Self Abuse

I had a TERRIBLE night of self injury! First I tripped over the giant dog bone and think I might have broken my baby toe, this isn't too surprising because I rarely walk without acknowledging that I'm not invisible and can pass through walls and objects.

Then middle of the night I rolled over and fell out of bed onto the floor, smacking my head as I went. I can't even sleep proper without being a clutz and damaging myself wtf? The shock of the fall I am sure was a photo moment for the centuries. I am soooooo sore and have the headache to remind me that I did fact fall. Thank god we don't have bunk beds huh lol. Who rolls out of bed????

Mr. Morgan raised his head in a sleeping snort, blinked twice, and went back to his slumber. I, naturally began to cry because I'd hit my head and the surprise of it had not gone away. After a few minutes of realizing my mother would not be coming in the room to scoop me back into bed I crawled to the covers, mumbling something about not trusting the bed anymore, that it had launched me on purpose.

I flopped faster than a fish who got off the hook. Even Mr. Morgan phoned me at work this morning to ask how I fell off the bed, managing to hit my head and spill a cup of water on myself in the process.

Talent? Lol.

-DM

Ancient, thoughtful

Sitting here spinning records, and while my system my rocks the shit out of everything, there is a time when you bust out the Fisher-Price record player and vintage albums, remembering what it's like to have a song skip without throwing a big ass fit, it was expected to do so.

Having gone spoiled, I asked for a record player last Christmas to remind myself not just of patience, but of the nostalgia of those who know nothing about spinning records being THE source of tunes in the day. The crick crack of a winding into my earbones, the static filled turning of the record. I enjoy it very much.

I've got some Seger smacking, some Abbey Road, little Black Sabbath.... name it and I likely stole it from my mother. I have some vintage Zep records that are just stunning to look at, but you might have to be old to appreciate them. I always thought them extremely cool and get a very weird look of ... why? on my face if anyone wants to get touchy on them. Mine mine there is no touching!

My Mom and I are on the mends, I made the first step of stopping the asshole parade we'd been pursuing for a while and although sucking an apology hurts my ego, missing your bestest friend hurts more, even if she is wrong. Pride takes a side step and says ok, shit, whatever. Then it calls you a pussy and you have every legal right to shake your fist and call it a facist cocksucker. (learning new words readilly courtesy of Deadwood).

I finally found my god damned 2007 costume and I welcome the departure of unsettled and free floating anxiety which I never know how to address properly. The hat I chose is way better than pictured below because who wants shit in their face? I'd be a shitty mourner if I had to wear lace over my face. I spent the entire Kitty on it, plus 98 cents which is being waited on by Mr Morgan.

Nothing much else for today. Delilah needs to see the vet for a couple of lumps I found yesterday, but it seems all the humans in this house live in denial she getting old and has potential to get lumpy. No lumps allowed and she wags a happy tail to reassure us that she is just fine. I am not sure how I would handle a bad Delilah, she is .... yeah, we all know how I'll handle it, bullshitting is pointless.

Cheers to Friday, below song always been quite close to my heart and older I get, the more it becomes. Take a moment to remember it.

-DM

Berzerker Game Day!

Mr. Morgan came home today with something I've not heard shut up about for many weeks and I clapped at it's arrival. it's like... get it the fuck out of my god damn ears already! A game he claims to be the best rated game "like EVER!" So I took a peek and it creeped me out. The family was prepared though!

Simon was listening for orders, ready to move the troops at any time.

Taking his job quite seriously.

Me giving a preview of hatstravo.... this is my Berzerker face. See below. Loves!



-DM

To Mr. Morgan..... 4 years

We start song... then we read.

Dear Mr. Morgan,

Hi again, another year later that has offered us both challenges and frustrations that is fairly normal for this amount of time. Anyone who doesn’t half lose their mind living together for this long would be considered some form of hybrid robot. We are on the Wednesday of marriages. It’s Humpyear baby.

It is important to write and reflect annually on this day, as time slips away and we forget the details that someday may be a reason to remember who we were, at this point of life, as people naturally change with the passing days. I never want us to forget why we fell in love and why nothing is ever important enough to become an obstacle to it.

I elate in some of the things that have not lost their novelty like your sock cleaning rituals did early on. I watch you like some sort of moving piece of art, and I don’t think you know how keenly or often I am guilty of doing this. I consider it admiration, and if we weren’t married, it would carry a very different calling – obsessed stalker.

Admittedly, when you enter a room and everyone suddenly comes to life I am jealous, childishly wanting to vie for the attention but watching you in your element is very much a silent pleasure. I wonder if you think I am just doing my best to not shriek and flap around hopping, as is my way, or if I am genuinely letting you enjoy your time with no tension. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even know the answer to that. The wanting to flap and hop came early in my life, and I know you love my hopflap, and that it is simply on occasion ill-timed. We do in the house, often share the moment of flip flapping and wiggles, it fills me with glee as I haven't many who join that sort of thing.

You are not privy to most of my writings and certainly not to my conversations about you, it is my mistake to talk so well about you instead of saying it TO you as often as I should, but I rave of you as if you were a trophy on a shelf to invite people over for a gander. A stuffed fish if you will, the one that wasn’t getting away even if it grew legs and tried to run. I’ve had a rough year, and it is only my fault that I don’t include you enough. Or at all. You truly are the most forgiving and trustworthy person in my life and I cannot explain why I shelter you from getting in. I think I am afraid to let you down, and you would be so hurt to know I thought that, it’s impossible to explain. I want to be everything, and that lacks logic. I am so scared, but just to have you around gives me a sense of security that makes the frights seem like a storybook tale and I calm. You have no idea how much you lend to my not being found screaming in a ball somewhere in Vegas wondering who stole my loaf of bread. You are what centers and reminds me that life is what it is, and no matter what it offers, I won’t be alone.

Do you know that you smack your lips every night when you sleep as though you are being served slopping king sized portions, then you move to grinding your teeth in a circular rhythm that makes me wonder how you haven’t sawed them to nubs. You smile a lot in your sleep too, I ponder who you are sleeping with in your dreams, then poke you in the ribs hoping it will turn into a nightmare. You don’t know any better, snort, and turn to your other side.

Moments ago you did a happy ass wiggle over biscuits, and proceeded to use the toilet as you proudly ate it, and yet a burp or other bodily slip in my presence produces the most embarrassed look on your face. I wonder at what year of our marriage you will allow a hearty fart in my company and be proud of it. Not that I want you to pick up the habit but it’s fair for anyone to say that there are some farts to applaud. I wait for yours with hands ready to give a standing ovation.

I love you babe, here’s to another.

-DM

Ching!

I’m tardy on the anniversary entry but I’ll get to it.

Today was coin day. Costume day. I have often been given a hard time for collecting coins to the extent of inconveniencing others by stopping in the middle of the street for a penny. A co-worker in my office didn’t lend me the moniker “The Raven” without good reason. It’s money! Free money and FOUND money. Foolish are those who scoff a stray coin.

In the last year I’ve collected, one might even say scouted for loose change and on occasion opened up it’s keeping place (kitty pig, it’s a piggy bank but shaped like a kitty so….) to see how it had grown, running my fingers through it like pirate booty wearing a shifty countenance as though someone would take it from me. It had not been enough, leaving the only goal to get more and palms smelling like the ballsacks of strangers by touching discarded cash. Change has on odor that is only truly appreciated when there is a lot of it in one location.

IRecently, Kitty Pig and I decided we'd saved long enough. I’d brought the bag to work this morning, denting my shoulder from it’s weight in my handbag and I stared at it off and on for the entire shift. I piled some of the quarters a few times since those are my favorite to have and the hardest for me to part with. I kept one because it was special.

At leaving time I marched my hefty sack of loot in a ziploc bag proudly into the local grocer to assault their Coinstar machine. My grin couldn’t have been wider, thrilled that I’d filled this bag with other peoples’ tossables. Coinstar saw me coming and faked a power outage. I told it not to bullshit, and get ready for some serious counting.

I don’t know if anyone has used a Coinstar but it’s like panning for gold in a sense…. One can lift a tray and happily wiggle the money down the chute as a counter indicates how much of what you are feeding it. There was a non-stop wiggle while I panned, full body wiggle.

I opened my bag, very aware that I had the look of someone to be watched for interest, even though the glee was only slight at that point. On flopping the nest egg with a sounding thump onto the machine’s counter I could feel the watching and interest grow. It was just coins, granted a LOT of them, and I likely would have watched too. Began the panning, too many coins for one meal, the tray needed a second helping. It did take me about 15 minutes to pan my gold and I think the cashier behind me was mentally projecting that I finish fast because the noise was cracking her skull. Wiggle became unstoppable and I watched the number grow to 72 dollars!

In Free. Found. Money.

Even had 50 cents left over to browse the sticker vendors and make a tidy purchase.

I’ve spent more than promised on halloween and there is yet to be a costume. Justifying a purchase on top of that would be greedy, which I am (me? All the stuff, need all the stuff to have, things to get!), however it would have been a cock move on my part to blow 50 more on costume even if it is arguably the only event of the year I care about. Enter coin stash!

Perhaps silly, but 72 dollars for nothing but bending over and snatching something is not to be discounted. AND it’s free of discussion. There will be no talks of whether 72 dollars can be afforded or not, because I just made it affordable!

Now.... what the fuck am I going to wear this year? Grandmaster HATES my Twister idea, and pretty much everything else I've thought up. The closest we have come to agreeing is going back to VC and paying for another photo then doing a dine and dash in that costume. Heh.

Imagine me bolting from the parlor, my getaway car in motion, door ajar and waiting for my adrenaline induced sprint to land me into the seat as we sped into the sunset.

-DM

ps - You didn't think you'd get an entry without at least ONE cuss word did ya? I snuck it in last minute because it looked like plain white rice. Add one word and suddenly it's rice-a-roni.

Summer days..

Just a fun reminder that I am a cyclops and this is what it looked like around this time last year. Navigating through that kaleidoscope remains to be living on free drugs. I wait for my class action settlement, because I am both vain and greedy. And I like mail.

We recently hit Mr. Morgan's company picnic, good party but not well attended. He goes because he's the manager and I go because bullshit speculation begins if I'm suddenly absent. It's really not the worst of things to go to, they feed us and everyone is always very nice.

I was deflated to hear that a long time employee was no longer employed at all and wondered why it didn't occur to Mr. Morgan to tell me. This was the man who contained my not-even-yet-husband on the night of our wedding party, held him into submission and explained that the living room wall was not the enemy. We attended his wedding the following year, and I countless times held the head of his bride as she tried to wish her drunk self to a swift death over the toilet of various hotel rooms. They divorced, he quit, and that was that. After the divorce however, every year he would show up to these picnics with - seriously, in my opinion barely legal if at all - girls. The rest of us aging chickens anticipated what he'd bring each year and snickered under our sagging skin because we could and it somehow vindicated how much we loath time in all it's evilness.

End of an era. Sigh. Below is team As If. They stood no chance. This is why I don't play. Plus I've never learned to thwart flying objects from my face, I take the hit and appear shocked. No idea why that particular reaction to protect myself lacks.

Of note in the above photo is a child who belonged to no one in our group. She was getting her hat on though, so I had to snap a pic of a future protege.

One volley player left his eyewear within my reach, and I have the ability to grapple very far when I want something, so I took them and indulged in a lucid moment of being high on disbelief that my eye, plus his prescription could induce elephants in the clouds so easily.

It's been about 50 babillion months of bitching about my hair, and I mean bitching on a guage that even the dogs were plotting to shave me bald in the middle of the night. I think Simon started it all as revenge. So I fixed myself up. Mr. Morgan walked in, saw me with scissors and gasped "Whoa." Whether it was because I was going hackfest on myself or because I was holding a sharp object is not known. There was not a wrestle, he walked away I presume to be hoping for the best.

See! I do ok. I have a box of highlights, since I rarely can live withotu them, but later for that. Don't miss the below entry, I have some things stockpiled while the site was down.

-DM

Breakfast!

Blog been on blah for re-vamp, but it went to fuck so .... ok. Working on some custom items, too much on my plate lately.

Did you know that having a tattoo increases the odds of an allergic reaction with hair dye? I’m writing to find out why (as I sit baking and waiting for hives, does the number of tattoos correlate to a bigger reaction? I mean, can I max out and just burst into dust while mixing the bottle?). In other recent writings, I’ve been eating an obscene amount of heat-and-eat breakfast’s made by Aunt Jemima not because it’s a crazed obsession but because I expressed that I once enjoyed one, then a dozen came home in a bag. It was the only food in the house short of sharing the dog kibble, and I considered it on day 5 of the plan. Since I was already resentful and feeling forced to eat the same slop day after day, when I opened a box to find it missing a sausage, well I was less than forgiving.

I believe I took my food anger out on the company. For a person who didn’t even want to eat the shit to begin with, writing a letter to bitch about the sausage was....warranted.

Dear Jemima,

I have long been a loyal consumer of your delicious treats, in fact so deeply embedded in my mind from infancy that I see your name and likeliness on a box and I purchase it for the sake of knowing you would never do me wrong. We had a trust between us.

This trust was tested last week when I opened one of your breakfast samplers (UPC enclosed, as well as a front photo package of the promised contents). The front photo on the box showed two sausages, 3 pancakes and fruit – which I understood to be a selling item in the photo and not included. I was fine with the lack of fruit and in fact applauded the garnish as clever advertising. The missing sausage however, wrenched my face in a way that thankfully was not seen. You see, I was counting on that second sausage.

I didn’t purchase a meal presuming one sausage, all sausage come in pairs as any breakfast eater would readily know. Where is my sausage? Who ate on my dime? I do understand that factory inconsistencies happen, yet at the same juncture I read that box and it promised me two. My ketchup allotment for the morning was based not on one, but two. Think of the disappointment abounding, lonely ketchup, confused consumer, digging under pancakes insisting the hidden link was underneath.

Jemima I am confident that you care deeply for those you are delivering spectacular breakfasts to start the mornings of a great many people. In return I would like either my sausage, or a voucher for another one.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

-DM