Joyride

I had the wonderful luck while driving home today to end up behind one of those weirdos that try to tell you their life stories via bumper magnets on the back of their cars. What goes wrong in the brains of these people that results in this particular brand of dysfunction? Do you think it find its genesis in early childhood trauma or is it a genetic thing? I don't think science is advanced enough to find the answers. Yet. Either way, I had to sit behind her at a light and was therefore forced to get to know all about her and her pathetic life, and it kills me, too, because this was her diabolical plan all along. She wins. She also has a personalized license plate that reads "Momee Go". The knowledge that this license plate exists is like a virus infecting my soul. And now I know so much about this lady, this lady who I've only ever seen her mini-van and the back of her stupid head. And now I will tell you... because if I have to know, then you have to know. She's a christian, she vacations at Bethany Beach Delaware, her kid goes to The Quaker School, she owns a great dane, she loves somebody with Asperger's, her daughter takes gymnastics, and her personal child rearing philosophy is this: "Children don't care what you know, they...." I couldn't read the rest because I had snow and iceballs accumulating at the bottom of my windshield. Plus I wasn't about to get in a car accident by trying to finagle my position to see the whole statement. Which brings me to my next point.

Shouldn't there be a law against some of this? Where do we draw the line between "cutesy" and "road hazard"? It's one thing to put one magnet on your car to promote some issue or cause that you're passionate about. But this level of advertisment is clearly pathological and potentially dangerous when you consider how much time I spent looking at the back of her car and NOT looking at the road activity around me. Don't do you dare even think about blaming me. Don't you fucking dare. I'm the victim here.

Here's another disturbing "car trend" that almost got me killed. The first time I saw one, it was on this truck. I had noticed there were some kind of letter appliques on the back window. I saw a first name and then some dates underneath and it hit me: That's a memorial of sorts. I had to see the name and dates. I figured the person being memorialized must be a pretty big deal. I was morbidly curious enough to try to move into the lane next to me to see it. I don't know what happened to me but I was like hypnotized. I had to SEE it. And the deceased person being memorialized was just some random lady who was like 60 or something. Sad and all, but I didn't even know her. I almost got in an accident for THAT. I know, I'm an idiot. But it's like reading the obituaries. I don't know why I do it because I usually don't know anyone who dies. But sometimes I'll recognize a mean lunch lady or a crotchety elderly neighbor in them, so it's worth it to be able to call someone and say, "Remember Mrs. Richie? Yeah, well the bitch is dead. You heard it from me first."

I guess I'm just baffled by this phenomen of people turning their rear car window into what is basically a tombstone. Why do they do it? Why do I read it? They win.

I refuse to put anything on my car. Not even a pink breast cancer ribbon, even though I have every right to do that, all things considered. I just don't see the point of it. I think everyone that matters already knows that breast cancer is a shitty disease. And if someone doesn't know that, then I doubt a pink ribbon on the back of my car is going to change that. Seriously, the people who know what a pink ribbon symbolizes already know about breast cancer. And people who don't know a damn thing about breast cancer probably don't know what a pink ribbon even means. So I'm pretty much just preaching to the choir. Or maybe if I were to put that breast cancer magnet on my car I'm telling everyone to feel sorry for me because my sister died of breast cancer. I'd rather just have a magnet that says that. At least it's honest.

What's also distracting and downright depressing are those makeshift roadside memorials. On the Bristol ramp to 95 a little 4 year old girl named Jasta was killed by a drunk driver about 7 or 8 years ago. It really is a sad story. So now they have a giant picture of this cute, smiling little girl who's, you know, DEAD now. And every time I drive by it I have a little bit of a panic attack. And sadly, somebody keeps putting plastic flowers and stuffed animals underneath it like it's a shrine, only its actually the side of a HIGHWAY. What ends up happening is the flowers get all bent and mangled looking from the wind and rain and the teddy bears get splashed with mud by the giant wheels of tractor trailers driving by. What kind of tribute is that? Poor Jasta.

You want to hear something else I hate? When people put those stupid baseballs on their car windshields. You know the ones...the ones that look like someone threw them through the window and cracked it? It's really a sticker with half a fake baseball protuding from the side. What the fuck is the point of that? First of all nobody thinks it's real. And if anyone does think it's real, their next thought is probably "Why does this asshole drive around with a baseball stuck in the windshield?" I don't know. Is it supposed to be funny? Who's laughing? In my opinion, it's worse than when people used to stick those stupid scared Garfield dolls in their windows. But at least Garfield appealed to the children. Or better yet, terrified them.

Last but not least, let's not forget the ever-precious "Baby on Board". Although the use of this disgusting sign peaked in the 80's and mercifully seemed to fade by the 90's, I've had a few recent sightings of it. This is alarming. I don't know if I can go on living if people start hanging this shit in their cars again. I guess what annoys me about it the most is that the sign implies that people get in car accidents on purpose. Like "I was going to ram my car into the side of you at that intersection but since I see you have a baby on board I won't". It also implies that the driver and particularly the passengers of the car are more important than the drivers and passengers in other cars. But isn't every human life precious cargo? Why is the fact that you're driving around a baby supposed to change how I feel about you and your damn car? I'll be careful no matter who is in the vehicle, because your stupid baby isn't any more important than somebody's 80 year old grandmother.

After the Baby on Board phenomenom, a whole host of other similar signs started appearing. The one I remember is "Bitch on Board". See, that's actually good to know. Seeing that sign, I would be less inclined to pass this driver aggressively. Or I might be more inclined to do that just to piss her off. A sign like that is basically an invitation to fuck with somebody.

Honestly, I try to drive carefully and respectully because I value the lives of others and sometimes my own. And I really do believe that if people stopped putting their memoirs on their vehicles there might be fewer accidents on our nation's roadways. If they really want to talk about themselves and their pathetic lives and opinions in a confessional, self indulgent way to an indifferent audience, they should just write a blog. That's what I do.

I'm A Good Person

I’m a Good Person
I am. I know you don't believe me because half of the shit I write about is basically complaining about everything in the entire world and how much I hate all of the people in it. But yesterday I realized that I have the capacity to be nice even to ugly, old people with dried paint all over their dried, cracked hands.

I was at the ATM in Wawa, which is where I always go to get money because they have no fee and I refuse to pay $3 to get my own damn money. Like why do the banks charge so much when they don't even have to do anything? It's an automated machine, and yes I know they have to refill it now and again, but its just ridiculous and I'm so cheap that I will actually walk away from an ATM if it charges more than $1.50 to dispense cash. Actually, it's not that I'm cheap. I'm principled.

So anyway, I finish at the ATM and this old, mangy looking man comes up to me. At first I thought he was going to stab me or cough on me or do some other foul deed, because he looked like the type. But he's like "Can you do me a favor? I have a splinter in my hand and I can't get it out." So I stood there in the middle of Wawa trying to get the splinter out of this guy's finger. It was really creepy and gross. At first I tried to do it without touching his flesh in any way. Like I had my ring finger and thumb like a pincer or a lobster claw and was trying to tweeze it out. But it then became apparent that if I were to get out of this horrible situation ever then I would have to TOUCH his hand. There was dried paint all over it. Like drips of paint as if he were painting a house a year ago and never bothered to wash his hands afterwards. So I had to hold his hand steady while I targeted the splinter and had my face all close to it and finally got it out. He wasn't even that grateful. I don't know what I expected. Maybe the whole store to be secretly watching like on TV when people get engaged and think no one is watching and then all these people break out in to applause. Yeah, I was expecting all the Wawa customers to start clapping and telling me that I was a hero and then maybe a priest to tell me that I never have to do another good deed for the rest of my life now because I just paid for my ticket to heaven. But the opposite of that happened. The guy just mumbled, "Thanks" and then went and bought a pack of cigarettes.

I guess its good to do nice things once in a while. I should do them to make up for a lot of the not good thoughts that populate my mind most of the time. For instance, the other night I was watching this show on like TLC or something about a girl who has sirenomelia, which is a genetic condition that causes a person's legs to be fused together at birth. Also, this is called Mermaid Syndrome. Anyway, this sweet little girl is a mermaid who can barely swim. Her dad and mom kept saying, "She has such a positive attitude. She's so happy despite her condition." And then her dad says "Well if she can be happy the way she is, then anybody can." And I started thinking, "You know what? I'd be pretty damn happy too if I had somebody cater to my every whim, buy me shit all the time, tell me how wonderful I was, all the while never having to worry about cleaning, paying bills, going to work, or walking around." This chick doesn't even have to walk, her dad just carts her around and she tells him "take me in the jewelry store, I want a new necklace" and then he does it. What a fucking life.

Yes, I'm terrible. But hear me out. The doctors wanted her to get her legs separated, but she said "No. This is the way I am and I want to stay this way." See, she doesn't want to walk. I don't blame her. She's only 8, but she fucking knows how awesome her life is right now. Her dad annoys me to no end. Like, who are you to say that anybody can be happy if your kid can be happy as a spoiled mermaid? What about somebody with a gun pointed at his head? What about a person who just lost her life savings at the track? What about a child starving in a crack den? What about me?

So anyway, you can think I'm going straight to a fiery hell for all I care. That's what I think. And if you ever have to take a splinter out of the body of a gross stranger in a Wawa then go ahead and judge me. But until you know how it feels to know that there isn't enough antiseptic solution in the world to make your hands clean again, leave me alone. Love!!!!!

Shut the Hell Up, French Guy

I read this article and, honestly, it sort of made me sick: "Suddenly it may be cool to be an American again". (I'll post the link to my page if you're a masochist and want to read the entire thing). The gist of it is this: Now that Obama's been elected president, Europeans et al have decided to stop treating individual Americans like shit. How very generous of them. The writer of the article describes the following incidents:

Last spring, after the Bush administration recognized Kosovo's independence, a Serb who overheard my American-accented English lobbed a beer can at me in central Vienna. He missed, but spat out an unflattering "Amerikanac" and told me where to go.

On another occasion, an Austrian who heard my teenage daughter chatting with a friend pursued her, screaming, "Go Home!"

The Hell? This behavior is seriously fucked up. Even if you admit to the fact that the American government is imperfect, and that some heinous acts have been committed by individuals under the direction of that government, why take it out on a teenage girl, who has zero voice when it comes to the election of that government?

I had my own experience with anti American sentiment when I went to Mexico in March 2003. Obviously, there was an unpopular war just getting underway at that time. I was having fun spending my American dollars, money that everyone was very eager to receive. When I was approached by a deaf boy selling pencils on the streets of Cancun, I agreed to buy one but only had a couple of dollars cash. The boy got angry because he expected the "rich American" to give him more for his cheap ass pencils. So he drew his finger across his throat and said "Death to Americans". Creepy. And also very eye opening for a 26 year old woman on her first trip out of the country. I never realized how much we were hated.

And yet, everyone I know is honest, hardworking, big hearted. And they are all Americans. From what I can tell, Americans are always among the countries offering aid to those in need. Aid that no country experiencing crisis has ever refused. I can't imagine anyone ever telling an American ready to assist with money or manpower to "Go Home". Many people around the globe clamor to emigrate to this country, to either attend our schools, escape persecution, or pursue their own happiness, otherwise known as "The American Dream". And how many Americans have given their lives on foreign soil to preserve the freedoms of men and women who they have never even met? The waters on Omaha Beach were colored red by the blood of servicemen on June 6, 1944. Why is all the good that American does or has ever done discounted or forgotten?

The writer of the article stated that at times he felt the need to lie about his nationality, to deny being American, in order to avoid a nasty confrontation. I find it extremely sad that anyone should have to feel shame about who they are or where they come from. I, for one, am tired of feeling like I am somehow innately selfish or ignorant because I am American. But I guess now that Obama's president elect, I don't have to feel that way anymore. Obama's the saint that saved America...from what I don't know.

The writer ends the article this way:

I'm a marathon runner, and I have a red, white and blue singlet that I've seldom dared to wear on the Continent. Marathons are difficult enough without enduring catcalls and jeers from spectators.

But my best friend and training partner — who is French — just gave me his stamp of approval.

"Will you wear your Stars and Stripes shirt now? You're allowed!" he told me.

Thank you so much Mr. Douchebag Frenchman for giving this man permission to express his national pride. Yes, pride in a country who sacrificed so many young men's lives to rescue France from the clutches of Nazi Germany. But I guess this French man has the benefit of living in a perfect country, under a perfect government, where every citizen is completely enlightened, and only does good and angelic deeds (except, of course, for the occasional jeering at American marathon runners)

So it seems overnight, the international opinion of Americans and their government has taken a complete Uturn. Well, if there is any truth to this article, then my opinion of the rest of the world has taken a pretty sharp turn too. Guess what, rest of the world? I don't need your fucking permission to feel good about myself or my country. I voted for Obama, and I hope he does everything he promised to do. But HE HASN'T EVEN TAKEN OFFICE YET and people are already acting like he is the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. I guess my point is, why did it take the election of Obama for the world to start seeing that America is not a land of demons? Why was it okay for someone to throw a beer can at someone last Spring just for being an American, and all of a sudden this:

"She was a stranger, and she kissed me. Just for being an American.It happened on the bus on my way to work Wednesday morning, a few hours after compatriots clamoring for change swept Barack Obama to his historic victory. I was on the phone, and the 20-something Austrian woman seated in front of me overheard me speaking English.Without a word, she turned, pecked me on the cheek and stepped off at the next stop."

I can't wrap my brain around this. Hopefully, this article isn't representative of what is really happening around the globe. I know that you can't believe everything you read. But it disturbed me, nonetheless, and I just had to share the feelings it stirred up in me with all of you. I'm damn proud of being an American. And now the guy that threw the beer can, the Austrian who screamed at a teenager on the street, and most of all the arrogant French asshole who is conceited enough to believe we need his fucking blessing to wear our national colors with pride, are all on my shit list. They all suck beyond words and yet somehow they believe they are better than the Americans they crap all over. They better not ever step foot on this soil. Because, as Eminem says "When I fucking see you dog, I'm swinging on you". That is all.

Tot the Vote

A few days ago, Liv and I were watching TV and an Obama campaign ad was running on-screen. She turned to me and said, "I like Bawack Obama, mommy. I like his face." When even a toddler has an opinion about the political candidates, you know that the candidates have really done their job and done it well. In my opinion, toddlers and children are a disenfranchised group in our society and I for one am not going to remain silent about it any longer. Olivia has as much a right to vote as anyone, especially when you consider the fact that a lot of adults vote or don't vote for a particular candidate based on wrong information, physical appearance, or just political affiliation.

Personally, I try to plow through all the information out there - from canvassers, magazine articles, news shows, debates. But at the end of the day, its all so overwhelming. Who do you trust? Who's telling the truth? Who's manipulating truth? What really is the best plan for the trajectory of this country? I'll be the first to admit, I'm a political simpleton. I've always been more interested in historical political climates, rather than current ones. So take what I'm about to say for what it's worth in light of that.

I've been bursting with rage lately about one particular issue. Here it is: I can not tell you how many people I've talked to or read about who have said they would not vote for Barack Obama based on the following reasons:
1. His middle name is Hussein and therefore he must be a terrorist.
2. His father was a Muslim, and therefore he is a Muslim, so he must be a terrorist.
3. I got an email that said Barack Obama was a terrorist, so he must be a terrorist.

Honestly, when I hear these things come out of people's mouths it really does fill me with the incendiary rage of a million suns that my daughter, who is 3 years old, cannot cast her vote come election day. Because in her itty bitty toddler head, there has to exist more sense and reason than in the adult minds whose two brain cells gave birth to such irrational ideas.

To address the first issue: Guess what? My middle name is Alison. And Stanley Allison Baker shot Wayne Walters in the back of the head for $50. (He's also ugly and ate a disgustingly gluttonous last meal, but that's a whole other story). So in applying the theory that Obama is a terrorist loving Muslim because of his middle name, then I must be a gluttonous, ugly, murderer. Seriously, that whole way of thinking is THAT stupid and THAT fucked up.

Second issue: Let's just assume for a second that Barack Obama's father was a Muslim. And for fun, let's also assume that Barack Obama is, himself, a practicing Muslim. So. Fucking. What? There are millions of hard-working, good hearted, peace-loving people who practice this religion in this country and throughout the globe. To paint an entire religious group with one brush based on the acts of a small proportion of that group is the height of ignorance, in my humble opinion. To say that all Muslims are terrorists is like saying that all Christians are polygamists and pedophiles because a small CHRISTIAN group called the FLDS thinks that marrying 14 year olds to grown men is A-Okay.

3rd issue - I got an email about 40 times that told me that my deodorant was giving me cancer. At the time, I thought: I'd rather get cancer than smell like body odor. And it looks like I made the right choice, too, because I smell good and I don't have cancer yet. I also got an email that told me if I didn't pass on some shitty chain letter to 10 people that I was going to die within 7 days. I deleted it and guess what? I'm still alive. The Gap was supposed to send me a $20 gift certificate for forwarding an email, and I'm i(red) because I think I was decei(ved). The point here is: Just because somebody wrote an email saying "Please pass this On, It's of urgent national security" or some other bullshit intended to make you feel like a fucking super spy, it doesn't mean that it's true. People send lots of horrible things via email, like viruses and fluffy, dancing kitty cats telling you how much you are loved. And if people don't stop believing all that shit, I'm going to go all "Stanley Allison Baker" on their asses. Because I have to. Because Alison is my middle name, you all.

I don't have a political agenda here. I really don't. I don't have the answers to anything. I honestly don't give a rat's ass who you or anyone is voting for. I do respect all opinions, so long as they are based on truth and logic and if a person has a credible reason for holding them. I mean if someone said to me, "I won't vote for Obama because I don't believe he has the ability to fix our economy", I can totally get that.

I'm voting for Obama, personally, but it really pissed me off when I heard that Madonna put up some video at her concert comparing McCain to Adolf Hitler. To me, that was an abuse of her celebrity status. But someone concluding that McCain is just like Hitler because of seeing that would be the same as believing Obama is a terrorist because of a damn email. The smears go both ways in this campaign.

I think my daughter is smart and I really respect her instincts. Her opinion is obviously not the only reason I'm casting my vote in Obama's direction, but I have to admit it makes me feel happy to know that she likes his face. I say let's start the toddler suffrage movement! Tot the Vote in 2012!

Suicide is Painless

I've been thinking a lot lately about morbid things. And also about things that I hate. It's been a while since I've written anything for you all to suffer through. Mostly because I've been having difficulty putting my thoughts into any cohesive order, but also because most of what I think is none of anybody's damn business. Oh, but I kid. I really do believe thoughts are meant to be shared, no matter how random or scary or bizarre. We live in a fucked up universe full of fucked up people. Doesn't it help to feel less alone in all that fucked-up-ness?

You want to know what I hate right now? I want to say this right, because its important to me, but I'm not sure I can really put into words exactly what it is and why I am so annoyed. You know the montage of images that are always shown in the beginning of television shows? Along with the theme song there is this onslaught of smiling faces of all the characters. Smiling face. Smiling face. Smiling face. Oooh sad face followed by a hug. Smiling face. Silly antic. Smiling face. After a while, I get nauseous. This is the beginning of the process. Eventually my nausea gives way to an overwhelming desire to destroy things. And the final stage is a complete loss of all will to live.

The worst opening montage of all is for The Hills. Especially the one snippet where you see models getting dressed for a fashion show and THEIR BONES ARE STICKING OUT all over the place and I guess I'm supposed to feel all inspired by these Halloween skeletons to "feel the rain on my skin" when honestly I think that would be pretty painful when you have no fatty tissue whatsoever to cushion the fall of said raindrops. La La La - No one else can do it for you, only you can let it in. You know what else no one can do for you? Eat food. And also stop dating that asshat Justin Bobby guy with the weird hats and even weirder tics. Jesus Christ. Okay, we all had one of them, I guess. And they are young. And I was just as stupid about Keith as any of them are about all their jerks. But it doesn't stop me from wanting to wring their scrawny little necks when they whine about how bad they're being treated whilst chewing tiny bites of food. It would be okay with me if they just fucking admitted that they liked being treated like shit. The one that really grates is Heidi with her one billion tons of make up and her emotionally abusive fiance and her extraterrestrial ability to morph into an entirely different person within the span of a single year. She looks like a mannequin. I hate her guts.

And theme music in general is downright insidious (the dictionary so perfectly defines this word as harmful but enticing). I haven't seen Family Ties in about 20 years but that Sha La La La at the end of it's theme song still works it's way into my mind eating valuable brain cells like a tape worm at regular intervals. And Full House. God. Full House. "What ever happend to predictability?" What ever happened to song lyrics that made sense and didn't make we want to invent a time machine, go back to the dawn of man's cultural awareness, and murder the neanderthal who liked the sound of two sticks tapping together before he could go share it with the rest of the clan? Honestly, there is some music that makes me wish there was never music. But there are some theme songs that I absolutely adore. Silver Spoons. Here we are, face to face, a couple of silver spooons... Love it. So I bought Tina a CD one year for Christmas that had a bunch of TV theme songs on it. One of the songs was called "Suicide is Painless" and I thought what kind of fucked up show was that the theme song of? Turns out its that doo doo doooo doo doo doo song from MASH. That show definitely makes me want to commit suicide if I ever see it for a few minutes by accident, with that frizzy haired lady and Hawkeye trying to be funny around makeshift operating room tables. Compared to watching that show, suicide IS painless. But I think it really depends on the suicide.

Yeah, I know. Totally heavy subject. Here's the thing. I saw this episode of Dr. Phil called "The Bridge" and it was about this guy who did a documentary where he taped footage of people jumping off the Golden Gate bridge. It is seriously one of the creepiest things. You'll be happy to know (I'm assuming) that I could never jump off of a bridge. I don't know why anyone would pick that as the way to go. Like, hey moron, how about an overdose of opiates so you can go out feeling momentary, albeit artificial, pleasure? Yeah, your life sucks but does that mean you have to end it in such a craptastic way? But I guess you can't be thinking too straight if you're offing yourself anyway.

So then I start thinking about the note: that final note that most people write to explain or apologize to the loved ones left behind. What does one say? I think I would die of old age before I could ever decide what my final words would be. I would seriously obsess about the grammar, the content, the eloquence. I would spend so much time on that damn note that I would probably end up forgetting why I wanted to commit suicide in the first place. I wonder if anybody ever just wrote "You should have treated me better". Heh. There was this couple on the show whose daughter committed suicide after they got in a fight and her mom said "You should start being more grateful. Because with all the money we're going to be spending on your college tuition, me and your father could be taking a trip around the world every year". And then they grounded her. And then she jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. I think she over-reacted just a tad. But I really wonder what her note said. Maybe she wrote: "Mom and Dad, Have fun on your trip around the world! Love, Megan" That would have been awesome. I mean the whole thing is a fucking tragedy. I feel super sad for all involved, but I can also be a little objective about it because I don't know these folks. The moral of this little story is, if you're going to go all bat-shit crazy and kill yourself at least try and find a way to be cool about it.

So now is the serious portion, where I have to go all PC and say "Suicide - Don't Do It" ala Heathers. Seriously, you all. There is nothing cool about slit wrists, OD's, or nooses. But sometimes when I hear about things so terrible, I have to find a way to laugh about it. Otherwise, I would start crying and just never stop. You'd find me in a fetal position in a dark room working on my "Note" by way of candlelight. So let me laugh about suicide, and crappy theme songs, and don't go all after-school special on me. Okey dokey?

Necies Pieces

Did you ever meet a character? I mean not in the stupid "He's a character" way, but in the way that makes you think you are actually in a sitcom right now conversing with the wacky foil and there's a laugh track playing in all the stupid glory of the moment? There's a woman who works in the office next door. Denise is her name. She drives a blue SUV with a vanity license plate that reads: NECIES. She's always baking things that don't really taste good. One time she gave me a piece of banana bread and I ended up wrapping it in a napkin and putting it in my purse because I was afraid to leave it in the trash where she might see it and then get her feelings all hurt and whatnot. And then I forgot about it and it ended up drying out and and I had all these disgusting crumbs and little pieces of walnut at the bottom of my purse mingled with the buttons, coins, safety pins, candy wrappers that had been gathering in there for many months. It made me want to throw up a little bit.

And she talks. A lot. "So many non sequiturs, so little time" seems to be her standard operating procedure on any given day. If I so much as say "Good morning" to her, or "God Bless You" when she sneezes, she's standing at the door of my office telling me about how she went shoe shopping at Value City and bought a pair of sneakers for $5.99. And right after that she yammers on about her boyfriend's terrible car accident, complete with head trauma that left him on disability. I know. I KNOW. That's a sad story. But now they're engaged and getting married! And no doubt having the tackiest wedding since this one:

Do we all know this type of person or is it just me? Does anybody else know someone who seems to exist only to fascinate and annoy you in a million different ways? It's like how I felt about teachers in elementary school: like they didn't exist outside of that context. I know on a rational level that Denise is a real, alive type of person with complex feelings and hopes and dreams and all that shit. But there is a part of me that can't accept that she has a soul.

What stuns me is the fact that I am weirdly drawn to her. I engage her in conversation. I tell her that her food tastes great. I even told her to bring in her photo album from her first wedding where she made head pieces for all her bridemaids out of tulle and glue and fake pearls. I want to see it. It's like this THING. I need to see that photo album and experience the monstrosity in all its plastic floral centerpiece splendor. Maybe I'm more of a masochist than I thought. I mean I know that I have the capacity to inflict pain on myself in a lot of intense and strange ways, but this is beyond that. And now I'm thinking about Saturday Night Live. Remember the skits about Pat? Well maybe Denise is Pat.

You know the truth is that she seems like a really nice lady. So I don't mean to sound like a bitch, even though I kind of am. I'm just starting to think about my own damn self, and what I look like to the people around me. What character am I playing in this fucked up universe? I see that 90210 "what character are you" app floating around, so I know that I'm not the only person who wonders about this type of thing. Maybe I don't really want to know the answer to that question. It's just all too meta, I guess. Like if I knew what insignificant stupid role I really played in this world I'd collapse into myself and turn into this black hole, or be like two mirrors falling on one another into infinity.