Status of Selfishness

Pho-tog. Is that when people refer to a photo blog entry or is it what people call any jerkoff snapping photos? Ah, the art of word definition, that is the subject of this entry.

Mr. Morgan bopped up to me about a week ago proclaiming nothing short of absolute glee that his heart and very soul were on the verge of imminent destruction if he did not purchase a laptop. I said "ok." It was simple, straight forward and in no way a shrouded protest. I said ok, and meant it just as basic as intended. In some inward conversation I wasn't invited to, Mr. Morgan created a scene where "ok" meant "You are greedy, it's a rotten attribute and I'm ashamed to know you!"

I had no idea this mental battle had happened until he approached me later as though someone told him a secret and a light bulb flashed as he said "heeeey, that's fucked up! Why is she mad that I want a laptop!" Truly, I was left out of that war and felt more than blindsided by his brain advisers (fired!) because I really give less than a single fuck about his toys.

What transpired next is when I began to care.

The facts:

1. He plotted a 500 dollar purchase without any need to explain why or what or when. It wasn't like he was asking me for the go ahead anyhow, it was a statement not a "hey baby do you mind.....?"

2. I replied that since it was from tax return money, I'd like to make my own purchase.

3. Meltdown. Not mine. Yet.

He proclaimed that I crap on everything he wants to do or get, and that by mentioning my own purchase consideration I was selfish. Selfish. /beat. In what form of the word? So I thought about it.

What had I asked for? Tattoo. Not a new one. An... oil change, a tune up, if you will, for the one on my wrist that is faded and lately the old male patients at work have been comparing mine to their glory day tattoos from Vietnam. Hint much that it's time for a revamp? Big black blobbish tats that you have to ask what it used to be sort of thing.

The kicker was last week a patient saw it peeking from my sleeve and said "oh my, you have a wart" and reached forward to touch my wrist. I wasn't sure what was weirder about it, that my tattoo - the size of a silver dollar - was confused for a wart, or the fact that she went on a lean in to touch it.

So when Mr. Morgan tells me he wants to drop half a thousand dollars for a toy, which in fairness is (and WAS THEN TOO!!! OK OK OK~!!) something he needs and won't use my super-puter anymore, me asking for a hundred dollars to protect my vanity isn't a terrible hassle.

So after being told it was a selfish thing to want came the ..... are you serious? Because, um...... wow, tell me you are not serious. That is one hundred percent me questioning that I just heard something retarded.

Oh my god, you ARE serious and I'm embarrassed for you.

Don't be a non-nonsensical pain in the ass if you aren't prepared for my face to turn into nothing more than sucked in lips and giant eyes. If I look at you like you are crazy, then you've done something loopy, I'm not tricky to read.

Honestly, if he hadn't thrown such a poor brat attitude I might not have pursued getting the tats redone. My wrist has looked tardy for a long time, I'm obviously resigned to it. Telling me no, and captioning it as Selfish all but concluded it was going to happen. I don't ask for all that much, for Mr. Morgan to twist the situation in his head, it should have just stayed in there where everyone seemed to know what was going on and not flop onto my innocent lap. I almost offered him a tampax, but didn't want to fuel the fire.

I went and got it done. Before (and it's a tad blurry but pretty accurate, it's THAT old and faded):

To ahhhhhhhh........

As an extra selfish bitch maneuver, we touched up the back of my neck because why not. Terrible photo, it's a crisp and nicely lined piece and the only tat I have that I would do again. When midway in the wrist fix she asked me "did you consider having it lasered off?" I replied.... "should I?" Awkward. She only meant that I'd asserted it bothered me, and it does, did? Would I ever put a tattoo on my wrist again? Fuck no. Since it already lives here, do what we can. While I waited for my artist to set up her station a younster came in, he was 16 with his dad wanting a full forearm piece. He was turned away. They told him nothing above the neckline or below the elbow before 18 because of jobs etc. He was pissy, and I kinda understood but I also know full well that it's not bad advice. Look at me and the bullshit I endured for such a tiny nothing of a flower. I was glad they said no.

I suppose that I don't like being told no and more being labeled with an untrue quality. Not to say I lack being selfish, my god I cling to what I think is mine faster than a two year old, but in this instance it was odd to attach that to him getting a treat for himself. I still baffle a bit at how I can be selfish about something that has nothing to do with me. Generally speaking I am a good bean, I do things for people that I don't need to and almost never ask for anything in return. So when I do ask for something and that goes for anyone I know, and told no..... doesn't fly well. At least give me a good reason or I'll remind myself to also say no next time you need something that might be out of my way to do.

Mr. Morgan falls into routine like we all do, and it doesn't occur to him that I am not just Mrs. Morgan. Nay nay sir, I am the same independent person as I've ever been. Because I'm nice and ask before I do things, it's a formality for his sake, chances are I was going to do it anyhow. Would he really want me any other way? I know I wouldn't. Lucy Ricardo I am not. The antics and train wreck of a person... lol most certainly. I never apologize for being a mess but I do not want anyone to yes or no control my life. I frankly blank blink at the idea.

To close, here is an update on the bridge work. More more more to do on it, but it's ok for now. It's getting very busy over there, but it's a good reflection of how my brain rolls on any given day. I envy people who wake up without a complete itinerary in their mind.

-DM

Fryer.

I once worked with a girl who turned me onto this song. Dedo:

Girl oh girl I have nothing but fond memories of bad behavior and conversations on every level each and god damned every time Bosslady was out.

You've since had a baby (he's now what.... six??? bitch, you are aging me!) and I remember your paintings sitting in a room in your house, against your ridiculous white carpet - NO SHOES! - and thinking you had a quirky way of throwing paint onto a canvas. At the time, you were very dismissive about your art... said something like "oh yeah.... those. I painted them." and wandered to another subject.

You've also since gained a dog, I think that was before the baby and again I remember feeling really bad for the dog and resenting that carpet because for all it's white bullshit.... it really consumed almost everything in the house. The poor puppy was a hostage kept in the kitchen area and I seem to recall that puppy being pissed about that situation. But it was you and you fed me magaritas and bitched about your figure, which lent me your hand me downs but seriously love, you were what a size 8 for all your height? Being the greedy receiver of goods I never corrected you and you have the most lovely hair, and figure and fuck all nice ass personality that is refreshingly hard to find.

There was also the time I went to lunch and some broads from the beauty academy got drunk at a manderin eatery and bashed up my car while I was in another shop. You blinked at my fury when I got back to the office, silently without a beat grabbed your keys and told me to get into your car. I did and subsequently watched you get all but arrested upon marching into the beauty school demanding to know which inept drunk bitch hit and ran her friends' car. Your arms and fingers were a blur of impressive fury.

You also came with me to bankrupcy court. You didn't have to. I wasn't scared or intimidated too much, I was not sure what to expect and you instinctively knew that and insisted to be my wingman of sorts should I get nervous. We giggled at the fucked people who were also in my shoes, then kinda stopped giggling because no one there was really having a great day. You didn't have to do any of those things for me, but you are just that kind of person.

I miss ya, good times... you got sauce. Even after these years, you could call me 2am and from a dead sleep I'd say "huh? Crow bar? Ok where I'm on my way." Love ya bitch. Gimme gimme....



- DM

Prada Propery.

I'm getting to those dedications, promise. For today, this one goes out to Prada who as it turns out is a wonderful writer. I won't divulge the content of her work nor any tasty passages but suffice to say she will well understand and appreciate this dedication to her novel, which I have read and hope she pursues getting published. From one clever bitch to another, props baby... the book is good. It needs a bit of work, but so do my hands, face, ass and everything else on this rapidly declining body of mine... nothing is ever perfect, but I like it and more so I like to see someone not laying in waste and letting time fuck them out of serious skill. Almost everyone I know is in some way wasting something awesome about themselves that I see so very crisply in sadness. Off your asses lazy bitches, get to task on doing what you do well. No more Maury, no more "too long a day at work." I don't care if your only talent is to suck a dick proper, you go home and give the greatest head ever known and snap your fingers afterward with the full understanding that you owned that.

That said, for Prada.... I am very much giving you a nod and can't wait for the sequel. The girl has talent.



- DM

Handy

Fine. I'm too stubborn to say I'm in tears. Gang, I can't do the shit anymore, I hit witch finger a few bits ago and she's gone purple. I'm seriously sick of hiding it, I want it cut off, To smile and act like shit is ok for years.... it's NOT ok, last check I had was 25K to make it reasonable, but that whatever fuck is wrong with me WILL grow back. Lovely. And lets not pretend this is the only effected place.

My middle left finger has gone bitch. This upsets me deeply because it's in sister sitting next to my wedding ring, which means a huge deal to me. Mr. Morgan went on own without me to purchase said ring configuration. The sales person insisted on a square cut. He was bothered and said no, "she is not square, I want a round." Good man because no, I am not, not ever square. Right,, below...

I don't crumple fingers, what you see is what I hide for lack of wanting to really explain shit I have no explanation for. My hands have gone to shit, and it's likely involved with other organs.... wanna ask me again to reproduce? Yea, thanks, I am not definitely NOT ok with my body and it's acting out, being quiet with a silent nod works fine. I can see I'm fucked, and am greeted with oh my god~ too often, I dont blame skiing or other silly shit, honest to a fault... it's just how I seem to grow. I think that people who notice these things, think I'm curling my fingers. I wish I were. Does it hurt? You've no fucking idea. The pain I smile past deserves me a god damned award, so yes, on an and every given day... I hurt a lot but I tend to be smiley. Why do I lie.

Often enough I bite my lips instead of crying, and it shows through my lippin' stick, but indeed... yes my hand pain is a daily scream of what the fuck! At least that's what I have named it. I'm resigned, but yes, in a great deal of daily pain and have been for the last few years. Hopefully I am a great hider of such for why? Who knows... I thinks living in a state of ongoing cripple deserves a permanent bitch fest.

Mr. Morgan is keen to my screeching, and bless, but really.... is advil going to help hands that are curling in on themselves?? He's scared and tried to forget,not hard since I rarely bring it up. He knows I can no longer navigate grated cheese or opening canned items, both of which somewhat bother me because I CAN do the shit, but without injury, likely not. So on a small level he does know I'm creeping into premature yuck.

I'm not giving up. I am simply angry . I feel I need to hide my emotions because, while not blind, Mr. Morgan would become frightened if he thought things were bad bad. Not sure how to break it... but things - charitable level - have been wrong with me since the day I came out breach born (LOVE YOU MAMA! I sorry!)

- DM


Newest work. It's good, but hard for such a simple idea. It's a bridge to fucking No-where, I haven't added that yet. Mostly because I thought it might be going somewhere, but .... why. It's doing nothing, I can't question it's purpose.... but I am going to add a note t a bottom that says TO NO WHERE. Because I can and because I have to live with it.


Right so, humor me, a self song dedication. So not to worry because worry is useless in time like these.... even your girl can find a smiley face somewhere. Fucking hard, but hell ... I dig them.

-DM