Disfunctional

Who mends the losses of the Maytag repairman? On call for everyone else, but no one's ever around to repair his machinery.

Definitions and their ritual abuse....

The word merciless was penned in reference to our current situation. I think the word inconsiderate could more accurately describe the situation.

What do I know? My friend thinks he's a member of The Cutting Crew and that by tickling a knee here and there and adopting an impersonation of Goofy equally as often, I may have just died in his arms tonight.

To be frank....

Because my name is not Frank, being friends with me can often cause confusion. To clarify, the fact that I was born with a vagina tends to cause confusion with friendships of mixed gender.

Specifically that of the sex opposite to mine.

I have made someone close to me very uncomfortable. He insists that his "flirtations" with me have led me on and he no longer feels comfortable around me. To me, his "flirtations" were on the juvenile bent. While charming and endearing to me, like a relationship with any 8th grader, harmless and non-threatening. Long and short of it, meant to be playful and fun and nothing more.

It's the classic case of miscommunication, or lack thereof. I got my feelings hurt from something I don't think he quite understands. Considering the environment and circumstance, this easily translates into perhaps a jealousy of another person present. A person of my own gender influence. It's all a muddle and that's where the current story ends.

Coming full circle, I ponder the possibility that having a penis might have made my situation run a lot smoother. To muscle it out, have a winner and let a firm handshake of reconciliation take care of the rest. Alas, I have a stupid vagina with no hopes of growing a "manhood" in any near future.

Twiddling braided pigtails while pondering the imponderables....

I'm at home trying to figure out how I'm going to get myself out of my latest snafu. Less the long explanation of what the latest mess is, I'm in a dilly of a pickle easily rectified with a short and to the point conversation.

Ah, but I'm perplexed nonetheless and cowardice is taking over. Sometimes I wish I was born a turtle. God gave them the convenience of a built in back-up plan. Hide in your shell until you deem safe to resurface.

I have no turtle shell. I just have really long braids I'm twiddling until I come up with a brilliant idea. Looking in the mirror, I think I can pull off dumb. Maybe I'll just do that.

Really good at avoiding things...

The lengths I'll go to avoid people. Like, stay at home and watch Hotel Rwanda. I've watched this movie already. It was good. But, it's the type of good that would be satisfied with one viewing. I already decided this years ago when I watched it the first time. For a while, I had a copy it sitting on my shelf just to prove that I watched it and that I was an intellectual...but we all know that I wouldn't watch it again. Call me crass, but genocide isn't a feel good topic. I traded that movie in for a missing copy of Center Stage that I needed to replace. No one will admit that they liked that movie except for me. I proudly display that shit on my shelf because no one else will. Of course, against mine own will, it doesn't get displayed for long. Close Center Stage junkies have jacked no less than five copies. Eventually, I gave up. They repeat Center Stage quite a bit on TBS.

Anywho, I watched Hotel Rwanda. I didn't want to, but I needed an excuse. I don't like lying. So, when I give someone the excuse that "I don't want to come over and have relations with you" and they ask, "Really?" And I say, "really." I felt like actually watching Hotel Rwanda would bring the point home. So, many repeated tears and tissues later, I've finished Hotel Rwanda. I'm satisfied with ever having to watch that movie again, and avoiding someone.

Oh, shit...baby otters

Random gratuitous acts of cuteness mixed in with an update.

There's a lovable otter to start off this post. I neither feel or look as chipper as this otter. I'm at home. Sick. I hate being sick. I shall only be taking of making phone calls to either Dave or Sara at this point in time. I'm my current state of consciousness, limiting the amount of names I'll have to remember is key. Making one a boy and the other a girl was just cheating.

Considering that I hate being sick, you'd think I'd do everything in my possibility to get myself better. Namely, getting enough fluids and getting plenty of vitamin rich nutrients in my system. I'm pretty much eaten nothing by grilled cheeses and cocoa. Dave's come by twice and plied me with ice cream. My mucus membranes are jacked. I don't give a fuck. I'm now eating cheetos.

I don't want to leave the impression that I'm a lonely techno geek sitting at my server (notice how I've bypassed the word computer altogether...) nursing redbull to chase down skittles. On a normal basis, I'm pretty much an asshole about making sure I get my proper squares a day. It's just that my synapses don't fire and I don't do rational things. Overloading my system with preservatives seems to be the instinctive self destruct.

I'm also entertaining myself with some pretty tragic brain fodder. I'm so weak and slothlike, I can barely curry the energy to find the remote and turn on the tv. Instead, I've been in the same prone position with my laptop in vertical position (propped up by pillows...tenuous....scary....necessary to promote sloth) and watching SNL skits all day. Andy Samburg isn't as funny as we think, but the juvenile in all of us appreciates the good laugh of a white man rapping.

That shit's super cute. It's a furry thing on a finger, but it's super fucking cute. Damn.

That's it. I'm sick. Just rambling.

-the end-

Things I know you don't think I know....

I know someone who claims vegetarianism, but thought I wouldn't notice I heard them ordering a steak wrap at the Taco Bell drive thru while they put me on hold the other day.