Blog, Sweet Blog

Archive for November 2009

Mood: Healin’ up!
Music: The Misadventures of Flapjack-“Whale Times”


So, I had my gall bladder removed on Friday the 13th.

See? I’m not making this stuff up, you guys.  My life is as dramatic and exciting as my blog makes it out to be.  Now if I could just figure out how to channel that excitement into more of a jet-setting, wealth-building, award-winning sort of direction.

I was going to do a giant, excruciatingly detailed, daily account of the preceding illness and subsequent surgery, but I don’t really have it in me anymore.  Maybe it’s the pain pills talking?  Maybe this is my body’s reaction to a new, gall free existence?  Perhaps my “brush” with “death” has made me reorganize the priorities of my life/blog?  Ah, so many questions…

Anyway, the short version is that I started getting really sick that Wednesday (Veteran’s Day).  It felt like I had a bad stomach ache that wouldn’t go away and I was nauseous and feverish.  I wasn’t feeling any better on Thursday and had developed a pain in the right side of my abdomen, just below my ribs.  So, I made an appointment with my doctor.

The doctor told me there was something wrong with my gall bladder and that I needed to go to the emergency room to have an ultrasound.  Wendy drove me to Rose Medical Center (wonderful hospital btw, everyone was super nice and professional) and I got an ultrasound, some excellent, intravenous pain medication, and admitted to the hospital just before midnight. I had surgery at noon the next day.

I was supposed to have a laparoscopic cholecystectomy, but the surgeon switched to an open cholecystectomy (meaning, they cut open my abdomen the old-fashioned way) when he discovered that my bladder de gall was gangrenous, full of stones, and falling apart.  I stayed at the hospital for three more days and I’ve been home ever since.

I’m fine now, thanks for asking.  I had my staples out last Friday and I feel about 75% of normal.  But abdominal surgery isn’t something I recommend for, you know, kicks and stuff.  I’m glad they were able to take out my accursed gall bladder without incident, but I’ll not darken their door again…if I can help it.

The doctor said I could go back to work this week, but I decided to take the rest of it off.  We have a short work week due to the Thanksgiving holiday and I don’t feel great about a long commute in my delicate condition.  So, I’ll be back to work on the 30th.

Wowser, that wasn’t shorter at all, sorry.  So, what else is new?  Um, my Mom and Aunt’s visit went really well.  I have more to say about it, but I’m getting really sick of writing.  Stay tuned.  Also upcoming: a list of rock guys Wendy and I would totally do it with and how I started dating Lil John, sort of.

Mood: Ready for bed, homework-averse
Music: Some foody show about eating a lot


I hate to push my part of the novel out of the way and off the radar, but I feel duty-bound to share this with you, weary reader.  I’m sure it’s been around for a while, but I just saw it today.  So shut up.

Ladies and Gentleman, I offer you the following, new favorite website…



Glamourpuss:  The Enchanting World of Kitty Wigs


https://i2.wp.com/www.chroniclebooks.com/Chronicle/wallpaper/9780811867047/glamourpuss1_1280x1024.jpg

I think the included, "I want a pony!" caption says it all.


https://i2.wp.com/www.chroniclebooks.com/Chronicle/wallpaper/9780811867047/glamourpuss2_1280x1024.jpg

❤ ❤ ❤

Mood: Still filled with the beaverishness
Music: Sunn O))-Cursed Realms (of the Winterdemons)


Dear Fiction Lovers,

As promised, moments ago, here is the second part (Part 1 can be found here) of our thrilling, though as-yet unnamed collaborative novel on downsizing, outsourcing, and the cruelty of youth.  I hope you like it.

Sincerely, your biggest fan, etc.


Anna

—————————————————————————————-

Allison automatically flopped out of bed at half-past seven in the morning.  She stumbled and weaved her way through a field of dirty clothes to the bathroom toilet and threw up.  She recounted the story of last night in the tea leaves of the toilet. Date. Brad. Señor Verde’s. Chile rellenos. Margaritas.  Small talk. Jobs.  What are we doing? Cry. Cab. Wine. Sex. Cry. Hangover.

“Fuck.” Allison unfurled a wad of toilet paper from the roll and blew her nose into it.  “Maybe I’m getting too old for this?”

She stood, gracelessly, and walked over to the sink.  The bathroom mirror reflected a red-eyed, pale, hung-over, but pretty brunette in her late 20’s.

“I don’t know.  Is 32 old?”  She asked the sobering drunk in the mirror who kept pulling at and stretching her face.  “You don’t look 32.  You could still pass for…”  She squinted her eyes tight and cocked her head to the side.  “…28?”  She slapped the underside of her chin a couple of times and practiced saying her assumed age.  “Twenty eight… I am 28…TWENty eight …Twunee ATE…TwenTEE ATE-ee…maybe even 27?”

She smiled and playfully, arched her left eyebrow, and pointed a finger gun at the mirror.  “Yeah, that’s right…you’re Allison Fucking Haley and you’re young, popular and sex-.“

Allison Fucking Haley took one last, pitying look at the pretty drunk girl in the mirror before retching the last of last night into the sink.

A glassful of Anti-throwupy Seltzer whatever (Allison had a rare, but powerful immunity to branding) and a super-hot shower later, she was busy playing Fashion Show.

Fashion Show was Allison’s term for her borderline psychotic trying-on of everything in her closet (and on her floor).  It usually only manifested itself on the bad days, when she felt nervous or hated the sight of the girl in the mirror.  Most women try on a few outfits before leaving the house.  The smart ones plan out their outfits for the week on Sunday night.  Allison wasn’t a plan-ahead sort of girl, but she rarely had a problem with deciding what to wear.  If she hadn’t decided on something within the first fifteen or twenty minutes, she was playing Fashion Show.

Allison had been playing Fashion Show a lot lately.  She’d already been at it for 45 minutes and was in the middle of taking off a flouncy, long, gray blouse, blood red cardigan, black tights, and knee high boots combination she liked to call Bohemian Rhapsody #3 on good days.  Today she called it, “too Bohemian.”

“I’m going to get fired.  I’m going to get fired. I’m going to get fired.”

The blouse Allison had been pulling over her head suddenly snagged on something and stopped moving, trapping her inside.  “And then I’ll be homeless…” She pulled at the back of the blouse with both hands and heard a faint, ripping sound.  “…and I’ll have to sell drugs.” She unhooked her favorite black bra from outside of the shirt, freed the blouse, pulled it and the blouse over her head, “…and give out hand jobs for hobo chili”, and threw both of them on the ground.”

Ugh, forget this.”  She slipped a pair of midnight blue, skinny jeans from one of the closet hangers and pulled them on.

“Yassmen is going to walk into the art department today and fire people on sight.”  Allison did her best impression of Yeseam Yassmen’s icy-weird, snobby Southern drawl for the empty bedroom. “You there, young man with the glasses…and you, weird girl…”  Allison plucked a baby blue, Mates of State t-shirt from the floor and put it on.  “…please collect your sad things and bric-a-brac and take them outside.”

She grabbed a vintage, green angora cardigan from the back of her desk chair and stepped into a pair of pewter-colored, metallic flats.  She walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom and took a last, quick look before walking into the kitchen.

The clock on the microwave was a welcome sight.  “8:45. Ok, not bad.  I’m going to be late, but not late late.”  She put on her sunglasses and a scarf, put her keys into her mini-messenger bag, and walked out into the stairway of her building.

Allison speed-dialed Jacob the moment she stepped out of the apartment building.

“Good morning, sexy”

“Why Allison Haley, it’s been ages since last night.  How are you?”

“Hung over, a little sad, stressed out.”

Jacob made that annoying tut-tut sound.  “Sorry to hear that, dear.  Are you calling in sick?”

Allison snorted, “Are you kidding?  That’s like begging to get laid off.  I’d rather leave Clearwater the old fashioned way…through random, brutal downsizing.  No, but I’m going to be a teensy bit late.  Would you be my favorite boy in the world and cover for me if anything should, you know, come up?”  She crossed the street to the coffee cart near the downtown bus stop and gestured her way through a large coffee purchase while Jacob spoke.

“Dangit Allison, I can’t.  I have a meeting at 9:30 and you’d better be here before it’s over.  You know how it’s been around here lately…like the Great Purge but without all the nice Stalin.”

“Crap.”  Allison added a large amount of half and half and brown sugar to her coffee and stirred it.  She leafed through her mental employee directory for another patsy.  No one else came up.  “You know Alan got fired, right?”

Jacob repeated the name a couple of times out loud as if that alone would transfer Alan from forgotten to remembered. “Alan…Alan.  Who’s Alan again?”

She made her way to the line of commuters at the bus stop.  “Alan Lambert…from Accounting?  Nice guy…big chin…he helped you move last summer.”

“No way!  The Chin got fired?  He seemed like a lifer.”

“I know, right?  He’d been there for 15 years.  It’s like the worst lottery ever.”

“Totally.”

“Wanna know the really fucked up part?

“Go on…”

The downtown bus stopped at the curb.  Allison stepped on, showed the driver her Eco-Pass, and found a seat.  “Yassmen didn’t even have a meeting with him or bring HR down.  Someone called his house and left a message…”

“Nuh-unh, really?”

“…with his seven year-old daughter!”  In a deeper voice, she joked, “…and when your Daddy gets home, tell him he doesn’t have a job any more.”

“Wow, that’s some evil shit right there.  I’m pretty sure Yassmen is the Devil, Allison.  She’s gotta be.  It’s like she runs on human misery.”

Allison drained the last of her coffee.  “Yup.”

“Wait, how do you know so much about The Chin’s home life?”

“Jen told me.  She’s keeping track of them all…like a modern Domesday book for corporate deaths.  You should check out her scrapbook.  It’s sick, but kind of…beautiful, in a way.  She’s doing a website too.”

“You two are weird.”

“Oh,and you’re not?  I’ve seen your apartment, Jacob.  The Sailor Moon is getting to be a bit, how do you say, creep-a-roo?”

“Hey, manga and anime are very well respected-“

Allison cut him off.  “I don’t have time for your nerd babble, Jacob.  I’m already late for work and I’ve already heard this, numerous times.”

She sighed and watched the passing buildings of downtown KC, her adopted home.  It was early autumn, her favorite time of year, but the street trees still thought it was summer.  It had been three autumns since she left art school and she hadn’t yet gotten the hang of the whole day job, “career” thing.  It had been getting better, but the layoffs and constant threat of downsizing had a way of arresting her development.  She’d spent three months of Saturdays looking for another job in a publishing house art department.  There didn’t seem to be any jobs like that left in the city.  Unfortunately, the drama at Clearwater was being played out on stages all over town.

Jacob was talking again. “What’s that?”

“I said, don’t be hurtful, Allison.”

“Ugh!  Are you coming to my show tonight, or what?”

“What’s this now?  What show?”

“Don’t even.  I told you about this, weeks ago.  The collective’s semi-annual…tonight…at Le Space…my pictures…remember?  You said you’d come!”

“Oh, right…that adorable little hobby of yours.  Are you showing the photos with the little kittens and the ice cream in the bathtub…”

“No, head trauma…” an elderly woman turned toward Allison and frowned disapprovingly.  Allison frowned back then turned the other way in her seat.  “…that was last time, and it was called, Kitten Me Softly.  This is the new one…with the bathroom graffiti?”

In a bad, French accent, Jacob answered. “Oui, but of course I vill be zer, Mees Arbus.”  Jacob dropped it.  “I’ll even wear a jacket.”

Allison tried a sultry purr, “Mmm, you know just what I like, don’t you Daddy?” and then it was gone.  “Oh!   And come early.  And bring some wine.  Do you have any raw meat?”

“What?!  No.  Why?”

“Violet Strange is doing a show next door at midnight.  It’s new…something about her father, the Moon, and menstrual cycles.  She said she needed more raw meat.”  Allison signaled for her stop.

“Gross. I hate performance art.  And no, I don’t have any raw meat to spare…for that.”

“Oh, don’t be that way.  I like Violet and I’m just trying to help her out.  K, sooo…you, Le Space, seven o’clock, sexy jacket, cheap wine,…”  Allison flashed back to the dream publishing job she used to love and the grim warzone her workplace had become.  “Oh, and try not to get fired today, ok?  Kisses!”

The bus pulled up to the curb two blocks east of 3M (or Mini Monkey Monolith on account of it looks just like a squatter version of the featureless, obsidian, ape magnet in 2001: A Space Odyssey) or, as it was more commonly known, Clearwater Publishing Plaza.

Jacob replied, “you’re one to talk Latey McLately.  See you soon.”, then hung up.

Allison put away her phone and hurried the rest of the way from the bus stop to her cubicle.

<!–[if !mso]> <! st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } –>

Allison automatically flopped out of bed at half-past seven in the morning.  She stumbled and weaved her way through a field of dirty clothes to the bathroom toilet and threw up.  She recounted the story of last night in the tea leaves of the toilet. Date. Brad. Señor Verde’s. Chile rellenos. Margaritas.  Small talk. Jobs.  What are we doing? Cry. Cab. Wine. Sex. Cry. Hangover.

“Fuck.” Allison unfurled a wad of toilet paper from the roll and blew her nose into it.  “Maybe I’m getting too old for this?”

She stood, gracelessly, and walked over to the sink.  The bathroom mirror reflected a red-eyed, pale, hung-over, but pretty brunette in her late 20’s.

“I don’t know.  Is 32 old?”  She asked the sobering drunk in the mirror who kept pulling at and stretching her face.  “You don’t look 32.  You could still pass for…”  She squinted her eyes tight and cocked her head to the side.  “…28?”  She slapped the underside of her chin a couple of times and practiced saying her assumed age.  “Twenty eight… I am 28…TWENty eight …Twunee ATE…TwenTEE ATE-ee…maybe even 27?”

She smiled and playfully, arched her left eyebrow, and pointed a finger gun at the mirror.  “Yeah, that’s right…you’re Allison Fucking Haley and you’re young, popular and sex-.“

Allison Fucking Haley took one last, pitying look at the pretty drunk girl in the mirror before retching the last of last night into the sink.

A glassful of Anti-throwupy Seltzer whatever (Allison had a rare, but powerful immunity to branding) and a super-hot shower later, she was busy playing Fashion Show.

Fashion Show was Allison’s term for her borderline psychotic trying-on of everything in her closet (and on her floor).  It usually only manifested itself on the bad days, when she felt nervous or hated the sight of the girl in the mirror.  Most women try on a few outfits before leaving the house.  The smart ones plan out their outfits for the week on Sunday night.  Allison wasn’t a plan-ahead sort of girl, but she rarely had a problem with deciding what to wear.  If she hadn’t decided on something within the first fifteen or twenty minutes, she was playing Fashion Show.

Allison had been playing Fashion Show a lot lately.  She’d already been at it for 45 minutes and was in the middle of taking off a flouncy, long, gray blouse, blood red cardigan, black tights, and knee high boots combination she liked to call Bohemian Rhapsody #3 on good days.  Today she called it, “too Bohemian.”

“I’m going to get fired.  I’m going to get fired. I’m going to get fired.”

The blouse Allison had been pulling over her head suddenly snagged on something and stopped moving, trapping her inside.  “And then I’ll be homeless…” She pulled at the back of the blouse with both hands and heard a faint, ripping sound.  “…and I’ll have to sell drugs.” She unhooked her favorite black bra from outside of the shirt, freed the blouse, pulled it and the blouse over her head, “…and give out hand jobs for hobo chili”, and threw both of them on the ground.”

Ugh, forget this.”  She grabbed a pair of midnight blue, skinny jeans from one of the closet hangers and pulled them on.

“Yassmen is going to walk into the art department today and fire people on sight.”  Allison did her best impression of Yeseam Yassmen’s icy, faux-British drawl for the empty bedroom. “You there, young man with the glasses…and you, weird girl…”  Allison plucked a baby blue, Mates of State t-shirt from the floor and put it on.  “Please collect your sad things and bric-a-brac and take them outside.”

She grabbed a vintage, green angora cardigan from the back of her desk chair and stepped into a pair of pewter-colored, metallic flats.  She walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom and took a last, quick look before walking into the kitchen.

The clock on the microwave was welcome sight.  “8:45. Ok, not bad.  I’m going to be late, but not late late.”  She put on her sunglasses and a scarf, put her keys into her mini-messenger bag, and walked out into the stairway of her building.

Allison speed-dialed Jacob the moment she stepped out of the apartment building.

“Good morning, sexy”

“Why Allison Haley, it’s been ages since last night.  How the hell are you?”

“Hung over, a little sad, stressed out.”

Jacob made that annoying tut-tut sound.  “Sorry to hear that.  Are you calling in sick?”

Allison snorted, “Are you kidding?  That’s like begging to get laid off.  I’d rather leave Clearwater the old fashioned way…through random, brutal downsizing.  No, but I’m going to be a teensy bit late.  Would you be my favorite boy in the world and cover for me if anything should, you know, come up?”  She crossed the street to the coffee cart near the downtown bus stop and gestured her way through a large coffee transaction while Jacob spoke.

“Dangit Allison, I can’t.  I have a meeting at 9:30 and you’d better be here before it’s over.  You know how it’s been around here lately…like the Great Purge but without all the nice Stalin.”

“Crap.”  Allison added a large amount of half and half and brown sugar to her coffee and stirred it.  She leafed through her mental employee directory for another patsy.  No one else came up.  “You know Alan got fired, right?”

Jacob repeated the name a couple of times out loud as if that alone would transfer Alan from forgotten to remembered. “Alan…Alan.  Who’s Alan again?”

She made her way to the line of commuters at the bus stop.  “Alan Lambert…from Accounting?  Nice guy…big chin…he helped you move last summer.”

“No way!  The Chin got fired?  He seemed like a lifer.”

“I know, right?  He’d been there for 15 years.  It’s like the worst lottery ever.”

“Totally.”

“You know the really fucked up part?

“Go on…”

The downtown bus stopped at the curb.  Allison stepped on, showed the driver her Eco-Pass, and found a seat.  “Yassmen didn’t even have a meeting with him or bring HR down.  Someone called his house and left a message…”

“Nuh-unh, really?”

“…with his seven year-old daughter!”

“Wow, that’s some evil shit right there.  I’m pretty sure Yassmen is the Devil, Allison.  She’s gotta be.  It’s like she runs on human misery.”

Allison drained the last of her coffee.  “Yup.”

“Wait, how do you know so much about The Chin’s home life?”

“Jen told me.  She’s keeping track of them all…like a modern Domesday book for corporate deaths.  You should check out her scrapbook.  It’s sick, but kind of…beautiful, in a way.  She’s doing a website too.”

“You two are weird.”

“Oh,and you’re not?  I’ve seen your apartment, Jacob.  The Sailor Moon is getting to be a bit, how do you say, creep-a-roo?”

“Hey, manga and anime are very well respected-“

Allison cut him off.  “I don’t have time for your nerd babble, Jacob.  I’m already late for work and I’ve already heard this, numerous times.”

She sighed and watched the passing buildings of the city she loved.  It was early autumn, her favorite time of year, but the street trees still thought it was summer.  It had been three autumns since she left art school and she hadn’t yet gotten the hang of the whole day job, “career” thing.  It had been getting better, but the layoffs and constant threat of downsizing had a way of arresting her development.  She’d spent three months of Saturdays looking for another job in a publishing house art department.  There didn’t seem to be any jobs like that left in the city.  Unfortunately, the drama at Clearwater was being played out on stages all over town.

Jacob was talking again. “What’s that?”

“I said, don’t be hurtful, Allison.”

“Ugh!  Are you coming to my show tonight, or what?”

“What’s this now?  What show?”

“Don’t even.  I told you about this, weeks ago.  The Loose Knit Collective is having its semi-annual show at Le Space.  I’m showing my photographs tonight.  You said you’d go.”

“Oh, right!  That adorable little hobby of yours with the little kittens and the ice cream in the bathtub…”

“No, head trauma…” an elderly woman turned toward Allison and frowned disapprovingly.  Allison frowned back and turned the other way.  “…that was last time and it was called, Kitten Me Softly.  This is the new one…with the bathroom graffiti.”

In a bad, French accent, Jacob answered. “Oui, but of course I vill be zer, Mees Arbus.”  Jacob dropped it.  “I’ll even wear a jacket.”

Allison tried a sultry purr, “Mmm, you know just what I like, don’t you Daddy?” and then it was gone.  “Oh!   And come early.  And bring some wine.  Do you have any raw meat?”

“What?  No.  Why?”

“Violet Strange is performing at midnight.  It’s a new show…something about her father, the Moon, and menstrual cycles.  She said she needed more raw meat.”  Allison signaled for her stop.

“Gross. I hate performance art.  And no, I don’t have any raw meat to spare…for that.”

“Oh, don’t be that way.  I like Violet and I’m just trying to help her out.  K, so…you, Le Space, seven o’clock, sexy jacket, cheap wine,…”  Allison flashed back to the dream publishing job she used to love and the grim warzone it had become.  “Oh, and try not to get fired today, ok?  Kisses!”

The bus pulled up to the curb two blocks east of Monkey Monolith (on account of it looks just like the featureless, obsidian, ape magnet in 2001: A Space Odyssey) or, as it was more commonly known, Clearwater Publishing Plaza.

Jacob replied, “you’re one to talk Latey McLatelate.  See you soon.”, and hung up.

Allison put away her phone and hurried the rest of the way from the bus stop to her cubicle.

Mood: Filled with a beaver-esque industriousness
Music: Björk-Frosti


Dear Fiction Lovers,

Holy crap.  I know I said we’d start this NaNoWriMo project near the beginning of the month and here it is the 10th already.  Still, better late than never, right? Right?

We’ve already had some problems.  Two people dropped off the team and I’ve had a hard time finishing my first part.  The lovely Miss Rebecca Ruhlman put up her part a while ago, but it’s going to be a little bit harder for us to finish since there are only two of us.  Don’t worry Internets, we’ll make it work.

As I said before, the as-yet unnamed story is about young, media types dealing with downsizing and outsourcing at a large publishing company.  Part 1 can be found here. Come back in a few minutes for my part, Part 2.  Oh, and since this is the first sort of collab novel I’ve ever done, go easy on us, ok?  I appreciate constructive criticism, but it might take us a few iterations to work out the continuity issues and plot bugs.  Bear with us, but feel free to comment.

Love,

Anna

Mood: like I just gave birth…to this blog post!
Music: Neko Case-Maybe Sparrow


*ed.  I’ve already written this blog, but lost the whole thing because I forgot to log in.  The first version was awesome, but I can’t remember it.  Sorry if this one isn’t as good, Internets. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

Ugh, I’ve been feeling so off for the last month or two.  It’s not really a depressed kind of thing (or maybe it is), but it’s been really hard for me to generate interest for anything beyond bathing, watching television, writing emails, blogging, feeding the cat, and doing homework.  I’m constantly late to work.  I haven’t been eating much.  My sleep pattern is more of a random process and the mail is unopened, my house is unclean, and my to-do list is undone.  I’m not sure why I’m feeling Maybe it’s because my mother and my aunt are flying out here on Friday.

It’s hard to believe that it has been almost  a year since I came out to my family and friends.  For the most part, people have been sweet and accommodating…my mother is an exception.  She lives out-of-state and she’s had a very hard time with this.  Since coming out, we’ve only spoken on the phone once about ten months ago and traded a very few, terse emails.

I’ve tried every trick I could think of to bring her around.  I’ve sent her the sweet, “it’s no big deal, I’ll wait” email, the pleading, “why don’t you love me?” email, and the angry, “screw you, I’m better off without you” email.  Nothing seemed to work.

The last time I tried one of my special emails, she sent me a reply that said she was still trying to come to terms with this. She told me she’d tried counseling and asked how she could see my YouTube videos. Heartened by the sudden turn for the better, I sent her video instructions and encouragement. Weeks went by without another word.

She called my sister at some point. From what my sister said, it was almost as if she’d gone backwards in her progress and acceptance of me. My mother was all, “have you talked to your brother lately?” and “how is he doing?” It was beyond infuriating and I felt angry, sad, and powerless…again.

Unless you’ve gone through this, it might be hard to understand how this all feels. I still had a mother, theoretically, but she didn’t seem to want to have anything to do with me and, try as I might, there was nothing I could do to make her feel differently.  And it’s not like I suddenly became a Nazi or a pedophile. This is a recognized medical condition, she’s a nurse, and this isn’t totally without precedent in my life. I’m still a college graduate, and an electrical engineer, and good at my job, and a tax payer, and a voter, and I have friends, and I’ve never been convicted of anything more serious than a traffic misdemeanor.  I’m also an adult and I have lived a great deal of my life without having to rely on my parents for money or esteem-boosting.  Still though, it’s an awful feeling to be shunned by anyone, especially a parent.

My sister and I came up with one last idea.  I would send her a copy of True Selves along with a positively frigid, “this is your last chance” email and wait for her response.  I sent the email and book about a month ago.  Four days later, she sent me an email saying she had read the book in one sitting and was planning to come out to see my sister and I some time soon.  A week or so after that, she sent me another letter saying that she had purchased two airline tickets and wanted to know who was going to pick them up from the airport.  Apparently, True Selves is a magical tome forged from unicorn tears and fairy wings under the light of a pregnant moon.

So yeah, I’m nervous and excited.

I’m excited because I actually miss my mother and I desperately want her to be a part of my life.   I may have discussed this before, but my childhood was…different.  My parents divorced when I was seven and my little sister and I spent most of our childhood moving between parents and states and addresses, usually once every year or two.  As the eldest, I’ve always felt like the peacemaker, the caretaker and I’ve never been happy with my family’s cool indifference toward each other.  We barely talk to each other and, when we do, it’s usually through gritted teeth and pursed lips.  The half-closed mouth is a guard against accidentally speaking our mind or unleashing a torrent of pent-up hostility and recrimination.  I think other Scandinavian/W.A.S.P.-types roll the same way.

And so, with that sort of history, is it any wonder that the little, seven year-old girl in me wants to fix her family?  I wanna have one of those movie families where people love each other and support one another and often choose to be in the same room with one another because they enjoy each other’s company.  I think I’ve made good progress with my father, hopefully the same will be true with my mother.

I’m also nervous.  For one thing, she’s bringing my aunt with her.  My aunt and I have never been that close, so she must be a traveling ally/mobile support system.  Which is fine, I guess.  My aunt is part of my family and I might as well get right with her while we’re at it.

I’m also nervous because I’m not sure what to expect.  Mom mentioned that we’re going to have a “talking party”…whatever that is.  Honestly, if she’s not planning to lead off with a day-long hug while gently whispering, “I’m so sorry” over and over again, then I’m not sure what we have to talk about.

People who like me say I’m “strong-willed” and that I “speak my mind.”  People who don’t like me say I’m a “mouthy bitch who should shut her fucking know-it-all, pie hole every once in a while.”  The truth’s in there somewhere, Internets.  If I’m as serious about making the peace as I claim to be, it might help to try being sweet, patient, and accommodating…just this one time.  Or maybe I’ll just drink a lot.

So, fun family weekends ahoy!  They leave sometime on Sunday and I’ll update you some time after.  Until then…

Mood: shagged out
Music: The Cramps-New Kind of Kick



I was getting ready to go out on a date the other day, and “Garbageman” by The Cramps came on the bathroom boombox. I love The Cramps and I miss them.  They kind of hung it up when their lead singer, Lux Interior traded in his mortal coil for a halo and a new pair of skin-tight, snakeskin pants in February of 2009.  I was lucky enough to see them once at The Ogden on New Year’s  Eve in 2000.  It was a magical show.


cramps-ogden-nye


Lux spent the entire night slowly stripping off his clothes and channeling the illegitimate swamp demon spawn of  Wanda Jackson and Frank Booth.  Ivy, Lux’s wife and The Cramps’ lead guitarist, serenaded his breakdown behind a giant, gold Gibson (295?).  At this point, both of them were in their middle 50’s and they still looked and sounded amazing. I think they could have gone for another fifteen years, at least.

Lux and Ivy were freaks.  They worshiped at the altar of low-brow, uniquely American kulture and cloaked themselves in B-sci-fi/horror and exploitation flicks, hot rods, two-fisting amphetamines and nitrous, sleazy sex, motorcycle gangs, go-go dancers, fetish magazines, hillbilly records, pulp fiction, switchblades, gender-bending, circus side shows, kinky pinups, and depravity.  In other words, The Cramps were my kind of people.

Poison Ivy and Lux Interior



The world was a far more interesting place with The Cramps in it, and they will be missed.

…yeah it’s just what you need,
when you’re down in the dumps,
one half hillbilly and one half punk,
big long legs and one big mouth,
the hottest thing from the north to come out of the south…

The CrampsGarbageman


…well my mama had twin babies,
on one sweet summer day,
she beat one in the head,
and I’m the one the got away,
protected by my wighat,
and my Fredrick snakeskin pants
I rode my horse to Hollywood,
and did a wondrous dance…

The CrampsCall of the Wighat


Rock’n’roll is so great that everyone in the world should think it’s the greatest thing that’s happening. If they don’t, they’re turds.

Lux Interior

Mood: Already stressed
Music: Brian Jonestown Massacre-Jennifer


I don’t feel great about reposting some of the emails I receive from potential suitors.  Making fun of people for poor grammar or ignorance is too easy and leaves me feeling hollow and dead inside.  I’d like to think I’m more of a candle-lighter than a darkness-curser.

Then again, every once in a while, I get a special letter from a special fella that is simply too good to pass up.  Like, so good that I feel like I’m doing the Internet a disservice by only sharing it with my closest girlfriend.  We’ve been through a lot, Internets and I don’t want to disserve(?) you.  Maybe I can post this and mock it as a way to educate some of the men folk out there in the dating pool?  Maybe said men folk will read this and really think twice about the sort of nonsense they’re sending us.  I know, I’m not holding my breath either.  Anyway…

Subject:  Please Write

Hi, Anna.

First, let’s cut to the chase regarding the gender thing. I guess I need clarification about that as I’m not sure how to read “pre-op transsexual woman”. What exactly does that mean? Does it mean you were born a female but want to be a male? Where are you now, and where will you be post-op? I will let you know that I am straight but seem to be bi-curious, also. And I’ll admit that I am rather turned on by “chicks with dicks”. So, please enlighten me. I’ll also say that I seem to be one of those really “hard to match” people. My work involves making maps or just geo-data. Could you also explain the “Hell” part of your username? You sure sound interesting and I like your pics, too. 🙂

Mr. So, So Wrong


To the commentary bullets!

•  First, let’s cut to the chase… Wow, spooky.  How did he know that the exact kind of man I’m into is a chase-cutting, man-of-action, kind of man?  It’s like he’s living inside my mind.

•  …regarding the gender thing. I’m thinking the phrase, “if you have to ask…” applies here.  Whatever.  Maybe I could be more clear, but I think most people understand what I’m about.

•  I’m not sure how to read “pre-op transsexual woman”. Hmm, an excellent point.  This site may answer some of your questions.

•  Could you also explain the “Hell” part of your username? LOL, genius…I wish I’d written that.  Well, if you insist…  You see, I use Anna Hell as my nom de guerre because I’m a crazed, devil girl who worships the dark lord of the infinite abyss and leaves a trail of broken hearts and disemboweled lovers in her wake.  Also, I suck men’s souls out through their penis.  Just kidding, it’s an old family name…from Finland or whatever.

•  I am straight but seem to be bi-curious…I am rather turned on by “chicks with dicks”.  Awww,  it’s my first “chicks with dicks” email!  And, I think you can go ahead and just say you’re bi-curious…bisexual even.  That’s kind of like saying, “I think I might be interested in learning about indecision.”

•  I seem to be one of those really “hard to match” people. Get out of town!  Really?  I, for one, cannot believe he’s “hard to match.”  It makes no sense that a silver-penned wordsmith who makes “maps or just geo-data” is still single.  Curse you, o cruel world, why dost thou let yon earthbound angel suffer in solitude?

•  You sure sound interesting and I like your pics, too. 🙂 Oh, so you like my “pictures” and you think I’m “interesting”, hunh?  Well, screw…crap, I can’t think of anything snarky to say.  I like smiley-face emoticons and that’s actually a nice sentence and representative of “things I like to hear.”  Next time, just build your letter on that and drop the insulting, awkward, over-sharing.

Class dismissed.


an introduction





Hi, I'm Anna and I love cheese!

This blog is a chronicle of my life and a catalog of happy ephemera. The About page has a little bit more information, but, remember, none of this is really me...it's just a supplement, a thumbnail sketch, a mostly anonymous Intarwebs placeholder. I'm way better/less wordy in person. :-)

Oh, and if I wrote something about you and you thought it was mean or hurtful, I'm sorry. It's how I felt at the time, but probably isn't how I feel now. Chances are, I love you and I think you're awesome.

copyright

All content on Blog, Sweet Blog is copyrighted by me, Anna Hell. Unless otherwise noted, all photos, words, and content on this site are mine, created by me, and should not be used without my permission (or at least attributed and linked back). I try to embed links or quote original source material if I use another person's work.

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