Necessary Digits

Dear Alicia,

Here is your horoscope 

for Wednesday, June 25:

You're never too old to learn and today brings new information your way about your own interests or motivations that may surprise you quite a bit. It should be positive, so run with it!

I am a firm believer in the statement 'You never stop learning'. I am the poster child (or rather a-dult) for this statement. I just wish the lessons taught to me (on a daily basis, several times a day) were more of an intellectually based content instead of the more common sense entailed. This past weekend I learned many such lessons.  I get great joy from becoming more knowledgeable in the ways of this world and how to go about surviving within it (and surviving the beings that reside within it), I'm just disappointed that these life lessons don't aid in my pursuit for a higher IQ. Instead, I am most certain the number of my IQ is in a recessive type state, not a progressive one.

The weekend started off great. I picked up my son (I know, I know, I probably fall within the category of people that should not breed; however, my kids are turning out to be impeccable humane beings, in spite of having me for a mother. I think they learn what NOT to do by my example.), we rented movies and had a very calm and peaceful evening together. We ate some dinner then enjoyed one another's company as we laughed our way through all the movies. I believe he has now seen The Simpson's Movie a grand total of 8 times, and laughs harder and hard with each viewing. Saturday, Nevan (my son) was returned to his father unscathed. The kids go to Dad's for the summer you see. I proceed to go to work for the evening. I'm at work when I receive a text from a friend about a party that night, and that I should come and bring some 'hotties'. The only hotties I know are all taken, and I text this information back to The Invitor.  I finish up with work and proceed to the party, but first a pit stop at a bar downtown for drinks with a friend. As I meet up with Madam T (not to be confused with Lady T, two entirely different people you see), I realize she falls into the 'hottie' category as does her friend Miss X. I inform Madam T and Miss X about the party. They state they would love to accompany me. We leave the bar and after many wrong turns and phone calls between The Invitor, Madam T, and myself, I graciously pass my phone to Madam T (who is in another car) so that she may speak with The Invitor for directions so that we I and my 2 "hotties' may get to the party before it ends, or worst they float the keg! Did I forget to mention that I am directionally challenged? Now please do not get the wrong impression, though I turn right when I should have turned left, I never really get lost.  I always seem to end up at the correct destination, it just takes me a little longer than most people, so you must be patient me with, but I digress. We arrive at the party and proceed to engage ourselves in very stimulating conversations, so much so that I don't notice when Madam T and Miss X bid me farewell and head home. I should have followed suit, instead I don't get home until 5:00 am, even though I had only planned on staying out until 2:00am. There was a lot going on at this party- what with networking, beer drinking, and art in the form of tagging a wall & a lovely girl's shirt. Then I had to save the lovely girl by sowing the button back on her pants. I couldn't leave this damsel in distress, even if it meant I would only get 3 hours of sleep before I had to go to work. A girl needs to be able to keep her modesty, so I had to save her and everyone else at the party from the embarrassment we all would have experienced at having to stare at her perfectly tight, bare posterior the rest of the evening, er morning, for you see the lovely girl informed me she was in fact not wearing any undergarments. I did everyone a courtesy there and know that they all thank me for my quick thinking and Ninja skills with a needle and thread. I know the lovely lady was grateful for she kept grabbing me around my waist and placing her head upon my bosom, grabbing my hand and kissing it, and stroked my thigh as we sat, all whilst contiguously thanking me. What a lovely girl, so well mannered and polite!! I bid farewell to everyone and leave for home. Sunday morning. Work- this is where the life lessons for the weekend would kick into hyperspeed. 

Woke up Sunday morning and though my mind was somewhat up and running, I couldn't quite seem to get my eyes to follow suit. I was a bit dehydrated and the evidence was drawn on my eyeballs in the form of angry red atlas lines showing the road I traveled the night before- Alcohol (excellent song by Gogol Bordello). I show up to work somehow at my scheduled time. I clock in and then immediately hit up the coffee shop 3 stores down (not to be confused with 3 doors down). This magical dark liquid did wonders for getting me going, but did nothing for my dehydration problem. This was the thought running through my mind when a co worker jolted me from my thoughts with a VERY loud sound. My co worker apologizes for the disturbing sound and it is at that moment I notice the bread I was slicing was soaking in a red substance. It took me a moment to realize the red substance was my life's essence. I look at the knife before I look at my hand. Blood is pouring out, not a little drip, I am talking a steady stream of blood. I head over to the sink and see that I have indeed  sliced my left pinkie.......deep. I feel a pain deep within my finger, a place I have never experienced any sensation prior to this. The Mighty Boss Man and his wannabe mini me AKA The Manager both say I should be fine. The Mighty Boss Man states that if I deem it necessary I can go and have it checked out and he would foot the bill. I state it's nothing more than a superficial flesh wound. I bandage it up with a little help, put on a glove and proceed with work. Very soon after- I notice the pinkie finger of the glove is filling with blood and dripping down my hand. I can not get the infuriating appendage to stop flowing. It was as if my blood cells preferred to live outside my body and were intent on achieving this goal. The blood cells did not seem to realize we needed each other to live, I on the other hand paid attention in Biology and wrap a rubber band around my pinkie to put a stop the their escape. Do not fret, the rubber band remained only for the duration of time needed to apply a fresh bandage. There is a lot of blood and everyone agrees I should go get my gash (and by gash I speak of my wound, not to be confused with a horrid slang term used to describe a certain female body part) looked at. I get in my car and drive to the friendly neighborhood Urgent Care Clinic. I assumed I would be waiting for some time before I would be seen for there were others in line also waiting to have some ailment checked. This turned out to be a wrong assumption. Apparently if you are bleeding they whisk you right in. The doctor came in and took a look. He informed me that though it was a small wound, it was indeed deep and that pain I mentioned earlier? Well, it turned out to be where I nicked my bone. He asked if I wanted an X-ray to prove this diagnosis to be true. I declined for I did not want to be there for any period of time than absolutely necessary, not to mention The Mighty Boss Man was coming to my rescue by means of a credit card. The doctor then informed me that my wound did indeed require stitches. I then learned I would receive some numbing medication via a needle. I loath needles, the kind that pierce your flesh and rape your skin with and angry stick and the releasing of fluids into you. I shudder at the thought. It was just one needle; however it was inserted into the flesh of my little finger in three different locations. I surprised the doctor by singing through the process. The lyrics of my numbing medication song were something along the lines of 'This sucks, this sucks, no fun a'tall, please stop, please stop before bad names I call!' He then informed me with a smile that he has never experience a singing reaction before. I could bring forth no witty retort for I was starring at my expanding finger. He saw the look on my face and said that fat finger syndrome was normal. Now I realize I am not defined as normal, but this was most definitely NOT normal, even for me. He proceeded to thread the hooked needle that was about to puncture my delicate flesh. I wondered at the process of healing a wound with creating more holes in my finger. I contemplated on how I came in with one angry gash (insert immature giggle), and would leave with one angry sown gash and 7 new punctures, 4 holes where the needle entered and exited and 3 for the numbing meds. He wiped the wound clean and began the sowing of me. I began to sing again, something about the irony of my saving the lovely lady with a thread and needle the night before. I received 2 stitches. The now not-so-superficial wound goes from the middle of my nail length wise to the middle of my nail width wise, shaped like a crescent moon, or as I like to call it the Cheshire Cat's smile, also the same shape as the needle. The doctor finishes up with me and I am released. As I leave all the people that assisted me compliment my singing reaction as well as some people that did not assist me, apparently I sang quite loud. I smile, wave, and thank everyone for their help and compliments. I go back to work to finish my shift. I don't like not having feeling in my finger, though as the feeling slowly returns I change my tune and wish it were still fat and unfeeling. I also wonder why the first place I regain feeling happens to be at the tip of my finger where the wound is- as the rest of my finger remains dead. I would have preferred for the tip to be the last place to regain feeling, but alas I am no doctor. I was all bandaged up so I escaped having to show off my stupidity for at least 24 hours. Though I did have many people ask what happened due to my pinkie being mummified. Doctor's orders were to keep the dressing (ADA mummification) for at least 24 hours. I end my shift and go change my shirt in the bathroom from my work shirt to my TXRD Media shirt, for I was to help with filming the TXDR bout for the live webcast. 

I get to the ACC (Austin Convention Center, not to be confused with Austin Community College), and learn that I'm pretty useless. I can't really help with much of the set up, and I'm loopy from lack of sleep and the pain meds I took. This by far is the worst filming I have ever done. My shots were all over the place. My zoom was to fast, I was panning to fast, and I was getting physically ill. Also, I got nailed twice by a flailing Roller Girl. The second half of the bout I finally got over the sick feeling and my shooting skills came back to me just in time for the last 5 minutes of the bout. I had to remove the mummification at this point due to it got caught and tugged a lil. With my pinkie free I see that a stitch has come loose. Great. I handled it the best way I knew how to for when we were wrapped- we Media folk decide to make an appearance at the after party. We are all only going to stay for one beer. Everyone holds true to this except me. I decide to continue to self medicate due to my pain meds had worn off and get invited to go with some new friends to dance 80's style. I tell myself this is a good idea and proceed to walk to the club with The Eccentric Cuban and an Okie, 2 of my new friends. We get to the club and I proceed to dance the night away. We meet up with the lovely Horror Show from the Holy Rollers. She proves to have the moves not only on the track but also on the dance floor. I was impressed.  We head out to the balcony for a smoke where I am befriended by one half of Devour the World. One half of Devour the World and I are conversing when I notice The Eccentric Cuban pull out a contraption which resembles a pencil sharpener/inhaler. I watch as he puts it to his nose and inhales. The Okie, One Half of Devour the World, myself, and many others around us stand in shocked silence. You see we believe that the Eccentric Cuban is openly snorting illegal substances for all to see. It turns out to be some sort of menthol snuff (tobacco you sniff, not to be confused with snuff films). Everyone takes a turn and when it makes it's way to me I begin to decline admitting I have never snorted. Once I am told in lengthy detail the origin and what it is, I then decide to go for it. It was the equivalent of sticking Vicks in your nose, without the burn. At this point the elusive Mighty Aphrodite appears, and informs us that it is last call. We all head in for shots. The first round are Red Snappers. I then get everyone a shot of Sex with an Alligator. Yum. We then head to the dance floor and dance till close. 

I wake up Monday morning to find that prior to my not so superficial wounding, I did not realize how essential my pinkie is. Packing, picking up items, drinking, gesturing, typing- lil finger not upon the right I will never again doubt your worthiness, that you and your twin upon my right are just as vital as the other 8 digits. All of my fingers serve a purpose and none work harder than the others- it's a team effort, well maybe I do over work my middle finger a wee bit, none the less, the others have proven to be just as hard a worker as my middle fingers. They graciously bow down at just the right moment all in unison to give the middle finger the spot light. I have gained so much knowledge in the past 2 and a half days!! Now I could list off all I have learned for your viewing pleasure, and in hopes that you too may learn and become more knowledgeable, but I believe you to have already gained these lessons as you came across them in the story. The two main lessons I learned are as follows: That all 10 digits are beautiful individuals, but you can not beat how they work as a team, and the real lesson.........drink responsibly. Amen.

Currently listening to: Of Montreal-Wrath Pinned to the Mist and Other Games

A Jungle Expedition- ALI Style

I went on a jungle expedition Sunday night where I came across an aggro gorilla. The jungle's location: Red River, Headhunters to be exact. The gorilla: the bartender. It was a friend's Birthday and we went to the after party for the Derby match we had just filmed. The night started out innocently enough, but soon took a left somewhere on our road of contentment and headed straight for 'Oh Shitsville'. It's a place I try not to visit anymore, yet every once in a while I end up back there. I blame the shots. I was doing just fine on beer, but damn that fire water! Just when I think I've grown and matured in my drinking, I once again find myself going after the biggest gorilla in the jungle. He had it coming though. I don't pick on the innocent, just the Asses that like to take out their emotional dilemmas and hangups on my friends, myself, or innocent by-standers.

So we hit up Headhunters, have some beers and birthday shots and everything is great. Everyone is having a grand ole time.  Mr. Gorilla, whose ass crack was hanging out because he thought it to be 'sexy' (excuse me, please, while I swallow down the bile that has defied gravity and made it's way up my esophagus due to that unpleasant memory) is the cause of the detour on our road of contentment. I thought maybe it was for easy access to fling poo. Gorillas fling poo right? He is about 6'3 and weights - well he's an over muscled Mofo. He grabs the lovely Lady T's (Birthday Girl's)  hand bag or box rather. This hand box has Superman on it, which caught Mr. Gorilla's eye. He begins dancing around with it making a big scene behind the bar. Guess someone was in need of some attention. He was positioning the hand box directly under the only beam of light behind the bar while pointing at himself then at Superman. After this little song and dance number I figure he owes Lady T a shot on the house. He did violate her box -giggle- and making us watch his gorilla-ness in action would most definitely be more tolerable to witness with a beverage in hand.  I do believe he did his gorilla mating call as well. Lady T had the same idea, that is about the free shot, not giving out a mating call, only she was much more civil about it. We were both trying to get Mr. Gorilla's attention-I at one end of the bar, she around the corner. She won. She stated that she should get a free shot and I seconded it. He laughed and moved on to the next customer, abruptly ending the conversation, so ungentlemanly like.  She spoke some more at him, as did I. Then, when nothing else was working, I shouted at him' She thinks you're Gay!' That did it all right, his attention was ours- bring on the drinks, or so I thought. He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand, and kept looking from Lady T to me. He turned to me and said ' You REALLY think I'M Gay?' To which I replied ' Well, she thinks it', and Lady T interjects 'SHE said it'! Well there goes our drinks. Dang. He's not worthy of being Gay. He then over dramatizes that Lady T and I are from this moment on cut off.  He is using hand gestures that consist of him pointing (Mr. Gorilla likes to point, so rude)  at both Lady T and I followed by him taking his fingers across his neck in a slicing motion. Such an unjust verdict! Lady T became upset (as is her God given right- HA!) that he cut us off as it is blatantly obvious that she and I are well away from being inebriated enough to be condemned to such a horrid sentence as this. I yelled from across the bar ' I'll handle this'. Side Note: When alcohol is involved never, and I repeat, NEVER let me handle it. That is unless you're prepared for some pain, a good laugh, and a story for years to come. Where was I? Oh, I'll handle this. OK, so I get down off my bar stool and head to where Mr. Gorilla is pouring drinks. I tell him it's Lady T's Birthday and that she needs a shot to compensate for his molesting her box. -giggle again- He starts again with the ' you've been cut off ' gestures. I said ' You didn't let me finish, she is also in need of a Birthday spanking.'  This got his attention, and this is when we landed in 'Oh Shitsville'.  I made it clear that if his hand touches Lady T's beautiful bum, he had to give up the alcohol. He agreed and then hurriedly began taking care of the two other patrons waiting at the bar so that he may start smacking cute buttocks. I went over to fill Lady T in on the plan. She agreed to it. Mr. Gorilla comes over and once again makes a big scene about what he's doing so everyone is looking at him. Someone didn't get enough love as a baby gorilla. He lifts Lady T's skirt takes aim and renders a blow so hard it thunders throughout the noisy bar, turning a couple of heads our way. Lady T winces a little, OK, she is hurting, and her mouth has began to descend toward the bar floor. Lucky for her I caught it with the bar stool where it will remain for the duration of the Birthday beating. Mr. Gorilla didn't even warm up her bum first. No manners indeed. He then proceeded to beat the hell out of Lady T's posterior. She took nine blows before someone said something. I don't remember whom. I know she was done and collected her mouth from upon the stool to state she could take no more. Mr. Gorilla had plans of giving her the amount of blows that matched her age. No one could make it past ten. Trust me. So he goes back behind the bar and begins serving drinks again, I stomp over and say ' You owe her BIG time!' He complies, but not without defensively stating 'you guys wanted me to do it'.  I respond with 'Yeah- ONE smack, that was the deal, NOT the beating you gave.'  I can't stand ego driven people. He was this huge gorilla taking out his frustrations with no mercy on Lady T's bare bum. He did give her a glass half full of Jameson. She deserved more, she couldn't sit down, plus she had to deal with Mr. Gorilla trying to convince her she wanted him. Oh, sorry more bile.  Lady T and I ventured up to the balcony to divulge what had just transpired to our friends that had moved up there. I felt responsible for what took place so I elected myself to be Mr. Gorilla's next arse victim, all in honor of Lady T's bloodied bum. No one tried to talk me out of it, Lady T was all about my impending beating. Not my brightest idea, but I'm a good, no GREAT friend. Don't dish out what you can't take I always say.  I venture back downstairs to take my punishment like a champ, or chimp compared to Mr. Gorilla. I find Mr. Gorilla is busy up on stage grunting and screaming into a microphone. Great, now he's going to be all riled up with his gorilla-ness all hanging out, and I'm going to be his next victim. It was really sinking in what a BAD idea this was. I'm standing there watching him thinking, 'Great I'm about to get my ass beat by an aggro roided out gorilla. What the fuck am I doing?'. He finishes his Ode to Cookie Monster, jumps off stage and goes back behind the bar. I approach him by stating he sucks, and that I need ten blows since it was me that got Lady T's bum beat. Oh, he heartily agreed to beat me arse. I walk over to where my friends are standing with Mr. Gorilla on my heels. I take a couple of deep breaths (yeah like that was going to help out my my poor lil tush), and assumed the position. The beating was divided into five on the right and five on the left. I braced myself for the first blow as the crowd stroked Mr. Gorilla's ego and pumped him up even more. You really can't prepare for something this brutal. The first blow took my breath away. There is no warm up, no start soft and get harder, it's just beat the hell out that ass. I don't know how I made it through the first five, nor how I can keep going on the next cheek. Masochistic much? Me thinks so. I think I have permanent dents, and bone damage. When he finishes with the right cheek I take a moment of silence for the death of my booty, and to prepare before he unleashes on my left cheek. I once again brace myself and he delivers the first blow to my left cheek. I wince in sever pain because he is hitting me even harder then on the right side. I think this is due to my caboose covered by jeans. He delivers the second blow to the left cheek and I am wondering again, why the fuck I  agreed to this. Damn being a good friend. He decides that I'm not positioned correctly and angles me toward him telling me to stick out my ass. He pops me on my thigh, penetrating all the way to my bone. I jump at the pain. He again angles me toward him and again pops my thigh. This time I ball my fist and raise it as I twist toward him. This doesn't phase him. He again pops me on the thigh hitting bone. He didn't hit anywhere near my bum for the last three blows. Ass. Hole. He rubs his hands together beaming with pride and resumes his place behind the bar. I wobble over and ask for my drink. He asks if I still think he's Gay. I smile but say nothing. NO, I now know you're a mean sonofabitch that likes to beat on those smaller, but smarter than you, and that you need to be taken DOWN by a diabolical mastermind! I ducked thinking poo was in the air. He had his hand back there. I realize I only thought that, didn't say it aloud, that he was reaching for his bottle opener, (IN HIS ASS, remind me not to order anything from a bottle there), and that my imagination once again was making my crazy show. He's a total closet case, but I hope he never unleashes himself into the Gay community. They deserve better, we all do. I straighten up not trying to play off my crazy and  I tell him he owes me a drink and he replies with ' Tell me you want to fuck me'. Ewwww. I'm not a monkey, but I wish I had a burning sack of animal feces to throw at his head. I look at him with my 'Are you fucking kidding me?' face.  He sees my face and exclaims ' Lie to me '. I'm not much of a lier, so I say to him ' I want to fuck you..... in the arse, just like you like it '. He either didn't hear me, or chose to ignore the last part. He gave me a glass half full of Jameson, guess that's what he gives to those whom have felt his wrath.  I took my earnings and went back to my friends. I drank most of it, then passed the rest off. Mr. Gorilla keeps chatting with Lady T, asking if she still thinks he's Gay, damn man, who are you trying to convince- we strangers or yourself?  As the rest of us discussed what happened and how he was out of line with how hard he beat us, I got a wee bit riled up again. I decide Lady T and I should have a go at Mr. Gorilla's badonkadonk. Knowing that Lady T and I can't do half the damage he had done to us she looks a little forlorn, I reassure her, he will hit the concrete, I promise. I go back over to Mr. Gorilla and ask if he will allow us a chance to have a go at his fanny. He agrees. I decide it's only fair to warn him so I tell him ' Oh yeah, also, I'm going to take you to the concrete, and I fight dirty'. He tells me no punching in the balls. I inform him that I didn't need to; I won't go near his balls, or his eyes or anything of that nature. We get Mr. Gorilla outside the bar and against the wall. We both get a combined total of about five hits before he punks out when he sees the belt Lady T's hubby passes to her to beat his exposed arse. Mr. Gorilla was done playing whipping boy and turns his attention to one of our friends that said a belt is perfectly fair, and would even up the score. Right at that moment I grab Mr. Gorilla from behind in a choke hold and he hits the concrete, as did I. He catches my right ankle under him as he goes down. I keep him there for a moment or two before he really freaks out. He gets his bearings and proceeds to toss me around like a rag doll, causing my leg support to rid up and rub the skin off my leg, not a brace, but the hose like kind with rubber grips for circulation. I have to wear it every now and then cause I had surgery. Point is it was painful. Back to the story. He was pissed off that he got taken down, and by a female- that's a real blow to his ego, for he is a 6'3 250 lbs of muscled gorilla, and I  a mere 5'6 135 lbs of pure GIRL. I gave him fair warning. Why people don't believe what I say, I'll never understand. I speak truthfully. There is hysterical laughter all around and shouts of joy that I stuck true to my word. I am happy that Lady T's birthday turned out to a good one with a great story to tell for some time. Well now it's two days later and I can barely move. We (Lady T and company) went swimming yesterday, I thought that would help with my stiffness, but alas I forgot that my body feels it TWO days later. I don't know why that is, just how my body has always been. Oh, also thirty minutes before we left the swimming hole Mr. Gorilla showed up.What are the chances?! Of all the places to swim in Austin!! He has a tiny toy breed of dog too- go ahead and laugh it's funny, damn funny. He had to come over and retrieve his tiny pooch because the damn thing wouldn't leave Lady T and Sir's dog alone, who is ten times the size of tiny pooch. Since they kept the beautiful Gezabelle from having the menacing Winston (Mr. Gorilla's tiny pooch) as a snack, Lady T needed some sort of retribution.  As he reaches for Winston with my eyes trying to shoot laser beams, for he is mere inches from me, Lady T informs him that he was our bartender the night before. She then turned around and showed him the damage he caused her lovely derriere. He becomes very uncomfortable, and says 'yeah good times, I have bruises too'. HOORAY FOR CONCRETE AND MY DRUNKEN TAKE DOWN SKILLZ. He walked off and I overheard him talking to a girl about us. I wonder if he remembered to tell her about me taking him to the concrete? Probably not, that's OK; we know it happened, though I'm paying for in now with sore muscles and a bruised thigh bone, along with a butt that's a little deflated and concave. Oh well, it was worth it. I send out a challenge to all ye egotistical, homophobic, over grown gorillas of the world. Before you accept, remember that I fight dirty. -wink- Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: The White Stripes - Effect & Cause

Fuckin America: Fantasy Wins Out Over Reality

I have fallen and fallen hard. He's amazing, tall, talented, and intense. I love how my stomach dances when I find him glancing at me. How my heart races when he places his hand on my shoulder as he talks excitedly about music, a friend, what he just ate, everything; his passion for life and for me. I have become his favorite instrument to strum. Oh and did I mention he only exists in my head? He visits me at night when I close my eyes, or when I find my mind wondering during the day. I'm perfectly content with this fictional relationship. I have found that I'm not interested in the reality version of man. Reality men I have no desire to waste my time on. I'm disgusted at how men approach me, and the foul words they vomit from their lips. What ever happened to real conversations, oh yeah, they were replaced with idiotic pick up lines that NEVER work. Reality men stopped trying to get in my head to see how I ticked and started heading straight for my pants. No thank you. Been there done that, didn't work for me. In fact it backfired.  I've been hit on in parks, grocery stores, bookstores, even driving, and of course bars. In my pursuit for relationship happiness, yes I did indeed end up in a few beds. Each time I became a little more hostile toward the poor bastard, and now I loathe the thought of having some ass hole near me let alone inside me. I shudder to think of it. I think I'm on the right path of figuring out why I have all this hostility. At first I thought it might be that I was playing for the wrong team, then I thought to myself, 'Self women hold no interest for me sexually'. I appreciate the beauty of my gender, often commenting on it, just not my cup of tea in my pursuit of sexual happiness. Then to my horror I found I didn't enjoy or even care for sex anymore. I thought something was broken inside. I then realized the problem wasn't the sex itself (well sometimes it was); the problem is me, I have evolved. I want someone to take the time to get to know me, and me him. Wanted: a relationship based on intellect and passion, a chance for some sexual tension. I personally have never experienced sexual tension, I think I would like to. I will never again end up in some one's bed, couch, floor, bathroom (you get the picture), unless I feel they are worthy of me and I of them. Meaningful love, that's what I and I'm sure countless others are after. Don't get me wrong if you have a 'friend' that is there to appease your sexual appetite, good for you. I have moved past this and am bored with it. Well, meaningful fun relationship is what I have going on in fantasy land. I don't think I want to return to Reality men, for at present in my eyes they are such overrated, annoying, whiny, and vile creatures. I'm perfectly happy with the man living in my head. He and I get along famously, are both witty and wise, and I'm glad of that for I don't think in reality I'll ever get over my opinion that men are vile sexual predators, just waiting to puce on their next victim. I know, I know, not ALL men are like that, just the one's interested in me. I hope to one day be pleasantly surprised and come across someone that isn't afraid of me, can stand up to me without all the macho bullshit, and be interested in me for my thoughts and ideas, not for what protrudes above my rub cage, nor for what is between my legs. I know I don't stand-alone in the belief that it seems that everything men do is sexually driven. The proof is everywhere, from bad sitcoms where the hubby does something right and the wife rewards him with sex, to actual rules of the game and books on how to get laid (thanks Neil Strauss). Oh and don't get me started on my gender and the stupid games I've seen them play and how they use sex, not their minds to get what and where they want. I know women can be just as vile, and so much more, which is another reason for me to not switch teams. Sex shouldn't be a Power play, well unless you're roll playing if that's what you're into. Hey, whom am I to judge what you do behind close doors? I admit to being a voyeur. Really, I blame our society that pushes sex on us at an early age on TV, in movies, magazines (sex sells), as it also brainwashes us to believe sex is dirty and we should be ashamed of bodies. Fuckin America- pun intended. Until the day that I am pleasantly surprised, I'll stick with the man living in my head. Fantasy wins out over reality. Rant over. Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: Ghostland Observatory- Edge of Town

Liquefied Cardboard: Out Witted by Scotch

Well me oh my small fry. Scotch apparently is just too sophisticated for my pallet. Mind you I have not let pass the expensive alcoholic preference of the higher intellect through these lips, just the cheap 'well' version. I don't think the pricier of the bunch will really change the minds of my irritated tasted buds. I couldn't finish the glass, nor could I talk anyone around me into drinking the rest. Granted, I was out by myself hoping against hope to find someone willing to play some Fuzeball (some spell it Foosball, whatever pops your bottle top I say), for I have no friends.....kidding, I have a couple. Here is my story.

Well, here I am waiting for a willing opponent at one of my favorite bars (fuzeball table is all I need), when I hear a gentleman order some sort of Scotch, which the bar doesn't have, and this gets me thinking. I think to myself ' Self, Scotch is the preferred drink of the intelligent sort. You my dear are of the intelligent sort, therefore, you should drink Scotch.' This statement may seem true as taught by English teachers within the American Public School system (a truly intelligent person would have stopped right there); however, IT IS NOT SO. The only thing I proved to myself is that I may not be as smart as I believed myself to be. I order a Scotch rocks, and happily await my drink of liquid knowledge. The bartender hands me my drink, and I hand him the owed amount plus a hefty tip. I stand there- at the bar for a few moments staring at my glass, allowing the anticipation to build. I smile and put the glass to my lips. Ice comes rushing towards my face causing most of the Scotch up my nose and flowing freely down both cheeks unto my shirt. It's truly sad when Scotch proves to be wiser than I by trying to escape. I then immediately begin a sneezing fit. This saddens me, for you don't get much in your glass when you order anything on the rocks, and now most of it I was wearing as a new perfume, or sneezed all over the bar. It tastes horrid, though I convince myself that this was due to the unfortunate turn my plight had just taken. the bartender hands me a napkin, to which I respond with a sheepish grin and a pathetic thank you. I wipe my face and nose as the bartender wipes my DNA off the bar. I pick my glass up for round two. I look up and now have an audience watching me consisting of about five people including the bartender. I turn my attention back to my drink. I hear the bartender explaining to the original Scotch fellow that got me into this mess, literally, why everyone was watching me. I don't pay too much attention for I am getting back in the zone, Scotch Zone. I again put the glass back to my lips, mindful of the ice this time, and take a long slow sip. I hastily pull the glass from my lips and hear my audience, now of six, begin to laugh heartily, I assume at the expression on my face. I then unknowingly begin to make horrid noises deep in my throat to make the disgusting taste somehow go away. The wonderful bartender comes to my rescue with a tall glass of water, with which I gulp greedily. Not doing the trick, so I grab a handful of limes and begin sucking on them like some 1880's British Sailor. I take a few moments going back and forth between deep gulps of water and lime sucking. the laughter has gotten annoyingly loud, I believe I see the Scotch fellow wiping tears off his face, though I can't be sure as I am peeking through my glass. I ask if any of the laughing Jack Asses would care to finish my drink, to which they respond with laughing even harder. Such gentlemen. the Scotch fellow comes over and actually pats me on the back, and tells me he hasn't laughed like that for some time. I take the lime from my teeth and say ' I don't know why, I'm not funny' (why people believe otherwise, I'll never understand). He just starts laughing again and looking at me while shaking his head. I respond with 'Glad I could oblige' through my teeth, while wishing that looks could kill. He then informs me that by no means do you ever drink well Scotch, nor any other form of well alcohol. He then proceeds to inform me of the proper Scotch labels that should be consumed and something about Scotch and chocolate. Though I love dark chocolate, at this point I stopped listening knowing full well that my Scotch drinking days have come to an end. To add to my annoyance he has to be at least 6 years my junior. He confirms this for me, for he believed me to be younger than himself. I guess due to my lack of alcohol etiquette. He asks if he can buy me a decent, consumable drink and chat me up some more about the wonderful world of Scotch, lil bastard. This is my que to exit. I wish the patrons (still laughing) well with my middle finger, all in good nature I assure you, and make my way to the door. As I am driving home at an ungodly early hour of the evening - 11:30, I tell myself, ' Self, the night wasn't a total loss, you learned that though it was proven that you may not be as smart as you thought yourself to be, you DO learn from your mistakes.

A Note to Self- Ahem:

1. By no means should you ever again go to a bar alone for you need a wing man/woman to intervene when being adventurous with your choice of drink.

2. There should be a warning label on Scotch stating 'May cause permanent taste and smell damage (if it ends up in your nose), as well as possibly making you look like as ass, without your being intoxicated.

3. Scotch is of a higher intelligence that I, for it at least new better then to go near my mouth and attempted to escape. 

4. When trying anything new slow and steady is the way to go, oh and less is more in the mouth. 

5. Making strange noises deep in the throat only pushes the taste back towards the taste buds, thus causing the gag reflex to kick in.

6. Limes do not aid in the masking or removal of the taste of well Scotch.

7. I'm not funny in an intelligent sort of way, but more slapstick, shit.

8. Sleep is no longer the cousin of death, Scotch is.

9. Scotch tastes like liquefied cardboard strained through a dirty sock.

10. Scotch sucks.

I have come to the conclusion that though Scotch has one upped me tonight, it has also taught me many life lessons, and in being taught we learn, and as this becomes known to us it turns into knowledge, and knowledgeable people drink scotch; therefore, the statement must be true that Scotch drinkers are of a higher intellect, and because I consumed Scotch- which taught ME, proving I AM in league with the intelligent sort. OK, maybe I won't give up on Scotch just yet. Maybe there's something to that whole chocolate thing. Maybe I'll run into that Scotch fellow again and take him up on his offer of more Scotch knowledge, then again, maybe not. Me ooooohhhh my, small fry. Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: Portishead- Over

My Life Put Into Perspective

My life was ironically summed up for me tonight. Mother's Day dinner at a well known Italian chain restaurant. We sit down and wait a normal amount of time for our server to show her presence, showcase the wine known as only being served at this particular establishment, and then proceed to take out drink orders (mine and the kids). I ordered a chocolate martini, the kids; a Sprite and a lemonade. The bread sticks arrive with the kid's drinks as well as the bartender stating to our server (and me) that they ran out of Godiva chocolate the previous night, so no chocolate martini for me. I said OK, and after a moment ordered a Margarita, rocks, dressed, and we also placed the order for Calamari and our entrees. Salad came out next. Still no drink for me. then Our server came back to ask if we (Riyanna and I) wanted our soup to come out with Nevan's pizza. We replied yes because the soup was our entree. I then asked about the Calamari, to which she admitted she had completely forgotten about. I said that's alright we're in no rush. She turned to go put in out order of Calamari and I asked about my drink, she smiled and freaked at the same time, it was cute. She told me ' right, let me go get that for you'. I smiled again and nodded. She returned with a vodka martini, very dirty. I gave her a crooked smile and said 'no, this isn't mine'. She looked completely perplexed and exclaimed 'OH IT'S NOT ?'. I replied with 'No, I did order a CHOCOLATE martini, but due to the bar being out of Godiva chocolate I went with a Margarita. She apologized and said she would be right back with the correct drink. Our entrees came out......right before she walked by and said Calamari will be right out. We begin to eat our entrees and 10 minutes later the bartender brings my drink, followed by another server with our Calamari. I had him box it up, and he was pissed at our server, I wasn't. I was giggling every time she came back to our table, because every time there was a new dilemma. Ordered dessert to go, she said the Calamari was on the house, then the manager came over with our check and a big explanation and apology, I said 'No harm done, she's a sweetheart, we all have bad days'. Manager thanked me for 'being so gracious' and left us. I opened the check and giggled again. She charged me for the Vodka Martini as well as my Margarita. She was so embarrassed when I told her, she went back to the manager had it taken off, and came back with mints.......I gave her 20% for making my night. what can I say, I live a colorful life, never a dull moment, and very appreciative that it was put into perspective for me once again for I was losing the battle for my sanity. All kinds of situations will present themselves to you throughout life, it's how you handle them and the people involved that count. I'm very understanding toward people that are good natured, now ass holes, that's a whole different story. I'm happy to be back to as normal as I get for me. Hope you had a great time tonight too, and if not, don't worry you soon shall......give a little giggle for me when it happens. -wink- Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: Ghostland Observatory- Silver City

Episode One

I look to my left as I'm opening the door to the restaurant and I see Him.....He's standing across the street waiting patiently for the walk sign to light up. I've seen Him before, around town and always with His silver mirrored aviator glasses. Each time our paths have crossed I have felt His eyes penetrate me through those glasses. I pause in the door way; captivated by Him, then the connection is broken as someone walks through the door that I'm still holding ajar. I take a deep breath and compose myself, as I do this I look back in His direction & see the hint of a smirk appear on His face. I begin to walk through the door, my eyes unable to look away from Him through the window. I finally lose sight of Him to the wall. I shake my head to clear it and remember that I'm in a hurry. I'm on my lunch break and only have 25 minutes left of the 45 minutes given. I've placed my order and am standing  against the wall in a daze thinking of Him, when I get pulled from my thoughts with that feeling of being watched. I look up and He is at the counter turning away from me. He is waiting to place an order. I look away and when I look back He is looking directly at me. My number is called.  With my stomach flip flopping I begin to walk to the counter. I have to walk past Him to get my order. He turns His attention to the person behind the counter waiting to take His order. As I walk I never take my eyes off Him. Not once does He turn back to look at me.  As I pass behind Him I feel His hands gently brush my side as He adjusts them behind His back. Was that on purpose? I walk a little faster to the other end of the counter where my food awaits me. My breathing a little erratic, and my face a little flushed, I grab my food almost knocking over some condiments, and rush to the bathroom which is directly to my left, to escape Him. I enter the bathroom and lock the door. I walk up to the sink and notice how flushed my face is. I wet a paper towel and begin to dab my face and neck, enjoying the coolness on my skin. I hear the toilet flush and it makes me jump. A woman comes out of the only stall and walks to the sink. I move out of her way with a barely audible 'Sorry, door was unlocked'. The woman dries her hands and looks at me with a funny expression. She then walks over and opens the door. I go back to the mirror mess with my hair and decide enough time has passed and He should have His order and be gone by now. Regardless, I should leave so I can make it back to work on time. I have the paper towel in my hand as I reach for the handle. I hear muffled voices through the door as I turn the knob. The door is only open a crack when I look up and see those damn glasses staring me in the face. I panic and try to shut the door on Him, but He is too quick. With that damn smirk he shoves the door open just enough for Him to slip through. I have stumbled back to the sink from His forced entry. He shuts and locks the door never taking His eyes off me. I hear an angry fist pounding on the other side of the door. I'm gripping the sink that's behind me as he smiles and starts slowly making His way toward me. With my heart racing I make a mad dash for the stall, only to have Him grab and push me against the side of it. I now find myself penned against the stall wall with his arms on each side of my head. I can't look at Him and instead am focusing on His pristine white Adidas. They're so clean and white, I long to step on them to leave a dirty mark, my mark. He whispers for me to look at Him. I shake my head no. He hits the stall with His right hand and repeats for me to look at Him. Again I shake my head no. He again hits the wall beside my head and cups my chin gently raising my head.  I shut my eyes. He leans into my right ear and whispers ' Look at me', and as He says the word 'look' His tongue touches my lobe. With my heart racing wildly and my body betraying me with it's response, I look at Him. He pulls His hand away from my face. I can see my wide eyed reflection in His glasses and wonder at how I'm not terrified, I'm the exact opposite. How can this be?  As he lowers His hands to his sides He slides His left hand down the front of my neck and down my breast bone. He tells me 'good girl' as he sees my pulse pounding in my neck and the goose bumps where His hand has just touched. He leans a little closer and I anxiously await to experience His lips on my skin. There's another angry pound on the bathroom door followed by some angry shouts. I turn towards His lips and he says against my jaw 'Not till I have you begging'. His warm breath nearly makes my knees buckle. He reaches down and pulls the damp paper towel I'm still clutching from my unsteady hand. He puts it to His nose, then folds it neatly and places it into His back pocket. With an almost cruel smile He turns and walks to the door. I am left behind, the stall wall barely holding me up. He turns the lock on the brass handle and opens the door to an aggravated older woman. She begins to tell Him just what she thinks of Him, but before she can get the first sentence out, He leans down to her and says something that makes her laugh. The woman's face lights up and she looks at me with a smile. He walks away without looking back. I am peeling myself off the wall as the smiling woman enters the bathroom. With a look of past memories dancing in her eyes she proclaims aloud ' Oh to be young again'. I ask her 'What just happened'? She responds with 'According to your young man; it is just the beginning'. My young man, that statement makes me laugh and all I can think is 'Please Sir, may I have some more'.

ALI

Currently listening to: Mindy Smith