Ohmygod! We got Randy Johnson! I'm so fucking thrilled! It's about time Steinbrenner got off his fat ego and let someone make an intelligent decision for my team. Of course, Randy has to agree to this...opleaseopleaseopleaseoplease....just for a year or whatever...i mean I will love you forever...or at least 'til you make us lose. Wow. I've been following this saga for fucking ever...and it's sooooooooo close now....wee hee! And I hope we get rid of that dumbshit Kevin I-like-to-hit-shit Brown. Ew...wouldn't it be just fancy if we also bought up a couple of those cuties on the A's team? I love Barry Zito...hey, George...get us Barry, too...he's yummy. Okay, enough dreaming...but welcome Randy...we will love you to death...and it's all good for kickin our asses in 2001.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Ohmygod! We got Randy Johnson! I'm so fucking thrilled! It's about time Steinbrenner got off his fat ego and let someone make an intelligent decision for my team. Of course, Randy has to agree to this...opleaseopleaseopleaseoplease....just for a year or whatever...i mean I will love you forever...or at least 'til you make us lose. Wow. I've been following this saga for fucking ever...and it's sooooooooo close now....wee hee! And I hope we get rid of that dumbshit Kevin I-like-to-hit-shit Brown. Ew...wouldn't it be just fancy if we also bought up a couple of those cuties on the A's team? I love Barry Zito...hey, George...get us Barry, too...he's yummy. Okay, enough dreaming...but welcome Randy...we will love you to death...and it's all good for kickin our asses in 2001.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Ah! Godamn this boy! All sittin in MY usual seat on the bus...AND SMOKING, the nerve! But, hell...I'd drop dead and no need for heaven if I met his lovely face on any bus...Love you Eddie...you rock...and I think you should know you spend alot of time entertaining my little head & heart...I truly dig your everything, mister.
These guys...damn! How I wish I could dress like this for work! And, damn...I'd work overtime, for free, if they were in my office...I just sense they would mellow out all the pretentious, condescending bullshit. At least, they'd find a chum in me...and I'd be just giddy with that! Mainly, cause there would probably be occasional huggings...and perhaps the every so often borrowing of clothing. Hmmmmm....
Nah...I really dig their music, too. So, they're just overall peachy in my little world.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Steve or Jesus?
Hey! Is it my homeless Jesus, also known as Steve? Groovy...except my Jesus had dreadlocks...and a kickass guitar...but...other than that---> THIS IS HIM!!!
Kat
Kat
Friday, December 17, 2004
just to let you know...
hey yall. welp...another week come and gone...and I'm jazzed about that. Hey...I have a friend over, we refer to him as Scottman Rich...he's rockin. He's such a very cool kid...and I have offered to let him "vent" through my blog. So...if you notice the style seems different...that's cause SCOTTMAN is in the house! So...sit back...relax...and remember when being 16 was such a mess...thank God there is an escape route...time...
til next time...
Kat
til next time...
Kat
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
blood and guts
Somewhere around my last birthday, I began to feel pretty shitty.
I'd been really dragging myself around for a long time...and never able to get past feeling like I was the walking dead.
Those commercials on t.v. about "leukemia-related anemia," where like people are all gaunt and lifeless---me. And so, I was all wondering if I could score some of that drug on the street, as I don't have leukemia. But, hell, it appeared to DO WONDERS for THOSE FOLKS...
And so...I'm all breathless just making the bed...getting chest pains and palpitations...massive headaches...then...I began to lose my hearing. I explained all that shit to other things. Smoking...caffeine...Rage Against the Machine on the walkman...
Quite a few times I'd get these massive headrushes...and flashing lights. The visual shit was like constant...trippy at first...then annoying. I just shook my head and thought, "brain damage."
And then...one day...my stomach was killing me...I worked for a bit, left for lunch...then...I just dropped. I called in sick the rest of the work day...and fell into this semi-coma on the bed. Hours later, I awoke...went out back to smoke...and just about fell through the deck I was sitting on. Something in my head said DON'T GO BACK TO BED. GET YOUR SHIT TO ANY FUCKING HOSPITAL.
And so I did. Alone I waited. I stared mostly, and sought to hold my head up. But I nodded off quite a bit. I was sooooo out of it. And I remember staring at this group of black people for like ever, until I heard this one big dude say "Shi--- that's the whitest white chick I've ever seen!"
So...after 7 hours of staring and nodding off...they take me into THE SMALLER WAITING ROOM in the ER. Okay...so, what's with the term EMERGENCY here? Man, people were clogging that shit with their shaving cuts and torn cuticles, okay? Here or there some overdose wannabe...but...mostly alot of fatass people sitting, eating, and talking about nothing at fucking all emergency related...
I would have left, but I was like so out of it...it didn't even occur to me to get pissed off at that shit.
So like I tell them that I know I have an ulcer...cause I did...
(You see, I have this nerve deal in my back and I have to take shitloads of Advil to endure it...work related...ah...but whogivesashit, huh? Worker's Comp is a fucking lie. And that's the end of that story.)
...and I simply said that the Tagamet wasn't working anymore. I needed something else to deal with these ulcers...and then just let me fucking go already. So, they like do all these tests...I don't remember very well. But then they bail for another hour or so. It was freezing cold in that room...and at one point I just wanted to get dressed and go home. But first, DAMN, I NEED JUST ONE CIGARETTE!
And so...this little group of lab-coat wearing Asians come sternly, yet softly, walking up. And they're all, "Are you here alone?" And I'm all yes...and they're all, "You need to get someone down here. You need to get your affairs in order, do you have a preference on whether we should resusitate you?" I'm all like FUCKING WHAT? And they're all, "We're keeping you. You are very sick, and, actually you are going into decompensatory hypovolemic shock..." I'm all like FUCKING WHAT? And they're all, "Look. You have an ulcer. And you're losing blood. The fact is, this has been a chronic condition for quite a long time." And I was all, yeah, so? And they were all like, "You have just under a 4 on your hemoglobin." And that was it. I was like, "Look. I don't know what you're trying to say. I feel like shit, yes. I have an ulcer, yes. But, I need to go now. And I want the closest door...as I intend to go smoke." And they were all like, "Okay, listen to me now. You have bled out 3/4 of your blood supply. You will die. We will not let you go. We intend to give you a blood transfusion beginning in about 3 minutes, and you better get it together. You have some very serious decisions to make, and you better get SOMEONE down here to help you deal with this."
So like, I cried. (Mainly 'cause they wouldn't let me smoke.) (Oh, and also, I don't like it when people pull that "listen to me now," shit on me...I have issues with all that kind of attitude.) (And, hey, who are YOU to say I'm GONNA DIE, bitch?) (But, mainly, THEY LOOKED LIKE THEY WERE RIGHT.) (And, that, coupled with not being able to smoke, made me weepy.)
So...they gave me something in my I.V. that made it all keen.
Then...overnight they filled me with 5 units of OTHER PEOPLE'S BLOOD.
Okay...that's just really weird. I mean, hell, I'm all grateful...I really am. But, like from that point until even today, anytime I get a cut, I'm all, "ew...not even my blood...." And, I also had this deal with the stomach surgeon who like tortured me. He like wanted to shove this like hose down my non-sedated throat...allthefuckingway into my stomach. Then, he was just gonna HANG for a bit...as this hose has a camera...and they were lookin to make a video. I was freaking out at the nurse all explaining this procedure that I HAD TO HAVE DONE. She then responded to my utter RUN FOR YOUR LIFE response...and informed me that they have a cool way to help with it all.
This medical professional (the nurse) then went on to tell me that the Hierarchical medical professional (the G.I. guy) would be using "this medication" just before he does the procedure. She further informs me that, it's closely related to "the DATE RAPE DRUG...so YOU WON'T REMEMBER A THING!"
Uh fucking huh. What kind of midevil-back-ass-street-drug-peddling place have we here?
I guess they made out okay...
...found 6 ulcers...various stages of onset and healing...no cancer...and had to pin me down several times...and you know...although Dave (my man) tells me I kept fighting/apologizing...I DON'T REMEMBER A DAMN THING!!!
Eventually they let me out with my tubes and IV and all that shit...to go smoke. It was lovely. And yet I felt a little guilty.
Over that weekend, I incurred $15,000.00 of hospital costs...received blood from 5 different people...and was able to cuss out a gastrointestinal surgeon and never had to apologize for it. (As I don't even really know for certain that it happened...okay?) People make shit up when they know for a FACT that you can't remember JACK SHIT.
I still struggle with the back stuff...blah blah...and now I must take less Advil (yikes, huh?) and I have to spend zillions of dollars on iron and prilosec. But...guess it's worth it...not to die and all.
Hey...I think some of those blood donors were athletes. And musicians. I have overwhelming urges to ski downhill...rockclimb...and I have a really great sense of rhythm now.
So...I'm really thankful to whoever you are, all 5 of you out there. Really nice of you to like help me out of not dying and all. I wish I could just track you 5 guys down and let you know what your blood's been up to, you know?
And yet...in a way...I sense you're all right here with me...
Okay. Enough blood and guts and stupid jokes for one night...
Oddly aware of how grateful I am just to be alive...
Kat
I'd been really dragging myself around for a long time...and never able to get past feeling like I was the walking dead.
Those commercials on t.v. about "leukemia-related anemia," where like people are all gaunt and lifeless---me. And so, I was all wondering if I could score some of that drug on the street, as I don't have leukemia. But, hell, it appeared to DO WONDERS for THOSE FOLKS...
And so...I'm all breathless just making the bed...getting chest pains and palpitations...massive headaches...then...I began to lose my hearing. I explained all that shit to other things. Smoking...caffeine...Rage Against the Machine on the walkman...
Quite a few times I'd get these massive headrushes...and flashing lights. The visual shit was like constant...trippy at first...then annoying. I just shook my head and thought, "brain damage."
And then...one day...my stomach was killing me...I worked for a bit, left for lunch...then...I just dropped. I called in sick the rest of the work day...and fell into this semi-coma on the bed. Hours later, I awoke...went out back to smoke...and just about fell through the deck I was sitting on. Something in my head said DON'T GO BACK TO BED. GET YOUR SHIT TO ANY FUCKING HOSPITAL.
And so I did. Alone I waited. I stared mostly, and sought to hold my head up. But I nodded off quite a bit. I was sooooo out of it. And I remember staring at this group of black people for like ever, until I heard this one big dude say "Shi--- that's the whitest white chick I've ever seen!"
So...after 7 hours of staring and nodding off...they take me into THE SMALLER WAITING ROOM in the ER. Okay...so, what's with the term EMERGENCY here? Man, people were clogging that shit with their shaving cuts and torn cuticles, okay? Here or there some overdose wannabe...but...mostly alot of fatass people sitting, eating, and talking about nothing at fucking all emergency related...
I would have left, but I was like so out of it...it didn't even occur to me to get pissed off at that shit.
So like I tell them that I know I have an ulcer...cause I did...
(You see, I have this nerve deal in my back and I have to take shitloads of Advil to endure it...work related...ah...but whogivesashit, huh? Worker's Comp is a fucking lie. And that's the end of that story.)
...and I simply said that the Tagamet wasn't working anymore. I needed something else to deal with these ulcers...and then just let me fucking go already. So, they like do all these tests...I don't remember very well. But then they bail for another hour or so. It was freezing cold in that room...and at one point I just wanted to get dressed and go home. But first, DAMN, I NEED JUST ONE CIGARETTE!
And so...this little group of lab-coat wearing Asians come sternly, yet softly, walking up. And they're all, "Are you here alone?" And I'm all yes...and they're all, "You need to get someone down here. You need to get your affairs in order, do you have a preference on whether we should resusitate you?" I'm all like FUCKING WHAT? And they're all, "We're keeping you. You are very sick, and, actually you are going into decompensatory hypovolemic shock..." I'm all like FUCKING WHAT? And they're all, "Look. You have an ulcer. And you're losing blood. The fact is, this has been a chronic condition for quite a long time." And I was all, yeah, so? And they were all like, "You have just under a 4 on your hemoglobin." And that was it. I was like, "Look. I don't know what you're trying to say. I feel like shit, yes. I have an ulcer, yes. But, I need to go now. And I want the closest door...as I intend to go smoke." And they were all like, "Okay, listen to me now. You have bled out 3/4 of your blood supply. You will die. We will not let you go. We intend to give you a blood transfusion beginning in about 3 minutes, and you better get it together. You have some very serious decisions to make, and you better get SOMEONE down here to help you deal with this."
So like, I cried. (Mainly 'cause they wouldn't let me smoke.) (Oh, and also, I don't like it when people pull that "listen to me now," shit on me...I have issues with all that kind of attitude.) (And, hey, who are YOU to say I'm GONNA DIE, bitch?) (But, mainly, THEY LOOKED LIKE THEY WERE RIGHT.) (And, that, coupled with not being able to smoke, made me weepy.)
So...they gave me something in my I.V. that made it all keen.
Then...overnight they filled me with 5 units of OTHER PEOPLE'S BLOOD.
Okay...that's just really weird. I mean, hell, I'm all grateful...I really am. But, like from that point until even today, anytime I get a cut, I'm all, "ew...not even my blood...." And, I also had this deal with the stomach surgeon who like tortured me. He like wanted to shove this like hose down my non-sedated throat...allthefuckingway into my stomach. Then, he was just gonna HANG for a bit...as this hose has a camera...and they were lookin to make a video. I was freaking out at the nurse all explaining this procedure that I HAD TO HAVE DONE. She then responded to my utter RUN FOR YOUR LIFE response...and informed me that they have a cool way to help with it all.
This medical professional (the nurse) then went on to tell me that the Hierarchical medical professional (the G.I. guy) would be using "this medication" just before he does the procedure. She further informs me that, it's closely related to "the DATE RAPE DRUG...so YOU WON'T REMEMBER A THING!"
Uh fucking huh. What kind of midevil-back-ass-street-drug-peddling place have we here?
I guess they made out okay...
...found 6 ulcers...various stages of onset and healing...no cancer...and had to pin me down several times...and you know...although Dave (my man) tells me I kept fighting/apologizing...I DON'T REMEMBER A DAMN THING!!!
Eventually they let me out with my tubes and IV and all that shit...to go smoke. It was lovely. And yet I felt a little guilty.
Over that weekend, I incurred $15,000.00 of hospital costs...received blood from 5 different people...and was able to cuss out a gastrointestinal surgeon and never had to apologize for it. (As I don't even really know for certain that it happened...okay?) People make shit up when they know for a FACT that you can't remember JACK SHIT.
I still struggle with the back stuff...blah blah...and now I must take less Advil (yikes, huh?) and I have to spend zillions of dollars on iron and prilosec. But...guess it's worth it...not to die and all.
Hey...I think some of those blood donors were athletes. And musicians. I have overwhelming urges to ski downhill...rockclimb...and I have a really great sense of rhythm now.
So...I'm really thankful to whoever you are, all 5 of you out there. Really nice of you to like help me out of not dying and all. I wish I could just track you 5 guys down and let you know what your blood's been up to, you know?
And yet...in a way...I sense you're all right here with me...
Okay. Enough blood and guts and stupid jokes for one night...
Oddly aware of how grateful I am just to be alive...
Kat
Thursday, December 09, 2004
the mall
I've been in a Pink Floyd mood all day...and I'm so diggin it. This morning I brought out the NagChampa and lit up with old Pink and me... It was rockin'. I'm so diggin on having electricity too.
I spoke with one guy about my whole electrocution theory of the PG&E dudes...and he suggested touching the dude on the nose with a light bulb...if it lights up, then don't be doing CPR. I laughed my ass off.
I love it when not only do people get the weird shit I trip on, but they push the envelope well into the weirdestphere.
I had to go to the fucking mall last night. I don't know for certain, but I'm guessing that I would serve less time in prison for murder than the lines I endured. I mean...it becomes laughable. Where the hell do some of these people come from? I mean...I don't do lines well ANYWHERE. I'm just not a consumer. It's so uninteresting...keeping up with society's trends...I have more of a desire to eat cat food. And so, what's the deal with people all thinking that just because you are in line near them, y'all are like BEST FUCKING FRIENDS, now? This man is all asking my opinion about his choice of powder blue fucking 100 percent polyester sweatsuit...
"You will look like a fucking walking easter egg,"
I mean, goddamn! SWEATSUIT? What the hell is up with that? Is he like actually influenced by that little post-pubescent, Brittney? Cause, KORN don't wear powder fucking blue. And...this man was no where near lookin to work up a sweat, except for when he has to lift his lardy ass off the couch to grab his extra large bag of pork rinds and diet beer.
And so then...he's all deciding he DOESN'T WANT THE FUCKING POWDER BLUE. Okay...so like he decides to NOW DO HIS SHOPPING. The girl is all ready to ring up his shit, and he says, "Oh, wait just one minute..."
Uh huh.
After he passes by us, murmuring godonlyknowswhat, like 3 times...I realize I am in hell. The girl at the register then begins to engage other people in line in some sort of forced monologue about how cute her boyfriend was eating french fries earlier. I then began to wonder if this was all like that MTV show where you LOSE $100.00, if you CUSS or get mad. So, I'm all like, I will not react. I'm gonna just hang...
And so Mr. Polyester passes by to ask Ms. French Fry a question, but she is so caught up in her stupid boring story, that Mr. Polyester walks away again. I look behind me, and there are two Japanese women. Oh, they will be NO FUCKING HELP AT ALL in the RIOT I INTEND TO INCITE! They just stood in perfect posture and smiled kindly. JESUS! How is that possible?
And this went on just long enough for the people in the OTHER LINE to all clear away. Then, some shit comes from nowhere and butts up to the front of the other line and GETS INSTANT FUCKING SERVICE...I mean, WHAT? And he's all, "Oh, were you all in line..?" And, OF FUCKING COURSE, THE JAPANESE WOMEN BLURT OUT, "No, go ahead."
No? NO?! NO...DON'T YOU DO NO SUCH THING! WE WERE, ARE, AND WILL FOREVER BE IN THIS LINE! Well...after imagining all the animals, faces, and body parts I could possibly imagine out of the ceiling tiles, I decided $100.00 isn't worth SHIT TO ME.
Well...Mr. Polyester got his last item...Ms. French Fry laughed her final stupid nasal giggle, and the Japanese women had long since switched lines, having grown impatient with MY line. I, however, lasted to the bitter end.
Mr. Polyester tripped on a fallen bra on the way to the escalator, he looked around, bent a little to pick it up, had momentary contact with said bra, then freaked out and drop/kicked out of sight...
I know God allowed me to see that particular moment of Mr. Polyester's life...as a reward for my patience....and it was worth every fucking moment.
Kat
Bytheway...the Japanese women were kept in line by security for some reason...ain't that somethin? hahahaha....
I spoke with one guy about my whole electrocution theory of the PG&E dudes...and he suggested touching the dude on the nose with a light bulb...if it lights up, then don't be doing CPR. I laughed my ass off.
I love it when not only do people get the weird shit I trip on, but they push the envelope well into the weirdestphere.
I had to go to the fucking mall last night. I don't know for certain, but I'm guessing that I would serve less time in prison for murder than the lines I endured. I mean...it becomes laughable. Where the hell do some of these people come from? I mean...I don't do lines well ANYWHERE. I'm just not a consumer. It's so uninteresting...keeping up with society's trends...I have more of a desire to eat cat food. And so, what's the deal with people all thinking that just because you are in line near them, y'all are like BEST FUCKING FRIENDS, now? This man is all asking my opinion about his choice of powder blue fucking 100 percent polyester sweatsuit...
"You will look like a fucking walking easter egg,"
I mean, goddamn! SWEATSUIT? What the hell is up with that? Is he like actually influenced by that little post-pubescent, Brittney? Cause, KORN don't wear powder fucking blue. And...this man was no where near lookin to work up a sweat, except for when he has to lift his lardy ass off the couch to grab his extra large bag of pork rinds and diet beer.
And so then...he's all deciding he DOESN'T WANT THE FUCKING POWDER BLUE. Okay...so like he decides to NOW DO HIS SHOPPING. The girl is all ready to ring up his shit, and he says, "Oh, wait just one minute..."
Uh huh.
After he passes by us, murmuring godonlyknowswhat, like 3 times...I realize I am in hell. The girl at the register then begins to engage other people in line in some sort of forced monologue about how cute her boyfriend was eating french fries earlier. I then began to wonder if this was all like that MTV show where you LOSE $100.00, if you CUSS or get mad. So, I'm all like, I will not react. I'm gonna just hang...
And so Mr. Polyester passes by to ask Ms. French Fry a question, but she is so caught up in her stupid boring story, that Mr. Polyester walks away again. I look behind me, and there are two Japanese women. Oh, they will be NO FUCKING HELP AT ALL in the RIOT I INTEND TO INCITE! They just stood in perfect posture and smiled kindly. JESUS! How is that possible?
And this went on just long enough for the people in the OTHER LINE to all clear away. Then, some shit comes from nowhere and butts up to the front of the other line and GETS INSTANT FUCKING SERVICE...I mean, WHAT? And he's all, "Oh, were you all in line..?" And, OF FUCKING COURSE, THE JAPANESE WOMEN BLURT OUT, "No, go ahead."
No? NO?! NO...DON'T YOU DO NO SUCH THING! WE WERE, ARE, AND WILL FOREVER BE IN THIS LINE! Well...after imagining all the animals, faces, and body parts I could possibly imagine out of the ceiling tiles, I decided $100.00 isn't worth SHIT TO ME.
Well...Mr. Polyester got his last item...Ms. French Fry laughed her final stupid nasal giggle, and the Japanese women had long since switched lines, having grown impatient with MY line. I, however, lasted to the bitter end.
Mr. Polyester tripped on a fallen bra on the way to the escalator, he looked around, bent a little to pick it up, had momentary contact with said bra, then freaked out and drop/kicked out of sight...
I know God allowed me to see that particular moment of Mr. Polyester's life...as a reward for my patience....and it was worth every fucking moment.
Kat
Bytheway...the Japanese women were kept in line by security for some reason...ain't that somethin? hahahaha....
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
PG & E...
No idea what time I got up this morning.
The electricity was sooooo off.
Storm related, I guess. And so, I had the priviledge of getting ready for work today like some PIONEER WOMAN.
At first, it was like OHWHOGIVESASHIT...but then it became a stark reality when I had to shower in sub-freezing temperature water...followed by sub-freezing temperature in both house, and world. Of course, the Red Bulls in my fridge were warm.
And so like the power guys...oh, there's a load of assholes paid by the hour.
I go out back to smoke...I'm all like chattering my teeth, trying to return to a normal body-core temperature...and they were all like "HEY!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THERE'S A LIVE WIRE HERE! YOU HAVE TO GO BACK INSIDE YOUR DWELLING!"
Oh yeah? THIS IS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND I DON'T HAVE TO DO A DAMN THING YOU SAY, YOU UNION-DEPENDANT-MONEY-GRUBBING-ELECTRICITY-HORDING-FASCIST!!! HAH! HAH! WHY DON'T YOU GET OFF YOUR LITTLE STEP-STOOL THERE, MUSSOLINI, AND MAKE ME GO BACK INSIDE MY DWELLING?!
(Of course...I merely thought these words...and meekly smiled.)
After I went back inside, I began to watch these dudes. They talked, looked up, and pointed, mostly. Work? Ah hell no...Work, was clearly for a whole separate group of men in orange.
You see, first you have the first group: the talkers/pointers group...they basically scout out the place for the second group...the little truck/sign/cones group. Now, these guys, the truck/sign/cone guys, well they pretty much let everyone know that they have taken control of this area...like some Radical conquest, operating for the Fascist Regime as a whole...similar to Mussolini's "Shock Groups," back in Italy somewhere around 1917, but different...
Therefore, it would seem I had encountered a Pro-Interventionist, er whatever...all trying to do his 'Fasci Italiani di Combattimento,' shit with me. And, I mean, all I wanted was to blow-dry my hair before I am found dead from hypothermia or whatnot...just my little attempt at looking somewhat decent for the paramedics and coroner when they find my lifeless self...but no.
As each minute ticked by without electricity, I began to hate these "workers." When the COAST WAS CLEAR for me to actually go out on MY BACK PORCH to smoke MY VERY OWN CIGARETTE and exercize my CIVIL LIBERTIES in MY FREE COUNTRY...I was on the verge of cracking into a solo of "GOD BLESS AMERICA," when I saw this one dude.
He was most definitely the smallest of the Fascist Regime...and he was way (and I mean WAYYY) up high on this telephone pole. Just hanging out there, zillions of feet above the alley, in the storm, on a telephone pole...and there, right next to his ORANGE HARD-HAT WEARING HEAD was a sign. It read: HIGH VOLTAGE.
I wondered...
Well, of course I know CPR. But my pondering was this: if this dude got shocked and plummetted to earth, would I make any attempt to try and save him? Okay, well...at first, I'm thinking yes. But then, I started to think about: would he be all HIGH VOLTAGE and KILL ME if I actually touched him? So then, I'm wondering: could I take a stick and poke him??..and if I saw a sparks then I would know not to touch him...?
So, yeah. I felt pretty bad that I came to a distinct conclusion: I would not help any of these dudes if they got electrocuted and plummeted to the earth. I might jab one or two with a stick...but that would be the extent of my involvement. Well, I might hang out if any of the paramedics needed to borrow my stick...and check for sparks...but yeah...
Anyhow, after pondering the 'to poke with a stick or to not poke with a stick,' moral quandary, I decided I should finish putting myself together and get the hell out of the freezing, dark house and show up at work on time, for a change.
(Needless to say, when everyone saw me arrive early for work, they were shocked...)
har har har...
Epiphanal moment of the day...well...kind of...I had a staring contest with a cat on my way to work and tripped over a branch on the sidewalk...(the cat was behind me and I was walking backwards, so as TO WIN)...and...well...the cat won...which is a real bummer as cats are such smug winners...but I truly doubt the cat could walk backwards while still staring at me just to win, therefore I am the true winner...even though the cat might tell you otherwise...
Kat
The electricity was sooooo off.
Storm related, I guess. And so, I had the priviledge of getting ready for work today like some PIONEER WOMAN.
At first, it was like OHWHOGIVESASHIT...but then it became a stark reality when I had to shower in sub-freezing temperature water...followed by sub-freezing temperature in both house, and world. Of course, the Red Bulls in my fridge were warm.
And so like the power guys...oh, there's a load of assholes paid by the hour.
I go out back to smoke...I'm all like chattering my teeth, trying to return to a normal body-core temperature...and they were all like "HEY!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THERE'S A LIVE WIRE HERE! YOU HAVE TO GO BACK INSIDE YOUR DWELLING!"
Oh yeah? THIS IS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND I DON'T HAVE TO DO A DAMN THING YOU SAY, YOU UNION-DEPENDANT-MONEY-GRUBBING-ELECTRICITY-HORDING-FASCIST!!! HAH! HAH! WHY DON'T YOU GET OFF YOUR LITTLE STEP-STOOL THERE, MUSSOLINI, AND MAKE ME GO BACK INSIDE MY DWELLING?!
(Of course...I merely thought these words...and meekly smiled.)
After I went back inside, I began to watch these dudes. They talked, looked up, and pointed, mostly. Work? Ah hell no...Work, was clearly for a whole separate group of men in orange.
You see, first you have the first group: the talkers/pointers group...they basically scout out the place for the second group...the little truck/sign/cones group. Now, these guys, the truck/sign/cone guys, well they pretty much let everyone know that they have taken control of this area...like some Radical conquest, operating for the Fascist Regime as a whole...similar to Mussolini's "Shock Groups," back in Italy somewhere around 1917, but different...
Therefore, it would seem I had encountered a Pro-Interventionist, er whatever...all trying to do his 'Fasci Italiani di Combattimento,' shit with me. And, I mean, all I wanted was to blow-dry my hair before I am found dead from hypothermia or whatnot...just my little attempt at looking somewhat decent for the paramedics and coroner when they find my lifeless self...but no.
As each minute ticked by without electricity, I began to hate these "workers." When the COAST WAS CLEAR for me to actually go out on MY BACK PORCH to smoke MY VERY OWN CIGARETTE and exercize my CIVIL LIBERTIES in MY FREE COUNTRY...I was on the verge of cracking into a solo of "GOD BLESS AMERICA," when I saw this one dude.
He was most definitely the smallest of the Fascist Regime...and he was way (and I mean WAYYY) up high on this telephone pole. Just hanging out there, zillions of feet above the alley, in the storm, on a telephone pole...and there, right next to his ORANGE HARD-HAT WEARING HEAD was a sign. It read: HIGH VOLTAGE.
I wondered...
Well, of course I know CPR. But my pondering was this: if this dude got shocked and plummetted to earth, would I make any attempt to try and save him? Okay, well...at first, I'm thinking yes. But then, I started to think about: would he be all HIGH VOLTAGE and KILL ME if I actually touched him? So then, I'm wondering: could I take a stick and poke him??..and if I saw a sparks then I would know not to touch him...?
So, yeah. I felt pretty bad that I came to a distinct conclusion: I would not help any of these dudes if they got electrocuted and plummeted to the earth. I might jab one or two with a stick...but that would be the extent of my involvement. Well, I might hang out if any of the paramedics needed to borrow my stick...and check for sparks...but yeah...
Anyhow, after pondering the 'to poke with a stick or to not poke with a stick,' moral quandary, I decided I should finish putting myself together and get the hell out of the freezing, dark house and show up at work on time, for a change.
(Needless to say, when everyone saw me arrive early for work, they were shocked...)
har har har...
Epiphanal moment of the day...well...kind of...I had a staring contest with a cat on my way to work and tripped over a branch on the sidewalk...(the cat was behind me and I was walking backwards, so as TO WIN)...and...well...the cat won...which is a real bummer as cats are such smug winners...but I truly doubt the cat could walk backwards while still staring at me just to win, therefore I am the true winner...even though the cat might tell you otherwise...
Kat
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
the purse
I miss L.A. already. Damn. My heart and soul just dig on that scene. So...here I am, back in Northern California, and I should be like all happy to not be anywhere near the City. Whatever...grass always greener and all that.
I picked up the newest Doors compilation (of the same ol' Doors songs) and totally dug it in my big ass gas guzzling massive rented SUV. This mother was massive. And the tunes were hella cool. So, me...and L.A. and Jim. We're kindred spirits.
I got lost going to Santa Monica Friday afternoon, and landed in Bel Air. They sure are fucking snotty there, ain't they? And I'm certain most were strung out on Lortab. But...it was a short stay...and that's the end of that story.
Except...I did look up into the night sky while on my flight home, and I saw this cool ass falling star...and it was totally a private moment. Like God waving, er something.
Did I ever tell you about my stolen purse? Okay. Well. This was like forever ago. Some dumb fucking idiot (who thought he had some remote chance in hell of me liking him) invited me to join him and his friends backpacking. So, knowing this one cool dude (the fucking idiot's friend) was going, I said sure.
Camping day comes, we load up...we head out...and he then informs me NO ONE ELSE is coming. So...I should have just pulled the car over, kicked his stupid ass out, and gone back to bed. But...not willing to admit I was only interested because I thought COOL DUDE was coming, I went...for spite. This shall be referred to as MISTAKE #1.
So...blah blah...we arrive at Point Reyes. We like hike FORFUCKINGEVER through this wilderness...and I'm like taking smoke breaks every 1/4 mile. He's all getting pissy with my breaks...and I'm telling him to fuck off. So...we pitch the stupid little tent, and promptly a storm blows in.
We are RIGHT ON THE BEACH with this NOAH SIZED DOWNFALL and wind...the asshole then decides this is THE PERFECT TIME TO MAKE HIS MOVE ON ME. I told him there wasn't enough vodka in the fucking world...and we decided to BORE OURSELVES TO DEATH (by not talking) and subsequently fell asleep.
Middle of the night the damn tent like rolls over from the wind...I'm just done with the whole nature scene...I exit the damn piece of shit housing...and was attacked by a KILLER RACCOON. (No shit. This particular rodent, er whatever, actually shot it's teeth at me...like a porcupine...) (well, maybe it didn't. But...it's eyes were pure black.) So...I shine the light on this little satanic creature...I SCREAM...IT SCREAMS BACK...nature is just too weird when YOU'RE on THEIR turf. Animals and wildlife are all good...just: BEHIND BARS...like THE ZOO.
Okay, look. I'm all cool with creatures...but...their just like...OUT TO GET YOU. I pretty much think every creature considers me either FOOD...or some TERRITORIAL THREAT. So, we don't mesh...cause they FIGHT DIRTY...too. Yuckems. I would never want to hurt an animal, either...'cause like THEIR WHOLE FAMILY would come after me, I JUST KNOW IT. So...like...I fear creatures.
PEOPLE, I don't give a shit about. GIMME A BANK ROBBER ANYTIME. A BLOOD-THIRSTY RACCOON...that's fuckin scary, dude.
So...next day, I kick his sleeping bag and tell him his ride it leaving...and he best get his shit up. I ditch ALL MY BELONGINGS IN THAT GOD FORSAKEN WASTELAND so my backpacking wouldn't interfere with my SMOKING. 40 years later, we head around the last fucking turn of the last fucking hill...down toward the parking lot.
WHAT DO I SEE? The passenger door is wide open. I'm all like WHATTHEHELL? (The guy's name was George. We referred to him as GEEKY GEORGE. No doubt he's like bald and fat now with some bald and fat ex-wife, and a couple of bald and fat kids...) Anyhow...so I'm like "Fuckin George! You forgot to lock my fucking door!" And he's all like ignoring me, or afraid of me, or ATTEMPTING TO APPEAR SEXY...one last time...
So...I get down there...and SURE AS SHIT...the door's wide open...broken glass EVERYWHERE! Some big stupid piece of MOTHER EARTH (a large rock) sitting on my driver's seat...and EVERYTHING GUTTED FROM MY CAR...including...you're right: MY DAMN PURSE.
(they even took my clove butts...and my spare change...)
Geeky George and I drove those eternal 2 hours back to town...and spoke not word one. When I pulled up to his house I finally spoke, "I'll let you know how much you owe me for this shit tomorrow."
About 8 years went by.
I get this phone call from my mom...she's all talking in code, or something. She's all, "Honey, I found your purse on my front doorstep..." And I'm like, "Hey mom, you may want to back off of all that Sudafed---" No, actually, I informed her my purse was on the coat rack. And she's all, (diggin in MY PURSE NOW) "Well, here's your driver's license, and your make up, and your quarter gram of cocaine..." (no...I'm kiddin.) (Hell, not even I would have left THAT sittin around) But, my mom's all routin through my purse...this is so not okay...I MEAN...NO ONE IS EVER ALLOWED TO DIG IN A WOMAN'S PURSE!
If I were, say Diabetic, and my like insulin was in my purse, I would prefer you RESPECT MY SHIT AND KEEP THE FUCK OUT OF MY PURSE! You'd best be YELLIN' out to those around you for a SPARE INSULIN SYRINGE, before you go diggin in my purse, k?
So...I tell her I don't understand a damn thing she's saying and I will check it out later.
Later came. SURE AS SHIT. My fucking purse from the torturous weekend with GEEKY GEORGE! All my cheap ass make up...driver's license...little notes...EVERYTHING WAS LIKE HERMETICALLY SEALED from the day some dumb fucker broke into my car and stole it. The deal...I mean...this was 8 years later! This dumb purse was like with someone, somewhere...for 8 FUCKING YEARS!
So, what? Like, one day they decide to drive LIKE 100 MILES and deliver it to the address on the driver's license? Like a karma deal, or what? Are they like ON A MISSION to right their past wrongs, or something?
SHIT, MAN. GIMME CASH. I'm all good with CASH. Hey, forget your slimey ass behavior of breaking into my car and stealing my purse...you filthy fucking scumbag...GIMME CASH...and it's all good.
I tripped on it for like a couple of days...but...then...i just filed it in my head under: OKAYWHATEVER.
I guess what I learned from that, was:
IT SURE AS SHIT AIN'T EVER OVER TIL IT'S OVER.
In life...some things end...and other things are put on hold. Never believe you hold the deciding vote on which is which. Take what comes...and don't ever sweat the odds. Sometimes we have a role in fate...and other times we are simply passengers...
I, myself, simply enjoy riding the tides and surfing the waves of each and every moment of this always amazing trip known as life...
...see you next time...
I picked up the newest Doors compilation (of the same ol' Doors songs) and totally dug it in my big ass gas guzzling massive rented SUV. This mother was massive. And the tunes were hella cool. So, me...and L.A. and Jim. We're kindred spirits.
I got lost going to Santa Monica Friday afternoon, and landed in Bel Air. They sure are fucking snotty there, ain't they? And I'm certain most were strung out on Lortab. But...it was a short stay...and that's the end of that story.
Except...I did look up into the night sky while on my flight home, and I saw this cool ass falling star...and it was totally a private moment. Like God waving, er something.
Did I ever tell you about my stolen purse? Okay. Well. This was like forever ago. Some dumb fucking idiot (who thought he had some remote chance in hell of me liking him) invited me to join him and his friends backpacking. So, knowing this one cool dude (the fucking idiot's friend) was going, I said sure.
Camping day comes, we load up...we head out...and he then informs me NO ONE ELSE is coming. So...I should have just pulled the car over, kicked his stupid ass out, and gone back to bed. But...not willing to admit I was only interested because I thought COOL DUDE was coming, I went...for spite. This shall be referred to as MISTAKE #1.
So...blah blah...we arrive at Point Reyes. We like hike FORFUCKINGEVER through this wilderness...and I'm like taking smoke breaks every 1/4 mile. He's all getting pissy with my breaks...and I'm telling him to fuck off. So...we pitch the stupid little tent, and promptly a storm blows in.
We are RIGHT ON THE BEACH with this NOAH SIZED DOWNFALL and wind...the asshole then decides this is THE PERFECT TIME TO MAKE HIS MOVE ON ME. I told him there wasn't enough vodka in the fucking world...and we decided to BORE OURSELVES TO DEATH (by not talking) and subsequently fell asleep.
Middle of the night the damn tent like rolls over from the wind...I'm just done with the whole nature scene...I exit the damn piece of shit housing...and was attacked by a KILLER RACCOON. (No shit. This particular rodent, er whatever, actually shot it's teeth at me...like a porcupine...) (well, maybe it didn't. But...it's eyes were pure black.) So...I shine the light on this little satanic creature...I SCREAM...IT SCREAMS BACK...nature is just too weird when YOU'RE on THEIR turf. Animals and wildlife are all good...just: BEHIND BARS...like THE ZOO.
Okay, look. I'm all cool with creatures...but...their just like...OUT TO GET YOU. I pretty much think every creature considers me either FOOD...or some TERRITORIAL THREAT. So, we don't mesh...cause they FIGHT DIRTY...too. Yuckems. I would never want to hurt an animal, either...'cause like THEIR WHOLE FAMILY would come after me, I JUST KNOW IT. So...like...I fear creatures.
PEOPLE, I don't give a shit about. GIMME A BANK ROBBER ANYTIME. A BLOOD-THIRSTY RACCOON...that's fuckin scary, dude.
So...next day, I kick his sleeping bag and tell him his ride it leaving...and he best get his shit up. I ditch ALL MY BELONGINGS IN THAT GOD FORSAKEN WASTELAND so my backpacking wouldn't interfere with my SMOKING. 40 years later, we head around the last fucking turn of the last fucking hill...down toward the parking lot.
WHAT DO I SEE? The passenger door is wide open. I'm all like WHATTHEHELL? (The guy's name was George. We referred to him as GEEKY GEORGE. No doubt he's like bald and fat now with some bald and fat ex-wife, and a couple of bald and fat kids...) Anyhow...so I'm like "Fuckin George! You forgot to lock my fucking door!" And he's all like ignoring me, or afraid of me, or ATTEMPTING TO APPEAR SEXY...one last time...
So...I get down there...and SURE AS SHIT...the door's wide open...broken glass EVERYWHERE! Some big stupid piece of MOTHER EARTH (a large rock) sitting on my driver's seat...and EVERYTHING GUTTED FROM MY CAR...including...you're right: MY DAMN PURSE.
(they even took my clove butts...and my spare change...)
Geeky George and I drove those eternal 2 hours back to town...and spoke not word one. When I pulled up to his house I finally spoke, "I'll let you know how much you owe me for this shit tomorrow."
About 8 years went by.
I get this phone call from my mom...she's all talking in code, or something. She's all, "Honey, I found your purse on my front doorstep..." And I'm like, "Hey mom, you may want to back off of all that Sudafed---" No, actually, I informed her my purse was on the coat rack. And she's all, (diggin in MY PURSE NOW) "Well, here's your driver's license, and your make up, and your quarter gram of cocaine..." (no...I'm kiddin.) (Hell, not even I would have left THAT sittin around) But, my mom's all routin through my purse...this is so not okay...I MEAN...NO ONE IS EVER ALLOWED TO DIG IN A WOMAN'S PURSE!
If I were, say Diabetic, and my like insulin was in my purse, I would prefer you RESPECT MY SHIT AND KEEP THE FUCK OUT OF MY PURSE! You'd best be YELLIN' out to those around you for a SPARE INSULIN SYRINGE, before you go diggin in my purse, k?
So...I tell her I don't understand a damn thing she's saying and I will check it out later.
Later came. SURE AS SHIT. My fucking purse from the torturous weekend with GEEKY GEORGE! All my cheap ass make up...driver's license...little notes...EVERYTHING WAS LIKE HERMETICALLY SEALED from the day some dumb fucker broke into my car and stole it. The deal...I mean...this was 8 years later! This dumb purse was like with someone, somewhere...for 8 FUCKING YEARS!
So, what? Like, one day they decide to drive LIKE 100 MILES and deliver it to the address on the driver's license? Like a karma deal, or what? Are they like ON A MISSION to right their past wrongs, or something?
SHIT, MAN. GIMME CASH. I'm all good with CASH. Hey, forget your slimey ass behavior of breaking into my car and stealing my purse...you filthy fucking scumbag...GIMME CASH...and it's all good.
I tripped on it for like a couple of days...but...then...i just filed it in my head under: OKAYWHATEVER.
I guess what I learned from that, was:
IT SURE AS SHIT AIN'T EVER OVER TIL IT'S OVER.
In life...some things end...and other things are put on hold. Never believe you hold the deciding vote on which is which. Take what comes...and don't ever sweat the odds. Sometimes we have a role in fate...and other times we are simply passengers...
I, myself, simply enjoy riding the tides and surfing the waves of each and every moment of this always amazing trip known as life...
...see you next time...
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