Execution Nouveau

I walk into the gymnasium of the preschool where I teach.  It is packed to the brim with people of all races, colors, ages, creeds.  Everyone is picnicking happily, eating their lunches from paper plates, drinking lemonade and iced tea.  There is an air of contentment and relaxed anticipation.  I sit down with my plate next to a coworker and we chat while we eat.  We are sitting on the aisle near the front of the gym next to a long, empty table.

In the center of the room, a young man sits among his family, his preacher next to him.  He eats slowly, keeping his eyes to his plate. After a few minutes, the preacher, a large man wearing a purple mock turtleneck, stands up and takes the young man to the front of the gym.  The preacher starts to speak, and I don't really pay attention.  But I hear him say that it is time to begin.  The room goes quiet, and the lights go off leaving us in total darkness.  There is absolutely no noise and within a few seconds the lights come back up.

The young man is in a coffin standing against a wall with a small bleeding hole in his head, like he had been shot.  The people that fill the gymnasium quietly file forward to pay their final respects and the preacher talks about how he felt no pain.  He sets a basket on the empty table near me and says that if anyone would like to leave notes for him to take with him to the afterlife, the basket is waiting.  But don't bother to leave money, because it will be stolen.



These are the things that happen to me during sleep after I watch documentaries.

Lessons in Credit

When I was 19 (that's 1998, for those keeping track) I did what I thought was the responsible thing to do: I got a credit card.  $500 limit, good interest rate, every intention of using it for emergencies only.

The problem was, like most 19 year olds, I had a very loose definition of what an "emergency" was.  Like, new Tori Amos cds were NECESSARY as were new Doc Martens and Sonic cheddar bites on a Friday night.  

My credit card.  We had some good times.  And Bank of America was kind enough to automatically increase my credit limit anytime I got close to maxing it out.  Before I knew it, I could charge up to $8000!!  That's pretty cool for a kid, and I thought it meant that I was doing something right, because obviously they knew that I would be able to pay that much off in a short amount of time!

Things I charged on my credit card over the years:

My first wedding (yep, pretty much the whole thing)

A remote control tank

SO MANY GROCERIES

Gas when moving back from Portland

Part of my second wedding

Dinners out

Mud tires and a catalytic converter for a Jeep we sold 2 months later

All the random little things that were needed in my life that my $7 an hour job did not afford

Needless to say, I have learned a lot about credit over the years.  #1 being I am not cut out to have credit card.  I still have a loose definition of the word emergency.  And I really like stuff.  If shopping addiction can be genetically passed on, my father was kind enough to put that shit right in my DNA.  

Today, I can say that my first wedding is officially paid off.  Like most people in a lot of debt, it is a day that I never thought would get here. And by Christ, it feels good.  Not to belabor the point, but my FIRST wedding is paid off.  I have been divorced for TEN YEARS.  The only memento I had from that wedding was the debt.  

I think I will throw myself a party tonight.  And yes, I will pay cash.

2006 was a pretty good year

Neglect, Thy Name is Jessifers

So I started this little Wunderbloggen because I needed an outlet after a huge heartbreak.  Some of you may remember the first posts were all bad poetry and teen angst.  Virtually cutting myself for all to see.

Thankfully this has passed and my little journal of narcissism has evolved to diet journal and neighbor tattler and largely disused anecdotal platform.  Like a lot of people, I need struggle and strife to be truly creative.  When I'm happy I just like to bask in it and be.  Paint flowers and ponies (that look like misshapen cocks) and sunshine.

So what do I do with this little fella?  Keeping it around reminds me that I really have nothing interesting to say.  The neighbors are relatively meth-and-drama-free right now.  I have 2 great dogs, an amazing job, a fantastic roommate and a boy who makes me feel feelings, and is okay with it.  I quit Weight Watchers because I am perpetually broke and unmotivated.  The biggest problem I have right now is that my ex has a girlfriend that he likes more than he ever liked me.  Which makes my pride wince a bit.

Rough life, I know.  I will always be a teenage goth girl at heart, I suppose.

Maybe I just need to bring some drama into my life so that I can create more effectively.  Start a cat fight or hit a pedestrian or something.  But is it worth it?  I could go off my meds.  That's always good for the crazy brain juices.  But let's be frank here (Hi, Frank!)  If orgasms aren't worth going off the meds for, not much is going to be.

No, I guess I may have to be content with life being...content.  Find creativity through happiness.  Continue painting happy little zombies and enjoying the company that I keep.  What else is life about?

Heartbreak will come soon enough, I'm sure.

Who doesn't love ponies??

Have Another Breadstick, Fatty

Subtitle:  My plan to fat shame the world.


It has been a brief moment since I last whined on this thing.  Mainly because nothing has happened.

Seriously, nothing.

This has been the least eventful couple of months ever.  Oh, I did watch 3 seasons of Sons of Anarchy in less than a week.  That's...something, I suppose.

I have also completely gone off my diet.  I (no lie) had onion rings two times yesterday.  I CRAVE them.  I want them inside of me.  I might punch you in the face if you deny me my o-rings.  I would DEFINITELY smash your nose into your brain if you tried to come between me and an oreo shake.  Or fried cheese.  Mmmmmm, fried cheese.


Needless to say, it's becoming a problem.  So, I have employed my co-worker to start being mean to me when I eat too much.  People bitch so much about shaming the fatties, but really, if we don't know how disgusting we are, how will we ever learn to love ourselves?  Not for who we are, oh no.  But who we could, nay, SHOULD be.  When we stop eating delicious food.

My co-worker does not want to do this.  She has mentioned that she feels like an asshole.  So, I am going to make her scripts, dependent on the situation, to keep me from eating things I don't need.

"Really?  You really want another bread stick?  Are you SURE?"
"I'm not certain you're going to like the way you look after you eat that cheeseburger."
"Man, your pants are looking a little tight today.  Would you like me to order you a salad instead of that shake?"
"Jesus, fatty, see if you can shove something ELSE in your face whydontcha?"

This plan is fool proof.  She's super nice, so logically she would never say something about me that wasn't true.  And if I get past logic, I can say hey, she has a point.  I DON'T need cheese curds and french fries.  That WILL make my ass look fat.

Now for the BIG picture.

I implore all of you, friends, to do the over weight people in your life a favor and just start shaming the shit out of them.  Sure, the weak might use that as an excuse to eat more or...cut themselves.  But really, what's bad about one less chubber in the world?  Eventually we all really do need to learn that no one will TRULY love us until we stop trying to accept ourselves for who we are and become what others think we should be.

My Tummy Hurts

Sometimes, too much of a good thing can be...too much.

For example, I ordered pizza today.  Ate...quite a lot of it.  Then my roommate made sausage wontons, and I am incapable of finishing the ones she gave me, which is really really sad. 

No really.  I've been thinking.  I realize I bitch a lot.  About dumb things.  And use sentence fragments.  And start sentences with "and."  I really don't want to be that person.  So, what I WILL say is that someday, it would be nice to think someone is awesome and have them say hey, I think you're pretty awesome too. 

And that's the end of it. (In case you were curious, the first thing has nothing to do with the second thing.  No metaphors or anything, I just really ate a lot today.) 

I am now going to resume giving zero fucks. 

This is what I look like today.  With fewer pants.

Random

Do I miss you?  Yes, every day.

Do I think that you have spent one second thinking of or missing me?

Not even a bit.


We get what we pay for I suppose.

Quandry

At what point does a person differentiate between following their guts and feelings and doing what is best for themselves, and just letting go and realizing that EVERYONE is going to fuck them and there is nothing to be done about it?

I'm tired of trying to trust people. 

It's exhausting.