A Gilmore Recap

The way things have been happening lately, there's a metaphor everywhere I look. A truck full of Christmas trees following along the curve of the road leading up to a dingy u-turn in a shady neighborhood that somehow swam with soap bubbles. Church bells in late afternoon traffic on a normal Tuesday. Dogs that get up on two legs to hug you with no intention of humping your leg or stealing your food in the middle of a horrible fight. Ending up at a Korean restaurant after escaping the clutches of a wrongfully empowered Korean cook. Borrowing a frenemy's pair of socks after running out of clean ones. Getting free credit for reporting an entire department of customer service agent smiths. Meeting an actual Asian who fulfills the prophecy of listening to Beethoven every night. Getting Chinese takeout on the first night after moving for the second time in the same month. Breaking my anti-bug-murder policy with a small Auschwitz.

Hell, my blog is snowing, and no one can see it because it's white. A metaphor to cap the metaphors!

Where do I begin?

Let's try this; I'm getting a cat. A temporary cat; I cut a deal with a friend to take in her stray if she let me give it back in a month. I'm allergic and can't see past my nose financially. In my defense, having a cat while being allergic to cats makes sense in the bigger scale of things. After all, I am an asthmatic who smokes and can't really live with the idea of accidentally killing a dog.

That didn't work, let's try again.

Cable guys are NOT sexy, porn lies just as much as fairytales. Neither are electricians, carpenters, plumbers or construction workers. They're all sweaty, hairy, blood-sucking assholes that deserve to die at the stake of their own PVC pipes.

The engine revved up a little there, but we still can't get the good old baby to write about this. Let's try again.

I missed my own birthday again this year. It flitted by me while I was coiled up in a strange bug-infested bed halfway across town with my feet jammed through the arms of my lavender jumper for warmth. I also missed Christmas again this year, I was hosting an irresponsible C-level asshole and his harem as my friends watched awkwardly in their designated corners. No turkeys were harmed in the process.

Funk is hard to get out. Scrubbing a fridge will teach you that your skin can peel off faster than the funk will. My grazed knuckles are proof that violence is not always violent. A month ago, I was scared of the dark. Today, I walked happily through a dark corridor carrying twice my weight like a brave dung beetle because relativity applies in life just as much as it does in particle physics.

It's the 29th of December at 5 in the morning, and I have three homes, three doors to legally go through and three keys to prove it. It's been such an incredibly weird month. December, oh sweet December; you've always been an oddball.

Doors are very important, locked doors even more so. Going through said doors is equally important, especially with a mug of coffee and your fuzzy pajama pants in the early morning chill to prove something to yourself and get used to all the damn silence and all the damn birds. Where I live - one of the places anyway - the birds chirp so much you'd think they're on speed. But that's not what's pissing me off. What's pissing me off is that I'm at the home that has the 420 songbird, and the bitch didn't chirp today. Here's another metaphor for you, go figure, go fish, go fuck yourself.

Funk. It's really hard to get out; even with all the love and all the lasagna that comes with it. I got three keys in multiples of five and I'm really bad at Maths. I used to be better at it when I was young, but things don't always happen to you in the right order.

I need to buy milk and call my ISP for some lung practice.

Santa was wrong; Christmas can be bought. As a matter of fact, not only can Christmas be bought, it can also fit in a sedan with room to spare for an elf hostage or two if you're into that sort of thing. Here's another myth-buster for you; you CAN have enough Christmas lights, especially if you can't afford the juice to feed them. Adults should not be allowed to celebrate Christmas. Christmas is for people that are too young to know what an electricity bill is, or how to count. I'd happily lose a tooth if it means I can see Christmas lights in blue, red and green again. The spectrum is blinding me.

Funk is hard to get out of, but maybe not impossible. I have one functional TV channel and no internet to access my Netflix, but I choose to see this as a metaphor. Metaphors are nice; they teach you things, but they can also fool you. There's a whole bible of them somewhere that confused people into ax-wielding murderers for the better part of a millennium. You must never underestimate the power of a metaphor, but you'd die if you did anything but.

I need to slow down. I'll get some sleep and try again tomorrow. It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life; here them sing!

The Jam

The problem with 60s-70s music was that when I was listening to it, it was because my parents were listening to it, so naturally, snotty teenage me was like lol they're so old what is that they're listening to?

So now when I listen to it almost exclusively, because they are now my main jam, it's very ironic.

The thing is with music from that time is that they're so fucking silly. Even when they're iconic, if you listen closely, it's just an innocent national anthem of their boyhoods, and their singers became relics of the time; even when they were snotty teenagers.

Which also gets me thinking; 50s women really knows where it's at.

50s women knew where it's at, 60s women thought they just found out where it's at, 70s women were like oh where is where and what is at it.

But we're here like

You know?


Life has been very fucking creative lately. Talking about burning itches, I thought that growing up as a gymnast would make it easier but it somehow made it worse because now I have to hear my spine crack to know if the old cog is still juicing it up. People don't understand how painful it is to sit still when you've grown up as an athlete. I really need to get back into sports. A sport.

I love bird memes, they're so weird. I also love birds, they have such a basic instinct it makes sense why they're so angry all the time. If you know how to deal with a parrot, you know where it's at.

They are just angry chickens.

My room is so girly now it freaks me out sometimes. I grew up as a pig, I don't know how I became this organized. Now I depend on the order of things, because I can navigate them. But it doesn't really matter because I appreciate the strawberry scents of all the goddamn products. Now, it sometimes feels that when I walk into my room, I'm walking into my personal bubble, and then that bubble became a world and spread into life itself. Growing up is a bitch.

Birds are amazing because they are the evolution of our native organism, so they still have all the goddamn instinct. It's basic biology, the literary way.

I'm sorry, I'll stop posting bird pictures now.

I can't wait till winter is back. I'm soooooo fucking TIRED of summer. It has almost killed me way too many times. Who would have known you could actually be allergic to the fucking weather? Of course, if my body is taking in the whole weathercast, I will be my own little mother nature.

Mother nature has to be there to stop this. December, come soon.

I have decided on the song I'm going to listen to at 12 o'clock on New Year's Eve of 2019, and I will with thee farewell, oh 2018. You have ended now, you can't hurt me now. Bitch.

I was watching random things on YouTube the other day when I found this scary, "The Shining" kind of gem.

I'm not sure what's scarier, the feminism of it under incredible, sarcastic tyranny, and the Indian tv show type of haughty post-colonialism refined men.

Fuck, I'll get back to this later.

The Big Five Eight

Today feels like a school night, but in a good way.

The evening doesn't feel rushed. It swings on with weight and grace as my parents talk over a movie that they forgot on after lunch. The TV fills in the gaps of the fragmented conversations with that electric, white noise of home.

Dad turns 58 today!

He refuses to celebrate his birthday, but we will lovingly disrespect his wishes and buy him a surprise cake tonight.

All Those Hammock-y Things

This week was weird.

I realized how important hammocks can be, and I realized what it feels like to have a friend break your hammock.

I realized the importance of mock crochet, and how each stitch is messy and beautiful and can be undone in any second because it was never meant to make anything lasting.

I realized the importance of having extra cash, but I also realized how cute it can get when nobody knows what they're doing.

I realized the importance of Gaviscon - oh ye holy medicine candy. That sweet white walker lava spilling down your throat and eating the fire in the belly of the beast away.

I realized the importance of (Cocoa Butter - Aloe Vera) After-Sun lotion, especially after the pasty piña colada that passes for Malibu sunblock.

I realized the importance of cheeky sunglasses; they really do make you see the world with new eyes.

I realized the importance of fixing things creatively, and using your resources to make your environment more interesting - in infinitely creative ways.

That's when I realized the importance of fixing your hammock - you know, the one that your friend broke - creatively.

I realized the importance of sitting on the beach, huddled up in all your comfort items, next to a book. That book can be a stolen beach book retelling the story of a little girl who still believed in monsters, and that book can be the majestic "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad - and other stories.

I realized the importance of having a friendly bald friend who knows how to play games with you and keep them up for days - even when you're not

I realized the importance of having a friendly female who knows how to pick dresses and can do wonders with coconut oil.

I realized the importance of coconut oil on the beach.

And the importance of fixing sunglasses.

I realized the importance of having someone around who insists on making, creating and recreating inside jokes - for the pun of it.

I realized the importance of having a flow-y scarf that knows how to stay put on a beach one night, when a very old wanderer came and asked us questions about life, the universe and everything - then left us with an inside joke about quantum physics.

I realized the importance of letting go every once in a while - even if it's on a hammock with half of  my butt out into the wilderness and my fingers remotely calling out weird music in the sky.

I realized the importance of insects to men, and of men to insects.

I realized the importance of taking an extra minute to make sure you're comfortable, and how good it feels to wake up to a beach instead of the brazenly hot asphalt.

I realized that hanging out with a friend inside the water is a whole other island of Pokemon that I hadn't explored yet.

I realized the importance of having electronics within reach, and the importance of having electronics out of reach.

I realized the importance of frying pancakes, and what that means in the bigger picture of things - especially when said pancake is well-timed.

I realized the importance of having nail polish on hand, for whenever you can splay comfortably enough in your seaside cave.

I realized the importance of bungalows, and the importance of the complete absence of urban landscaping in open space.


I realized how that can throw you off, and on again with the swing of a hammock - until you fall in the middle in perfect equilibrium, and figure out how to go to the bathroom without being stalked by any manner of wild beast.

I realized the importance of fat copybooks, and the importance of having mathematics splayed out where your snorkel gear should be.


I realized the importance of Mr. Incredible, and all those sweet animation videos that we view or make in self-defense.

I realized the importance of having secret conversations, and being able to have secret conversations, with your bear-bae.

I realized the importance of post malone, and I realized the importance of pre malone.

I realized the importance of man buns, and the importance of admitting you like them.

Oh, and did I mention the hammocks? I really want one in my room, lol.

Hugging Trees

i looked in the balcony today and looked at the trees the way i did as a kid

it made me realise how much of a weird child i was. Sitting there, looking at trees, in my free time.

the crow nest i was watching is gone, nothing left of it now. i guess the grandsons decided pursuing the family home wasn't important. It was just a hollow in the tree now, and the tree became less of a life jungle thing and more like a dead log standing there like RGB on paper.

which color palate do i fit in now?