Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Spare Strike.

I just bought the sheet music on-line for Five for Fighting's song, "100 years."
For obvious reasons (if you've ever read my blog) this song has some powerful meanings for me.
For other obvious reasons (if you've ever read my blog) I haven't had much time to dedicate to my piano playing.
Now if the ivories bellered as loud as my children, we might have a different story to read.
Let me re-iterate, that playing the piano is how I save 1000's of dollars a month on therapy bills.
I'm 2 months in debt so far.
I might have saved my dollar by finding some obscure web-site that offered the sheet music for free if I gave up my first born and 62 of my friends email addresses but, the printer/scanner/copier/faxer machine of great printing, scanning, copying and faxing doG like qualities that I ordered with my "kick ass hot screaming fast new computer system" hasn't arrived yet, and I am ALL about instant gratification.
Show me a "buy it now" button, and I am likely to push it. Twice.

I'd love to tell you that you will hear this on an audio blog, but:
1- I suck at lying.
2-I get so nervous, that my hands shake and even "peter, peter pumpkin eater would be botched (but I wish I had a pumpkin between my legs).
3-Back the fuck off, lower your expectations of me ALREADY!


"100 Years"
I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose15,
there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see
I'm a they,
A kid on the way
A family on my mind
I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star
15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on... I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
15 there's still time for you
22 I feel her too
33 you’re on your way
Every day's a new day... 15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live.

Good news for me, now that Dumpsters test has revealed, I'm only 23.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

I feel crabby.

I'm an accessory to murder.
In our shell gathering activities this weekend one of my boys inadvertently brought home a hermit crab.
I found him when I dumped all of the shells into the bleach water to soak.
It was really sad.
Flailing crab legs.
I couldn't find his mouth to give rescue breaths...
Then he vacated his shell in a last ditch effort, and that was some seriously fucked up shit.
I know where they got the little face sucker thingy idea from on "Alien".
And then I didn't feel so bad.
Maybe I should have taken Mr. JoeVegas' advice sooner and betterer and more gooder.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Off to disregard my responsibilities for the weekend.

BUT, before I go and throw my money and sensibilities away in Seattle, I feel the need to impart a smidge of knowledge that I gained today.

If you think that you're getting off easy taking a class that is held only three days out of the quarter....Please realize that each class lasts 8 hours and the amount of homework is consistent with a normal 5 credit class that lasts the entire quarter, but is due (holy baby jeebus) NOW.

Ms.Chievous a.k.a Mush for Brains signing out.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Why Keri sucks 101

Despite all of my efforts at trying not to make my children hate me, like I have hated my own "mother", I finally realized that it isn't my choice or, really even possible.
My oldest, now at 13, is already taking notes and forming her resentments against me for future counseling sessions.
I AM the person with whom they will eternally lay blame. There just isn't anyone else up for the position.
If this is my lot, fine.
I HATE, DESPISE and involuntarily VOMIT at any sort of organized religion and/or submission to a "higher power" shit. It literally makes my skin crawl and my stomach turn.
BUT, when my 10 year old asked to go to church because "all of her friends were doing it", I dug out my dusty "play nice clothes" and woke up (way too fucking early) on Sunday and went to a (Christian) Foursquare church with her. I chose this church because the pastor is the son of the fluorescent Green Cancer dead lady that I loved so much.
My neck muscles STILL ache from straining not to violently shake my head in absolute astonishment at what these people suck up and believe.
I found that my neighbors across the street attend this church (so that's where they go every Sunday, I assumed they were having their incisors sharpened). These are the neighbors who have done everything in their power to make us feel un-welcome. Theirs is the house with 8 dead cars in the back yard, knee high grass and any child that dare knock on their un-lit door at Halloween would get a lovely Granny smith razor apple. Their eyes don't know anything other than the, evil self righteous GLARE position. They have even called the police on my golden retriever at 3 in the afternoon while he was in the house drooling/sleeping, for making too much noise (get a job?).
But maybe that's just the sort of super dooper people they are?
Needless to say, they have MAJOR Karma going on. I WILL sell tickets at their "reckoning".
I endured all of this for my daughters sake. She was ultimately bored and un-interested, but I would do it 10 times each week, and twice on Tuesdays if that is what makes her happy.
I am starting to feel resigned to the fact that my children will resent me regardless of what I do.
Now, I can't transfer this knowledge to my own "mother", because she walks with Hitler.
Wait...Nah, I can't go there.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Happy Venereal Disease Day to you too.

Today tasted worse than a badger fleas ass sucking vomit.
It's 11:54 pm and I just emailed my papers on Daoism and Confucianism and am trying to work on my Shinto paper....BUT twin B, of the seek and destroy team known as "A&B destruction, est. 1999", just went to sleep. It seems that while I was at school participating in the mid-term from Hell, the dear life companion dude that resides in my household allowed one of his offspring to slumber in my absence.
How fucking lovely.
Please, dear EC dude, try to keep the snoring down.
I would love to barf all about my mid-term from Hades, but my fingers are tired from (the TEN pages I wrote in class) gouging Ms. Hoebag, formerly of Wyoming, sheep fucking, bad sweater wearing, eyes out.
Pheebs, I'll see your one eternal crusty leather pant wearing Professor, to one 1980's aqua green abstract sweater wearing hoebag with matching turtle neck and raise you two moon boots with matching leg warmers.

Eight is enough.

Excluding the following:
  • The number of shrimp on my Kebob.
  • Years of age in which to be held accountable.
  • Pounds lost off of my Pangaea ass.
  • Miles left on my tank of gas.
  • Hours left to study for the hoebag's PMS induced mid-term.
  • People that I love.
  • Corona lites with lime.
  • Years that I have been married.

Happy anniversary and happy Valentines day super dooper husband dude.

(Does live-journal spell check recognize "hoebag", "fucking" and "PMS"?)

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Row Bought.

What do you say to a person who is dying?
What can you say to a person who knows they are dying?

This class isn't offered anywhere.

Tonight, I looked into the eyes of a man who is dying.
He knows he is dying.
Not the type of dying we have all been doing since birth, but the acute kind.
The kind where he breathes, and notices the fact that he is still breathing and wonders how many times it will happen again. When he realizes that he may miss it, even though, now it is very difficult.
He signed the "no code" papers. He didn't want to live through those procedures. Until he faced the choice of NOT living through those procedures.
He didn't have regrets until the thoughts of not being able to resolve them faded.
He is human. Wait....so am I?
How it really feels from my side:
Helpless. The word helpless is fantastically far from adequate.
I wanted to tell him, "God is waiting for you", because I know he is a believer...But I generally suck at lying.
So....I changed his day bag to his night cath bag.
I tidied up his room.
I turned up his heat.
I brushed his hair even though he was in bed.
I rubbed his feet until they didn't ache anymore.
I adjusted his blankets.
I held his hand.
I substituted for his terminally absent family members.
I fucked all work agendas...
And I listened.
I listened.
I listened.
I listened.
I really did hear him.
I do recognize that nothing I say can halt the inevitable.
But I would like to know the words to ease...Nah...I just want a script to read.
Yes I've done/seen this MANY times, but I refuse to get used to it.

Whoa, now...Change gears. I am home now and have homework to do, children who need me and the endless list of others needs to fulfill.

Energizer LIES!

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Holy Batman -

The walls came a tumblin' down tonight in my English Comp class. The teacher (hoebag) must have been indulging in both sides of the manic/depressive swing.
Preliminary results had me pulling an A- (- WTF is with this - shit?)in this class...until tonight.
Holy baby Jeebus.
Impossible pop quiz that she didn't even allow enough time to finish, to be followed with an anouncement of a mid-term on Monday (not on the syllabus) which will be 1/8 of our final grade and will cover chapters 3 through 15, including all of the reading material at the end of each chapter.
A fellow student raised her hand to ask a question and the Hoebag (teacher) said, "no questions, I'm not answering any questions and I don't want to talk to any of you until next week. Turn in your papers and leave."
This was barely 45 minutes into a class that is scheduled for 2 1/2 hours.

To whom it may concern:
(Yo Hoe) I paid FULL tuition for this class. I spent $122. on the text books for this class alone. I have turned in every paper on time, submitted to your political rants, endured your endless supply of really bad 1980 sweaters and I read the (fucking) chapters. I drive a 1/2 hour each way to attend this class.
I understand that you just moved from Wyoming and you may miss the sheep and all, and this is your first year "teaching" at this school and you may be "upset" because we questioned your inability to keep your personal political agendas out of an ENGLISH class, but (back up bitch) lets analyze this calmly.
Hoe bag, my future class selection depends on my GPA and I'll be fucked in the ass twice without lube before I let YOU mess that up.
FUCK you.
As for myself, and at least 6 other classmates doing the same, I will be contacting the head of the english department in the AM. At least.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

I ALMOST wrote about "the/my Father", thank doG for the hat.

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us
On another note...
My front porch has a little window, a coat closet and my front door.
I hear a faint knocking this morning from downstairs at 8 am.
8 am?
It can only be the Jehovas witnesses.
Apparently my "Get Thee Hence" sign on the door doesn't work.
I go to the door (why you ask? Shut the fuck up, this is my blog, no one said you could ask questions) and peek out the shades.
They are new ones, the Jehovas, not the shades (although I'm thinking about replacing them in something taupe).
They are knocking on my closet door.
Pause.
They were knocking on my closet door.
Let me just say that this was somewhat humorous to me, for much more than one reason.
I couldn't answer the door because I was on the floor consumed in painful spastic laughter.
...Jehovah witnesses.....Trying to get into the closet......Oh my. Just keep on knocking and SEE what answers...
Well, it made me laugh.
I harbor no expectations of your emotional response.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

I plead PMS or the 5th.

I've typed and erased this and saved to draft and erased, chased with a big shot of erasing. So if you're reading this....You've entered a tinfoil hat area.
I've been kind of out of touch with the blogger and board world for a week or so because of some "thing" called real life, I feel SO inconvenienced. I didn't have a minute to spare today so of COURSE I did a little on-line procrastinating. I found that schome schit head deleted his blog. Two words for you Buddy, you reak like a maggot infested sweaty rat scrotum. Err, make that nine words. :o)
Another one of my Buddies says she's "not going to phost" for awhile. Phlease. Phost. I need Phosts. I pheel pheeble without your phosts.
A few others are going through rough times and it makes my heart hurt for them.
But I read one...I just can't even form words for the affect it had on me. If the post didn't do me in, the pictures following it sure did.
Big fat tears reading it.
Big fat tears on the way to school thinking about it.
Big fat tears as I re-evaluate life in general.
Big fat tears as I'm (trying) typing this.
There are some amazing/beautiful/strong people out there...and I get to read their blogs.