I went to a grave yard on Memorial day. There was a celebration going on, but I missed the whole thing as I was only there to pick up a friend (a live one). As I was waiting for him, I decided to look around.

I like looking at the older stones. It seems 100 years ago, people had such interesting names. I suppose it’s a morbid idea to go to a cemetery to pick names for children. But I wouldn’t put it past me.

I found one grave marked, “Dred Greef Widdon.” Dred Greef? What was happening in that family when he was born? That’s a terrible name! It reminded me of the “Not Loved,” “Not Wanted” children in Hosea.

I’m amazed at the stories a grave site will tell, just the name, sometimes an epitaph, flowers or abandonment. I think I would prefer to not have a gravesite or to have it unmarked.

I think I’ve mentioned before the slave yard I saw once in TN. There was a stone that read,
(her name)
She the Suns-
hine of our
house.
She was a second wife, with the information of the first wife engraved on the same stone, just above her name. All the stones in that yard had engravings with spelling mistakes and like this one, hyphenations out of place making it look to be read “Suns hinie.”

But when I consider the time and/or expense it took to engrave that epitaph for the second wife of a slave man . . . when I consider what it must take to be the “Sunshine” of a household that is in every way owned by another man, even down to the last baby, when I consider the losses they surely must have already experienced, I know her stone, and her epitaph are important, historically. Even if none of her descendents know of her, or what she did to be the sunshine of a slave household, at least I know she did it.

She is an encouragement for me.

Dred Greef is a warning.

I watched SuperStar last night and I think I understand now why Catholics like to confess to the priests. I'm sure there is something to be said for confessing and having someone give you penitence and forgiveness on the spot.

I mean, sure we can confess to God and forgiveness is already ours, but it's not the same as when someone with skin says, "You are forgiven."

Yeah-- I think I will make a few confessions to you . . .

Forgive me World for I have sinned –

I watched Bubble Boy for the 4th time this weekend, Super Star for the 3rd time and Office Space for the 2nd time.

I thought they were all really funny. (I was told I needed to admit to myself that I was watching "some really crude stuff") I admit it to you.

When I was driving the other day I called the woman who pulled out in front of me a "little bitch."

I got “hit with a tennis ball.”

I took a job selling a ridiculous product that not only would I never buy for any serious purpose, but that I would mock others for purchasing. (I'll be working at Six Flags this summer at the "Southern Rose of Texas" I will be hawking feather roses. That's right, roses make out of feathers. They look and feel real, except that they are made out of bird parts. There are even some that light up and blink in an epilepsy-inducing kind of way. Yeah, I get and extra fifty cents each for pawning those puppies off on people whilst I walk around the park in the heat of the summer night in the great state of TX.)

I forgot to lock the door last night.

I stayed in bed for 13 hours straight last night/today.

I stayed up until 5:30am the day before engaging in “tennis” related actives.

I checked the mailbox yesterday, it was all for my room mate, so I left it there.

I watched a soap opera this week which included a love circle that involved a Mexican cop, a blonde heiress, a psycho brunette, a lesbian lunatic and an orangutan named Precious.

I've driving a car that is unregistered, uninspected and has out of state, expired tags. (and needs to be vacuumed)

Alright, that's all I have to confess for now.

O wait, a typo I just made (I typed lishp instead of list) reminded me I have on more confession:

I was thinking unkind thoughts toward the televangelist with the lisp this morning.

Okay.

Freedom in nothing

Because New Year’s resolutions are too hard, I decided to make a series of New Month resolutions. This month it is an experiment in poverty and plenty.

I’m certainly not alone in my hand to mouth experiences, but sometimes I wonder if people realize that sometimes there really isn’t any benefactor in sight who’s going to help us out of whatever crisis we may find ourselves in. There’s not working mom and dad to help with the rent this month. There aren’t any retired grandparents with great credit and a some extra to lend a little to get the car fixed. No brothers or sisters who could scrape a little together for the electric bill.

Nothing. Nothing to be seen in any event. All my friends are equally as poor as I am.

Fortunately, I’m an optimist. I have hope because I have a provider. I always have. I’ve always had a provider, sometimes I lose sight of the hope.

But this month I wanted to see it again. To aid in my quest, I decided to spend nothing for one week. Nothing, not even one penny. I started Tuesday, the 20th. I have come across some inconvinences. 1. I have to do careful research in my cook books to find a recipe that contains only the ingredients I have (or can find a substitute for in my pantry) 2. I went to the library (cheap and free entertainment) however, I cannot check out a book, I have a fine on my card.
3. My habits of looking at adds and wandering around stores for that “really amazing deal” is useless. Even if I find that really amazing deal, I can’t have it.

That’s fine. The point of the exercise it to remember how much have already. I don’t need to buy anything, even if I can afford it.

I did go to the mall yesterday. I tried on a key-lime-pie-green formal gown.

The strategy is to only look at and try on things you would never buy. But much to my surprise, it was kinda cute once I got it on! DRAT!
Ah . . . were would I have to go to wear a key-lime-pie-green formal gown anyway?

I have freedom in needing and buying nothing.

When I was a little girl, I was convinced I could fly. Well, not really fly, but float. I could float down the stairs, as long as nobody was looking. I could move down the stairwell without ever touching a step. I could do it because I was a little girl, and that made total sense to me. I knew that adults couldn't do it, and that they would never understand if I told them, or if they saw me. I knew that someday I would get too old to do it anymore.

It happened one day when I was between three and four years old. (I find it amazing that I can recall a lucid thought at that age) I stood at the head of the stair well, and nothing happened. I remember thinking, "I must be too old for that now." Accepting it calmly I walked down the stairs for the first time in a long while. Always before it was an unwilled action. I stopped at the first step, and it happened. I let it. It never suprised me. It just was. I never asked why or why not.

I've read that young children often confuse their dreams with reality. I've thought that was the case with my floating. I wonder now though, if it wasn't my first taste of the magic and fantastic qualities of life that the reasonable mind refuses to believe, the logical eye refuses to see, what the responsible life refuses to live.

Sometimes I find myself in the most unreasonable, illogical, irresponsible circumstances--
I wonder if everyone lives the same sort of rediculous life I lead. If they do, I wonder if they know.
I wonder if they see it as magic and fantastic too.

A man walked down the street, said, "Why am I short of attention? Got a short little span of attention and oh my nights are so long. Where's my wife and family? What if I die here? I don't want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard."

Paul Simon

"To Do" list for 5/19/03
1. Make a "to do" list for 5/20/03.
2. Make a post-production "been done" list for 5/19/03 in order to establish a sense of accomplishment.

Pogo Jesus hops across my screen in four big "boing-boing-boing-boings." He has a halo, dreds flying everywhich way and a crinkly-smily face. He has spawned many a speculation concerning the historical Jesus and whether or not he would have liked a pogo stick.

If you type "pogo jesus screen saver" into google, you can find and download him for your very own.

I should have been a rollar durby queen. Are those days of glory gone?

The corner by the door

Grey carpet in our apartment, covered near the door by a tribal looking carpet. It’s blue, black and off white, with geometric shapes and bits of orange, red, green and blue dispersed throughout. Carpets always sound worse when you describe them then they do when you see them. My room mate has left four pairs of shoes by the door, work shoes, tennis shoes, dress shoes and flip-flops.

Usually by the time the collection has grown to that size, I’m tired of looking at them and I gather them up and throw to the middle of the floor in the bedroom. I then announce that we need to clean the bedroom because it’s making me claustrophobic. It’s never just the shoes. It’s all our stuff that oozes out of our closet, dresser drawers and laundry baskets. It’s things that have places, under the bed, in the corner, tucked under a table that creep out to the middle of the floor until there is not carpet to be seen, no flat surfaces apparent. . .

I digress.

Above the carpet, above the shoes, there is a night light. It is The Virgin Mary holding her sacred heart. Mary is always turned on, so to speak.

Above Mary is “Mormon” Jesus. Blue-eyed-blond-hair-red-cloaked-never-making-eye-contact-back-lit-head-and-shoulders-Jesus. Mormon Jesus is wearing a T-shirt under his red cloak which reads, “I want your life.” Obviously this is not mainstream Protestant Jesus. He would have dark hair, dark eyes, he would always make eye contact and his T-shirt would read, “I (heart) you.” in fuzzy red lettering. Or maybe that’s just my idea.

Above Mormon Jesus is an AOL CD with the Pyrotechnic Porno Babies penned upon it with indelible marker.(Not the words, the cartoon characters.) It hangs to the left of the light switch plate. Above the CD is a frame containing pair of silver, miniature Arabic sandals. Above the sandals is a small plaque, about four inches in diameter containing a sample of Lefcara lace, handmade in Cyprus. Above the plaque, dangling from the ceiling is a purple, paper Chinese lamp, with no light source.

On the door there is a purple post-it note with the word “LUNCH” and a smiley face printed on it. It was to remind me to take my lunch in my previous days of employment. Above the door in the corner to the right is a web of red yarn. Entangled in the web is giant golden “S.”

A coat rack, a Pakistani puzzle (unsolved) and Senorita Misteriosa hang quietly on the opposing wall. Senorita Misteriosa features a “glow atomic dress.” And willingly tells her story to all who take the time to learn it. She is an accoutrement for mystery. Tucked just behind Senorita Misteriosa is a blue, glittery sticker in the shape of a butterfly that announces “Self Esteem.”

One corner of my living room.

My life as a pirate-ette.

This is my kissing friend and I at the Scarborough Faire: While I was dressed as a one eyed maiden, my friend was actually wearing a camouflaged shirt that said, “HA! Now you can’t see me!” blue shorts, an orange hat and boots, apparently a medieval hick. Or maybe a hick-vampire as it looks like he is about to bite me.

His mother looked at this photo and said, “Why are you sitting like that?” It seems we were actually touching, which is against her Elizabethan standards. (She knows what boys and girls do alone together in the dark.) The question is, does she know what one eyed maidens and medieval hick-vampires do alone together on cow upholstered couches?

You should be a Pisces, Sensitive, imaginative,
multitalented, multifaceted, intuitive,
compassionate, people oriented, sympathetic,
receptive, big-hearted, generous, but can be
escapist, unpredictable, irrational, gullible,
passive, indecisive, weak, uncertain, clueless,
vague, lethargic, vindictive, lazy, self-
indulgent


~*What is your TRUE Zodica sign?*~
brought to you by Quizilla

This is how you know the price for the car part you need is outrageously priced:

You say: “Do you have a (car part you need) for a (year, make, model of your car)?”
Parts guy says: “No, but I can order it for you, let me look up the price.”
Parts guy looks it up and says: “Whoa! I’ve never seen one cost that much! That’s ridiculous! That much just for a (whatever you want)?!”
You say: “Thanks, I’ll check some other places.”

What's your Super Power?

Super Mind-Reading Skills

We can't say for sure whether your mind-reading powers would come from some mystical force, or maybe just from sheer intuition, but in the Flipside Super Universe, that's what we think you'd have. And that's nothing to be trifled with. First, you'd be able to predict the next step in some Super Villain's dastardly plan by looking at their face. But even more importantly, you'd be able to figure out whether that Super Cutie is flirting with you, or just being friendly.
Think we're super wrong? Take the quiz again!

4% of the people who took this quiz got the same evaluation

http://www.the-n.com/games/quiz_main.php?ipv_sectionID=43&ipv_quizID=452

It's National Goodwill Industries Week. visit your local store for details on special offers and give aways. "Goodwill has been chaning lives for 101 years."

www.goodwillfortworth.org

Breasts: Their Evolutionary Origins as a Deceptive Signal of Need for Provisioning and Temporary Infertility
Edward M. Miller Professor of Economics and Finance

Female Rewarding of Male Provisioning During Lactation
Even in existing apes food provision can be rewarded with sexual access. Females appear to reward with copulations males who feed them, even having been seen to take meat from the mouth of the male copulating with her (Goodall, 1986, 483-484). Estrous females succeed more often at begging meat from males than non-estrous ones (Goodall, 1986, 483-484). Kano (1979) describes how bonobos (pygmy chimpanzees) presented and copulated with males with fruits they wanted. Once hominids had adopted hunting, males frequently found themselves with meat which could be distributed to females. Males naturally distributed this meat to females who in turn gave them sexual access. [para 22]

Probably why I’m not rich. . . .

I was bored on Saturday, and when girl is bored, and poor what is she to do? I’ll tell you what she’s to do, she’s to find a friend, drive to a ritzy (and far way) mall try on formal wear and take pictures of each other in the dressing room. (I should have the pictures back Tuesday; maybe I’ll be able to post one for jollies) I was trying to use up some old film, and this seemed the perfect opportunity.

This outing made me realize why God chose me to be poor. It’s prom season, and just when we were finished with our fun, we were walking out of the store when we passed by the juniors section. There, before our eyes was the most amazing dress we had yet seen. It was a Barbie-pink-sparkly-super-poofy-monstrosity. The skirt was four feet in diameter, the dress could stand up by it’s self. It was amazing! My friend immediately grabbed one and ran to the dressing room. I followed with the camera. We got two pictures taken before the attendant said, “I hate to tell you this, but you can’t take pictures in the store.”

DRAT! There was certainly more fun to be had with that dress. However, I obediently put my camera away, as she gathered her skirt to wade back to her changing stall. We continued to talk about that dress the rest of the afternoon, finally concluding, if we were rich we would each buy a dress like that. We would buy all the accessories (shoes, tiara, gloves, costume jewelry (maybe even a wand and a pair of wings!) and dance around the mall. We would ice skate, then take it to the streets.

We would go to important places like Walmart, dollar stores, dollar theater, ghetto skating rink, the falafel place for sure. We would be followed by a camera man, and maybe a cellist.

Life would be good with a Barbie-pink-sparkly-super-poofy dress.

It cost $358.00. I would do it. Maybe that’s why I’m not rich.

I went to first Baptist Arlington today. The pastor opened his sermon by asking the congregation to call out some names of Jesus found in scripture. From the last pew in back corner of the sanctuary I wanted to scream "ISA!!"

Why is that the first thing to pop into my head? He should specify which scripture.

Qui vive! A sentinel's challenge.
Idiom: on the qui vive
On the alert; vigilant: “a loathsome Dublin politico who is on the qui vive for... terrorists” (Julian Moynahan).
[French, (long) live who? (a sentry's challenge to determine a person's political sympathies) : qui, who + vive, third person sing. present subjunctive of vivre, to live.]
qui vive used like the English challenge: ``Who comes there?''

To be on the qui vive, to be on guard; to be watchful and alert, like a sentinel.
qui vive n : condition of heightened watchfulness or preparation for action: "bombers were put on alert during the crisis" [syn: alert]

Blame it on Finfrock!

I watched Shrek en Francais last night. Good stuff.

"Pas mon gumdrop boutonne!"

The other night I locked myself out of the apt. and as my room mate didn’t answer her phone or open the door when I knocked, I decided to find an alternative entry. Which I might add, was rediculously easy to do.

Mental note: try to make it less rediculous