serious contender, your looks are going to be important. Not that you need to look a certain way, but the way you carry yourself affects others and really says something about you. It shows: your confidence, your self-esteem, your inner self shows. But that merely opens the door. Once you're in, you need to be able to carry it. You'll need a level of depth that is real and honest. Anything else is transparent and honestly, it will get you shown the door.
I think that's enough for now, and while I have skewed this in the defense of men, it's equally important that the flip side, women, be considered.This is a two way street we're talking about here. I'm just doing my part to make sure that it's out there and said. If you agree or even disagree, you know where the comments are.
Peas love and be good to each other,
Voodoo
This blog is lovingly dedicated to: The Louisville Slugger (soon to come to BRL), The Boy Wonder, and Quiet Storm (also soon to come to BRL), and the other men in my life. XO
Friday, April 19, 2002
What You Wish For
The story goes, be careful for what you wish for, you just might get it. I've been wise enough to never want anything out of fear that it might actually happen. Boyfriends, jobs, locations, needs, wants, all of it, I wish out loud for. I secretly do not wish for. Why? Cause life has a way of giving you exactly what you want, when you least expect it, and almost never in the form of which you wanted it in the first place.
Or at least it is handed to you before or after a little strife. So what was it I was handed? I was handed a promotion of sorts. And I was also given a huger responsibility that I may or may not regret. And I was also handed more expectations that was managed with little respect for my title, my presence, and my being. It comes with a fattie raise, but that kind of treatment doesn't merit any dollar value. It's not cool, but I'll make it work. You watch me.
Amelie and Frank n Beans
I went out with Dick in a Glass to watch Amelie. I adore this movie to pieces, as many of you know. I also do have the soundtrack because I'm a sucker for accordian music. Quit laughing at me. After the flick, we went to meet up with Fabloaf and Frank n Beans. Had a few drinks at a so-called sports bar, but we all know the only kind of sports goin' on there were smokin', drinkin' and the lone pool table. After a beer and Frank n Beans' story about nude hot tubbing (with other peeps in the tub? oh hell no, I'd get pissed too), we bounced to Calzone's, my second fave restaurant in the City. We grabbed some great window seats (sorry DiaG) and watched the parade of stars: Penn & Teller, Ben Stiller, Malcolm in the Middle dude, Coolio, Jude Law, and the D-Line of the Russian Women's Football team.
Note to men: If you happen to see that a woman's back is to you, and she is clearly not paying attention to you, do not attempt the pick and roll, merely fade out. Sad game (which equals zero)multiplied with the force, say of 3 men, still equals zero. Thanks for playing. Oh yah, and if you want a girl's number, don't just take out your phone and expect her to give it to you. Ask, you moron.
Time for me to get to bed, I have a lot of things to do tomorrow before Git in My Belly's baptism tomorrow.
Good night and much love,
Voodoo
The story goes, be careful for what you wish for, you just might get it. I've been wise enough to never want anything out of fear that it might actually happen. Boyfriends, jobs, locations, needs, wants, all of it, I wish out loud for. I secretly do not wish for. Why? Cause life has a way of giving you exactly what you want, when you least expect it, and almost never in the form of which you wanted it in the first place.
Or at least it is handed to you before or after a little strife. So what was it I was handed? I was handed a promotion of sorts. And I was also given a huger responsibility that I may or may not regret. And I was also handed more expectations that was managed with little respect for my title, my presence, and my being. It comes with a fattie raise, but that kind of treatment doesn't merit any dollar value. It's not cool, but I'll make it work. You watch me.
Amelie and Frank n Beans
I went out with Dick in a Glass to watch Amelie. I adore this movie to pieces, as many of you know. I also do have the soundtrack because I'm a sucker for accordian music. Quit laughing at me. After the flick, we went to meet up with Fabloaf and Frank n Beans. Had a few drinks at a so-called sports bar, but we all know the only kind of sports goin' on there were smokin', drinkin' and the lone pool table. After a beer and Frank n Beans' story about nude hot tubbing (with other peeps in the tub? oh hell no, I'd get pissed too), we bounced to Calzone's, my second fave restaurant in the City. We grabbed some great window seats (sorry DiaG) and watched the parade of stars: Penn & Teller, Ben Stiller, Malcolm in the Middle dude, Coolio, Jude Law, and the D-Line of the Russian Women's Football team.
Note to men: If you happen to see that a woman's back is to you, and she is clearly not paying attention to you, do not attempt the pick and roll, merely fade out. Sad game (which equals zero)multiplied with the force, say of 3 men, still equals zero. Thanks for playing. Oh yah, and if you want a girl's number, don't just take out your phone and expect her to give it to you. Ask, you moron.
Time for me to get to bed, I have a lot of things to do tomorrow before Git in My Belly's baptism tomorrow.
Good night and much love,
Voodoo
On a Personal Note
I have been debating for the good part of a few years on whether or not to disclose the fact that I have psoriasis. Short of starting an all out campaign to inform the Voodoo Public, I'll just lay it all out on the line here. I think it's high time that I spill my guts on the matter, and maybe help some of you understand certain peculiarities that I possess. That and this year marks the 20 year that I've been diagnosed.
I am not going to get into the physiological details. It's painful enough to have to sit still knowing that you have a crawling itch that is totally unbearable. What's even more painful is the reaction from others, ranging from "Do you have a rash" to "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I kid you not. People are not kind. I deal with points, stares, carefully guarded whispers, and sometimes outright blabbing always within earshot, and never edited for the public. This makes it hard to be myself, preferring the indoors to the outdoors, wearing long sleeves and pants in the summer in order to avoid the Pointing Fingers that always seem to find me wherever I go.
I avoid situations that would place me in close visual contact with strangers. Crowds, beaches, busses, clubs sometimes, etc. I waited in line once and was at the receiving end of a pointed finger, and the person I was there with proceeded to loudly berate the person. Great. Now EVERYONE was looking at me. Despite having quite the resilient personality, I've found myself wanting to run outta there. I couldn't because we were in line, 100 people before us, 100 people after us. I was hurtin'. I went to France and Spain with no fear at the beach. Until I heard an American say, "What is wrong with her?" from 10 feet away. Great. I can't even be away from it in another country.
It doesn't help that it's about stress and how well I manage it. It doesn't help that the drugs I could take would render me unable to have kids for five years. It doesn't help that other therapies are photochemotherapy that leave me wretching and sick for the first few hours of every morning I deal with it (not to mention the lovely skin cancer side effect).
I'm just venting, don't mind me.
I once went on a drug that was an anti-organ rejection kind of drug. I cleared up in 1 week. All gone. Never there. The strangest thing. I didn't like being on it. It meant montly blood and pee tests. And it meant once I got off it, I'd go right back to 80% rebound. Shit. LIfe ain't cool. It's the ongoing debate over whether or not drugs are a good thing. They help...foster dependence. Scary. Now I understand addiction in some way. I got off it because I was too afraid of what it was doing to me.
At any rate, I just wanted to get this off my chest. I'm keenly aware that many of you don't know about this, and I'm sure many of you have been aware but have never asked me. And don't be afraid to ask, and don't be an asshole about how you ask either, although I'm sure a lot of you are not assholes.
Back to work, and thanks for the soapbox.
Voodoo
I have been debating for the good part of a few years on whether or not to disclose the fact that I have psoriasis. Short of starting an all out campaign to inform the Voodoo Public, I'll just lay it all out on the line here. I think it's high time that I spill my guts on the matter, and maybe help some of you understand certain peculiarities that I possess. That and this year marks the 20 year that I've been diagnosed.
I am not going to get into the physiological details. It's painful enough to have to sit still knowing that you have a crawling itch that is totally unbearable. What's even more painful is the reaction from others, ranging from "Do you have a rash" to "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I kid you not. People are not kind. I deal with points, stares, carefully guarded whispers, and sometimes outright blabbing always within earshot, and never edited for the public. This makes it hard to be myself, preferring the indoors to the outdoors, wearing long sleeves and pants in the summer in order to avoid the Pointing Fingers that always seem to find me wherever I go.
I avoid situations that would place me in close visual contact with strangers. Crowds, beaches, busses, clubs sometimes, etc. I waited in line once and was at the receiving end of a pointed finger, and the person I was there with proceeded to loudly berate the person. Great. Now EVERYONE was looking at me. Despite having quite the resilient personality, I've found myself wanting to run outta there. I couldn't because we were in line, 100 people before us, 100 people after us. I was hurtin'. I went to France and Spain with no fear at the beach. Until I heard an American say, "What is wrong with her?" from 10 feet away. Great. I can't even be away from it in another country.
It doesn't help that it's about stress and how well I manage it. It doesn't help that the drugs I could take would render me unable to have kids for five years. It doesn't help that other therapies are photochemotherapy that leave me wretching and sick for the first few hours of every morning I deal with it (not to mention the lovely skin cancer side effect).
I'm just venting, don't mind me.
I once went on a drug that was an anti-organ rejection kind of drug. I cleared up in 1 week. All gone. Never there. The strangest thing. I didn't like being on it. It meant montly blood and pee tests. And it meant once I got off it, I'd go right back to 80% rebound. Shit. LIfe ain't cool. It's the ongoing debate over whether or not drugs are a good thing. They help...foster dependence. Scary. Now I understand addiction in some way. I got off it because I was too afraid of what it was doing to me.
At any rate, I just wanted to get this off my chest. I'm keenly aware that many of you don't know about this, and I'm sure many of you have been aware but have never asked me. And don't be afraid to ask, and don't be an asshole about how you ask either, although I'm sure a lot of you are not assholes.
Back to work, and thanks for the soapbox.
Voodoo
A Night with the Enforcer, Project Mayhem, and A House full of White People
Now white people, don't get all pissy at me, all 1 of you who read the Voodoo, but I was in Burlingame tonight with World of Curls celebrating Miss Enforcer's 35th birthday (I'm just kidding, she's 36). But it was an interesting dynamic because in the corner were all the brown folks. And in the rest of the crib were the white folks. And the two shall never meet. Oh wells, white folks gotta dance and drink too.
Anyways, I was waiting on the bartender and I dropped a few dollars on the ground. So I bend over to pick them up and I see a napkin on the ground with a name, number, another number, and two email addresses. Sort of a business card, but on a bar napkin. I show it to World of Curls, and we laugh. I slip it into my pocket. I'm going to email him tomorrow. Not that I know him, but just a consolation email. Sorry dude, she dropped your napkin, yah right. I"ll keep you posted.
I met Project Mayhem tonight, one of the Men of the Cal Triumvirate. Always a saweet to meet new people and have fun...You get Voodoo Points for the drive down, the cool jacket, and the scary Ed Norton vibe. Extra points for observation skills. We gotta kick it again. Hey, write me about the Two Cents piece already.
Let's do the roll call: Dr. Evil, Felonious Monkey, Dickhead, World of Curls, The Enforcer, Monday Nite Boyfriends, Mr. Clean (nice head, bro, can I touch it?), Squeak was missing, MILF, and others. There will be a BRL event next Saturday (please mark your calendars). More information when the time is AIGHT.
I gotta go to bed. Kisses to the fellas, winks to the girls,
Voodoo
Now white people, don't get all pissy at me, all 1 of you who read the Voodoo, but I was in Burlingame tonight with World of Curls celebrating Miss Enforcer's 35th birthday (I'm just kidding, she's 36). But it was an interesting dynamic because in the corner were all the brown folks. And in the rest of the crib were the white folks. And the two shall never meet. Oh wells, white folks gotta dance and drink too.
Anyways, I was waiting on the bartender and I dropped a few dollars on the ground. So I bend over to pick them up and I see a napkin on the ground with a name, number, another number, and two email addresses. Sort of a business card, but on a bar napkin. I show it to World of Curls, and we laugh. I slip it into my pocket. I'm going to email him tomorrow. Not that I know him, but just a consolation email. Sorry dude, she dropped your napkin, yah right. I"ll keep you posted.
I met Project Mayhem tonight, one of the Men of the Cal Triumvirate. Always a saweet to meet new people and have fun...You get Voodoo Points for the drive down, the cool jacket, and the scary Ed Norton vibe. Extra points for observation skills. We gotta kick it again. Hey, write me about the Two Cents piece already.
Let's do the roll call: Dr. Evil, Felonious Monkey, Dickhead, World of Curls, The Enforcer, Monday Nite Boyfriends, Mr. Clean (nice head, bro, can I touch it?), Squeak was missing, MILF, and others. There will be a BRL event next Saturday (please mark your calendars). More information when the time is AIGHT.
I gotta go to bed. Kisses to the fellas, winks to the girls,
Voodoo
Thursday, April 18, 2002
Stunt Snatch
Okay, someone keeps asking me if I'd throw down for him when we hung out next. I got really pissed and told him off. We were good friends, and out of nowhere,
It kills me. Really, it does.
And to paraphrase the amazingly talented and quite single and available Boy Wonder, "I wouldn't fuck you with a stunt snatch."
Life's tough like that.
Voodoo
Okay, someone keeps asking me if I'd throw down for him when we hung out next. I got really pissed and told him off. We were good friends, and out of nowhere,
"Can you break me off?"
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm joking."
"First of all, let's get this straight--" (insert verbal assault)
It kills me. Really, it does.
And to paraphrase the amazingly talented and quite single and available Boy Wonder, "I wouldn't fuck you with a stunt snatch."
Life's tough like that.
Voodoo
Grocery Shopping by the Pale Moonlight
Location: Albertson's on El Camino
Cute Guy Factor: Zero
Bags: 8
Number of Trips to the Car to Bring Bags Up to Kitchen: 1
Items Needed, Not Found: 1
I love to go shopping late at night. I used to go shopping at midnight when I was living at home a few years ago, but my favorite midnight shopping spot has since closed down it's late night hours. I'll explain why midnight shopping is the bomb, but let me explain what I was doing at this fine establishment tonight.
We are having this faux Iron Chef competition in my office tomorrow. I, along with the Center leadership, are going to compete for the affections of our staff using two ingredients: Coconut and Red Peppers. I fucking HATE bell peppers. Anyways, that being said, my team and I have chosen a menu of delectable Filipino delights to share with our staff. However, one of the teams has been meeting in secret, and planning behind closed doors. Let it be said that I'm not 100% behind the Iron Chef idea. It's a crackpot idea that someone came up with simply because he's a foodaholic (PUT. DOWN. THE. FORK.), and I dont' feel like I can pull myself away from my work to cater to someone's folly. But I'm doing it.
Did I mention the winner gets two days off?
In the last few days, one of the teams has been getting up in my face, literally, telling me "You better watch out, we plan on bringing it to another level." "I just want to let you know that you're up for some stiff competition." And it's not just charming little comments....It's becoming very very competitive, and mind you, I'm not too keen on competition at all. So if someone's going to get in my face about it, I tend to shut down and not want to participate. If I don't, I'll just talk HELLA shit back. Bad, bad, bad. So finally, I told one of the opposing team members, the captain, even, "Look, don't get in my face about this. I don't appreciate your threatening behavior that comes out of nowhere."
He freaked out. Apologized profusely.
"And another thing, I don't appreciate your team going around saying these things to others from out of nowhere. This is a friendly competition, not one that I feel has to intimidate other people." Someone slipped a me a note under my door when we were meeting "Good luck, you'll need it." WTF. But maybe I'm being too sensitive.
Who cares, I think they're being assholes.
So anyways, that's what I was doing at the market so late at night. I bought some of the supplies that we'll need to put together a small Filipino 3-course munch fest. I don't care if we win or lose, all I know is that I'm going to have fun regardless of their drama. I just wound up telling people, "We bought supplies that you can't even pronounce."
I love to go shopping late at night because::
Iam sad to report that there were zero cute guys tonight. Oh well.
At any rate, it's time for bed, and I got some cooking to do tomorrow. I'll give you the results tomorrow.
Voodoo
Location: Albertson's on El Camino
Cute Guy Factor: Zero
Bags: 8
Number of Trips to the Car to Bring Bags Up to Kitchen: 1
Items Needed, Not Found: 1
I love to go shopping late at night. I used to go shopping at midnight when I was living at home a few years ago, but my favorite midnight shopping spot has since closed down it's late night hours. I'll explain why midnight shopping is the bomb, but let me explain what I was doing at this fine establishment tonight.
We are having this faux Iron Chef competition in my office tomorrow. I, along with the Center leadership, are going to compete for the affections of our staff using two ingredients: Coconut and Red Peppers. I fucking HATE bell peppers. Anyways, that being said, my team and I have chosen a menu of delectable Filipino delights to share with our staff. However, one of the teams has been meeting in secret, and planning behind closed doors. Let it be said that I'm not 100% behind the Iron Chef idea. It's a crackpot idea that someone came up with simply because he's a foodaholic (PUT. DOWN. THE. FORK.), and I dont' feel like I can pull myself away from my work to cater to someone's folly. But I'm doing it.
Did I mention the winner gets two days off?
In the last few days, one of the teams has been getting up in my face, literally, telling me "You better watch out, we plan on bringing it to another level." "I just want to let you know that you're up for some stiff competition." And it's not just charming little comments....It's becoming very very competitive, and mind you, I'm not too keen on competition at all. So if someone's going to get in my face about it, I tend to shut down and not want to participate. If I don't, I'll just talk HELLA shit back. Bad, bad, bad. So finally, I told one of the opposing team members, the captain, even, "Look, don't get in my face about this. I don't appreciate your threatening behavior that comes out of nowhere."
He freaked out. Apologized profusely.
"And another thing, I don't appreciate your team going around saying these things to others from out of nowhere. This is a friendly competition, not one that I feel has to intimidate other people." Someone slipped a me a note under my door when we were meeting "Good luck, you'll need it." WTF. But maybe I'm being too sensitive.
Who cares, I think they're being assholes.
So anyways, that's what I was doing at the market so late at night. I bought some of the supplies that we'll need to put together a small Filipino 3-course munch fest. I don't care if we win or lose, all I know is that I'm going to have fun regardless of their drama. I just wound up telling people, "We bought supplies that you can't even pronounce."
I love to go shopping late at night because::
- There's hardly anyone there.
- The mystique of how the food gets put out intrigues me.
- There are some pretty good looking people there (like myself yah right). Cute guys who have to shop late because theyr'e too busy to do it earlier? Hubba hubba.
- Lines? What lines?
- People are interesting at midnight.
- Did I mention the cute guys?
Iam sad to report that there were zero cute guys tonight. Oh well.
At any rate, it's time for bed, and I got some cooking to do tomorrow. I'll give you the results tomorrow.
Voodoo
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
My Two Cents
I think of all the things that I miss in a relationship is the connection that you share. I thought a lot about it last nite after choppin it up with Goin' On and Dick in the Glass. It's been about a year and four months of soloness, and I'm not knocking the single life, really, I enjoy it thoroughly, but when things are said and done, it's the conversation at the end of the day that leaves me lacking.
Remember the discussion about the fuzzy monkey? Maybe not, but here goes. In a test to show the effect of warmth during the early stages of development, a two baby monkeys were paired with fake moms. Basically they were constructed out of wire, but one of them had a fuzzy covering. They were fed, etc. The one that had the wire mommy grew up kinda shrivelled up and had bad social skills. The one that had a fuzzy mommy was well-adjusted and healthy.
Not to say that I can't hang with being solo, really. It's all gravy, but sometimes you need that fuzzy monkey to get you by. More on this later. I have to work.
Voodoo
I think of all the things that I miss in a relationship is the connection that you share. I thought a lot about it last nite after choppin it up with Goin' On and Dick in the Glass. It's been about a year and four months of soloness, and I'm not knocking the single life, really, I enjoy it thoroughly, but when things are said and done, it's the conversation at the end of the day that leaves me lacking.
Remember the discussion about the fuzzy monkey? Maybe not, but here goes. In a test to show the effect of warmth during the early stages of development, a two baby monkeys were paired with fake moms. Basically they were constructed out of wire, but one of them had a fuzzy covering. They were fed, etc. The one that had the wire mommy grew up kinda shrivelled up and had bad social skills. The one that had a fuzzy mommy was well-adjusted and healthy.
Not to say that I can't hang with being solo, really. It's all gravy, but sometimes you need that fuzzy monkey to get you by. More on this later. I have to work.
Voodoo
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
Angry
I'm not going into details, so don't ask. And I'm not going to explain, so forgive me my abruptness.
When I get mad, I am the type of person who aspires to rage quite quickly. I however, have learned that rage begets pain and yet more rage, so I opt to accept the fact that I can be mad. It is a fruitless thing, this being mad, and that being said, should be enough. Thusly Imove on, cognizant of my past and future, yet aware that the present is more valuable and fleeting.
So when a childish remark, not made by the children in the previous post, but by a supposed grown up, enters my present, why does it seemingly pierce my once peaceful and serene self and revert me to that raging creature I despise?
I say to myself this: certain people, usually people without much sense, possess enough charm to get them liked by others, but lack the substance that it takes to maintain a relationship, whether that be strictly platonic or romantic. These folks are usually like sand that gets into a sandwich that you're eating at the beach. Seemingly innocuous, and you're digging the sandwich, however, once you bite into it you get this grainy nasty chewing of grit sound that irritates you to high heaven. And irritated I am.
I've learned enough of life to say that substance-free individuals are nothing more than a waste of time, and mere filler. Therefore they're a non-issue, and sadly enough that means it's time to close that chapter and move on. Not that there was a chapter to begin with.
And if you're reading this: I really do have one and I suggest you get one for yourself, god knows there's enough space in your head for one.
VD
I'm not going into details, so don't ask. And I'm not going to explain, so forgive me my abruptness.
When I get mad, I am the type of person who aspires to rage quite quickly. I however, have learned that rage begets pain and yet more rage, so I opt to accept the fact that I can be mad. It is a fruitless thing, this being mad, and that being said, should be enough. Thusly Imove on, cognizant of my past and future, yet aware that the present is more valuable and fleeting.
So when a childish remark, not made by the children in the previous post, but by a supposed grown up, enters my present, why does it seemingly pierce my once peaceful and serene self and revert me to that raging creature I despise?
I say to myself this: certain people, usually people without much sense, possess enough charm to get them liked by others, but lack the substance that it takes to maintain a relationship, whether that be strictly platonic or romantic. These folks are usually like sand that gets into a sandwich that you're eating at the beach. Seemingly innocuous, and you're digging the sandwich, however, once you bite into it you get this grainy nasty chewing of grit sound that irritates you to high heaven. And irritated I am.
I've learned enough of life to say that substance-free individuals are nothing more than a waste of time, and mere filler. Therefore they're a non-issue, and sadly enough that means it's time to close that chapter and move on. Not that there was a chapter to begin with.
And if you're reading this: I really do have one and I suggest you get one for yourself, god knows there's enough space in your head for one.
VD
Monday, April 15, 2002
Kid Get Your Finger Out of Your Nose
Hey Voodoo Babies. I took an early day off and went to visit Mista J at his place of work and read to his kiddies. I also stopped in and read to a colleague of his' as well. I love reading books to kids, and it amazed me how much the ability to read has impacted me as a child. I was inquiring as to the newspaper by the age 4, and I was ready to go for kindergarten. I was a library nerd early on in life, and a lot of it was due to my mom reading to me as a kid.
So I'm reading these books, and his class is full of 1st grade boys. Cute as the devil, and boy are they active little ones. . So I'm reading to his class, they're all attentive, helpful and sitting up. They're participating in the reading, making good noise, and being very cute, as little boys are. The reading went well, and I was happy. The other class I read to, they were chillin' hard, layin' down on their sleepingbags, and some were very present, but there were others who were like this little boy at my feet, who had his finger up his nose almost the whole time.
How charming.
It was also distracting because I like to make eye contact with the kids when I'm reading, and it's somewhat unsettling to look down and see a booger fiend making eye contact back to me. Ahh youth. Anyways, so I tried to get my motors back up and quickly scanned the room for a non-nosepicker, and luckily I was able to. The rest of the reading went very very well, and I was happy.
What a nice way to end a work day, huh?
Anyways, off to enjoy the rest of the day.
Laters!
Voodoo
Hey Voodoo Babies. I took an early day off and went to visit Mista J at his place of work and read to his kiddies. I also stopped in and read to a colleague of his' as well. I love reading books to kids, and it amazed me how much the ability to read has impacted me as a child. I was inquiring as to the newspaper by the age 4, and I was ready to go for kindergarten. I was a library nerd early on in life, and a lot of it was due to my mom reading to me as a kid.
So I'm reading these books, and his class is full of 1st grade boys. Cute as the devil, and boy are they active little ones. . So I'm reading to his class, they're all attentive, helpful and sitting up. They're participating in the reading, making good noise, and being very cute, as little boys are. The reading went well, and I was happy. The other class I read to, they were chillin' hard, layin' down on their sleepingbags, and some were very present, but there were others who were like this little boy at my feet, who had his finger up his nose almost the whole time.
How charming.
It was also distracting because I like to make eye contact with the kids when I'm reading, and it's somewhat unsettling to look down and see a booger fiend making eye contact back to me. Ahh youth. Anyways, so I tried to get my motors back up and quickly scanned the room for a non-nosepicker, and luckily I was able to. The rest of the reading went very very well, and I was happy.
What a nice way to end a work day, huh?
Anyways, off to enjoy the rest of the day.
Laters!
Voodoo
Monday Morning Madness
Gotta mail taxes.
Gotta do some letters.
Gotta do some shit at work.
Distraction? Sure, bring it on.
Enjoy,
Voodoo
Gotta do some letters.
Distraction? Sure, bring it on.
Enjoy,
Voodoo
Sunday, April 14, 2002
Freaking Finally
Okay, I think I got the kinks worked out of my page, and I also was able to change the template around a bit. This is my new Voodoo Epcot Center Look. I hope you like it, and if you don't, screw you. Just kidding. ;-)
At any rate, we're up and running, and that goes for the rest of the BRL family tree. I'll give you the rundown on what I did tonight tomorrow. This chica is TIRED, and I need some rest.
3.25 hour PCNs. What is this world coming to.
Voodoo
Okay, I think I got the kinks worked out of my page, and I also was able to change the template around a bit. This is my new Voodoo Epcot Center Look. I hope you like it, and if you don't, screw you. Just kidding. ;-)
At any rate, we're up and running, and that goes for the rest of the BRL family tree. I'll give you the rundown on what I did tonight tomorrow. This chica is TIRED, and I need some rest.
3.25 hour PCNs. What is this world coming to.
Voodoo
Friday, April 12, 2002
That's Voodoo, Mista J, Drunken Masta, Confucious, Felonious Monkey and Dick in the Glass
I am known as the Julie from Love Boat. The Social Coordinator. The person who brings others together. I am, as my friends would say, the mediator, the shot-caller (when it comes to socials), or just plain ol' Voodoo.
So I picked up two more writers for BRL, and got to hang out with the OG writers. Beer and Ketel and Cran. Life is good. Very good. :-)
There was a reason why I pulled everyone together. I didn't want to say it outright, nor did I want to tell everyone any news...It's just that lately, things have been kinda rough, and I've been working my ass off, and have pretty much been cut off from my friends and even family. Not that I don't talk to them, or see them; I talk to my friends via AIM, and recently I talk to my friends via webcam all the damn time. It's just that when it comes down to it, you really really want to be able to meet with people and spend real time with them. And since my life literally was poop on a stick, I wanted to be able to bring some folks together just to kick it, and to remind myself that even though I'm going through a virtual hell, these are the people that I really want to be with.
So here's the roll call: Drunken Masta, Mista J, The Weekender, The Felonious Monkey, Moon Cake, The Village Person aka Gengalicious, The Apostle, Dick in the Glass, Open the Light and Confucious. Dr. Evil and Basket Case will be writing for me soon. Dickhead, Buff Bagwell and Pigpen completed the circle.
Thanks you guys for coming out. I loved having you all around, and it did more for me to be with you than to keep wishing I could make time. My friends are the SHIT!
Voodoo
PS: Oops, sorry OtL!!!
I am known as the Julie from Love Boat. The Social Coordinator. The person who brings others together. I am, as my friends would say, the mediator, the shot-caller (when it comes to socials), or just plain ol' Voodoo.
So I picked up two more writers for BRL, and got to hang out with the OG writers. Beer and Ketel and Cran. Life is good. Very good. :-)
There was a reason why I pulled everyone together. I didn't want to say it outright, nor did I want to tell everyone any news...It's just that lately, things have been kinda rough, and I've been working my ass off, and have pretty much been cut off from my friends and even family. Not that I don't talk to them, or see them; I talk to my friends via AIM, and recently I talk to my friends via webcam all the damn time. It's just that when it comes down to it, you really really want to be able to meet with people and spend real time with them. And since my life literally was poop on a stick, I wanted to be able to bring some folks together just to kick it, and to remind myself that even though I'm going through a virtual hell, these are the people that I really want to be with.
So here's the roll call: Drunken Masta, Mista J, The Weekender, The Felonious Monkey, Moon Cake, The Village Person aka Gengalicious, The Apostle, Dick in the Glass, Open the Light and Confucious. Dr. Evil and Basket Case will be writing for me soon. Dickhead, Buff Bagwell and Pigpen completed the circle.
Thanks you guys for coming out. I loved having you all around, and it did more for me to be with you than to keep wishing I could make time. My friends are the SHIT!
Voodoo
PS: Oops, sorry OtL!!!
Thursday, April 11, 2002
Props
Thanks for comin' out, Confucious and Dick in the Glass. You made my night. Now off to bed I go. I think I'll go in late tomorrow.
Voodoo
Thanks for comin' out, Confucious and Dick in the Glass. You made my night. Now off to bed I go. I think I'll go in late tomorrow.
Voodoo
Wednesday, April 10, 2002
Crack
My page is smokin' crack right now. It's not publishing right and i'm missing posts, so bear with me.
Thanks,
Vudu
My page is smokin' crack right now. It's not publishing right and i'm missing posts, so bear with me.
Thanks,
Vudu
My Morning Walk
Got out of bed. Glanced at my computer. Said good morning to some friends. Brushed my teeth. Changed my clothes. Changed them again. Brushed my hair. Checked the clock. Put on my socks. Put on my makeup. Put on my shoes. Said good morning to Confucious. Said good morning to my kid. Fixed my bed. Fluffed up my pillows. Closed my closet door. Turned off the Prince CD. Checked lipstick. Signed off on AIM. Went to kitchen. Foraged for food. Grabbed Timbuk2 bag. Grabbed laptop bag. Dangled keys so I can hear them. Closed door behind me. Clicked alarm on car. Laptop in trunk. Timbuk2 in front. Turn on radio. Put in ATL CD. Track #4. Bump that shit. Off we go.
Traffic not too bad. Pass a Maxima. A truck. Two lanes over. Nod my head to the music. Signal to change lanes. Take my exit. Zoom past a truck. Turn right. Mad dog someone on a cell phone driving too slow and swerving. Turn left. Go up the hill. Peace sign to the firemenses. Turn left into garage. Park. Grab Timbuk2. Sling it over shoulder. Grab umbrella. Walk to office.
See the dog who is always walked by a woman now being walked by a man. Wonder where she is. Hope she's okay. See coworker, dodge and run to building. Go up two flights of stairs. Give a peace sign to my boy at the front desk. Take out keys. Open door. Throw down bag. Monitor on. Speakers on. CPU on. Throw off jacket. Sit and wait for network registration. *******. It's on. Log back onto AIM. *********. Respond to IMs. Check email. Barely awake, call homegirl to get coffee.
Go to ATM. Insufficient funds. Fuck me. Manage to work it out. PLEASE TAKE CASH. Hear the beeping tones of joy. Grab the fetti and walk to cafe. Meet homegirl. Order Almond Roca Soy Mocha, medium. Grab banana bread. Fork out cash. Sip. Talk. Dodge conversation when boss walks in. Get up. Go back to office. Rain on face. Rain in coffee.
And it wasn't until I got outside and felt drizzle on my face and watched droplets fall in my coffee that I woke up. My days are starting to get longer, and my mind isn't as sharp as it should be this early in the morning. As we walked back to the office, I watched my coffee get doses of drizzle, and I wondered if it would be safe to consume. I pondered this a few more steps and got thirsty, so it's all good. Back to reality. And the drizzle didn't fade the coffee one bit.
Voodoo
Got out of bed. Glanced at my computer. Said good morning to some friends. Brushed my teeth. Changed my clothes. Changed them again. Brushed my hair. Checked the clock. Put on my socks. Put on my makeup. Put on my shoes. Said good morning to Confucious. Said good morning to my kid. Fixed my bed. Fluffed up my pillows. Closed my closet door. Turned off the Prince CD. Checked lipstick. Signed off on AIM. Went to kitchen. Foraged for food. Grabbed Timbuk2 bag. Grabbed laptop bag. Dangled keys so I can hear them. Closed door behind me. Clicked alarm on car. Laptop in trunk. Timbuk2 in front. Turn on radio. Put in ATL CD. Track #4. Bump that shit. Off we go.
Traffic not too bad. Pass a Maxima. A truck. Two lanes over. Nod my head to the music. Signal to change lanes. Take my exit. Zoom past a truck. Turn right. Mad dog someone on a cell phone driving too slow and swerving. Turn left. Go up the hill. Peace sign to the firemenses. Turn left into garage. Park. Grab Timbuk2. Sling it over shoulder. Grab umbrella. Walk to office.
See the dog who is always walked by a woman now being walked by a man. Wonder where she is. Hope she's okay. See coworker, dodge and run to building. Go up two flights of stairs. Give a peace sign to my boy at the front desk. Take out keys. Open door. Throw down bag. Monitor on. Speakers on. CPU on. Throw off jacket. Sit and wait for network registration. *******. It's on. Log back onto AIM. *********. Respond to IMs. Check email. Barely awake, call homegirl to get coffee.
Go to ATM. Insufficient funds. Fuck me. Manage to work it out. PLEASE TAKE CASH. Hear the beeping tones of joy. Grab the fetti and walk to cafe. Meet homegirl. Order Almond Roca Soy Mocha, medium. Grab banana bread. Fork out cash. Sip. Talk. Dodge conversation when boss walks in. Get up. Go back to office. Rain on face. Rain in coffee.
And it wasn't until I got outside and felt drizzle on my face and watched droplets fall in my coffee that I woke up. My days are starting to get longer, and my mind isn't as sharp as it should be this early in the morning. As we walked back to the office, I watched my coffee get doses of drizzle, and I wondered if it would be safe to consume. I pondered this a few more steps and got thirsty, so it's all good. Back to reality. And the drizzle didn't fade the coffee one bit.
Voodoo
Strugglin
It's 12:41 AM. Dick in the Glass got his eye on the clock and is supposed to make sure I go to bed before 1. So I'll keep this short.
I've been going to rehearsal for the ever famous PCN for the last two nights. I get to work at say 8:45. I go home at 10:30. Life is fun like that. Some people ask me if I have to be there. I honestly don't, but I want to be, and screw everyone who thinks I'm crazy. I love what I do, even if you think I'm insane. I won't get into it, the clock's tickin'.
But let me do say this: I need a date for Saturday. One ticket. Sits next to me. Gets to watch as I play professor/mentor/coach/person who has to clean up the stage after the show. Beer and fun to follow. Will give ticket to the person who can answer this question: I want a 20 word essay telling me why you want to go. The show's on Saturday at 5:30. Get to work.
Voodoo
It's 12:41 AM. Dick in the Glass got his eye on the clock and is supposed to make sure I go to bed before 1. So I'll keep this short.
I've been going to rehearsal for the ever famous PCN for the last two nights. I get to work at say 8:45. I go home at 10:30. Life is fun like that. Some people ask me if I have to be there. I honestly don't, but I want to be, and screw everyone who thinks I'm crazy. I love what I do, even if you think I'm insane. I won't get into it, the clock's tickin'.
But let me do say this: I need a date for Saturday. One ticket. Sits next to me. Gets to watch as I play professor/mentor/coach/person who has to clean up the stage after the show. Beer and fun to follow. Will give ticket to the person who can answer this question: I want a 20 word essay telling me why you want to go. The show's on Saturday at 5:30. Get to work.
Voodoo
Monday, April 08, 2002
The Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living
At this time in my life, and in many others, I've found myself taking stock of my life. And I've thought about it, and thought about it, and asked myself, is there a process by which we can take a good look at what we've accomplished in our lives? Short of making a pilgrimage to Gordon Biersch, I mean Tibet/Mecca/Serramonte, there isn't a formal method by which we can step back and reflect. Okay, there are other means to achieve this, but for sake of argument, here is the Voodoo Child Version:
Okay that's enough thinking for you...if any of you care to share your responses to all questions or just snippets of them, let me know. I'll be posting mine shortly.
Have fun, and get to work...
Voodoo
At this time in my life, and in many others, I've found myself taking stock of my life. And I've thought about it, and thought about it, and asked myself, is there a process by which we can take a good look at what we've accomplished in our lives? Short of making a pilgrimage to Gordon Biersch, I mean Tibet/Mecca/Serramonte, there isn't a formal method by which we can step back and reflect. Okay, there are other means to achieve this, but for sake of argument, here is the Voodoo Child Version:
- Why are you examining things now?
- Make a list of your accomplishments.
- What are you the most proud of?
- What achievement have you earned that you worked the hardest for?
- What do you wish you had done by now but haven't and why?
- What was the hardest sacrifice have you made in order to get where you are?
- What would you have done differently?
- What would you, under no circumstances, never change?
- What would you say is the most unselfish thing you've done thus far?
- What does your selection of friends say about you?
- What would your friends say about you if asked to describe your strengths and weaknesses?
- What are the material objects that define you? Without them, what are you?
- Who has been the most influential person in your life?
- If you can say you have had an impact on someone, who would that be?
- What has your relationship with the world been like?
- What contributions have you made towards society?
- Are you were you said you would be five years ago?
- Where do you see yourself in 5 years? 10 years?
- What is the legacy that you would like like to leave your children?
- What is your motto?
Okay that's enough thinking for you...if any of you care to share your responses to all questions or just snippets of them, let me know. I'll be posting mine shortly.
Have fun, and get to work...
Voodoo
Search Terminology and Me
Funniest search terms used that hit this page: "porns who smell like fish" (scroll down)
WTF!
Voodoo
Funniest search terms used that hit this page: "porns who smell like fish" (scroll down)
WTF!
Voodoo
Sunday, April 07, 2002
Down Time
On the CD player: (I'm not cool enough to have an mp3 player. wanna donate?) Monsoon Wedding Soundtrack.
In the dryer: My laundry (whites)
In honor of no particular reason, I'm going to drop some lyrics on you because I'm in need of some mental stimulation. Here goes.
Seems like a hectic day just like the others
Playin' it cool, too many hours under the covers
Wonderin' how it's gonna play itself out, without a doubt
It's time for me to get on up out this bed
And drop a line
To my people in the City, got bidness to dwell on,
Met up with my homies, dropped some knowledge
Get that learn on
It ain't easy pimpin an hoein all that you're knowin'
But I have to confess I address my mind with a flow and
I gotta do what I gotta do not cause it's demanded
I break on up out these chains cause it's what commanded
Not by God, or the Goddess, whoever you desire
It's internal this thing we call the Overseer and it requires
Your everpresent presence let it be said
That I choose my own path or else I'd be dead
Dead to the world, to my quest, my meaning
Built upon the foundation and this creation like macromedia it's tweening
Bringing together the beats and the rhymes and much more the life
Cause when I'm on top of things, cease with the strife
That the world throws me, but until I get up out this bed
Ain't nothing knowin' but this rhyme that's just flowing
Throw my head, down them arms to my fingers
Onto the keyboard, flashin' up on the screen, it's the words that flicker
Cause the word was made flesh, from thought to reality
Better quit cause this shit is makin' me hyped up for battle see,
And it ain't even 8AM.
Voodoo
PS: Pimp Nation Double Shot: Hey Dick in the Glass! Thanks for actually visiting the personal page ;-)
On the CD player: (I'm not cool enough to have an mp3 player. wanna donate?) Monsoon Wedding Soundtrack.
In the dryer: My laundry (whites)
In honor of no particular reason, I'm going to drop some lyrics on you because I'm in need of some mental stimulation. Here goes.
Seems like a hectic day just like the others
Playin' it cool, too many hours under the covers
Wonderin' how it's gonna play itself out, without a doubt
It's time for me to get on up out this bed
And drop a line
To my people in the City, got bidness to dwell on,
Met up with my homies, dropped some knowledge
Get that learn on
It ain't easy pimpin an hoein all that you're knowin'
But I have to confess I address my mind with a flow and
I gotta do what I gotta do not cause it's demanded
I break on up out these chains cause it's what commanded
Not by God, or the Goddess, whoever you desire
It's internal this thing we call the Overseer and it requires
Your everpresent presence let it be said
That I choose my own path or else I'd be dead
Dead to the world, to my quest, my meaning
Built upon the foundation and this creation like macromedia it's tweening
Bringing together the beats and the rhymes and much more the life
Cause when I'm on top of things, cease with the strife
That the world throws me, but until I get up out this bed
Ain't nothing knowin' but this rhyme that's just flowing
Throw my head, down them arms to my fingers
Onto the keyboard, flashin' up on the screen, it's the words that flicker
Cause the word was made flesh, from thought to reality
Better quit cause this shit is makin' me hyped up for battle see,
And it ain't even 8AM.
Voodoo
PS: Pimp Nation Double Shot: Hey Dick in the Glass! Thanks for actually visiting the personal page ;-)
Pimp Nation
First off, I want to give some love to Confucious. Keep writing, and keep drinking...More mad love to the pimps of the Pork Honey FBaseball League, quit asking me for Miguel Tejada, and something for all you other pimps and pimpettes out there:Pimp Anthropology.
On that note, goodnight and happy pimpin'. If you think pimpin' ain't easy, you should try hoein'.
Voodoo
First off, I want to give some love to Confucious. Keep writing, and keep drinking...More mad love to the pimps of the Pork Honey FBaseball League, quit asking me for Miguel Tejada, and something for all you other pimps and pimpettes out there:Pimp Anthropology.
On that note, goodnight and happy pimpin'. If you think pimpin' ain't easy, you should try hoein'.
Voodoo
Saturday, April 06, 2002
Frick
I lost my last post. I'm going to scream.
Props to Goin' On and Pinatubo. You guys are hilarious. For whatever reason you're in my life, one of them was to make me laugh.
Voodoo
I lost my last post. I'm going to scream.
Props to Goin' On and Pinatubo. You guys are hilarious. For whatever reason you're in my life, one of them was to make me laugh.
Voodoo
48 Hours
Yesterday was a terrible day at work. I was exhausted, I taught a class, and just had to get it in my head that I'm burning the FUCK out and I need to watch it before it winds up killing me. And my lovelies, it is. Slowly but surely I can feel my brain melting away. My head ain't on straight. I have a vibe going on in my head that has hit a skip the way a CD just can't get past a scratch. The saving glory of my life is my blog, my creative life, and my friends and family. That's it baby, nothing more nothing less. If I could afford it, I'd quit my job, move out again and find my soul.
Cause it's slippin' from me like sand through my fingers.
Today was more of the same, I am distracted, can't focus very well, and I'm ready to just up an bounce. But I love my kids, I really do. So this is what my last 48 hours were like.
Last night I hooked up with 40 Day's boy Goin' On and his homegirl Pinatubo. I headed down there after work and threw down some sushi and miso soup beforehand. I went to the club, sat down and downed a mandarin cosmo. The music is kickin' at Pearl's. Some of you may know that's my regular jazz joint, and I love it there. Good people, for the most part cause some patrons get on my damn nerves, and the Vince Lateano group is the joint. Another Mandarin. Another Beer. Another Ketel and Cran. Next thing you know it's 1AM. Time to bounce. Late nite eats at Calzone's. I'm in heaven. Jazz, good food, excellent (and I mean this to the utmost) company.
I bought a Ms. Bento lunch pail today because I have been secretly lusting after one the way I lust after most objects I feel are absolutely cute. I visited a variety type store in Chinatown and picked one up for 40 bucks (it's a TIGHT lunch pail, don't give me shit because it's hella bucks, Imma slap you). I better get a lot of usage out of it.
Today I also worked my ass off doing literally nothing of great import. I am starting to do work on my performance evaluation. I'm also considering letting my boss know that I plan on applying to other schools. It's hard because I dont' want to leave where I am right now, but I really feel like I need to grow more, and it's not happening. I don't want to get into details, but I'm planning some moves here and there. I'll keep you posted. After work I took two of my students, Saran Wrap and Hooters, to Malibu Grand Prix and Mini Golf drama Center. Played some games, won some prizes and met up with Goin' On and Pinatubo. It was real sweet of them to come on out with us. Props. Much props.
We went to a bar afterwards, but it was wack because believe it or not they ran out of beer. What a bunch of shit. They also had us waiting for days while we tried to get a table.Maybe that's why I stopped going there. Anyways, it was a good thing because yo' Girl is tired, and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. Hope all is well, and that you are all tucked in your beds, with visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in your head.
Laters,
Voodoo
Yesterday was a terrible day at work. I was exhausted, I taught a class, and just had to get it in my head that I'm burning the FUCK out and I need to watch it before it winds up killing me. And my lovelies, it is. Slowly but surely I can feel my brain melting away. My head ain't on straight. I have a vibe going on in my head that has hit a skip the way a CD just can't get past a scratch. The saving glory of my life is my blog, my creative life, and my friends and family. That's it baby, nothing more nothing less. If I could afford it, I'd quit my job, move out again and find my soul.
Cause it's slippin' from me like sand through my fingers.
Today was more of the same, I am distracted, can't focus very well, and I'm ready to just up an bounce. But I love my kids, I really do. So this is what my last 48 hours were like.
Last night I hooked up with 40 Day's boy Goin' On and his homegirl Pinatubo. I headed down there after work and threw down some sushi and miso soup beforehand. I went to the club, sat down and downed a mandarin cosmo. The music is kickin' at Pearl's. Some of you may know that's my regular jazz joint, and I love it there. Good people, for the most part cause some patrons get on my damn nerves, and the Vince Lateano group is the joint. Another Mandarin. Another Beer. Another Ketel and Cran. Next thing you know it's 1AM. Time to bounce. Late nite eats at Calzone's. I'm in heaven. Jazz, good food, excellent (and I mean this to the utmost) company.
I bought a Ms. Bento lunch pail today because I have been secretly lusting after one the way I lust after most objects I feel are absolutely cute. I visited a variety type store in Chinatown and picked one up for 40 bucks (it's a TIGHT lunch pail, don't give me shit because it's hella bucks, Imma slap you). I better get a lot of usage out of it.
Today I also worked my ass off doing literally nothing of great import. I am starting to do work on my performance evaluation. I'm also considering letting my boss know that I plan on applying to other schools. It's hard because I dont' want to leave where I am right now, but I really feel like I need to grow more, and it's not happening. I don't want to get into details, but I'm planning some moves here and there. I'll keep you posted. After work I took two of my students, Saran Wrap and Hooters, to Malibu Grand Prix and Mini Golf drama Center. Played some games, won some prizes and met up with Goin' On and Pinatubo. It was real sweet of them to come on out with us. Props. Much props.
We went to a bar afterwards, but it was wack because believe it or not they ran out of beer. What a bunch of shit. They also had us waiting for days while we tried to get a table.Maybe that's why I stopped going there. Anyways, it was a good thing because yo' Girl is tired, and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. Hope all is well, and that you are all tucked in your beds, with visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in your head.
Laters,
Voodoo
Wednesday, April 03, 2002
Writing About Writing
Metawriting, that's it.
I've been getting tons of fabulous feedback about the last post, and I wanted to kind of talk a little about it. The Conversations with God series started a few years ago when I read the book entitled Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch. The author had a free flowing conversation with God, minus all the emotional and situational stuff. It's a dope book, took a while to get through, but I enjoyed it thoroughly and started to have, in fact, my own conversations with God.
As a reformed Catholic, I like to think that religion is uncommonly individualistic. I believe that there is a unique perspective we possess which in turn shapes our realities, our lives, and our Gods. Yes, Gods. God can be whoever, whatever, however you desire. Man, woman, child, black, brown, white, you name it, that's God. And you know what? That's okay. God is, in my eyes, too infinite to be defined by any man or woman. God just is.
So that's been my train of thought for a few years, and I started to think about what it would be like to actually talk to God. God the Accessible. God the One without Thunder and Lightning but Who Likes a Cup of Tea Every Now and Then. Not God the All Powerful and Ever Judging. I'd never invite him to my house. Could you imagine? What a bad house guest. Slip up and you're down the fiery furnace. Anyways, I lay in bed one night and just asked a question. I dont recall the conversation itself, but it just seemed like the answers popped out of nowhere. Intrigued, I continued to ask questions and then wound up having a conversation with, well, God.
Now, before you go and call the Psych Ward to report that a patient is missing, allow me to further explain my philosophy.
If God made us in "His" image, then why are we not Gods? To think of God as external, or the Other, you separate yourself from the concept and the mission. If you think of God as an integral part of your being, then you can internalize, literally and figuratively, the concept. You are, in fact, God. So this conversation stems from your own reality, and also, yes it's God talking through you.
Don't call the Pope.
My conversations with God were frustrating, happy, sad, and joyous. They have allowed me the opportunity to speak openly and honestly with myself, ask the hard questions, and give the hard answers. It's also given me the ability to listen to myself, something that I haven't been able to do lately. I often tell my students that when it comes to testing you know the answers, it's a matter of learning how to access the material. And during trying times, we know what needs to be done, and what needs to be said, we just need a space to be able to come to that conclusions, therefore my questions with God.
I've found that my spiritual side has been strengthened by the talks, my sanity has been saved often by the talks, and it's a nice way to take time out of a busy day. The fun part comes when you hear from God first. The hard part is letting your mind and heart be open enough to let that happen.
Thanks again for your feedback, and hell, tell God I said what's up.
VuDu
PS: Mista J, he hasn't quite learned how to use the call waiting feature on his cell phone. Be patient. Boy Wunda, thanks for your wise words. And Enforcer, he is one funny dude/dudette.
Metawriting, that's it.
I've been getting tons of fabulous feedback about the last post, and I wanted to kind of talk a little about it. The Conversations with God series started a few years ago when I read the book entitled Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch. The author had a free flowing conversation with God, minus all the emotional and situational stuff. It's a dope book, took a while to get through, but I enjoyed it thoroughly and started to have, in fact, my own conversations with God.
As a reformed Catholic, I like to think that religion is uncommonly individualistic. I believe that there is a unique perspective we possess which in turn shapes our realities, our lives, and our Gods. Yes, Gods. God can be whoever, whatever, however you desire. Man, woman, child, black, brown, white, you name it, that's God. And you know what? That's okay. God is, in my eyes, too infinite to be defined by any man or woman. God just is.
So that's been my train of thought for a few years, and I started to think about what it would be like to actually talk to God. God the Accessible. God the One without Thunder and Lightning but Who Likes a Cup of Tea Every Now and Then. Not God the All Powerful and Ever Judging. I'd never invite him to my house. Could you imagine? What a bad house guest. Slip up and you're down the fiery furnace. Anyways, I lay in bed one night and just asked a question. I dont recall the conversation itself, but it just seemed like the answers popped out of nowhere. Intrigued, I continued to ask questions and then wound up having a conversation with, well, God.
Now, before you go and call the Psych Ward to report that a patient is missing, allow me to further explain my philosophy.
If God made us in "His" image, then why are we not Gods? To think of God as external, or the Other, you separate yourself from the concept and the mission. If you think of God as an integral part of your being, then you can internalize, literally and figuratively, the concept. You are, in fact, God. So this conversation stems from your own reality, and also, yes it's God talking through you.
Don't call the Pope.
My conversations with God were frustrating, happy, sad, and joyous. They have allowed me the opportunity to speak openly and honestly with myself, ask the hard questions, and give the hard answers. It's also given me the ability to listen to myself, something that I haven't been able to do lately. I often tell my students that when it comes to testing you know the answers, it's a matter of learning how to access the material. And during trying times, we know what needs to be done, and what needs to be said, we just need a space to be able to come to that conclusions, therefore my questions with God.
I've found that my spiritual side has been strengthened by the talks, my sanity has been saved often by the talks, and it's a nice way to take time out of a busy day. The fun part comes when you hear from God first. The hard part is letting your mind and heart be open enough to let that happen.
Thanks again for your feedback, and hell, tell God I said what's up.
VuDu
PS: Mista J, he hasn't quite learned how to use the call waiting feature on his cell phone. Be patient. Boy Wunda, thanks for your wise words. And Enforcer, he is one funny dude/dudette.
Tuesday, April 02, 2002
Conversations with God, part 4
I couldn't sleep.
I picked up my cell phone, all brand spanking new, thanks to Sprint, and I hit the voice control button. "God." I said. I put my ear up to the receiving end and heard a computerized, "Calling--" then my own voice saying "God." I rolled over from my stomach to my back. I stared at the ceiling while listening to the rings.
"Hello," a warm man's voice replied. "How are you, Voodoo?"
"How did you know that?" I asked. "You got caller ID powers?"
"No," he laughed, "I have caller ID on my cell though. What's up?"
"Why do people die?" Why dance around the question, I asked myself. It was the thing on my mind this last week, and I figured we might as well get into it.
"Why do people die?" he asked me. I could see him searching the clouds for an answer. He was in his backyard, I could hear the fountain and some birds. "That's a very good question. Why do you ask?"
"Cause you know, with everything that's going on around us, with my students," my voice trailed off. "You have the answers, I suppose." I closed my eyes and I could feel them burn. My eyes were tired. Earlier today I went to the funeral, and I could still hear things in my head, feel a deep sadness.
"The honest truth is people die because it is their time. There is no romanticism involved in death, simply there are accidents, there is old age, there are a multitude of things that bring people to the end of their lives, and when they die, they simply die. What isn't simple is the way in which death is interpreted by those who are left behind."
"What do you mean?"
"We find ourselves left behind. Our loved one has left us, and we are empty, rather there is a void that is left when that person leaves, and in our tears, we don't know how to fill that space. We find ourselves faced with the challenge of living our lives without that person, and it's not ever going to be the same. Or so we think."
"I guess I understand that, but what I'm asking you is why is it that people have to die? Why is it that young people, people who aren't supposed to die yet, die?" My words were terse. I started to feel myself get angry and tense. I had to take a deep breath to calm down a little.
"People die," He said calmly, "because it is their time. I don't expect you to understand that--"
"It's because I don't! I don't know how it could be their 'time' if they haven't even reached their full potential--"
"Wait, wait, who is it to say they have and they haven't? Who is it that dictates what is full and isn't?" He paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. "Is it yours? Is it the young person? Neither. Is it mine? No. It just is, and as hard as that is to accept, it is. I can't offer you any words to make you feel better, or happier, and I can't bring them back. I could easily do that for you, but what about the son that lost his father, shall I bring him back too? Shall I bring back the kitty that the little boy lost? I can't. I simply can't because there will be a time when it all comes together. And when we die, our physical bodies return with, as the scriptures say, the hope of rising again. There is a time. Don't lose sight of that."
"I don't want to hear that, because that's later in life when I'm dead myself. I'm going to hurt, this hurts, this is the part of me that I'd like to have taken away. This is--"
"This is the time for you to listen, not talk." His voice, though stern, was understanding. "I hear what you're saying, and I feel your pain. Death, you see, is a natural transition into the next phase of life. However untimely it is, it is still transition that occurs. The trees around us dont' live forever, and you don't think they are not mourned over? The animals die, and they too mourn. You, my dear, are mourning, and it too shall pass. The seasons change, and return, and you too shall return."
"I don't know if I can accept that."
"I don't expect you to." He was quiet again. I heard a bird in the background. A car zoomed through. Someone laughed. "It is the way you think about things that brings you to peace. It is the way that you know when to let go and to embrace that makes the difference. Yes, death is hard, death is untimely. Death, however is a part of life that we must all deal with, and even the Creator is not free from death."
"You can die?"
"Metaphysically, yes. When someone ceases to believe, I die. When someone turns away from me, I die. Does this not signify change, and that is where the pain is the worst? That we have to change the way we live, see the world, function and operate when there is a radical change? Yes, we die too. But change is natural. It will occur, and we will live on. Life won't be the same, but we will move on and we will grow, and we will die and be renewed."
"So I'll come back?"
"I can't promise you that you'll be back as you are now, but yes, you will return, because you are a part of the universe and the universe is ever recreating and changing. It is what we make of ourselves that defines how we live after the change."
"I don't quite understand it."
"Don't worry, it is something that I am barely able to grasp. The beauty of it all is this: that we are eternally being reborn, and our transitions are plainly painful to others, and sometimes to ourselves. Loss is never easy, and if it were easy, then we wouldn't be talking. Take that hurt and pain and turn it inside of itself. Turn it into love, and into caring, and into a celebration of a life. That is how we live forever, in the celebration of the moments, of each other and of life."
I supposed that it made sense at that point. "Hey I gotta go back to sleep. Tell her I said what's up."
"Of course I will. Good night. It was nice talking to you."
"Likewise. Thanks for the ear," I mumbled. It was really late.
"I liked it so much I gave you two." He laughed.
And for the first time in a while, I did too. And it felt fine.
Voodoo
I couldn't sleep.
I picked up my cell phone, all brand spanking new, thanks to Sprint, and I hit the voice control button. "God." I said. I put my ear up to the receiving end and heard a computerized, "Calling--" then my own voice saying "God." I rolled over from my stomach to my back. I stared at the ceiling while listening to the rings.
"Hello," a warm man's voice replied. "How are you, Voodoo?"
"How did you know that?" I asked. "You got caller ID powers?"
"No," he laughed, "I have caller ID on my cell though. What's up?"
"Why do people die?" Why dance around the question, I asked myself. It was the thing on my mind this last week, and I figured we might as well get into it.
"Why do people die?" he asked me. I could see him searching the clouds for an answer. He was in his backyard, I could hear the fountain and some birds. "That's a very good question. Why do you ask?"
"Cause you know, with everything that's going on around us, with my students," my voice trailed off. "You have the answers, I suppose." I closed my eyes and I could feel them burn. My eyes were tired. Earlier today I went to the funeral, and I could still hear things in my head, feel a deep sadness.
"The honest truth is people die because it is their time. There is no romanticism involved in death, simply there are accidents, there is old age, there are a multitude of things that bring people to the end of their lives, and when they die, they simply die. What isn't simple is the way in which death is interpreted by those who are left behind."
"What do you mean?"
"We find ourselves left behind. Our loved one has left us, and we are empty, rather there is a void that is left when that person leaves, and in our tears, we don't know how to fill that space. We find ourselves faced with the challenge of living our lives without that person, and it's not ever going to be the same. Or so we think."
"I guess I understand that, but what I'm asking you is why is it that people have to die? Why is it that young people, people who aren't supposed to die yet, die?" My words were terse. I started to feel myself get angry and tense. I had to take a deep breath to calm down a little.
"People die," He said calmly, "because it is their time. I don't expect you to understand that--"
"It's because I don't! I don't know how it could be their 'time' if they haven't even reached their full potential--"
"Wait, wait, who is it to say they have and they haven't? Who is it that dictates what is full and isn't?" He paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. "Is it yours? Is it the young person? Neither. Is it mine? No. It just is, and as hard as that is to accept, it is. I can't offer you any words to make you feel better, or happier, and I can't bring them back. I could easily do that for you, but what about the son that lost his father, shall I bring him back too? Shall I bring back the kitty that the little boy lost? I can't. I simply can't because there will be a time when it all comes together. And when we die, our physical bodies return with, as the scriptures say, the hope of rising again. There is a time. Don't lose sight of that."
"I don't want to hear that, because that's later in life when I'm dead myself. I'm going to hurt, this hurts, this is the part of me that I'd like to have taken away. This is--"
"This is the time for you to listen, not talk." His voice, though stern, was understanding. "I hear what you're saying, and I feel your pain. Death, you see, is a natural transition into the next phase of life. However untimely it is, it is still transition that occurs. The trees around us dont' live forever, and you don't think they are not mourned over? The animals die, and they too mourn. You, my dear, are mourning, and it too shall pass. The seasons change, and return, and you too shall return."
"I don't know if I can accept that."
"I don't expect you to." He was quiet again. I heard a bird in the background. A car zoomed through. Someone laughed. "It is the way you think about things that brings you to peace. It is the way that you know when to let go and to embrace that makes the difference. Yes, death is hard, death is untimely. Death, however is a part of life that we must all deal with, and even the Creator is not free from death."
"You can die?"
"Metaphysically, yes. When someone ceases to believe, I die. When someone turns away from me, I die. Does this not signify change, and that is where the pain is the worst? That we have to change the way we live, see the world, function and operate when there is a radical change? Yes, we die too. But change is natural. It will occur, and we will live on. Life won't be the same, but we will move on and we will grow, and we will die and be renewed."
"So I'll come back?"
"I can't promise you that you'll be back as you are now, but yes, you will return, because you are a part of the universe and the universe is ever recreating and changing. It is what we make of ourselves that defines how we live after the change."
"I don't quite understand it."
"Don't worry, it is something that I am barely able to grasp. The beauty of it all is this: that we are eternally being reborn, and our transitions are plainly painful to others, and sometimes to ourselves. Loss is never easy, and if it were easy, then we wouldn't be talking. Take that hurt and pain and turn it inside of itself. Turn it into love, and into caring, and into a celebration of a life. That is how we live forever, in the celebration of the moments, of each other and of life."
I supposed that it made sense at that point. "Hey I gotta go back to sleep. Tell her I said what's up."
"Of course I will. Good night. It was nice talking to you."
"Likewise. Thanks for the ear," I mumbled. It was really late.
"I liked it so much I gave you two." He laughed.
And for the first time in a while, I did too. And it felt fine.
Voodoo
I like long walks, especially when they're taken by people who annoy me. ~Fred Allen
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