That's right bitches

(you know if you're my reader that I love you -- you're only my bitch cuz you're my reader - who else are my bitches, you see?)

Anyway, that's right bitches-- sometimes I get strung out over guys when I have drunken sex with them and they don't call in a timely way! Oh judge me -- oh call me obsessive -- I am obsessive. Oh call me absurd -- fuck you too!

But anyway, I still haven't finished my actual sentence: That's right bitches sometimes when I get strung out over a guy it goes so far that I can't stop thinking about it and crying on the subway and obsessing all over the place and then I even call an ex who broke up with me and demand comforting. Do they resent it? MAaaaaaybe... Can it possibly matter? Don't you understand yet that nothing matters at all?

I'm going to blog for about four hours this morning -- should be epic. I am working front desk reception today. This guy was from work by the way. Because I'm nothing if not careful with my delicate emotional balance. So I have to work the front desk and hope he's not too obnoxious when he arrives, leaves for lunch, goes on assorted other outings? Do you know how hard it is to guard your power as a woman who likes sex and attaches intimacy to sex? Very effing hard. Do you know how hard it is to guard your power in business? You need an MBA. And a sharp and probably linear way of thinking. I'm actually not slightly concerned with the second one --- Crazy as I am, some things are just not my area in a way that is so blindingly obvious, I can't even worry about it in the midst of worrying about everything under the sun except them - them is the one thing - them is being linear enough to go get an MBA or something- I need to stop admiring it though. Which you'd think would be easy but, well, there's always room for surprises if they are bad.

Speaking of bitches, Eff Gwazdor - incommunicado. I really wanted him to look at that video of him and me that Maddie made -- I've done everything but call on the telephone so that is my next line of inquiry I guess. But I miss him lots. I think he is really immersed in his work. I am very jealous because I am really immersed in crazy... anyway though... everything will be alright. Singing Suite Judy Blue eyes has been helpful so far this morning. As is typing like a maniac. Thank God for the blog - said it before and say it again.

This is how Eff and I became friends:

I was in tenth grade. Eff was a junior. I had always known him, because we both went to TollGate Grammar. Do you think it's at all worth nothing that our elementary school was named "TollGate" as in a Toll Gate? Well, I do. Is that a proper name for a school? Is that inspiration? Do you know what a Toll Gate is? It's where you pay a Toll? Should the only metaphorical association of a Grammar School's name be paying? I could be really wry and "if the shoe fits..." Too easily is my point. Shouldn't someone have cared that it's such an easy negative to draw?

Anyway, I knew Eff already because we both went to Toll Gate and it was small. The popular kids -- were they popular? What was that? I will call them "the kids easily elected to student council becasue lameness loves more lameness" always made him treasurer. And his campaign was always really cool -- there were posters for it and they were always intricate and wonderful.

My mind's off on a track about those student council kids from his grade. Dreads? A band? A band called, what?, "Tophie and the Sea Monster." - ? - "Tophie and the Spaghetti?" "Tophie and the Moon?" That Tophie kid was cute no lie --- I was busy thinking I was a classical singer in high school. I was never friends with those student council kids or their fringe element friends with (totally conventional) jam bands. I never really knew Tophie but he had that skin that's softer than mine by a factor of 5 and tans brownly. I consider that a superior race to mine - those male soft browns with the sinewy calves and upper arms. (the girls like this are bitches -all - just kidding :) ) Do you think he's married now? What kind of girl? Sort of peaceful and awesome? What do they talk about? I bet they go on great vacations. I bet they camp and I bet she sleeps late. I should have made a better go at the suburbs and the Greatful Dead. I shouldn't have romatacized and become this crazy thing I am.

Anyway, both Eff and I took the bus to school. The first day of school, at the end of the day, they announced, I don't know, MAYBE, your bus number, and showed some diagram, MAYBE, of where your bus would be now on the bus-parking-circle that joined the high school to Timberlane Junior School (reasonably named-- or at least not named TollOnYourLife- which actually that one maybe should have been named - woof, Timberlane! I didn't have real breasts yet and that was not fun.). But in all truth I don't believe there was ever a diagram at all. I'd remember that. And there wasn't one. I think actually it was more like: on the first day, all the classes were five minutes shorter so that there was addtional time for a second homeroom when all your classes were through. And at this homeroom, poor little Ms Klima tried to give information such as where your bus was, by reading off bus numbers in the order that they were parked on the circle. But only a really linear person would have sat and known their bus number for one and understood what the order of the numbers as read by ms Klima had to do with where the bus was for two. There's probably two kids like that, with the program like that, in every homeroom. Besides those two, it was pandemoniom, of course, and everyone in the whole school running out to their lockers, and the bell already rung and quick quick quick to the busses or you'll miss them.

My locker was about five lockers from Eff's. Or four. And I knew we were on the same bus. So I asked him if he knew which was our bus and he very frankly agreed that it was impossible to know! And he asked what I thought we should do. And I said "We should stand at the end of the road as they're all leaving..." (they had to leave one at a time around the circle) "and look for people we recognize from our bus, and when we see that, flag down the bus, yell, and jump and stuff." And Eff said it was the best idea he had ever heard.

Eff knows I'm in love with that story. It really is how we became friends. I don't know if there's any point in examining why you love a story or a thing-that-happened. And in the state I'm in, have been in, it might make me start crying (fyi: I don't think ANYONE at work so far realizes how close I am to crying. If you have problems at work get a blog I tell you --- total saving grace) But I love it a lot. I think it might have something to do with well, you know. I guess I think it stands alone and I can't explain it. He thought it was the best idea ever. We did it and it worked.

love love love.... more blogging soon... i want my fingers not to cease typing today.