Heartballs and Sugarlooks.

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If I kept keel of this thing, you would know several (thousand) things.

Things like ; Such as:

Christmas being awesome for the first time in any of my ages. Almost like the holidays are evolving a conspiratous club to turn me around to enjoying them. Christmas cult. It could also have something to do with the fact that sharing your wintry merriment with a three year old is immensely gratifying, especially when she shares toddler wisdom with you, like about how Europe is a continent. Merry Christmas! Seriously, is was a toasty cheery blessing of a day, made even more fulfilling when preceded by a fabu christmas eve spent amongst friends and dogs and food and christmas plant.

And Ted Kort.
And Grizzly Bear skins.
And EEE-VAAA.
And 2 Buddies & a Gryph, A Buffy, & a Luke.
Phewwww-zaa

And today is the new year and that has some rad significance too. 'Spesh when today I got a brand sparkling new bikey (shcwinn, cruiser, jaguar) for Christmas from the padre-pops, some sparklingly rad shoes begoldfishened quite nicely, and my adjectives are beloved. Rad. Sparkling. Begoldfishened.
And I got some sexy new year's smooches.
and some sexy new year's cupcakes.
and some sexy new year's pot roast.

And, though Magpie is gone and much missed as of Christmas (I swear she waited), there is also the terribly exciting fact that we have a new baby rat and he is spectacular AND sparkling AND rad and his name is Frank Quitely. And he looks like Despareaux. And he takes naps with me. And I love him beyond all rat reasoning. And Gryph does not.

And come Monday I'll be navigating a new job with more of my flavor of progress, involving less contact with people and more solitude. And money. Also important. Must build a fund for moving. Must build a heaven on earth with christmas lights and comic books and a place to put my bikey where it won't be possibly bike-napped.

And Milk was amazing. And made my heart think and expand and I felt I had been a little Grinch-y before seeing a message in the mirror of a whistle.

And my lately has been wonderfully full of Georgia and Coleens, Parties and bonfires and beer and S'mores and the Disney channel. Lucky me.

And Lauren came to visit me and my fantastically besequined christmas shoes.

And my ears are loving and rubbing my thoughts all around in Of Montreal and Kanye West all the time, and they're warming to The Walkmen fairly well too. Nice.

I really have no stamina for the software installation of my life, but I do try.

It's really just so much simpler to go BABY RAT!:

Happy nude year <3

Okay, I'm 22 now.

Just listened to a really ripping version of 'Que Sera Sera' but it still did the modicum amount of good that it always does and set my head to thinking it should dropping the worrying gag. It's really getting old old old old old. Like hearing about Sarah Palin. She has nothing to do with anything anymore, so let us zamboni her back to Alaska so's we can forget about the pair together. Alaska and Palin, subsiding into the muck of my memory until it has the chance to be jogged by a glimpse of Tina Fey or a special on Grizzly Bears. Heh heh. I said 'Grizzly Bear'. Shiver. Winter is upon us.

So anyways. The Worrying. Could totally go away now, seeing as I have as close to zilch percent of worry in my life times as I've ever had. But maybe I've just discovered that I'm a Worrier. Which would really blow tender fricasseed amounts of cock. i just want to smile before I frown. Y'KNOW.

The love is my life and though it wears some turbulence it also bears it fairly well. And maybe that's all i was asking for. Something sturdy. But then the luckily part of it is that not only is it sturdy, but stimulating and revitalizing at it's peak performance. When I'm there, I'm frolicking on cloud nine-thousand.

The job thing has it's ups and downs. Of course, the largest downside is also the most glaring : no dogs. Instead I am mildly gratified with enough hours, cartoons, and the possibility of an actual position. Some nice people too. But so much orange anorexia!

Sunday we went and had a board-game party with Monica, Clint and a man named Noah(?). I got to meet henew apartment and snake, Morrison, and ignore the picture on the mantle and play a wicked confusing game named 'Puerto Rico'. Which I placed 2nd in...somehow. Maybe I just manage the colonists (slaves) and quarries and whore wharfs of Fuck Mountain and Weed Island fairly well. Don't tell me you can't see it?

HSM3 was AWESOME. But I'm a sucker for AMAZING MUSICALS ABOUT EARNEST DANCING TEENS. We rented/watched HSM2 with Monica Monday and it was brilliant. Baseball dance number. "I'm making a triple, not a curtain call!". And of course we made it a high school musical. I was overwhelmed. And of course in the middle of the movie OBAMA trundled Mccain's ass for the hopeful deviant direction of America! Hopeful. Damn yes.

Going to see Rachel getting Married tomorrow for Jackie-day. Excited about seeing Anne Hathaway being all supposed Oscar-worthy. We'll seeee. I did enjoy a special work-watching of The Princess Diaries the other day. Ha.

REALLY FLUFFING EXCITED ABOUT OF MONTREAL. Thank you bbTony for my birthday tickets. What a beautiful experience-gift of operatic charisma blitz. My description of 'Skeletal Lamping' thus far. And 16 days before my age-turn!

And we have Diesel. [evil grin]

Ah, for now I'll go Taaaaaaa. Getting distracted by the Internet.

Melody.

Obama!

Feelin some stringy proud feelins.

Until recently, I've never before hated a paycheck.

My lady condition is killing my mood, constantly. Muchos cramps, muchos crying, muchos usage of the term 'fatty' in reference to myself. Half-heartedly joking.

I like to run down the alley with my poofster dog.

Even more, I like to come home down my alley and have my poofster dog come running to me in excitement. Makes my day, most especially when my Grace in a Tree saunterfollows.

I love snowglobes. I love my Casper snowglobe.

I love Soul Calibur IV. WHERE CAN YOU BUY WEAPONS? We need the phlegathon.

Tonight my name is the Hard-Nippled Whore. Too crass? Don't ask.

Lots of bicycle time too. Get'n me places verily well, and my leg muscles are starting to look like buff cubes. Hm.

Read Too Cool at the coffee shop the past two nights and it was supah excellent. It made my thinking delve into the future, and delve further into thinking about the now, and ruminating on the then, and basically inspired a giant symposium of think-think-thinking about the levels of our lives, and the differing cognizance. Thanks, Too Cool. I needed some forward/backwards/side-ta-side introspection. And it's a good thing I don't smoke, anyways. Living out some of my levels a second time could really end up killing me.

My hair is soft at night.

11 hrs of work is too much work.

My bed is comfy comfy but I don't think I spend enough time with it.

My life might be more interesting if I had a gravity gun.
And some money.

Big ol' regal goat balls.

G'
night.

Whoa vortex. A slow one, comparable to one of those big dull-but-shiny giant industrial mixers, making bitter unsweetened caramel.

That's what life has conspired to commence as lately. And in a very neutral balanced way, nothing to tip the scales in the water, or lift them closer to the sunshine. About swinging and swaying even, I'd say, but not an equality you could bespeak of day-by-day. HEY. I bet this births logical to NOBODY BUT ME. And that, my friends, could sum things up just about as well.

At Spiderhouse, the night setting.

With muh man.
and my bb gryph.

And some comics to look forward to delving into and a big empty sketchy paperbook to draw my environs if my wandering mind so inclines.

And this fine internet machine. Pat pat.

Tonight, the presidential debate didn't tell us anything new. Just bears a vague dissension at the thought that yes, even though the smart and stupid sides of things are PAINFULLY clear, things could still, STILL get fucked. And I can hold in my head the thought that Obamanos brings the power and choice of an Idea, and McCan't glowers and trundles around this world touting experience without results. Tout tout tout. Hoist the American flag, howdies!

M.I.A. is brill. Makes my blood course and grind. Awesome. And MORE!

ACL is laughable this year, I wish Sunset Rubdown hadn't descended on this stupid weekend because downtown is off limits with so much general suspicion on the debauches of drunks. POOP. Next time, pinky-promise, the mending of the gown.

B-b-b-but Of Montreal! (Big obscene fistpump for the new song I hear the other Sunday) will be succulent.

Too distracted for this now. The Joker poker set is sweet looking. It sucks working for shit money.

But I got this cute growing hair and two outstanding geeks to sleep with me at night, and that forms my armor, my chain mail against misery. A poofy dog and a comic book store guy. I'll take it, and love it.

Ta.

Sadie, my precious crazy Clem. I miss you with a harsh emptiness. The way I used to turn in the yard and see you rushing at me like an oncoming train of loving chaos. You were a gale force wind, the only kind that could plaster a smile on my face like the abrupt appearance of wild weather. I knew you loved me big, the way you enjoyed it all, crashing into people and practicing the standing jump. So happy to be around me that you would give me purposeful Rudy-like hugs. And the way you would behaved and listen to me, waveringly stop your fight roars and trouble-nature. and your big fast leaps and turns and twist, you were made for play, and showing others who was BOSS. You, that's who.

Chiefee, I think about you ALL the time. And I mean constant. The magilla gorilla styling of your big blunt body, and your majestic emotional face. I wish I had my employee picture still, with us both acting the fool. With your adorable fang poking out of your adorable crumpled slimy lip wrinkle. And how you were a kiss free zone, but you welcomed them upon your great caricatured mug. The bristly expanse of your face is something I will always cherish and love, even if you don't really live here anymore. And your deep goofy wisdom, hiding inside your eyes like glinting marbles recently stilled. And your great heft sitting on my welcoming lap. Your fascination with moving fingers and everything out-of-sight. Very good Chiefee. Very good.

Ursa, Bear. I know who probably misses you more than me, but it doesn't matter. You were my girl. You had my back, and you always knew how to steal a heart in the time it took to start a romp or bend into a play bow. Probably the most beautiful, equine rott I will ever know. Such a healthy gait, you never moved too fast, never too slow unless in a misbehavin' dawdle. And then you always chose to trot. I greatly miss our duels. I greatly miss tousling with you full force, chasing you pell mell around the yards, shoving you and getting a fulfilling side-shove in return, a good ol' chomp on my arm. I even miss your slobber, gee. And the way you would collapse and demand attention with ever fiber of your lazing form. Rolling belly up for the love you knew we were all completely willing to give you, at all times, even in the midst of busy shifts. Can't resist your black and tan beauty, not never.

Bodhi boy. Muppet monster man. Since you were a fuzzy puppy ball of WEIRDOSITY, you were awesome. Even with balls. Even with your slight attitude problem, just like a real hippo. So soft, with tiny sharpei feet and that massive thick-lipped face, those parrot eyes. Always dancing glances, trying to manage a smile through the thickness of your face. It was hard, wasn't it, trying to express yourself through the haze of your breeding. I got it. I understood. With each feathery wag of your tiny tail, I understood your woven loyalty. Keeping roaring, hippo. Good onya.

Hammer, you will always kind of terrify me, and never cease to amaze me with your infinite tenacity towards a jollyball, or bucket, or tidycat box, or water bucket, or kiddie pool. May you meet as many toys as possible in the course of your trotting lifetime.

Maya. It's been even longer since I've seen you. Precious red card, with that big daring smile, so confident in your own dominance. You gave heft love, it was meted with respect, and you will always have to same from me, beautiful orange and white warrior queen. I hope if your family gets a new 'kita, you don't decide to make it disappear with the force of your opinions on other dogs.

PJ, you are maybe the most ridiculously awesome puggle that exists on this earth. I hope you keep lifting the spirits of dog and peep alike. I hope you keep howling like a woooolf, and teaching the world to smile with your eyes and live like a champion.

Sophie Decrane. I very rarely consider a dog perfect in every surrounding it encounters, but I will always bet on you being that dog. You are a grade above the rest. You play hard, you play soft, you correct, and sometimes you let it slide with the pups. You are safe and loving and your warm brown eyes calm dog and person alike. You receive belly rubs well, and thank you for always remembering where your crate is, and having the piece of mind to jump inside it yourself.

Eh.
I miss the work I feel I was made for.

I'm doing okay without it, another job even.
Just have these messages goin' crazy like sick bats in my head cave. Wishing I could have these last words for real, but the despair would be too actual, so at least I can have my final sad say this way. I'm not depressed, per say, but sometimes (lots) I feel as if things didn't go the way they should.

But maybe this is a stepping stone as well as a slap in the face. Well, not slap. But not a friendly touch.

I don't know.

College students aren't as awesome as dogs, I guess that can settle as the gist of my message.

It's ruff. HA.

(ending on a good note, because I DID have a good day today)
(I was bought a shirt with manatees driving a boat!)

As I travel further and further into my life, I can usually recognize my detriments pretty easily, and will readily admit them at the friction-y snap of a forefinger and thumb. I mean, it's ME, and they are the situational/emotional equivalents of a blaring neon sign spelling 'PROBLEMS'. So, I don't ignore them, but sadly my realization of their existence doesn't quite fix them, and because of them...well, sometimes I go through a lot of shit because of those 'PROBLEMS'.

Usually, my situational grief is overwhelming. I wear it like a heavy piss-soaked overcoat, and it shows.

Now, I'm going through some of the shittiest most random acts of crud against my soul's wellbeing, and I'm standing strong. This means something wonderful. This means change has actually come into town, and stayed around to do some good. Thanks, change. Once I get a job, I will totally buy you a shot.

And with that leaden bomb of a peek into the shit that has rained, comes the stream-of-consciousness listing.

I don't work for the dogs anymore. Management changes, and my own blindness to myself have caused this, and it's probably the most devastating thing of this nature that has ever hurricaned over me. My heart was slapped awake and somewhat blindsided, but I know the decision wasn't completely unjust, and that makes it sting even worse, knowing my causation was the key to the utmost depression that sinks into my mind every morning when I squeeze open my eyes to let the day begin. I have failed myself again. More unjust, I feel like I failed the dogs, even though I know the opposite is true. I miss them so much. I miss them more than I would miss my fingers if they went away. It just aches. And I miss the people, also, even though I also feel completely alienated and displaced from those relationships, somewhat. It makes me very sad, and I miss those good souls, but I afraid of being judged for reaching out, so I will hug my solitude a little tighter until I can cope easier.

Also, I am still healing/cripple. Aircast ahoy. Shitty shitty shitty shitty walking boot. Shitty that my legs don't work the same way. Shitty upcoming physical therapy, and SHITTY not being able to do work interviews for fear that possible employers will automatically reject a seeming cripple with sad eyes.

The good part? My life. My life that can't fire me, and wouldn't for the world. My life that now involves the biggest daily doses of love and intellectual beauty I could have ever dreamed to exist. My life that involves my darling Matt Fraction look-a-like, and his darling Marigold princess that holds my fingers while we walk to the bookstore and cracks jokes like a little blonde Billy Crystal. My Matt Fraction's madre, who thinks I look like Miss America and asks me how much I paid for my nose. And who will gab about celebrity babies with me til the sun sets deep. Who I can tell cares about me already, and not simply for my potential or my association, but for me. A wonderful thing to be aware of.

One downside that just cannot be upsided is today being Lauren's departure into CalforniaLeeLand. I did get to see her Monday, which indeed warmed my cockles. I wuld not have abided without glimpsing the gal before the leaving happened. And I am so glad-beyond-glad that I got to spend some goodbye time. With burritos and side-house-hangs and Sasha and cooking mama. I <3 you Lauren, g'luck in the boyfriend heartlands. We will always have our sexy chatting.

Also was privy to a sneaking preview of the youngling star wars movie, which was one of the most enjoyable movie spendings I've had in awhile. Almost purely for the experience and not the cinematic focus, because of course this declaration does not discount The Dark Knight. I'm still hanging that in my mind's research laBORAtory, finishing the autopsy on what I think and why I think it. I do require and IMAX viewing. Damn 9:15pm. Damn poor. ANYways, : a new hope was pretty fucking awesome to see-ah. Jabba's uncle, cloying sexual undertones, and stunning saber techniques enhanced by the afternoon high-light. Puff. Roger-Roger.

The Olympics has been particularly awesome also. Go athleticism, I will never have ye'.

Today is such an expanse. Thank you Boy Sky Guy, for calming my jittering nerves and not throttling me for the key cluelessness. Thank you, Nic, for being authoritative and stepping in to throw the bombs. Suck my inner depths of convivial anger, infleastation! You take what Nic and I (mostly Nic) can throw at you! You take it, and you die. Por favor.

Anyways. More hours of eye-reviving and sweaty Spiderhouse remains. Type type type avoid fainting, hate boot, order drink, regret the poor pockets, wait for your Bear and night to whisk you away, let the beauty begin. And find out when you can watch American Mall. Cause you haven't really changed all that much, no matter how much less you own.

Melody.

Life is very fulfilling when I've got my mind in the mix. Supervised by the emote, of course. Makes for a freshly fantastic expanse of hours, seconds, oh hell, minutes too. Good ol' minutes. Good kisses can be had in minutes. And hours. And days, lifetimes. How optimistic and frosted cheerios I sound, almost unrecognizable I would be to myself.

Pineapple Express last night, after waxing smokey in the Quily Shop courtyard for a good hour. Too much waxing smokey, once enmeshed in the teeming line of grass lovers, overwhelmance took place. I wasn't calm until there was ice cream in my face, especially after the debacle of trying to unfog brains to choose a line. Oh, funny movie. Santiago and Dunbar.

Zoe named one of her dolls Marigold yesterday. After naming it Granola. She's got the brilliance in her. When I was a child, older than miss Blue even, I named everything after the food my tiny belly found yummy, or my favorite cartoon people. Marigold. Such a baby must have a very hospitable brain for thoughts to emerge from. It must be full of nourishing neurons that go snap!-crackle!-pop! until glistening intelligence is formed in the space between a fireworks lightsplash and the resultant crisp kaboom.

Princess Zoe Blue Marigold Cookie, I believe. I have good feelings.

Gryph has a best friend, also. His whole world is expanding with social feelings, I am thankful for Buddy Jackson and his sensitive pug eyes. We de-energized him so much yesterday that he fell asleep licking his puppy balls. I have video. Life is awesome.

Also spent a week cooped away from work, busy being cripple. Thanks, Black-necked Screamer. You didn't have to do me that way, Boo. I bought you an expensive bike lock. Go to hell, and avoid hipster potholes on the way there.

Crutches suck dick.
Aircast sucks dick.
I?
Ha.

It's a good life lately. The best I ever had.

The Dark Knight was impressive in the way that leaves your eyes steaming, left an impression on me. Branded my mind, for damn sure.

It comes with the monsoon change of the tides in a life I hold the reins to.

Life is getting better, with a fresher start than ever, and I pave it in more solitude than you would ever believe or imagine. But that's what makes it work.

(this poster gives me chills, shivers, and little guilty chaotic chuckles)

More on Batman later than later, I'm sure. After I see it on fuckin' IMAX!

Power was out at work today. So suck. Hot dogs!
-Being in a dark kennel full of the steamy sound of 30+ dogs in synchronized panting is creeeepy.

Melody.

if for once it didn't spark an ounce or pound of prejudice
if for always it didn't collapse after rising up so big and burling
if for once I couldn't find the spit or season, and only the reason

if the reason didn't sheath and twist my sight like an easy method. A train puzzle.

if for always I could powder spice without overpowering sugar
if sugar came naturally, if my heart beat naturally, if anything but pain and power came naturally

and it feels natural, it feels pure and plain and complex and complete
until we look up - wild weather
until we look down - crippled feet
until we look at our naked selves - the only function

i find difficulty when attempting flight in this box
i exert, extend, beat the sides and top and bottom, and escape fails me
this puzzle is in all ways too complex, all but for the solutions
i see them, laying prostrate and inviting, nubile tarot, as women and boys hiding under innocence, hiding under fortune

and in five years, in ten, eleven, at the end, when my eyes are strained and useless from staring backwards, without a blink, i will trace the lines on my hand and turn them into rivulets of inner ocean and wish my touch could wander backwards too.

I would trace the lines in your hand, smooth the lines on your face, still your heart with my speech, and make it race with my bite, caress your living senses with my gentle teeth, consume your taste with my tunnel

all of these things are bigger than promises, stronger than fate or difference
none of which matters, none of which helps, none of which we know for sure until we exhale more than a million times in one minute, with our companion, Panic

I have experienced love and pain and realization and they are all brethren from the same womb, from mine, from Mother's

when I am overcome by sinking dirty sleep they will subside with my soul - love and pain and realization, and hell will snarl at the incoming purity, swaddled in the pages of the sinner's bible, a pearl inside a festering wound made of words and foolish emphasis

and thusly i will end

A lot of times nowadays (could be estimated in the gajillions) I just wish I was a simpler creature. I wish I had a smaller sense of duty, a more predictable, attainable sense of peace and wellbeing. Very little does the Melody in me sense peace, and wellbeing packed up and left me a serrated mess almost a year ago.

Like the dugong above, I want to be simple - floating floating floating. Floating close to the surface, skin soaking sun but never dry, sinking lower lower lower, but it's natural to sink a little. As long as you surface, right? To breathe. This sinking I've got in me, it's not natural. And I can't come up for air. People can tell me so, and I'll appreciate the sagely wellwish of every sentence, but my misery is a mutated emotion, an evolved feeling that is a mainstay and is resolute. Impossible to rid.

I just think before I sleep. Mostly it keeps me from sleep. I think that I wish my veins didn't hurt from how fast my pulse races. I think that I wish I could stop looking over my shoulder, back to the brightness behind me. It's an ambiguous bright - sometimes feels like I'm retreating into nuanced woods, and looking back towards a deadly fire, eyes glistening from the lessening crackle and fuss from flame, and tears. Other times I feel like I'm trudging into a slimy place and looking back at a home I once held, with light and cozy mothering warmth, an alley with no hope for street lamp or daylight. A place to crumple down and collect disease. This lookback is so frequent, in my mind and in the true reality, that my shoulder is a constant cramp, a constant bone grinding into my spine.

When I dream well, I dream of floating. In something as calming as water shot with summery niceness. In something with less than I need here in this real place. I need less. I need to want less. I need to accustom to wanting less and having less and being responsible for more. My heart is having trouble. My heart is retarded at this. My heart refuses, actually. To announce myself with complete truth, my heart spins and sings for only one experience, and thusly my heart is stone still and quiet. My brain is the opposite, quick to shout and shriek, to judge, to hurt, to race with sloppy thoughts and to speed unhealthily with thoughts borne of acute precision. An uncouth pair living in my head and in my chest. They fight as a rule. They never sleep together, one is always wide awake with defiant pain, keeping the other from rest.

There is so much complication. There is so much anxiety. There is so much depressing relief. I can't really explain, and any attempt is discouraged by painful reaction to thought.

I just keep eyeing the suspended dugong, sizing up it's simple life, and wishing it were me. A liberated life, free to roam the sea in a carefree float with no attention spent on direction or location or loss or gain or me or you. Just a wish I have.

It's still my life, even if I don't like it,
don't want to look at it,
feel it,
smell it,
all of it is mine anyways.

Which would be a good ol' damn-ass grand thing to ponder as a dearth wealth of teeming bacterial possibility if I wasn't me and could settle for one room with the contents of one Melody and one giant echoing ghost. did you see how I said 'bacterial possibility'? that's because I'm pissed off about it. If you couldn't tell by the smoldering beast hiding under these words and wearing a concert tee reading 'Seething Resentment '08'. That's my new fake favorite band, by the way.

So. Salient details?

I have been through beyond hell, and I'm not back yet. I suspend myself in cooking lava and constant chopping blocks, but it's just something I have to do. I have lost Anthony, he has lost me, and I have lost myself. More important than that, we forcibly and causibly lost the pretty and pure essence of what we had, which was probably my most treasured treasure, but isn't that just life for you. Happiness isn't a permanent thing, it's just an emotion created to set you up for some spicy devastating loss. And it isn't meant for animals, nature knows.

So I have my own apartment, and I have my own loneliness, and I have my own issues and with me I carry lots of tiny substitutes and gracious feelings towards those that make sure my heart keeps beating, out of the corners of their eyes. It's my sustenance. That and the coy look that enters Gryph's eyes when I put his new dog shirt on. He likes the garb.

I saw a therapist person today. She was nice and listened to a lot, and I could tell she was an age's worth smarter and more cognizant of being than the crisis counselor I talked to the other night. She said I'm grieving, which I could've told her, and I'll meet with her again next week to hopefully have a more productive conversation about my psyche as most of today's hour was spent with me trying to build some semblance of a context so she could maybe possibly understand how complicated everything is.

I miss Anthony, and I miss me, but i still have a lot.

I just need to flesh it out, paint the shadows in and find a light source that can't hurt me or be taken away by my fear's realization. I hope I can bear with myself to accomplish it, and I hope I'll have breathing lungs and clear eyes to stand by me while it happens. (Marlee, that means you need to PERSEVERE over that URI - maybe stop smoking again? Haha.)

Anyways. Til more, whenever that be.

Melody.

Joaquin Phoenix is to die for in To Die For. That whole movie and all affiliates are pretty to die for also.

Even though Gryph Fandango got FOUND OUT, we've continued to keep him, hang out with him, tease him mercilessly, and love him as equally mercilessly and I don't know if this is okay or of further detriment to my stability when I eventually do have to deliver him back to the backyard of our childhoods. Just typing this made me cry. I think I have my answer.

Juan and Diana got a new puppy. He is Luke Cage. He is adorable. Gryph hates him. He is fun, and loud.

Work has been over-the-top everything lately. Over-the-top drama, stress, spring break general population is bursting at the seams and when we lay down to sleep the other night I mused to Anthony that it was kind of sad that I was really appreciative that I didn't have to listen to incessant barking at home.

Home is dirty and small and frustrating but I love going there and relaxing and watching TV and loving my dog and my boyfriend and having sex and eating foods and going to sleep after lots of whee-weed and sex.

I wish I had friends the way that I wanted them and the way I used to sort of have them. I miss my friends.

I am an overweight awkward mess. I am back to my childhood. It stupefies me that somebody loves this (me).

I had a terrible period of period and cut off all the hair I was trying to grow. It looked terrible. Then I cut it some more and it looked alright. I really liked it shorty-short-like for a couple of days but now I hate it again because I'm not thin and cute and I need longer hair to balance out the uncomfortable volume of me.

Sometimes I think I need a lot of help, but I really just need the juxta and hupsta to do things myself. To want to do things myself. To complete to start to finish....to learn about the process and apply it to everything secretly until being productive comes naturally. Yeah right.

My hands go numb and hurt all the time.

Life has been really hard. Thus the absence. Not for lack of things to say, but for lack of desire to think about them, breathe them into crooked fucked-up existence. I still have that lack. I will probably never face these things in this internet. Which is fine.

Sometimes my mind is so so tremulous and unsustained by healthy thoughts I don't know how I get by (see above).

I always remember how I get by and I always remember how much I love him to the ends of the earth but it's so complicated and condescending in my brain.

Zoe is amazing. She is small and pretty and emanates life and smart and happy and funny. I am so grateful that she is here to lift Anthony from some of the darker loomings. I know he is too, and I'm glad we can share this feeling.

My phone broke and it almost killed me. I am too attached to such a tiny square of chips and circuitry, even though I never call or conversate.

Anthony's birthday was a really good day and I worked really hard on a trifecta-tower-birthday-card (TM Melody) and birthday pictures of me looking passably nice against walls and such because rent had just happened and I didn't have funding for a real gift. It made me happy because last year I felt like shit for months because I was a shitty girlfriend and didn't birthdaygift until months later when Halo3 came out.

XBOX live is pretty effing cool.

The Orange Box is pretty effing cool 2x.

I really wonder who I am and if I will become anything else. I know I used to be something else before I grew all the way up, and I knew I hated that person even more than I frown upon the person inside me now and what I'm really at is will I ever be likable/liked by the most critical judgmental person I know? (me)

I sigh a lot. Sometimes it relieves, mostly it warrants more sighs.

Once the only time I smiled from waking through working was when Anthony sent me a text message that said 'I think you are beautiful without eye makeup'. I like text messages. This once was very recently.

It was the same day I got schnauzer poop all over my face and hair.

It was yesterday.

Try not to hate christmas as much as is my standard, I hope every one and all of you has a joyous holiday day.

(if you are the type of folk to dress your dog as a slutty harem girl - go learn how to be normal. immediately.)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM ME AND A TINY HORDE OF HILARIOUSLY COSTUMED DOGS.

BIZARRRRRR-O.

Seriously, I just watched it 3 times with small degrees of jaw droppage. So incredible and fucking WEIRD!

Feel free to navigate the different portions of my internet ass-stamps and hand-prints above...it's clickety-clackable! (i.e. all thems boxes is links)

F(riends)-Only kids! Comment, I'll check your specs (I'll speculate you, if you will), and BAM! Addination!
Hehe. Addination.

-Moontasticmel :)

Last night, we had to intention of going to see Pirates of the Caribbean : At World's End, and we certainly did, but we smoked behind the theater beforehand, and ended up doing the most outrageously stupid thing --- let me set this situation up for you:

So, we walk into the theater. The movie started at 10:30, and it's about 10:40ish, so we hurry into one of the theater's 3 pirate showings. We sit down, and settle in. We have no idea what's happening in the movie, because it had already started, but we're getting into it, we dig it. Twenty-odd minutes later, after a really disjointed scene, the credits start to roll. We have no idea what happened, and go crazy with 'WTF-ing' and 'OMG-ing'.

Turns out, of course, that we are tards.
We walked into the wrong movie theater,
stoned off our rockers, and watched
the very end of the fucking movie.

Now, we're not simpletons when it comes to movies. If we hadn't been high as fluffy clouds,
I'm sure this situation would have infuriated us. Instead, we laughed like crazy and ran over
to the right theater and tried to make sense of things. We weren't really able to, but let me tell you: Watching Pirates 03 when you're smoke-inebriated, even ass-backwards, is fucking awesome. Hilarious. Triptastic. Piratey. (Duh)

Also, I like to call it 'The movie where Jack gets existential':

'And talks to goats':

(  Where I talk with spoiling words  )

Melody out ('Animal Collective' post tomorrow or soon, when I can post the pictures! For now it will suffice to say that that show is in my TOP 5 list of shows. What a pleasure it was!)