Somebody thought I was serious when I called you "judgemental"? I apologize - it was me being flippant because I was hurting and needed help. You gave it to me.

And no, he's not hung like a horse.

To DUers it's old news, but most people I talk to are willing to laugh off the speculation that an end-timer in office might consider hastening the "end." Karl Marx was right when he said that religion is the opium of the masses; but it's also the great motivator.

Just one more reason to pray to the Deity that the Palin bid dies with the upcoming election. She gives me the serious cleeps.

I'm going fucking crazy. Deleted every email (over 750!), tooks his pics off my hard drive, threw away a bunch of mementos. I changed my status back to "single" everywhere I'm listed. It's like being a teenager all over again except scary instead of just sad. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Sorry for venting. I'm going to go do some more vacuuming... I've been distracting myself with housework. We is remarkably clean right now.

Fuck.

Next time, ask about the pH probe. For this test they insert a catheter into one nostril, down the esophagus and into the stomach. The other end of the catheter is ostentatiously taped to your nose, then snaked back behind one ear, down one side of your body, and is then attached to a portable gadget probably much like the BP monitor, also anchored around the waist with a belt. Hint: do NOT eat caramels while probe is in place; they may adhere to the catheter with unpleasant results e.g. bloody nose.



Seriously, hang in there, the test will be over before you know it. When I wore the Holter Monitor (for monitoring heart rate) I went to... THE OLIVE GARDEN! and had pasta primavera, just to say Fuck You to the Establishment.

She's sixteen and naively trying to seduce a college freshman. In so many ways she's a confident young woman who understands how things work, but with boys/men, she's still a baby. She appeared wearing an outfit that would be demure if it weren't for the fact that she'd unzipped the sweatshirt to reveal a corset-like undergarment that pushed her boobs up to her chin. Jeebus. I tried to explain about breasts and boys, and how even "nice" boys get loopy around breasts and women who proffer them... she wasn't buying. "He's a nice guy!" So I told her about the born-again Christian who made love to me while quoting the bible and telling me the Lord loved us both. Turns out this fellow was also fucking my younger sister and managed to give her chlamydia. Nice, Christian boy who had me wanting to bake cookies for him.

Anyway I told her and it made an impression. Now I'm thinking, did I have to do that? Probably not. But I did. *sigh*

but our own. Still, when it began to happen in earnest in October it scared the shit out of me, and made me feel like a creature - a body - I didn't recognize or want. We can't always live down or outgrow our history and we oughta know there's more shit in store for us, yes?

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger and then eventually it just kills us.

to show me how bad he thinks all the clothing is. "Ew," he says, pointing to a babydoll top with lace trim. "Ew." This is for a pair of jean shorts. "Ew. No, make that a double ew," as he points to a really ugly minidress with a matching patent leather belt. "If I saw a girl wearing this, I'd run to the fire department to grab a hose and put her out!" The dress is bright red with a blazing orange trim. Then come the bathing suits. "Can't say no to these," he says and blushes. I ask him, "Do you like anything in here besides the bathing suits?" His response: Nope.

This is a miniature man and I trust his judgement. Why the hell do we spend our time and money covering our bodies in the latest fashions and hottest styles? The men hate them or are, at best, indifferent. Jeans and a t-shirt, that's all they want to see us wearing. Jeans and a t-shirt or nothing at all.

What an interesting concept. It would be noble of a man not to play on a woman's insecurities but there aren't many urges stronger than the urge to reproduce, and the trick works. Only women can change how they respond to a man's approach.

I remember my mother telling me that the "right" man wouldn't care how you look or, better said, you would look beautiful to him because he loved you. I internalized the message but could not help noticing that when my hair was bright blonde, and I wore the "right" clothing and the "right" amount of makeup and had the "right" attitude my chances of gaining an opening were infinitely greater. Therefore I became confused, feeling myself to be a failure because I was not beautiful unless all the props were in place. I did it to myself, because my self-esteem was, and still is to some degree, tied to the male response to my physical being. It's crazy! because when men and women truly care for one another as friends or lovers, the look becomes irrelevant. Why is it so hard to bear this in mind? Why anyway do we try to gain the approval of men and/or women who choose to define us according to our outward appearance? Yet, think of it: human beings are attracted to objects too that we consider to be beautiful. There is a beautiful piece of sculpture and there is an ugly one and we wish to touch the beautiful one, naturally while we wish to put the ugly one in a guest room closet. We are both bound to recognize and bound to not overemphasize the fact that our face and figure will have am impact on how we are initially perceived & maybe not only initially.

When I meet somebody I wonder what they have for breakfast, or why they've chosen to wear the shoes they have on. Stopped at a stoplight I look at the old man in the truck next to me and wonder if his wife is alive, or if he was ever married. I wonder why people are afraid and why some are not. I wonder where I'll be in six months. I wonder if I'm exactly like everybody else, or if not, exactly how different I am. I wonder if it's true that bad things happen to good people and if most bad things can be avoided if a person has courage and strength and intelligence & I always wonder when somebody gets sick or hurt, why? Is there a God? Is marriage nothing more than a long, long, long friendship? Will my children hate me some day? Is George Bush truly evil or stupid or is he just an average man making mistake after mistake? Is it better to hate and reject and in so doing avoid being the one first hated and rejected? Is honesty not the best policy?

Will there be another terrorist strike on the U.S?
Are there other planets with life we would recognize on them?
When science declares that "this is simply not possible" could that assertion yet be wrong?
Is DU addictive and why are we here instead of snuggling in bed with our teddy bears or loved ones?
Will my arthritis progress to the point that I can't walk?
Does my mother think I've done well with my children? Does Dad ever worry about getting ill and dying?

Who does not wonder? I wonder if there is any such person.

a preteen. One day she was baking as per usual, and the baked item (pumpkin bread) came out not as planned. Having a hell of a fiery temper, she took the bread, mashed it up into a great, gooey mass, and attached it somehow to a large piece of cardboard. Then she went downstairs and returned with a can of gold spraypaint, sprayed the crap out of her creation, and hung it on the refrigerator. It was there for weeks, reminding us all that Mom was sometimes batshit crazy.

time of Ghandi? What a wonderful film. What a depressing film. It makes me think how our culture, our fears and our weak humanity bind us with so many conditions in this life, why then do people add to their suffering by refusing to choose the good when it is in their grasp? What is it in us that finds comfort in a cage of our own making?

The movie makes the Pretzel's America look like Paradise. In so many respects, it is.

Shakespearean Sonnet... I think it's number 73. I first heard it in an English class, freshman year at college. The professor was a slow old man and as he read it aloud it was impossible not to think how it might resonate with him personally. Through the years I've rediscovered the piece again and again & it always impacts me differently. Reading it tonight, in a difficult period of my life, it is almost suffocatingly sad.


That time of year though mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doeth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love most strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.