french

toast

raw man poodles

Relationships? I suck at them. Sometimes I want to admit defeat. Wrap me up in tin foil and stick a meat thermometer in me... I'm still raw.

I took a percocet last night, just for the hell of it.
The hives are back, full force, making me want to claw out of my own skin.
The turkey is in the oven, and the house smells like pumpkin pie... but strangely, I don't feel like it's Thanksgiving at all.

I think I'm still a little doped up on the percocet. I never thought that I would feel this way, but it's sort of good to be on percocet on Thanksgiving morning.

is that an ampersand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

::Thursday::

I saw a gentleman this morning on the platform of the PATH train in Jersey City that looked like Luke Snell. I saw him for a mere moment before the train lurched forward and he was gone - just as quickly as he appeared. I was hoping for a second glance, but no such luck, none indeed.

I took the train this morning because the Foci is in the shop. It's been making some interesting sounds the past few days... well, no, interesting is how you describe a light rattle or a faint bumping every now and again. This sound was far more obtrusive. It rumbled, growled, groaned and moaned with the best of them (not quite sure who the best is - perhaps Joan Rivers? Her daughter Melissa?). So to the shop it went this morning and on the train I traveled to Jersey City. Immediately, I closed myself off from the world (not sure if this is blissful or sad - perhaps a mix of both. I have very mixed emotions about separating myself from my surroundings with something as simple as a set of headphones). So there I was, plugged into the iPod - yes, I broke down and got one. And let me tell you: contrary to televised media depiction, plugging into the iPod made me feel neither "hipper" nor "cooler". Be advised - and I was completely engrossed in my music. The glorious part of the iPod is that it takes life's soundtrack just one step further (or several steps, depending on how far you're going).
Everything is set to music.
Music is set to everything.
I made eye contact, and he smiled. I nodded my head as if to say: "Yes. I know. It's great, isn't it?"
I felt like I was on the same wavelength as this guy here, headphones fixed over the lobes, just like me. My head nodded rhythmically until he looked away and I realized that there was a grand possibility we were not on the same wavelength. In fact, it occurred to me that we might be on completely opposite wavelengths. I'm listening to Devil's Haircut. He's probably listening to... I dunno, Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir.
I'm delusional with these damned headphones plugged in; absolutely delusional.

::Saturday::

Have I slept lately? I don't think so. Instead, I've spent my time sipping Chablis and pumping iron. Snuggled down, but no sleep to speak of - just heavy covers and barely-awake whispers. Striped socks and rumpled trousers that should have been changed into pajamas long ago... it's a good kind of not sleeping though. It's a resolving kind of not sleeping. I covet sleep sometimes. I don't drive home late at night anymore - it's one of the most critical factors keeping me alive these days.

Marketing thought: stuffed John Natelli dolls to give out at future Swiss Auto Club shows. Cute, cuddly, featuring arms that jut out this way and that - gripping plastic drum sticks, fuzzy hair... we could include a miniature bottle of hair gel as a bonus... just a thought.

::Sunday::

Happy birthday Mike.
The new office is massive. It stretches from California to Siberia (observe: my personal office is in Siberia. The entrance to the building is in California. Bliss, bliss, bliss). Gregory's office will probably be lost in Scandinavia somewhere... we're still trying to map out that bit.

::Right now::

I'm at the office late tonight and have absolutely, positively no business writing in the ol' blog. I'm pressed though. I'm going to be here for about 4 more hours at least. I needed a breather. I feel like this entire entry doesn't make much sense. Admittedly, I'm suffering a love/hate relationship with the entire entry right this minute. Ignore me... I'm feeling faint.

tramp(oline)

Three is a pattern - is this why it is also (presumably) the perfect number? Three's company, which is pretty lucky for any blind mice that happen to be wandering around out there. Three Kings purchased matching blankets for three pigs, sealing their fate as party platter favorites. Three tradesmen (of meat and bread and candle wax, naturally) took an adventure to the three corners of the Bermuda Triangle and were tragically lost at sea. Their three wives (along with my three sons) were lucky enough to collect $3 million from a hollywood studio to bring their story to the public with the power of an epic blockbuster trilogy...
Three dots come together to form an elipses, pausing a thought, an instant "To be continued..."

To Be continued...

pour more beers!

I love the smell of dryer sheets after they've already been through the dryer cycle. I wonder if they smell like fresh laundry or if fresh laundry smells like them. At that point in time, I get the strong feeling that it all sort of meshes together into a new smell, one all its own.

The Foci took me down to the District this past weekend for an impromptu dinner visit with the GWU kids. They love me. They really love me. Amazingly so, considering the President's recent re-election (not that I had much to do with it beyond putting an unwanted sign in someone's yard and getting to the polls on election day). It's amazing how well we get on though. The group of them, all 15 of them, are the most politically liberal and passionate people I know. Alejandra and I are most definitely conservative and politically active both. But just five days after the absolute antithesis of their political existence is elected back into office, we are able to get together for a friendly dinner.

It is based on this that I can justly say: it is the roast chicken that brings us together. It is the sauteed cauliflower with curry and brandied carrots that bond our souls. It is the cranberry almond cous cous with orange blossom butter that springs the well of love in our hearts for one another. All that, and approximately 18 bottles of wine.
We all ate and laughed for hours. We drank like it was nobody's business. Two o'clock in the morning interrupted us and the room reeked of passion fruit candles, marijuana, and satiated appetites. We lounged and smoked and vowed to change the world. I assured Looney that he is the only liberal politician I would ever dream of working for. I wore my favorite blazer and smelled of vanilla. Life is good.

I sit here now in my office, talk radio blaring in the background. Alice, one of our Jersey City volunteers, is methodically stuffing envelopes. Her hair is a shade only carried by Clairol and her shirt nearly matches. Under these glorious fluorescent lights, she's all but glowing with mustard splendor. Alejandra's loft seems a million miles away - absolute eons ago.

I miss the District. I've been told the District misses me as well.

***

Gregory is in Honduras. Hrrmmmmm...
I miss him. I didn't think a week would be a big deal at all. Well, it's not, really. Well... I sort of miss him anyway. Damn. I can't even fully admit that I miss him. I suck.

***

So I got a little ray of sunshine last week. It was welcomed, and enjoyed even - although my heart was really with Huck and his bees.

Figure that one out if you care.

cap'n crunching paint by numbers

I must confess, I feel just a mite cheated.
Cheated out of at least one good, solid week of nail biting, heart pounding, nerve racking, edge-of-my seat action.

I'm disappointed.
My respect for Kerry is torn. I find his lack of action on the re-count front to be quite honorable. We've all been through a lot and I'm sure that thoughts of "Florida Re-Count Part Two: The Ohio Chronicles" didn't really have anyone experiencing a "two thumbs up!" or "Great holiday fun!" type sentiment.
That being said, I'm sort of disappointed with the lack of fire in his belly. Why not a re-count? Why not surety? Why not $4.8 million dollars in excessive legal fees?

My favorite numbers all night? Washington, DC - where Senator Kerry won 90% to 9% against the President.
I was sitting at the bar last night when those numbers caught the eyes of two drifters.
"Wow! Bush only got 9% in the District of Columbia..." (He pronounced it slowly - he had no idea that the District of Columbia meant Washington, DC, our nation's capital).
I had to remind him that there were only about 380 votes cast in Washington, DC. He scratched his head and looked away, sipping his bombay and tonic, which he paid far too much for.

The forecast is calling for rocks through windows here at Schundler headquarters in Jersey City. I'm not about to take my Bush/Cheney signs down though.

percocet

Current Mood: Apothecarian

At some point in time, I stole my parents' heart. I swept them off their feet. I won them over completely and 100àAt least... well, this is what I'd care to believe. Whether it is the truth or not, I have no idea.



My father was in a car accident when I was four. He spent the following 4 months in the hospital. 3 of those months, he was in traction. I was supposed to be in the car with him. They told him I would have died, seeing as how none of the seatbelts in the vehicle were functioning. This was taken a year later - you can still see the scar on his leg from one of his 6 surgeries following the accident. I was supposed to be there and it gripped his heart that I was not. He quit his high-paying job to spend more time with his family.



My mother's heart broke to pieces when my father was injured and in the hospital. My parents were not only in the middle of some severe marital problems, but they were also in the process of completely renovating the house. Mom had just had her fifth child and was at the end of the proverbial rope. I didn't know what stand-up comedy was, but I made it up real quick and on the spot. She laughed at most of my jokes and skits and this gave me the most minute sense of sanity. I missed my dad. And the babysitter that my mom used to leave me with while she was visiting my father in the hospital smelled of elderberries. I hated her.

I don't suppose my father ever expected to be broadsided on his way into work
one winter morning. I don't see that he would have expected for my nursery school schedule to have been changed just days before and for me to not be in the car with him. I don't imagine that my mother expected him not to come home that night. I don't bet that she expected to spend every afternoon at the hospital for the next 4 months. I don't think that either one of them expected the backlash they received from the five of us kids.

Expectations are funny things. I don't ever think I have it all together. So I won't sit here and say, "every time I think I have it all together..." That's just absurd. I know that I'm a mess. I know that I never have anything together. I know that I'm in serious need of strong organizations skills.

However,there is the occasional curveball. It's thrown, and only occasionally swung at. Evern less occasionally made contact with. And scarcely ever hit out of the ballpark. But there is that cureveball. And whatever expectations I did have go flying out the window like a stream of smoke from a cigarette, coiling slyly, this way and that. Although I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, some part of me must secretly think that I do. Because when these people or circumstances come floating about, they really do throw me for a loop, and it's insane. And it's crazy.

I wasn't expecting Gregory. I wasn't expecting him at all. He came out of nowhere and saved my day, so to speak. I wasn't expecting for someone to force me out of my miserable self-pity. I was expecting to wallow in it for quite some time; get nice and dirty. Get saturated, as it were.

Instead, I was made to laugh. I was made to forget. I was made to be a girl-friend, so to speak: something I've never been before, but was willing to try.

I wasn't expecting a revelation. I wasn't expecting a conversation. I wasn't expecting to be honest. I wasn't expecting to get past all the things that had seemingly hurt me so badly. I really wasn't expecting to feel sorry for the way that things turned out.
But I got one.
I was.
I did.
I am.

I'm sorry, but at the same time I am not. And I mean that in the kindest, least offensive way possible.

I saw a bumpersticker in Jersey City not five days ago that said: "Kerry for President... because he's not BUSH!" I grew sad thinking of people voting against Bush instead of for Kerry. It just didn't seem steeped in any sort of sound principle at all. That, and I felt sad for Kerry - a person whom many people don't particularly care for but see as a means to an end. I'm proud to say that I've completely put all of my political expectations aside. I've
cast them out from me. I live in New Jersey. I am a conservative Republican. I have no political expectations except for the occasional cynical one. Sad? Probably.

Swiss Auto Club rocked my world once again. I find myself paying closer attention. I find myself knowing every riff and every bass drum beat. I find myself wanting to leave politics forever and work with a rock and roll band... I never expected to get this involved in politics anyhow.

At some point or another, I stole my parents' heart. They stole mine as well, so I suppose it's all good and fair. I respect them more than any other human beings on the planet. They call me at least 6 times a day and it's annoying as hell. But, I figure if my parents love me, this is the least of my worries. I wasn't expecting them to care so darn much about me, but apparently they do.