A raccoon tried to eat my foot tonight.
What.
The.
Hell.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Running Over Little Children
I wish I could embrace Hedwig from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I think I may have to go to the nearest gay club and hug the first drag queen that looks like her just to get my fix. I've been listening to the soundtrack from the movie every day since I saw it in its entirety the other night with Andrew, my special man friend. When I say "with" I mean we watched it simultaneously while speaking to each other over the phone. It was romantic. I lit candles in my room, he didn't fall asleep. I loved it. He's got narcolepsy, you see, so I really appreciated that he was still conscious when the credits appeared before the movie. I may be exaggerating in some way, but I'll tell you, it's in a very very minuscule way. He can sleep in trees. It's inhuman. I'm dating a photographer/chef with a handlebar mustache who can sleep in trees and does not find my wit or my eyebrows intimidating. And I didn't even have to sell my soul to Satan. Take that, you hipsters!
Moving on.
I really enjoyed the movie. And yes, I do have an addiction to the soundtrack. I'm listening to it now. But how could you do anything but love a soundtrack with a song that says "It's my first day as a woman, and already it's that time of the month!" Let's not kid ourselves here. The point is, I'm enamored. And I think that if you're the kind of person that would read my blog, then you are most likely the kind of person who would enjoy this:
Ahh the origin of love. Love is my favorite word, next to Honeysuckle. I didn't realize Honeysuckle was my other favorite word until last night when I was trying to blog and just ended up typing some form of memoir. You know, I just realized something. I was about to say that I have been blessed with such opportunities to love, while others go a lifetime without love. At least, that's what I've been told. And now that it comes up, I don't believe that to be true.
It's true that I have been blessed with thousands, no, millions of opportunities to love in my life. Probably even billions. I'm in my twenties now after all. I have more experience under my belt. But I don't believe anyone who has ever lived has ever gone their lives, no matter how long or short, without experiencing love. It's a pompous thing to say. It's something I used to hear people from church say about those less fortunate, or rather, those who don‘t “know The Lord“. People, apparently, are capable of going their entire lives without knowing The Lord. Or rather “Our Lord” because “He’s Our Daddy and Everyone’s Daddy, but he’s not really your daddy unless you call him by his real name, and you can only know his real name if you believe what we believe.” This behavior is bothersome to me, mainly because it bothers me when people become walking oxymora.
Not that Christianity is an oxymora itself, but its groupies sure can be. And that can be said about any radical religious group. I see the major religions’ prophets as rock Gods in an Elvis, The Beatles, The Stones, Michael Jackson sort of way. I see the radicals that come along with those religions as the desperate fans throwing creamy panties on stage. As for the lesser guys - the cult leaders - they’re the boy bands that are stuck with the young, blossoming crazies who are only tolerable after you slip them a couple roofies. Fanatics are the kind of people who dance to songs like Every Breath You Take at their weddings, and think it’s okay.
I’m going to save my opinions about radical religious groups for a later time. I’m not very good at making my points quickly. I already said I was a rambler. My point is, that when I realized Honeysuckle was my favorite word, I was remembering a subtly significant moment in my childhood where I felt at peace.
I was probably five or six, my hair was long and curly, I was barefoot and I was standing alone out by the small chain link fence that separated my big, beautiful back yard from the outside world. It was a warm day, but gray, and I remember the green grass looking especially green against the grayness of the day. Along the fence grew flowering honeysuckle. Peacefully, I walked along the fence picking the flowers and sucking the juice from them. It was sweet, exactly like honey, and there were hundreds of the flowers blossoming along the borders of my wonderland. It was in heaven. It was love. And it was provided to me with no strings attached.
Yes, I was innocent and all that. I hadn’t fucked up on purpose, or on accident enough yet to have to purchase the love. When you get older, it’s still possible to get coverage, but you just have to pay more, because your God/Insurance Agent is now acting like you ran over some little kid in a school zone and He/She’s just one dead minor away from dropping you completely.
At least that’s what Radicals feel like when they grow up. When you're a non-radical grown up, you get to do whatever you want to do to little kids in a school zone, and feel no remorse whatsoever! Or is that just when you're a Catholic grown up? Booya.
Well, I will have to end this nonsense here, and go continue it somewhere else.
Until next time, Mr. Blogger Sir. It’s been a pleasure.
All if full of love.
-Abbi-Wan.
p.s.
Enjoy...
Moving on.
I really enjoyed the movie. And yes, I do have an addiction to the soundtrack. I'm listening to it now. But how could you do anything but love a soundtrack with a song that says "It's my first day as a woman, and already it's that time of the month!" Let's not kid ourselves here. The point is, I'm enamored. And I think that if you're the kind of person that would read my blog, then you are most likely the kind of person who would enjoy this:
Ahh the origin of love. Love is my favorite word, next to Honeysuckle. I didn't realize Honeysuckle was my other favorite word until last night when I was trying to blog and just ended up typing some form of memoir. You know, I just realized something. I was about to say that I have been blessed with such opportunities to love, while others go a lifetime without love. At least, that's what I've been told. And now that it comes up, I don't believe that to be true.
It's true that I have been blessed with thousands, no, millions of opportunities to love in my life. Probably even billions. I'm in my twenties now after all. I have more experience under my belt. But I don't believe anyone who has ever lived has ever gone their lives, no matter how long or short, without experiencing love. It's a pompous thing to say. It's something I used to hear people from church say about those less fortunate, or rather, those who don‘t “know The Lord“. People, apparently, are capable of going their entire lives without knowing The Lord. Or rather “Our Lord” because “He’s Our Daddy and Everyone’s Daddy, but he’s not really your daddy unless you call him by his real name, and you can only know his real name if you believe what we believe.” This behavior is bothersome to me, mainly because it bothers me when people become walking oxymora.
Not that Christianity is an oxymora itself, but its groupies sure can be. And that can be said about any radical religious group. I see the major religions’ prophets as rock Gods in an Elvis, The Beatles, The Stones, Michael Jackson sort of way. I see the radicals that come along with those religions as the desperate fans throwing creamy panties on stage. As for the lesser guys - the cult leaders - they’re the boy bands that are stuck with the young, blossoming crazies who are only tolerable after you slip them a couple roofies. Fanatics are the kind of people who dance to songs like Every Breath You Take at their weddings, and think it’s okay.
I’m going to save my opinions about radical religious groups for a later time. I’m not very good at making my points quickly. I already said I was a rambler. My point is, that when I realized Honeysuckle was my favorite word, I was remembering a subtly significant moment in my childhood where I felt at peace.
I was probably five or six, my hair was long and curly, I was barefoot and I was standing alone out by the small chain link fence that separated my big, beautiful back yard from the outside world. It was a warm day, but gray, and I remember the green grass looking especially green against the grayness of the day. Along the fence grew flowering honeysuckle. Peacefully, I walked along the fence picking the flowers and sucking the juice from them. It was sweet, exactly like honey, and there were hundreds of the flowers blossoming along the borders of my wonderland. It was in heaven. It was love. And it was provided to me with no strings attached.
Yes, I was innocent and all that. I hadn’t fucked up on purpose, or on accident enough yet to have to purchase the love. When you get older, it’s still possible to get coverage, but you just have to pay more, because your God/Insurance Agent is now acting like you ran over some little kid in a school zone and He/She’s just one dead minor away from dropping you completely.
At least that’s what Radicals feel like when they grow up. When you're a non-radical grown up, you get to do whatever you want to do to little kids in a school zone, and feel no remorse whatsoever! Or is that just when you're a Catholic grown up? Booya.
Well, I will have to end this nonsense here, and go continue it somewhere else.
Until next time, Mr. Blogger Sir. It’s been a pleasure.
All if full of love.
-Abbi-Wan.
p.s.
Enjoy...
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