Sexy Anonymous

I once had a weird relationship with the alternative weekly magazines in Seattle.  I read them front to back every week, including the advertisements and personal ads at the end.  It’s a compulsion and a procrastination thing; better that than doing my school work.  Because of this habit, I’d sometimes show up in the letters sections, embarrassing myself.  I got to know the personalities of the writers.  I spent more time in the shared world they created than they did.  The Alt Weekly Cinematic Universe, before those were a thing.

So.  I was feelin lonesome and adventurous one time and submitted a kinky personal ad.  They give you a number where you can check messages for responses to it, and I promptly lost the number and forgot about it for weeks.  A few years later, I randomly met an old friend on Broadway and she said she recognized my personal ad from the way I wrote it.

Now is it possible I’m such an eccentric writer that I could be clocked and remembered in this way, or did I actually share with her the fantasy I was describing, back when we were hanging out, singing along to Pepper in her jalopy, or watching horrible hentai on VHS, or seeing the news reveal of the Heaven’s Gate Cult in the wee hours of the morning, thinking of the same nike slogan everybody else thought of simultaneously?  Just do it?  I must have told her about the fantasy.  Shame I lost track of the ad and missed my chance to live it.  I’m sure that the very specific person I described was out there for me somewhere, and ready to rock.

My last girlfriend ever was hot to trot.  Different lady, different topic, but adjacent.  We had killer foreplay, tho I flamed out when it was time to bone down.  Reasons.  The important thing here is the foreplay.  I did something to her kinda random and specific that she liked a lot.  There was a section in one of those alt weeklies where people sent anonymous requests for sex advice, and I recognized myself in this.  She, or somebody with the same experience, wrote a letter asking “how do I get the nerve to ask new partners for this specific kind of foreplay?”

Was it her?  I don’t know.  But since I graduated from art school, I have not returned to this habit.  The reading, not the foreplay.  Well, that specific thing surely would not work on my husband, so not that either.

Those papers got cheaper and worse, with more ads and less content as the years wore on.  I don’t even know what they’re like now.  At least one of them still exists, but what does it even have to offer anymore?  That world is behind me now, ink stained pulp sheets drifting through wind-swept gutters.

Have I mentioned these things before?  At some point you will have read the entire contents of my brain.  The repetition will set in, and then it’s over for me.

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Under a Catholic Spell

Shortly after we moved into our condo, my husband found a little plastic figurine of St. Joseph buried in our backyard, and thought little of it.  I thought it was fun for personal reasons, and was partly responsible for making it a piece in the “altar” of our household.  However, quite recently, my man randomly discovered that planting Joes is a known thing – among catholics who are trying to sell houses.  We were muffuckin’ bewitched!

So the question is this: who was the superstitious catholic?  Previous owner was a military dude cohabiting with a lady that did not share his surname, and they had a realtor.  One of these three, at least, was addicted to cathohol and wanted to sell a place fast – compelled by these pressures to inter a Giuseppe.  Perhaps we should pity them.

On the other hand, it worked, so cathoholicism must be the way.  I shall convert presently.  Gimme that bloody drank.

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Eccentricities

I can talk a little shit about people in my life on here because they all have reasons for not reading any of it.  Reasons are reasons and I take no offense, plus the freedom to talk that shit has some use.

There’s a cognitive feat that even many single celled organisms are capable of: responding to a sensory stimulus in a binary way.  See light, move towards.  See dark, move away.  I live with a full-fledged human being that utterly fails at a task this simple, probably by making it more complicated?  I don’t understand how.

In her case, it’s backing up a car.  With a backup camera.  That camera affords her the possibility of forgetting everything she ever learned about driving, about left and right, and simply moving the wheel in the direction that makes the car go in the desired direction.  It’s comparable to a video game less sophisticated than Pong.

There are two circumstances that occasionally come up in our lives which require backing up, and she avoids them at all costs.  One is going to the dump to get rid of garbage in excess of what the man will pick up from our curbside.

She was so bothered by this, I offered an alternative.  You can illegally dump this garbage, say, in a dumpster behind a random business, but I am not going to ride shotgun if you do so.  My husband said, hey, you can do that at your sister’s condos.  Unlike ours, they have shared dumpsters.  I mentioned there was a slight possibility she could get busted for it.

She instantly hatched a zany scheme to make it look like our excess trash actually was her sister’s, thereby dodging that unlikely ticket.  This only emphasized the eccentricity for me:

She crafted a macchiavellian plot to avoid culpability for a very minor crime she was very unlikely to catch punishment for, all to avoid a cognitive task that could literally be performed by a protozoan.

That’s a lil funny.

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Gaslight Ghetto

I’ve had the strange experience a few times in recent years of mentioning my childhood poverty to another person and their response making me feel gaslit, like what am I remembering wrong?  For example, mentioning I have lived in a few housing projects and homeless shelters, and them asking which ones, and then…  I don’t remember the names, barely remember the locations.  I wasn’t living in them for long enough to identify with them, to see that as my “hood,” get to know the other kids there.  We’d be kicked out or otherwise shuffled along to our next flophouse before that could happen.  My father helped me fill in a few of these details, but he didn’t remember all of it either.

So to gird myself for this situation in the future, I’m trying to remember everything about my childhood that wouldn’t be too creepy to tell.  Maybe some of those things too, with appropriate content warnings?  Here we go…

Content Warnings:  Violence Against Animals, Animal Death, Description of Poverty, Mention of Parasites and Pests, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Child Injury, Children in the Context of Sexual Things (but no CSA mentioned in this one), Racial Tension, Drug and Alcohol Abuse, Marital Infidelity, Teen Pregnancy, Vomiting, Terminal Illness, A Man Dying Young, Mental Illness, Generational Abuse.

This will take more than one post and include details that don’t have to do with the poverty itself, just me trying to remember what I can before it slips any further into the void.  For this post, I’ll lay out what I can recall of the chain of places I’ve lived. [Read more…]

Where I Be

This is a picture of a corner of my living room.

The sun is shining.  Being in the southern half of the sky, it’s not as hot as it could be.

I took the day off sick because of course I did.  I’m considering what sort of things I can do for the good people of the world who need stuff to put in their heads.  Might prepare some content for the queue if I can.  Much love, y’all.

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Climb Every Mountain

Had a lil honeymoonesque thing recently, went to a rental cabin in Port Angeles and drove to some sights in the area over a few days.  First day we went to a little waterfall which was pretty cool, tho the nearest terlet was on some Silent Hill shit.  The second waterfall was an unexpectedly long hike, which wore us out something fierce, but it was cool to be in the middle of some natural nature.

Second day we went to see a mountain view, where all you had to do is pull over, get out, and look.  Simple enough.  But then we were like, since we’re on this road, maybe let’s go all the way, and ended up a mile above sea level, walking up another steep path with need of frequent breaks.

I guess the environment would still be considered subalpine because trees could grow, though they were weirdly-shaped in order to survive. Lot of short branches. The grasses and shrubs were weirder too. My home boy who had come along to do the driving noticed strawberry plants and lupines that were not the sort of thing we expected. Saw some canada jays which wikipedia suggests would be the “obscurus” subspecies, vamping for treats but receiving none. We’d left the trail mix in the car.

The trail had no handrails, and a few feet and a slip could easily lead to death.  The area is renowned for unpredictable weather and high winds, but wasn’t too bad.  I mean, I’m here, so I must not have been blown off a mountaintop.  Surprised my husband was willing to climb that high, given that he has a low key fear of heights that can even hit him looking at google satellite view.

Point is, it was very beautiful.  I’d post photos but it’s slightly less easy than posting words, and they don’t do the thing justice anyway.  They’re so flattening.  When you’re up there and you can see how far down it all is, when fast-moving clouds are sliding along the mountainside below you, random shafts of sun hitting snow-flocked jagged peaks, and those beautiful golden shrubs and grasses, the long feathery moss on the trees, I dunno.

I’m not in favor of mountain climbing generally.  That’s what got Julian Sands.  But if you can drive most of the way and then just hike up a few hundred feet of steep path, well, go ahead.  Less than an hour later, we went from having random snow sprayed in our face to having warm sun, down at a little park on the shore.  Good times.
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Dreamposting – Gun Culture

Had a dream that I was a security guard again.  Some kind of mayhem had transpired in Seattle in the night, wherein a gun had been discharged in public.  We were all under suspicion, but one specific guy had done it, and copped to it before we got into real trouble.  Even so, there was so much going on that I wasn’t aware of his confession until it had already transpired, and was running around trying to sort out defense evidence along with my home boy Clark.  Some seagulls had been killed, and during the course of events I found their bodies floating in water, gelatinized and translucent…

[Read more…]

Here Also Be Dragons

St. George can fuck right off.  St. Patrick with him.  In this house we dig the subjects of herpetology, reptile and amphibian.  Sadly, in their season we can barely hear the frogs from our cul-de-sac, most of the time my boyfriend can’t hear them above his tinnitus.  Also, though I know garter snakes are common in the area, I haven’t seen any since we moved in a year ago.  Certainly, I never expected to see a lizard.  I haven’t seen one since I was last in Kansas, half a continent away.

Now, like Charly on the other side of the planet, I’ve seen a drab brown lizard in my yard.  People further south could surely not give a shit.  Even in this state, east of the mountains in the plains, they would not be impressed.  Floridians whose houses are low key infested with invasive wall-crawlers would tell me to take my happiness to hell.  But no, this is cool and special.

There is an invasive creeping wood sorrel of the purple-leaved variety growing from a crack in the sidewalk between ours and our neighbors’ doors, which are right next to each other.  My boyfriend was stepping out to check on the sunflowers he’s growing, when he noticed a movement in the sorrel.  As the surprised beasty moved, his mind ran through possible identities – slug? snake? – before realizing it was a lizard.  He called me outside in time to see it, though if I’d gone for a camera, I would have missed it.

We did not have an amazingly good look at it, but enough to be confident it was a brown lizard about seven inches in length (18 cm) with no obvious markings. Based on the area where we saw it, range maps, comparisons of different boring brown lizards, we are moderately sure it’s a northern alligator lizard, northwestern subspecies.  I don’t know shit about lizards and presumed, wrongly, that I’d never see one on this side of the state, at least not here in the very developed suburbs.

It eats crickets, and I’ve noticed the crickets are less noisy this year.  Lizard population increasing?  Or did I just see lizard on the move because insect decline got them being more bold in searching for prey?  They also eat slugs, and I hope they do.

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