Emotions over run a tired mind that has been kept alive by the constant drive...
of overthinking the world and the countless possibilites that forever seem to come up short.
Dreams kept alive by lies and deciet of an internal longing to be some ill fated dream that society finds correct.
Only to find myself half alive and drowning in my own pool of desparation to keep afloat any sort of faith.
Faith that is running dry with every breath that I take I find myself wishing that life was just another sort of fairytale where you can pinch yourself and just...
wake up.
From this nightmare that spins itself out tirelessly, in some sort of plea to find another door to open, where behind it lies the golden key, which unlocks the treasures of life.
In this moment I feel that this dream that is now my reality is only just a joke waiting to be told.
The punchline a sarcastic satire that will leave us disappointed, a dream, a life...unfufilled.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
I said Boo-urns!
I feel like this grumpy little fella today......
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
you porn and marilyn monroe.
I like to keep the 50's alive and reminence on brighter past lives when I was the elegant and classy Marilyn Monroe. We might haved ended things a tad bit too soon, but it was a great life........
The night took a swift turn at the local pub.....
I told the paparazzi to get lost....
with no success I resorted to cheap blows.
I told that s.o.b why girls have nails.
all the better to scratch your eye out with.....
...........................................................................................................................................................................
I like to surround myself with good food, good beer, hookers and blow. And the occasional hot fella.....or 3. :)
It is clearly obvious....who the retard is here.....seriously. someone has got to stop feeding me stella.
If I injest any more I might just go full palsy on yo ass.
The night of course ended.......with porn. Who can resist coming home to a world wide web of naked ladies???
God youporn rocks. :)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
oh daddy...how I love yah....
It was a regular monday night. Off to the land of strip malls and winding roads to uniform houses.
Why this trip? To visit who else but maybe the coolest old farts I know.
the parents. woodbury. ahhh, to reminince in a town I never really called my own.
Minnesota has been home for almost 11 years but yet it's never really felt like home. Odd. But maybe not, since Minnesota sucks in oh so many ways and I have a feeling I'm one of those types that will never really settle down.
Anyway....let me rekindle a story.
So we had our dinner. Full bellies and belly laughs. Beer. reisling. and Red lobster. mmmmmm. mmmmm. good. Nothing like chain restaurants and generic soda pop.
It's a typical night. Along with typical conversation. You know the drill, what are you doing? How's the asshole cat who pee's on all your stuff ? When are you taking him to the humane society *which of course is always my father's line. My mother is an animal lover like the rest of the Baker clan. Somehow in his old age my father has taken to hating all living things. Especially Minnesota drivers, but that's a whole other blog I'll entertain you with some day.*
Anyway where was I ? oh yes. the drill. the line em up! The why aren't you doing what we ask of you young lady and it follows suit likes this:
" Did you call the dentist?"
"no"
"did you call the insurance company?"
" no"
"did you get rid of that damn cat yet?"
"no. I like him dad. He's got one more chance before they inject him with death syrup."
"did you get your oil changed yet?"
"um. no. I will tomorrow. promise"
"Well good for you sweetheart!! Thanks for puttin in 100%! Fantastic Job! As he throws his fist in the air for some wild hearted salute.
Laughter erupts the good ole hyundai. I enthusiastically reply with an upbeat, " No problem! Glad I can make you proud!"
And we all wonder where I get my sarcasm and suprisingly upbeat pessimism from.
:)
Why this trip? To visit who else but maybe the coolest old farts I know.
the parents. woodbury. ahhh, to reminince in a town I never really called my own.
Minnesota has been home for almost 11 years but yet it's never really felt like home. Odd. But maybe not, since Minnesota sucks in oh so many ways and I have a feeling I'm one of those types that will never really settle down.
Anyway....let me rekindle a story.
So we had our dinner. Full bellies and belly laughs. Beer. reisling. and Red lobster. mmmmmm. mmmmm. good. Nothing like chain restaurants and generic soda pop.
It's a typical night. Along with typical conversation. You know the drill, what are you doing? How's the asshole cat who pee's on all your stuff ? When are you taking him to the humane society *which of course is always my father's line. My mother is an animal lover like the rest of the Baker clan. Somehow in his old age my father has taken to hating all living things. Especially Minnesota drivers, but that's a whole other blog I'll entertain you with some day.*
Anyway where was I ? oh yes. the drill. the line em up! The why aren't you doing what we ask of you young lady and it follows suit likes this:
" Did you call the dentist?"
"no"
"did you call the insurance company?"
" no"
"did you get rid of that damn cat yet?"
"no. I like him dad. He's got one more chance before they inject him with death syrup."
"did you get your oil changed yet?"
"um. no. I will tomorrow. promise"
"Well good for you sweetheart!! Thanks for puttin in 100%! Fantastic Job! As he throws his fist in the air for some wild hearted salute.
Laughter erupts the good ole hyundai. I enthusiastically reply with an upbeat, " No problem! Glad I can make you proud!"
And we all wonder where I get my sarcasm and suprisingly upbeat pessimism from.
:)
Monday, March 3, 2008
Cattitude
My cat is a jerk.
Seriously.
He runs around as if he owns this place, trashing my floor with his ill gotten finds, dollar store toys and kitty kibble.
He pounces on my boob and my face at any hour he should choose, apparently he prefers the hours of 3am to 6am when I'm clearly sound asleep and in my dream state. Mr. Baxter loves watching me nearly die from a scareattack, oh yes, it suits his lil cat fancy just fine!
He's got such catittude I don't know what to do with him. Guess those tuxedo kitties where made with a built-in of you-are-nothing-I-am-God attitude. I mean hell, who else do you know that's all dressed to party 24 hours a day seven days a week. I'm sure on the inside he's complimenting himself for being so fab-u-lahsss! Poor Baxie. To own such a trashy unkept thing like me must be embarrassing. Especially when I come around to bring him home while he's kickin it on the stoop with his hobo kitty pals. Po Baxie.
It's a love/hate relationship at best.
I love him when he's cute and cuddly. I love it when he greets me at the door, or jumps on the hood of my car, carefully scaling my window. I love it when he headbutts my cheek and does a belly flop on my chest. I love when we play the hide and swat-melissa's-leg-because-I'm-hiding-and-you-just-ran-by-me-so-I'm-swatting-you-bitch game. (let me advise you I clearly know he's "hiding" under the table, but the game goes on a played...he usually gets a tackle or five so I figure it'll even it's self out in due time...) Most of all I love his uncanny way of insisting upon not being left out of the bathroom. Of all places, right? You would think kitty kats of his statute wouldn't dare be found loitering in a human litter box.
But oh no!!! God forbid if Mr. Baxter misses me squat on the toilet to pee. Oh good god no!!!! It's a tragedy!! I'm in for an earful for the next two minutes if I don't. Or most times he'll try to break his way in....it's amazing what that lil guy will do. At least I get a giggle out of hilarity of this ordeal, which tends to happen every morning when I head to the john.
I guess it's a good thing cats have a two minute attention span. Or I'm sure we'd have many more adventures of odd-kitty-fun.
Cats are strange little creatures, this is for certain... and mine, was cursed from the day I named him.
Baxter was probably not the best choice, his nickname is now " bastard" Cleverly named by my brother upon first meeting. I guess the lil guy never really got a fair chance at being anything more than jerk.
poor lil guy.
Its a love hate relationship at best. But in the end he'll still be a jerk. And I'll still clean up his kitty kibble while he pounces on my hand with every sweep I make.
He'll still stick his nose in my right nostril every morning or in my mouth should I dare yawn.
Of course he'll be my wake up call every crack of dawn with a swat on the head demanding me I pet him, or feed him, or whichever hair seems to be up his butt at that given moment.
And I'll still be there to feed him. pet him. tackle him. Tell him no every five seconds when he decides to get into more kitty cat mischief.
It's a love hate relationship at best.
Seriously.
He runs around as if he owns this place, trashing my floor with his ill gotten finds, dollar store toys and kitty kibble.
He pounces on my boob and my face at any hour he should choose, apparently he prefers the hours of 3am to 6am when I'm clearly sound asleep and in my dream state. Mr. Baxter loves watching me nearly die from a scareattack, oh yes, it suits his lil cat fancy just fine!
He's got such catittude I don't know what to do with him. Guess those tuxedo kitties where made with a built-in of you-are-nothing-I-am-God attitude. I mean hell, who else do you know that's all dressed to party 24 hours a day seven days a week. I'm sure on the inside he's complimenting himself for being so fab-u-lahsss! Poor Baxie. To own such a trashy unkept thing like me must be embarrassing. Especially when I come around to bring him home while he's kickin it on the stoop with his hobo kitty pals. Po Baxie.
It's a love/hate relationship at best.
I love him when he's cute and cuddly. I love it when he greets me at the door, or jumps on the hood of my car, carefully scaling my window. I love it when he headbutts my cheek and does a belly flop on my chest. I love when we play the hide and swat-melissa's-leg-because-I'm-hiding-and-you-just-ran-by-me-so-I'm-swatting-you-bitch game. (let me advise you I clearly know he's "hiding" under the table, but the game goes on a played...he usually gets a tackle or five so I figure it'll even it's self out in due time...) Most of all I love his uncanny way of insisting upon not being left out of the bathroom. Of all places, right? You would think kitty kats of his statute wouldn't dare be found loitering in a human litter box.
But oh no!!! God forbid if Mr. Baxter misses me squat on the toilet to pee. Oh good god no!!!! It's a tragedy!! I'm in for an earful for the next two minutes if I don't. Or most times he'll try to break his way in....it's amazing what that lil guy will do. At least I get a giggle out of hilarity of this ordeal, which tends to happen every morning when I head to the john.
I guess it's a good thing cats have a two minute attention span. Or I'm sure we'd have many more adventures of odd-kitty-fun.
Cats are strange little creatures, this is for certain... and mine, was cursed from the day I named him.
Baxter was probably not the best choice, his nickname is now " bastard" Cleverly named by my brother upon first meeting. I guess the lil guy never really got a fair chance at being anything more than jerk.
poor lil guy.
Its a love hate relationship at best. But in the end he'll still be a jerk. And I'll still clean up his kitty kibble while he pounces on my hand with every sweep I make.
He'll still stick his nose in my right nostril every morning or in my mouth should I dare yawn.
Of course he'll be my wake up call every crack of dawn with a swat on the head demanding me I pet him, or feed him, or whichever hair seems to be up his butt at that given moment.
And I'll still be there to feed him. pet him. tackle him. Tell him no every five seconds when he decides to get into more kitty cat mischief.
It's a love hate relationship at best.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
drunken observations..
Its in every bar. You can't run from it. You can't avoid it. You can't pretend it's not there.
Loneliness.
Somewhere lurking within that bar, it will lie. Festering.
In the guy sitting by himself on the far right side of the bar, hunched over his beer as if it were a crystal ball foretelling his future.
Maybe in some way it is...
In the woman who leans against the railing outside chain smoking, face over tanned and worn, her voice the sound of sandpaper against vocal cords.
The loneliness lurks in between the clusters of girls huddled in the corner, each one texting their friday night fucks, while snappin photo after photo in between a maddening burst of sloppy giggles and high pitched teeth grinding squeals.
It hides between the couples scattered across the bar, talking amongst each other, pretending to be tucked away in Venice somewhere, not in a suburban bar in the middle of the tundra in a half name state.
And as I watch these tired out scenarios repeat themselves I catch the eye of a passerby and his face lights up.
As I crack a smile to only look away, because I, unlike him, am not interested in the manisfestion of the parasite that pursues these people.
I only come here to be one of those girls in the corner, or a pretender of Venice while moderately watching all the life that comes in, all the dreams that are lost, all the hopes, all the desires, all the testosterone, and batting eyelashes.
In the end, it's the loneliness that reeks, and propels me into never wanting to step foot in another place like this again.
But it's the same thing that makes me want to visit over and over again, just so that I can take in all these different things and be reminded of what it is to be alive.
The good times and the bad. Every moment in which we breathe, every step we take, every wrong turn and every new path.
It's the adversity of the human being that is so amazing to watch.
And what better place than this.....
Loneliness.
Somewhere lurking within that bar, it will lie. Festering.
In the guy sitting by himself on the far right side of the bar, hunched over his beer as if it were a crystal ball foretelling his future.
Maybe in some way it is...
In the woman who leans against the railing outside chain smoking, face over tanned and worn, her voice the sound of sandpaper against vocal cords.
The loneliness lurks in between the clusters of girls huddled in the corner, each one texting their friday night fucks, while snappin photo after photo in between a maddening burst of sloppy giggles and high pitched teeth grinding squeals.
It hides between the couples scattered across the bar, talking amongst each other, pretending to be tucked away in Venice somewhere, not in a suburban bar in the middle of the tundra in a half name state.
And as I watch these tired out scenarios repeat themselves I catch the eye of a passerby and his face lights up.
As I crack a smile to only look away, because I, unlike him, am not interested in the manisfestion of the parasite that pursues these people.
I only come here to be one of those girls in the corner, or a pretender of Venice while moderately watching all the life that comes in, all the dreams that are lost, all the hopes, all the desires, all the testosterone, and batting eyelashes.
In the end, it's the loneliness that reeks, and propels me into never wanting to step foot in another place like this again.
But it's the same thing that makes me want to visit over and over again, just so that I can take in all these different things and be reminded of what it is to be alive.
The good times and the bad. Every moment in which we breathe, every step we take, every wrong turn and every new path.
It's the adversity of the human being that is so amazing to watch.
And what better place than this.....
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