Saturday, May 25, 2002



Seriously, why do some people have SUCH a problem with that simple fact of life? And why do they let it go until _I_ can smell their ass???

It doesn't even have to go that far, though. If you can smell armpit odor, it's time to take a shower, even if you already took one that day. Do it again. Use soap this time.

Maybe I'm just a clean-freak like that, though. I think hygiene is a social consideration, a matter of politeness. If people wrinkle their noses when you stand next to them, most likely you've either got too much nasty cologne on, or your 'natural' funk is overpowering and no one's rude enough to say, 'For the love, get yer ass in a shower, will you??!!'

I will use myself as an example, because I have had nothing but compliments on my scent. I bathe, using hot water and soap, this opens the pores. I get out, dry off, then use either perfume oils or perfume solids (the heat from the shower helps them to soften up and my skin absorbs them faster, thus enabling the perfume to mix with my own scent). If a scent is more overpowering than the others (i mix and match, but keep it as a pleasant mix), that one goes in the nether regions. You all know what I'm talking about, and yes, I DO put some perfume down there, because girls, we all know that by the end of the day it isn't smelling so shower fresh. I have a relatively sensitive nose, and personally, if I liked the 'natural' scent so much, I would be a full-fledged lesbian. Not that guys are innocent. I just have to wonder how in HELL a GUY can start to get skanky down in his spot. ICK. Advice: Wipe-n-Dipes. Seriously.

So how did it get so bad? I ask myself. As much as I love the 'natural' scent of the human body, when it's overpoweringly 'natural' then it's time to banish that demon with some soap and water. After having lived in the NYC metro area, I got to meet ALL kinds. The ones that confused me the most were those that didn't shower in what smelled like a LOOONG time, and those who used SO much perfume/cologne that people gagged around them. Is there a lack of self-awareness? Do these offenders not realize how they batter the sense of smell of everyone around them? And what's the deal with the fruit flavor scents? As nice as they might be, WHY do the people that wear them feel this need to spray their clothes, their bodies, and the air around them with the scent of Apple??? If I wanted to smell your perfume, wouldn't I just wear it myself?

It got so bad that corporate America said 'Enough!' and quite a few offices have a rule that no perfumes/colognes can be worn. Oils are alright, as long as you aren't oiled up like a cod fritter. I thought this was common sense! Maybe I'm just eager to please in a social situation. Or maybe just socially aware.


Friday, May 24, 2002


I am neither Smiling nor Gothic. LOL.


That's just a little joke, by the way.... :)



Feeling more and more antsy, brooding in my swing-shift emotions. There's only so much you can do before you've done everything. Somehow another wasp managed to get into the screened-in porch. I can't help watching it fly around, trying to escape. It's an ugly thing, and evil-looking. Wings bent upward angrily. I watched Pants chase it around for a little while, but the thing seemed to be as big as she is, so I called her inside and shut the door.

Watching this wasp triggers a memory of when I was a kid, maybe about five years old. Beast (aka Mom, it's our affectionate nickname for her) had a bad habit of dressing me in the latest fashions of the time, which at that time was the changeover from the late '70's to the early '80's. So there I was, it was a gorgeous summer day (as all summer days were when I was a kid, it seems, and always played back in memory like a super-8 filmstrip), and I was wearing light-beige corduroy pants, and playing in the front yard next to our pear tree. While standing there, a wasp landed on my lap, I was too afraid to move, so I stood there staring at it. The bastard stung me, then flew away. I ran into the house screaming, and Beast put some baking soda concoction on the sting to draw out the poison. I never wore those beige pants again, and I've never worn beige corduroy again, subconsciously suspecting that the color and the material attracts wasps when combined on a five-year-old.

So that was my personal fright-fest. I'm sure I've been stung more than that since, but I just remember that one terrifying experience. Wenchling (my lil sis) has had more run-ins than I'd ever wish on my worst enemy. Her and wasps don't seem to get along AT ALL. When she was four, she stepped on an entire NEST of wasps, believing she would kill them all before they took action on her. I was there, I went behind a raspberry bush, and was frozen in fear while tiny Wenchling was stung repeatedly by an entire congregation of survivors from the nest. On a side note, Wenchling never seems to do things in small quantities, it's all or nothing. In all her life, I don't think she's EVER been stung by a single wasp, it's always an entire nest of the bastards... weird, but true. Another time when she was a teenager, she was going through the woods with our neighbors, and the neighbors managed to stir up a nest of wasps, and Wenchling caught the wrath. Her experiences with wasp nests makes mine seem pale.... Especially since I'm sitting here watching the damned thing fly around my porch, and am too skeeved to do anything about it....


Kind of like smearing the inconsiderate owner of a dog's shoes into his own dog's shit. That's irony, baby. Or like when you throw the curse on the ex-lover of "You'll be back!" said through clenched and angry teeth, and at that moment, you wish with all your heart that they'll be back, that your wish will come true, and then it does, but after you no longer want that lover, usually when you've taken a new lover.

The human race is a pathetic twist of irony and fate. For gawd's sake, there's a song called "Ironic", so clearly this irony thing has some pull. Right?

How many times have I watched my friends' lives unfold, and knew everything that would happen to them as if it were a bad soap opera script.... the irony there is that I couldn't see my own life unfolding the same way. Hoo ha, 'tis to laugh. As soon as I stopped looking, I was hit from around a blind corner with the 2X4 of love. True story. Good news is, he was just as surprised as I was about it, and we moved in together. That was over a year ago. The ironic thing is that both of us had sworn off relationships just before we hooked up. Another twisted irony is that the most erotic experience of my life had nothing to do with anything erotic at all. On our first 'date', we took the PATH train into New York City, we hung out all over Greenwich Village, shared a panic attack when we walked into a crowded restaurant, and then decided to return to Jersey City for dinner instead. So here's the erotic part: the train ride back to NJ. There was no place to sit, so we held onto the railings overhead, standing a respectful distance apart from each other. As the train rocked back and forth, and screamed through the tunnel, we made jokes about how it was flying out of control and we were going to derail, making our fellow train riders very uncomfortable. It was funny. So the train's rocking all over the place, we're hanging on for dear life, and suddenly we're pushed toward each other. Our lips were only centimeters apart, we looked into each other's eyes, and we didn't kiss. This kept happening for the rest of the ride, and every time we could have taken the opportunity, we didn't. At those moments, my heart picked up its pace, and my entire body was alive, I could feel and smell everything, from the vibrations of the train wheels grinding over the tracks, to the smells of fast food and too much cologne on some passengers, the roar of the train filled my head, and all I could see were his eyes staring into mine.

Yet more irony, we both went from hardcore anti-romantics to slushy sugar-goths in about a week. So much for the words, "Never again."

Thursday, May 23, 2002



Sounds suspiciously like common sense, doesn't it?
When words like 'Polysorbate 80' and 'other natural flavors' can become a regular part of our daily speech, isn't it time to start incorporating 'organic'? (And even Organic is a shady term considering the government's view from state to state of what 'organically grown' really means)
Finding the actual contents of some of the ingredients is about as easy as getting lost on a treadmill. Words shrouded in mystery and a lot of letters and numbers. FD&C Yellow #5, and my favorite, 'and/or high fructose corn syrup'-- you know what that is? Really sweet corn sugar. Yum. And gotta love the 'caramel color' and 'Potassium Sorbate (to preserve flavor)'. I'm not even sure WHAT Potassium Sorbate IS (I'm guessing a preservative), and how DOES it preserve the flavor of CHOCOLATE CAKE ICING???

Not that I intend to stop eating chocolate cake icing or anything else just because I can't pronounce it. If I did that all that would be left to eat is vegan food, and I like meat and dairy too much to do that. Not to mention half the things my Italian grandmother serves up I can't pronounce either, but the food tastes incredible. Usually it's comprised of an animal I wouldn't normally consider eating.

Anyone with foreign relatives who speak a language other than English can agree that most of the foreign dishes sound a lot better when said in the foreign language. English cuts it down to something that doesn't sound edible, or it turns it into something that sounds like it should be a different animal. For example: Tripe. To see it spelled out it looks almost like it should be fish. The Italian translation, spelled the way it sounds, is 'tree-puh'. What it is: cow stomach. It's very spongey, and cooks well in tomato sauce.

So there's two sides to the coin, inability to pronounce chemical ingredients of suspicously commonplace foods, and the inability to pronounce the names of dishes in an Italian dialect native to a small town outside of Rome.

I admit it, I'm obsessed with food. I love eating. I think a lot of people like food. I don't like it to the point of gorging, mind, I just like food. It has to smell good, and taste good. Looking good is in the eye of the beholder. Indian food is incredible. I never knew so many things could incorporate lentils. Of coourse the ever-popular Chinese food is also on the top of the list. Asking the rhetorical question of "Dear God! how can you EAT that?!" is about as pointless as asking how a character in a horror movie can continuously open the door that we all know the killer is waiting behind. I could be equally annoying and walk up to the same person, show them the ingredients in what THEY'RE eating, and go on to ask them how THEY can eat it. My mother won't eat chicken livers, but she'll eat Twinkies.

My point in all this... as scary as it may be, shut up and eat it. You might just like it. You've eaten far scarier things today than a sardine.

Tuesday, May 21, 2002



So help me, GAWD, I am going to go around and pick up all of this guy's dog's shit that he leaves laying around, I'm going to put it in a bag-- not sure if it's going to be paper or plastic yet-- and leave it on his doorstep so HE can step in it for a change.

OK, so my gripe du jour: Dog Walkers. In this community that I live in, there are a LOT of dog owners, and that's fine. I used to have a dog, his name was Snoopy, I loved him dearly. I never inflicted his doggie poo wrath on unsuspecting pedestrians, not like these people. They walk their dogs all around the pond in back of my apartment, and on hot humid days, well.. imagine that aroma, not to mention the mess for would-be out and about night-strollers like myself. My major gripe is with the owner of the dog named "Blue". I know the dog's name because the guy is ALWAYS walking the dog under my balcony and yelling "Blue! Go potty!" Yeah.... go potty, Blue, right under my fucking windows... Bastard! Blue's owner is a grumpy mofo, too. I tried saying hello once, and he mumbled hello back, but the look said 'don't bother me, I'm letting my dog shit under your windows.'

And the guy walks Blue at ALL HOURS. What the HELL is he FEEDING this pooch??? My cat doesn't go that often and I feed her all kinds of things! Maybe I should start dumping Pants-poo under HIS windows, let him think about it for a while. Cat shit out-smells dogshit 10 to 1. I'll have to carry her out there and squeeze her so she'll go right in front of his door... LOL.

But seriously, if the dog OWNERS don't like their dog's shit, what makes them think that everyone else WILL? And it's not just the owner of Blue, the doggie-formatted shitmachine. It's even in the cities... the CITIES! On SIDEWALKS!! They're SIDEwalks, not DOGwalks! No one likes a shoe full of dogshit! Apparently the owners don't even like to go near it, or they would have picked it up and thrown it out somewhere acceptable, like a trash can, instead of leaving it on the sidewalk for all to step on. Common sense isn't so common, apparently.

So my plan: Punish the leavers of dogshit. Make it a national movement against canine bowel movement litter. Find the bastards and collect their dog droppings, put it in a bag, and mail it to them, or leave it on their doorsteps. Enough is enough. Better still, wrap your be-soiled shoes in a plastic bag, and leave THOSE outside their door. THAT should give the inconsiderate bastards the hint: Pick up your shit, it's ruining my shoes.

5:46pm EDIT
Dante had an even better idea... Take Blue's owners shoes and smear them in puppymuck. The guy is stupid enough to leave his dogshit laying around for anyone to step in, AND stupid enough to think I won't borrow his shoes (which have been left conveniently outside his door) to run through the landmines his dog left in its wake... FOOL.
Revenge is good, but unsuspecting victims that help you get revenge on them.... it's just too perfect!

Got woken up waaay too early this morning by my friendly neighborhood headhunter. I haven't been sleeping all that well lately, almost not at all, between Dante's snoring and Pants waking me up in the middle of the night to pet her. Why is my cat so disfunctional? I guess all cats kind of are, though...

So last night was just a repitition of the other nights. I'm on a downswing, the manic flew away. Yay me. I'm finding it harder to cope with everyday life. Last night was the final straw. Ally McBeal's last episode featured a necklace made from a piece of the Trade Center.... and I have to ask why.

Maybe it's time to start taking my medication again... I hate the sick feeling, like there's a ball in the pit of my stomach... empty and sick... Or maybe I can just wait for the depression to go away....

Monday, May 20, 2002


Because people would like things just handed to them, I've come up with Rules on how these leaders can go about resolving their issues.

Rules for Conflict

1. At the onset of dissatisfaction with a leader of another nation, submit a Request For Conflict form, found at local governing venue, to the United Nations. State clearly your name, what country you represent, who you wish to fight, and your problem with stated official.

2. Requests for Conflict will be reviewed for just cause. If just cause is found for desired conflict, then a Invitation to Conflict will be sent to the leader of the opposing nation. The leader of the opposing nation MUST acknowledge the Invitation for Conflict within 10 business days. If the recipient of the Invitation fails to acknowledge the Invitation, the Filer of the Request for Conflict shall win by default-- unless the Recipient leader is on vacation or in the hospital, or dealing with a personal emergency.

3. Upon acceptance of your Request For Conflict, you will receive directions on how to get to the Chosen Venue of Conflict (which will be located in a neutral country), along with the time and date of Scheduled Conflict.

4. Participants of Conflict will be examined thoroughly by a neutral physician. Tests will be performed to determine that neither participant has been drugged, and that both are physically healthy enough to maintain a fair fight.

5. Partcipants of Conflict will be strip-searched for weapons. No weapons are allowed prior to Conflict, during Conflict, or after Conflict.

6. Prior to entering space of Conflict, both Participants will be recorded live, and their messages will be broadcast across the world. This is the Official Reason for Conflict, giving each Participant a chance to tell his/her side of the Conflict Story.

7. Voting ballots will be made available to all Witnesses of Conflict, who will then decide democratically which Participant should win the Scheduled Conflict, based on the Participant's Official Reason for Conflict.

8. Particpants will be locked in the Conflict Room. The Conflict Room will contain no furniture, or objects. It is forbidden for a Participant to kill his opponent. Only hand to hand combat is allowed.

9. If a Participant is killed during Conflict, the remaining Participant will lose by default. Another Request for Conflict may be filed when a suitable leader has been elected to represent the opposing nation.

10. Based on the Democratic Vote and the Victor of Conflict, a decision will be made to determine the true Resolution of Conflict. If the Final Decision is unsatisfactory to either Participant, they may file another Request for Conflict, or may negotiate a suitable compromise.

New suicide attacks planned...
This news doesn't surprise me. I've seen it coming. I've known it would happen again while I watched the Trade Towers fall, trapped in New York thanks to the pseudo-martial law lock-down that Giuliani called 'protecting'. It was the same way I knew those towers were coming down when I saw the flames eating up the sides of them. I just knew.

So I walked around for the remaining few months of my stay in the metro area with this sinking feeling like it was going to happen again. It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't fear. It was certainty. I left for the tropical climates, as far south as I could get, just to get that smell of burning city off of me and out of my nose. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't running away, and I know that it's better this way, even though my heart aches for a place that no longer exists. A piece of me died that day, along with the spirit of New York City, and will most likely never be resurrected.

My first month here I spent trying to shake that foreboding sense that the shit was going to hit the fan again. I tried to be happy I wasn't near where the center would be. Every once in awhile I take out the photo ID card from Trade Tower 1 that they gave me when I went there for a meeting the month before the attack, and I remember the haunted feeling, and how I turned down the job before they offered it to me on the 98th floor. I remember the head of the department, and how he had this strange empty look to him, and how I had a small panic attack just sitting there, listening to the wind howl around the sides of the building. I think about this and breathe a sigh of relief that whatever it is that's keeping me alive saw fit to keep me out of there.

And I saw the ads to be all I could be, an army of one, etc, and then the war movies started again.... I told Dante it was coming around again. He asked how I knew and I told him. Then I started getting that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, a weird sense of urgency. I hope I'm wrong, that it'll be stopped before it starts. I would rather feel like an ass in this case than to find out I'm right. And now the news reports....

I guess I'm not completely clear on the whole 'let's hate americans' thing. Honestly it's no different than the rest of the countries of the world. There's quirks to each one. And if there's a problem with the government, then take it out on them, not the people. Leaders who have a problem with another leader of another nation should be stuck in a room together and locked in until they've resolved their issues. In this case, George Jr. and his buddies vs. Osama and his buddies. Whoever is still conscious at the end wins. In all the fighting and media blitz, the whole POINT of the attack on Sept. 11th kind of got lost.... at least the locked-in-a-room method would show a definite winner, and the message would be broadcast straight from the person's mouth to the world. The whys and wherefores, and the intent would be known, once and for all. An end to war as we know it. How many leaders would seriously get into a fight with another nation if THEY had to personally fight their own battles? I imagine that treaties would be signed faster, and a LOT of beaurocratic bullshit would be erased from existence. Make it a televised event so everyone can see, live, who's winning. No more needless death, and no civilian fighting, leader versus leader and may the best man win.