Pass Me My Pipe!

  Sadly I have been without the internet for what seems like forever!  It’s probably been more like a week or a little over that. 

Phew!  That was one of the most difficult things that I’ve ever had to do!!  Seriously…I can’t believe how dependent I have become on the internet.  I feel lost without it. 

But now I have it back again!  (I switched providers in case you are wondering.)  Woohoo!  So you can bet that the blogs will be rolling in no time!  I have actually been writing more parts to my story.  I have 6 new parts to add and I will be posting those puppies tomorrow. 

Hello blogosphere!!  Did you miss me?  I missed you!

Deadground

part 2 of my fictional saga

It didn’t take too long for the rains to come. The weatherman has been promising showers all week. Of course they would come now. Why couldn’t this tragedy happen during the summertime? What are the odds of the shit hitting the fan now? Pretty good I guess.

My cigarettes got soaked. It’s not a big deal. They’re no good for me anyway. They’re probably the last thing that I need right now.

As soon as the rains came I ran to seek shelter. It’s not as easy as you might think. I’m still looking. I’ve tried getting into house after house around town, but the houses that haven’t been completely destroyed are locked solid. I’m probably going to have to break into one of these houses. I’m just a little nervous to do that. But hey, I’ve got to survive right? And considering the circumstances I think that breaking and entering is a completely okay thing to do, right?

While trying to find some reliable cover from the rain I walked by a playground. It was probably the most disturbing thing that I’ve ever seen – so many dead children. Kids dead on the slide, slumped over swings, on the see saw and in the sandbox. One of the teachers lay dead on the ground with a whistle in her mouth.

I took the whistle. I don’t know why, but I think that there’s a possibility it could come in handy.

I’ve got to get out of this rain.

Insert Cool Ethical Title Here.

  I took an ethics class last semester. I took it simply because I thought that it would be an easy A and I needed the 3 credits to be eligible for full time financial aid benefits. Let me tell you that (for me) it was the hardest darn class that I’ve EVER taken in my life. And I’ve taken some relatively hard classes. I’m going into the health field (although now I’m thinking that Finance sounds fun) so I’ve taken Microbiology, Chemistry and all of those upper end science classes where you have to study all day and night long to get by. Ethics was much more difficult.

Ethics was hard because it wasn’t as simple as memorizing, something that I happen to be REALLY good at. With all of my other classes it was a matter of simply memorizing information and spitting it back out. I didn’t really have to fully understand it per say. But with Ethics there were endless discussions that we were required to be a part of (participation was a BIG part of the grade) and there were many papers to write. Technically there were no right or wrong answers, which might make it seem like the class should have been easy. But it wasn’t – by any means. It was highly challenging. The kind of class where you really have to use your brain and understand what various authors are saying enough to be able to interpret their words into your own.

I hated the class at first. The readings took me hours to complete. And I still didn’t feel like I fully understood what people like Plato were saying. I found the readings very interesting/stimulating, but they were way hard to comprehend. And I’m an A+ honor society student.

Initially I thought about dropping the class. I really considered it. Mostly because of the big group project that was assigned. Ick! And the project had to be – gulp – presented in front of the entire class, which was about 30 people. I hate oral presentations and I hate group projects. My mouth always goes dry and my voice gets all shaky and crackly when I have to speak in front of groups. The other thing I hate is group projects. To me they feel like a waste of time. I feel like I can get things done much quicker if I do them myself. For instance, the group project was assigned at the beginning of the semester. If it were something that I could have done myself I would have had it done within the first few weeks. No lie. But being that it was a group project and everyone wanted to dilly dally we didn’t have it done until the week before it was due, which was 3 months after it was initially assigned. And I still ended up doing 95% of the work anyway. Ugh.

For the project we were supposed to write and present a modern day ethical issue. I was trying to be into the group thing at first so I came to class prepared with a list of possible topics. The one that I really wanted to do was the issue of mandatory AIDS testing and disclosure. Would you believe that people in my group actually said, “No, that’s stupid. I mean anyone who has AIDS is dumb if they don’t want to tell other people that they’ve got it. That’s not an ethical issue.” Man that PISSED me off being that my Dad passed away from AIDS and that they have no idea and can’t even imagine what living with such a disease is like. Ignorance!

The group turned down all of my other well thought out ideas as well. I literally had spent over an hour coming up with possible ideas and even went to the extent of printing out information on each possible topic. They poo pooed all over each one of my ideas and in the end decided to go with Abortion. Yes, I understand that it is an ethical issue, but come on! It is the most overplayed ethical issue. I’m sure that every single semester the ethics teacher has someone present that issue. She must be sick of hearing the same thing over and over. We all know all about it. Why not do something that is less talked about? And frankly, more interesting.

It doesn’t matter too much. I ended up being able to write my paper on AIDS after all for a different non-group project and in honor of my Dad I have posted (previously) my ethics paper. The original paper title was ‘Step Out of the Cave’. We were supposed to compare our modern day issue with some of the readings from our textbook. I compared the AIDS issue with Platos idea of the cave. If you haven’t read this work by Plato I highly recommend it. Even if you’re not usually into such readings, you may find yourself actually enjoying it. I did.

In the end I am very glad that I stayed in the class, because lo and behold I did learn a lot. Ethics is nothing like what I thought it would be. I thought it would be simple questions of right or wrong, but it is WAY more than that. It is very philosophical and HEAVY. Some people are naturals with the subject, but for me personally it is not my strong point. I definitely grew from this class and feel that my powers of critical thinking have improved at least slightly.

 

 

Pack A Smokes

 

part 1 of my fictional saga

I’m not a smoker. Up until today I’ve never even smoked a cigarette once in my life and I never planned on it. But something strange happens to you when everyone and everything around you is destroyed. It’s a very unsettling feeling when you don’t know if anyone beside yourself is still alive.

It wasn’t that great. The cigarette that is. But I’ll probably smoke another one. I found this pack of smokes clutched in the hands of a young man lying face down on Shattuck Ave. He was good looking too, probably my age. I may have even bumped into him once or twice before. At least now he won’t suffer from some slow and painful death like cancer. Perhaps this was the best thing that could have happened to him. At least it was painless – I hope.

I see why people smoke now. It’s something to do, a way to release all of the nervous tension that can easily build up when you’re in a circumstance like mine. And the nicotine rush is pretty good too – although I know if I keep it up I’ll just have to smoke more and more to get the same feeling. I’m not intending on becoming a smoker on a long-term basis, but I’m sure that’s what every smoker has said in the beginning. “I’ve got it under control.”

But don’t judge me based on the fact that I stole a pack of smokes off of a dead guy and am starting a ‘bad’ and potentially deadly habit. If you were in my shoes I can guarantee you that you would be doing exactly what I’m doing.

I’m not really sure where to go from here.

My apartment has been completely destroyed. There’s only a pile of rubble lying where it used to stand. Thank God I got out in time.

I may stop back by there later in hopes to recover some of the earthquake supplies that I had stashed throughout the house. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find anything, but it’s worth a shot.

You

  It’s beginning to feel similar to how it felt right before He left. I really don’t want to go down that road again – not now – not ever.

I don’t know what you’re feeling right now, but I know that you are not happy. I understand that life cannot always be full of joy and I’m not asking you to pretend that everything is okay when it’s obviously NOT. But I am asking you to PLEASE remember that I am here. I live in the same apartment as you – I am your partner. Please don’t block me out, push me away and leave me alone AGAIN – it’s not fair to me. This is a relationship we are in.

I’ll admit that I am not the most patient person. I could probably deal with your downs better if I were. I just have a hard time understanding what is going on sometimes – like now. Not understanding makes me feel frustrated. I think that I try to make things ‘better’, but most of the time it seems that no matter what I do NOTHING changes. I see the same vacant look in your eyes. Nothing I do seems to please you. I’m still left standing alone.

I’m willing – and want to – work on this relationship, but I can’t do it ALONE. I’m not in a relationship with myself – though at times it feels that way.

What do I mean to you? Anything? Do you need space? Time apart from me? Have I done something to make you SO distant?

I don’t know what to think when it gets like this. All I know is that neither one of us is happy and I don’t like this AT ALL.

I still love you – I just hate the road you’re turning onto at the moment.

Any idea of when you might decide to turn around and come back to me?

Porno Beef

  This is probably way too much information about my life, but hey, what the frak is a blog for anyway?

That’s right, you heard me. I said frak. So what? So what if I’m an obsessed Battlestar Galactica fan who daydreams day and night of being Starbuck. Not that I don’t enjoy my life as is, it’s simply more entertaining to pretend that I live on a spaceship and fly around battling Cylons all day.

But back to the issue at hand, which is porn and my beef with it.

Sigh.

 

I don’t know what it is about porn that makes me angry. I mean, REALLY angry. Let me start of by telling you that I have this bad habit of checking the history browser after my boyfriends been home alone, and more often than not I find some sort of explicit photos that he’s been looking at. Whether it’s porno videos or random sluts exposing themselves on CL.

I know. Bad Growlbert. I should give him his space and privacy and let him look up whatever he wants and not give him shit for it. Right? Well, for those of you who are saying that in your mind, you will be glad to know that I actually haven’t looked at the history in months. It didn’t take too long for me to realize that all it does is make me angry. I’d rather just pretend that it’s not happening. But I know it is.

I guess what makes me angry about it is that there he is looking at these photos, or videos, of glammed up fake ladies (if you want to call them that, I prefer sluts) when he claims that he likes real women. Those who do not wear makeup or have plastic parts. He says that he doesn’t like ‘girly girls’ who wear high heels and red lipstick, he prefers a down to earth girl who is casual and up for backpacking and outdoorsy adventures. Girls like me. Yet when I do see the girls that he’s been jacking off to while I’m away they are – 9 out of 10 times – women who have gigantic implants – like way obvious ones – and to top it off the women are always caked in layers of makeup. There he is yanking the wanker to these girls that he claims he doesn’t even like. I find that hard to believe. He just finds it hard.

On the few (okay, many) occasions that I have confronted him on this issue he of course gets upset. Tells me that it isn’t right for me to check up on him all the time and that he is entitled to privacy. All very true. He also tells me that it’s just fantasy and therefore it doesn’t matter. The real problem that I have is that he rarely wants to have sex with me. He says that he’s attracted to me and he loves me, but for some reason he just never (or RARELY) feels like doing that. He can’t claim that he has no sex drive being he frequently masturbates to other women. I would be far more understanding if this were an issue of not having a sex drive. That would be a different story, a different circumstance. The fact remains that while he doesn’t want to frak me he still has enough sexual energy to get on the computer and jack off to some random bimbo. So what makes me angry is that I feel like while he doesn’t want to frak me, he would frak any number of these hoes if they were right in front of his face ready to go.

That fraking pisses me off. Makes me feel like I’m less than, not wanted, undesirable. So what do I do? Dress up like these women that he masturbates to? Get some implants? Would he then want to have sex with me?

This whole drama used to actually matter ALOT more to me than it does now. As time has passed I have accepted, to a degree, what is. And luckily in the process I have almost completely lost the desire to have sex with him. To some of you this may sound terrible and you may be saying, “That’s no relationship”, but before you write to me and tell me that I need to find a new relationship that works for me sexually – keep listening.

Somehow this actually does work for me. I love my relationship with him. We are best friends. What’s the big deal if sexually he prefers his fantasy women and I prefer my vibrator? If we are both happy and content to live this way then what’s the problem?

While it definitely took me some time to be ‘okay’ with not having a physical relationship with my ‘lover’, I still have my issues. I still cringe when I see the pics that he needs to look at to get off. Which again is why I don’t do that anymore. It’s hard to resist the urge, but if I find myself badly wanting to look, I simply delete the browsing history before I can snoop at it. Then I never know. Maybe he wasn’t looking at nasty photos. Maybe he was. (He probably was) I will just do my best not to think about it.

All of this leads me to my question – to my main porno beef. Why is it that men (in general) can’t use their imaginations to get off? I’m sick of the fraking lame excuse, “Because they’re visual.” So am I, yet I am still capable of using my imagination without visual prompting and stimulus. Although in a way I suppose that technically what I am doing is ‘worse’ because when I am masturbating I am thinking about people that I actually know personally – I just can’t get off to people that I don’t know, it seems too fake, too unreal. For me I need a believable story – something that could really happen. So I think about people that I know decently well. I don’t need pictures, just my mind. Why can’t he do that? I leave no evidence that I am thinking about sex with other people, he does. The other thing that truly irks me is that while I am thinking and imagining of having sex with these people I would never in real life have sex with them. Maybe that seems strange, but I wouldn’t. But he would have sex with the women that he masturbates to on the net if the opportunity arose. He says it’s not fair to say that because the opportunity would never arise and there’s no point in getting upset over something that would never happen, but the fact remains that he would do them if they were right in front of him ready to go. What difference does it make if that would ever really ever happen or not? He’d still do it if he could.

Feelings are an interesting thing. I know some people who are totally fine with their man looking at porn – they might even look at it with him, but I can’t do that.

I guess that both him and I have some serious sex issues (perhaps?), but somehow, in a twisted sort of way, it works out for the both of us.

My vibrator always gives me an orgasm. Just like his hand always gives him one.

 

 

Bloggers Block

  I’m not sure why I have such a strong desire to write, but I do. Perhaps it’s something that is passed along genetically, which could explain things, as my Mother is a writer.

But I suppose that the reason why I want to write isn’t really all that important. Perhaps it’s enough simply to know that I want to write.

But about what?

There are many things to write and rant about, but I feel like I wish that I had an interesting fictional story to tell. Which is slightly odd considering the fact that I do not enjoy reading fiction myself. Every now and then there will be a fiction book that strikes me, but usually the books that hold my attention are non-fiction. I tend to read mostly books of a non-dualistic or spiritual nature. Presently I’m trying to venture out a bit by starting to read up on finances and real estate.

Yet despite my preference for non-fiction I feel compelled to write a made-up story. I think. Or maybe that’s just me misinterpreting my feelings.

All I know for sure is that I want to write. I want what I say to be interesting – at least to myself, but hopefully to others as well.

I’ve thought about a few ideas for possible stories to write. One idea that I’ve been playing around with is a world in which when people are born their parents have to choose the way that their kid will eventually die. This world would have some sort of a quota that needs to be met for every kind of death possible. Your social status and level – or lack – of wealth would depend on your available selection of different deaths. The rich would most likely be able to choose the least painful deaths where as the poor would be stuck with things like drowning, freezing to death, etc.

I like this idea, but that’s really as far as I’ve come with it. I don’t know where to take it from here.

How do writers do it? I suppose that it’s different for different people, as everything seems to be. I have heard some writer’s claim that they don’t write their story, rather it unfolds by itself. They don’t necessarily know entirely what will happen, but they write and write and eventually they find out themselves.

I guess that’s sort of like the idea of freestyle, unedited writing. Supposedly by writing your thoughts as you think them, without any sort of editing whatsoever, great ideas will emerge.

Interesting.

Maybe I should give it a shot.

Ode to Squirrel

  (Technically this is not an ode – as an ode is a poem – but this is a tribute to my friend the squirrel.)

Let me begin by saying that I love the outdoors and that any friend of nature is a friend of mine, but sometimes the reality of it can be distressing. Last year my partner and I were at our favorite place in the world on a 7-day backpacking trip. Whenever we go outdoors we – of course – hope to get as many glimpses of wildlife as possible. We’ve been fortunate enough to spot 5 bobcats on separate occasions, all of which were relatively close (within several hundred feet). Cats, of any kind, are my favorite animals in the world. I would rather see 1 bobcat than 1,000 deer. No offense to deer or to deer lovers.

Anyway, on this particular trip we witnessed the most amazing – and disturbing – event that I have ever seen in my life thus far.

It was early morning. We woke up, ate some granola, packed our gear and started our journey out of Paradise Flat. Not more than a half-hour of hiking had passed when we noticed a squirrel ahead of us, about 100 feet away, lying down in the middle of the path that we were walking on. It was an incredibly odd sight because the squirrel was lying in such a way that his (or her) body was completely flat against the ground – it was as if he (or she) had been run over by a truck and flattened into a pancake. We immediately became concerned figuring that the squirrel was either dead or badly injured.

We slowly walked closer and closer until we were within a few feet of the squirrel. We stood there looking at it for quite some time trying to figure out if it was alive or not. We saw it move a bit and determined that it was alive, but that it must be hurt. We felt bad, but what could we do?

I started to slowly walk around the squirrel and my movements caused the squirrel to suddenly jump up and take off flying into the field beside us. I thought that was strange, but continued walking.

Not more than a second later and my partner shouted, “Oh my God a bobcat just caught the squirrel!” Being that he knows how much I love bobcats I thought that he must have been kidding. I said, “Yeah right.” But when I looked to my side sure enough, just several hundred feet away, there was a bobcat messing with the poor squirrel.

Both my partner and I stood there astonished with our mouths hanging open, our jaws nearly hitting the sandy ground.

At that moment we realized that the squirrel must have been hiding from the cat (which explains why it was so flat to the ground and motionless) and we had literally scared it into the paws of the very cat that it was trying to hide from.

Over the next 5 minutes or so the cat toyed with the poor squirrel. Clawing at it, chasing it, catching it and letting it go – over and over again. The squirrel fought back and – no lie – looked like it was boxing the cat! I must say that that poor squirrel really put up a fight for its life. It was brutal to watch and horrifying to hear as the poor squirrel screeched and cried in such a way that nearly sounded human. At one point the squirrel got free from the cat and quickly began to climb up a tree, but the cat jumped up the tree after it and pulled it back down. The whole event reminded me of the way that my housecats play with a mouse when they catch one. It must be agonizing to be the prey. It would be better (for the prey) if the cat was to make it quick and painless, but they enjoy the game of catch and chase too much to do that.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the cat made its final kill move, took the squirrel into its mouth and turned to face us. It was as if the cat had just noticed us for the first time, and perhaps it had. As it spotted us it lowered its head, acting as if it didn’t want us to see it. It wanted nothing to do with us. It seemed to want to be left alone with its breakfast. It quickly turned around and bounded off into the trees.

We both stood there shocked and amazed, unable to close our mouths for quite some time. It was very hard to carry on with the rest of the day after witnessing that.

After watching the courageous way that poor soul stood up for his/her life, I have such a newfound respect for squirrels. He/she fought until the end with everything that it had. That’s something that I admire deeply. I only wish that I hadn’t stumbled across its path, causing it to run into the hands of death, but such is life I suppose.

I will always remember you squirrel.

In memory of his/her boxing moves I have decided to name the squirrel Joe Boxer.

RIP Mr. Boxer.

You will be remembered.

Letter to a Friend

  What do you do when someone that you know is hurting because they have recently lost a loved one? How can you help them through their pain? Can you help them?

I know the pain of losing a parent and because of my experience I feel deeply moved whenever I hear of someone who has gone through a similar loss. Even if I don’t know that person particularly well.

I can’t help but want to lend a hand, or an ear.

I don’t know if it is ‘wrong’ to do so, but I can’t stand to see someone in pain and therefore must write this letter to a ‘friend’.

Dear (name intentionally left blank to protect the identity of said person),

It was GREAT to see you the other day. You’ve been on my mind A LOT – I often wonder how you are doing.

I’ve wanted to write you a letter for some time now, but I’ve hesitated for fear of crossing any boundaries that you might have. The last thing that I want to do is upset you or make you uncomfortable. That is not my intention by any means.

Please know that I am writing to you sincerely from the bottom of my heart.

The main reason that I’ve wanted to write to you is because I understand – at least to a certain degree – what it is like to lose a parent. When I was 17 my Dad passed away – I was standing by his side when he took in his last breath. That was 8 years ago, but in many ways it still feels like yesterday. I still cry hard at times.

Because no 2 people are exactly the same it makes sense that we all grieve differently. I have no idea what your ‘style’ is, but I know that for me there are times when all I want to do is share stories/memories about my Dad. Sometimes it is helpful for me to talk about him with others.

You’ve always struck me as the type of person who has a million and 95 friends, so I’m sure that you’ve got any and all of the support that you man need and/or want. Nonetheless, having been in a somewhat similar position myself, I want to offer, I want to offer you my ears if you ever feel like talking or reminiscing.

I understand that aside from our interactions at (place of employment) we really don’t know each other all that well, but for me there are certain people who instantly warm my heart and make an impact – you are certainly one of those people. So while as far as details go we may not know each other well, I feel that we are in some way a part of the same family.

I want you to know that I am here for you and I want you to know that I truly mean that.

Do not hesitate to call, email and/or write. And, on the other hand, know that I will not be offended in any way, shape or form if you do not contact me. I myself am a very private person and can understand the need and desire for space.

All in all I wish you the BEST in EVERYTHING. You are such a warm person and a joy to see. Know that you radiate beauty into the lives of those around you.

If I do not hear from you I am sure that I will eventually bump into you in the street and I look forward to that. As my Dad used to always say, “I love to see you come, hate to see you go.”

Take care and know that you are thought of often.

Apple Pie Greatnola

  I absolutely love to bake.  So periodically I will be posting some recipes on here to share with anyone who is interested. 

Today I want to share my own crafted Apple Pie Granola – which I have called greatnola.

Enjoy!!

Ingredients:

2 cups old-fashioned oats
1/2 cup oat bran 
2 Tbs. dark brown sugar
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 cup honey
3 Tbs. flavorless oil, such as vegetable or canola
1 Tb. water
3/4 cup chopped dehydrated apples
3/4 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup raisons
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp cinnamon
1/8 tsp nutmeg
1/8 tsp allspice

What to do:

1. Preheat the oven to 275 degrees.
2. Mix the oats, oat bran, brown sugar, walnuts and salt together.
3. Mix the honey, water, oil, vanilla, cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg together in a frying pan on very low heat.  Mix until the ingredients are warmed up slightly (about 5 minutes).
4. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and mix thoroughly.
5. Spray a pan with PAM or something similar.
6. Form the granola into small chunks with your fingers, working with one handful at a time, and place into the pan.
7. Bake for 20 minutes.
8. Add the raisons and apples to the granola mixture, mix and return to the oven for another 15 minutes.
9.  Turn the oven off and let the granola stay in for an hour or so (may take several hours) until it has thoroughly dried out. 
10. Once it is completely dry to the touch remove from oven and eat!