Spin Me I Pulsate.

I'm trying to feel bad about it. And in a way, I do.

But in another, there is a VERY large part of me saying "what did you expect?" Hey, let's go live under sea level, and then be surprised when we're flooded out.

It's been maintained for years by various organizations that New Orleans, as well as other areas, are inadequately protected from hurricanes, and that the "right" storm will destroy the city. Yet the levee's are only designed to withstand Cat 3 storms?

Why would anyone want to live somewhere that will, inevitably, be destroyed? And I understand that it's not as easy as it sounds to leave, but people are always quick to complain about rising insurance rates, the amounts charities request, ad nauseaum, but no one seems to ever question why people continue to return to these areas, and why some areas aren't just "closed off" from settlement. Wouldn't it be more responsible of a government to do this? I mean, if they're willing to legislate seat belts, bike helmets and booster seats, shouldn't they also focus on protecting people from bad land?

That being said, it could have been worse. Much worse, and I feel for these people on a human level. On a logical, step removed level-it's idiocy. And they'll all move back.

Posted by thordora at 9:33 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I was sitting on the bus the other day, watching some kids walk by, when one went walking that looked like I did years ago, scaring all the adults. She looked strong, confident, ready to take over.

Did I ever look like that? I'm sure I did. I'm sure I faced the world with "you and whose army?" most days, had more strength than I believed. I had an entire lifetime ahead of me-I had WORLD to visit, places to conquer, people to be.

And now, I've lost that. I put my 12 holes on and I don't feel that anymore. I don't feel that excitement, that fire for tomorrow, the possibility like I once did.

I talk to my daughters about all the things they will be. I no longer think in terms of what I will be.

It's like for so long you ramble down a road with no end, and you're happy to not see the end, and busy chewing on the unknown when suddenly the bus stops before you're ready and BAm.

You ARE future. Where once you sat staring at books trying to decide what to read again, you now sit wondering how long the diapers will last, and why cod live oil clears up a rash so fast...You wonder how you got so fat without noticing. You wonder where you went.

You wonder if it's possible to will yourself to death.

Posted by thordora at 9:37 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

So today's question is born of sickness, laziness, and a gentle wish to be 17 again, for a day or so.

Posted by thordora at 9:33 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I can't find the words lately. They fall out beneath my feet like land when swimming. One second they are there, the next, tenous, whispering, barely acknowledged. Like they never were.

I try to explain this to the people closest to me, and I find myself tongue tied, I who cannot ever keep still. I can't say why suddenly the sky has fallen, and the cycles have begun to overwhelm me. I cannot explain why it's me on the deck in moonlight, trying to cry quietly so I won't have to tell you I just don't fucking know why it still hurts, regardless of anything.

The words have escaped, and it's beginning to feel that everything else is trying to follow.

I can't find the reason, nor the will...

Posted by thordora at 10:04 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

A house containing two puking children......

we avoided this for almost 2 years...and BLAMMO! And I take the laptop home to use and can't connect to the VPN....

charming....I LOVE my IT department, and how clear they are. I REALLY DO.

Really.

If anyone needs me, I'll be over in the corner puking.

Posted by thordora at 7:24 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Shouldn't I be drunk?
I'm too tired to be witty. I shall let my animal friends do the talking.

Posted by thordora at 10:15 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Since I just had the WORST customer experience EVER in The Bay, I've decided I want today's favorite's to be your rants on the WORST customer service you ever received. I have others, but today's was SO fucking bad that I actually complained. I NEVER complain. I usually just leave.

I needed to go buy a bra, since after two babies, things have shifted and the current one is ending it's usefulness. So, my trusty work companion and I wander into The Bay. (For those of you not in Canada, The Bay is a psuedo "up-Market" department store.) Most of the time, the service is mediocre, but in the lingerie department, we've usually ran into friendly, mostly helpful if not busy people. And I don't ask for much. Eye-contact and a "can I help you find anything?" suffices. Usually I don't want help. Today, I had intended on getting help, since I wanted to spend the money and get a few bra's that fit.

So we browse around. All the women know, the standard few minutes to allow the salesclerk to notice you. And we browse. And I mention loudly a few times that I don't know my size, I'll just try a bunch on, wish I knew my size, etc, etc. As someone who spent years in retail, you come to know the difference between those who need help, and those who don't. I was using ALL the signals. Looking around, sighing loudly, complaining, looking DIRECTLY at the sales desk.

Nuthin.

So finally, I go to the fitting room desk with 9 bras, ALL different sizes. I stand there for 5 minutes or so while she stands next to two skinny girls trying to figure out if they're a 34 or 36A (a note girls-anything THAT small, I don't think the bra will help)

Finally she comes out behind them. She continues to talk at them over my head. I open my mouth and begin to ask to try them on. She keeps talking. Finally, she hears me, and mumbles "yeah, go ahead" while STARING OVER MY HEAD. The woman was shorter than me! I mutter something about not knowing my size, as she stands there WITH A MEASURING TAPE in her hands, as she had just measured miss nipple. NOTHING. She can't even look me in the eye.

Evil work friend is a similar build. Recieves equally shitty treatment. Has to let herself into dressing room. Is not asked if she's good, needs another size, nothing.

I find one that I actually want, but decide for once, to BE the pissed off customer. Evil work friend asks if I found one I like, as she's paying for her's in front of the rude, asshole clerk. I say, oh yeah, I found one. I'm not buying it. Clerk says NOTHING. Doesn't even look embarressed. (So either she is a complete blithering idiot, or she doesn't care)

I stew for a moment. I say Fuck it. I want a manager. I complain at the desk. THe manager who comes to see me is also blessed with a, well, "child-bearing" body. I explain that I have NEVER been treated as badly as this, and that I got the distinct impression that I wasn't skinny enough, or good enough to be served. She looked pissed, and said she'd deal with it right then. (I got the impression that this isn't the first time she's heard this)

I NEVER complain. I know how fucking hard retail can be, and I'm VERY forgiving if it's busy, short staffed, whatever. A simple "HI! Let me know if I can help!" would have sufficed. I was not given that opening. The woman wouldn't look at us, while she happily serviced two skinny, pretty girls who were a little more put together than I ever am. Fuck, I'd be better dressed if the clothes were made for me....

So, not ONLY am I still sitting here in a bra that fits for shit, I'm ALSO still incensed, and I think I might send a nasty email to The Bay. It's a retail store that pays SHIT. WHY on earth are they such puffincunts????

Cheer me up-share your horror stories.

She never asks if I need help.

Posted by thordora at 1:09 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Posted by thordora at 3:37 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

The rules say: List five songs that you are currently digging - it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words...or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions and the five songs (with artist) in your blog. Then tag five people to see what they're listening to.

• Caring is Creepy: The Shins (fairly continous fave)
• Capsized: Sarah Harmer
• Cosmonaut: At The Drive In
• Thank You: Tori Amos (a cover of Led Zepplin)
• C'Mon Billy: PJ Harvey (just dug that up again)

5 people?!?!?!

Psy Chick, Herge, Karen, Rudicus, Atom.

Posted by thordora at 3:46 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

That morning, the gross morning when they
took her away and everything turned
stark winter white and soundproofed and everyone forgot and
left alone one not as stupid as they thought-little girl a
knock came at the door.

How is she? they gasped, hands wrung
they knew what those lights meant sure as
she knew that someone was never coming home again.

A mantra repeated at the open door

"Fine. Everything is fine."

Like china, like fuck you nothing
will ever be the same ever again, you sit like a bull on my doorstop
pleading eyes begging to feel full. Just fine.

Fine slams the door to keep away from those eyes. Fine folds into herself like origami
yet not so delicate, becomes smaller, keeps repeating "everything is fucking fine" until for the first time in her life, she collapses into nothing. Fine draws her knees up, and never lets them down again.

She takes herself to school like nothing is wrong. She's such a bad ass, making jokes through spelling. She knows all the words already. It's bigger ones that weigh her down now. Recess pulls her away. She knows.

No one sends a priest to fetch you unless your world is ending.

( just a word guys-I'm not trying to depress, I'm just grooving on how I like this working....I'm toying with the idea of making it a third blog, all my items about motherloss, but i dunno-whaddya think?Plus, I always look for stuff on motherloss, and I can't find anything, and I'd really like to start helping people.....i don't know...fucking libra)

Posted by thordora at 2:48 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Posted by thordora at 9:35 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Ever feel as the world
shuts in around you I've
lost my voice inside those
shoes you stole so long ago

they were blue and barely broken in
they matched my temper that week.
How anything can sit in your doorway and
disappear without your compliance or
at the very least your
apathy

I don't know.

I almost loved you then. I almost loved you for
the things you wouldn't do, the times you said no
how you refused to let me leave.

I precluded myself. The peaches
were much toO perfect to suffer to live.

Ever feel like you've TOTALLY lost the ability to say anything even vaguely amusing, interesting or meaningful. I'm SOOOO having that lately.

Wah wah wah. Friends don't let friends have crappy blogs.

Posted by thordora at 10:24 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Posted by thordora at 5:36 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

He bought me this JUST because he wanted to cheer me up, and he knew I wanted it...

Posted by thordora at 11:38 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I worked from home today, so no time to post in the morning.

In honor of H.R.M. Vivian, today's favorites are things toddlers can be made to say:

• "That's a small penis!" To all loud cars and motor bikes
• "Motherfuckers." muttered while playing in the bath
• "Wanna smoke some crack?" (she hit the "NO!" stage this week, and "DO you want to smoke some crack?" is the ONLY thing she'll say yes too. Then she starts singing "Smoke some craack!" and running around....I'm SUCH a bad mommy)

while my other favorites include things you say to a toddler that could be taken WAAAAYYY out of context.

• "Sweetie, don't put the pickle in man's bum."
• "Wrap your lips around it and blow." (one of those paper things for birthdays...)
• How about we NOT stick the toothbrush in ANY orifice."

There are TONS more, but I think I've adequately demonstrated by parenting skills. Oh, and

"Mommy takes a poo!" is always good fo a laugh..

OK-those of you with your own spawn-what are some of yours?

Posted by thordora at 9:05 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Usually I hate the damn things, but this one amuses me.... taken from Raven
Apparently, I ask someone to interview me, they ask me 5 questions which I answer on their blog, and then copy to my blog, saying I'll interview whomever asks...so...

1. If you could run away from home, where would you go and why? (and would you eventually send a post card home? ;-)
If I could run away, I would head for Machu Piccu before it falls off the mountain. No postcard home-when I take off, I'm gone for good.
2. If you could go back in time and meet yourself in high school, what would you tell yourself?
If I could go back, I'd tell myself to take the other road that led to Montreal instead of the one I took.
3. What is your picture of and what does it have to do with who you are?
Tis the Martian Manhunter. He's the last martian (DC universe) and he can shapeshift and a bunch of other crap. I like the idea that he can be someone else or something else, and I identify with the sense of isolation. Being adopted, I used to pretend I was from another planet as a kid.
4. If there is one thing you could accomplish in this life, what would it be?
I want to publish a book of poetry that people actually read.
5. Do you think Canada should require US citizens to have passports to cross the border? (This is turning onto a very talked about subject here in my state on the coast of Lake Erie)
Fuck passports. Seems to me that most of the "bad" people HAD paperwork. MORE buracracy will not help anything.

Apparently, these are "the rules"

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "Interview me". ("Tickle me" or "Caress me" are acceptable substitutes-be creative.) You must leave your blog address if I don't know it.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. I'll post the questions in the comments section of this post.
3. You update your blog with the answers to my questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in your post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So come on, ask away! And I promise, no question will involve sheep or weevils.

Brighten up my day! I had a girly test yesterday and feel ugh today!

Posted by thordora at 9:11 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

She can't hear a thing. There's a din in her head that prevents it.

One solitary emotion prevails, a numbness covers her, safely. It holds a wall up that no one dares broach.

It's a cold hallway covered in plastic tile, brown, beige. Beige, plodding safety. Beige stillness. No doors open. Someone says the door is always open.

Maybe it is. Maybe she just can't see them open. She can see eyes. Eyes that judge. Eyes that tell her "buck up, it's not that bad"

It's that fucking bad. It's so bad she can feel the sucking open sore of her life in her chest, wheezing everytime she moves. It's so bad that she can't stop herself from stepping back from those she claims to love. It's so fucking bad that she spends her nights lost in fog, throwing her body at men and traffic. It's so bad that she wants to feel anything other than what she must.

Her feet echo against the tile. Duck voices don't echo. She learned something today after all.

Doors open.

They can't understand. They look warily in her direction, and back away. Like wolves, they can smell a defect. Like men, they can smell desperation. Like children, they can't prevent it.

Chin up child. The bar isn't set so high.

She hasn't the strength left to pull.

Posted by thordora at 3:31 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I have this song in my head......and a post a brewing from a discussion...

I have ADD, and I discuss it openly. I was also a "bad" child. The "pot smoking, drunk in an alley" kind of child. I survived, I learned from mistakes, and now, I'm sorta normal. sorta.

What's funny is that someone I work with has a niece who is 16 and recently diagnosed with ADD. Her father is dead, her mother a busy working Mom, a survivor of cancer. This girl, who we shall call Naomi, is having a rough go. The usual, lashing out, taking off, crap boyfriends, drugs, all the idiot crap you do when you're 16.

And so this chick comes to me because she knows I have ADD, and so does the niece, so....she's looking for guidence and something to tell her sister.

It's not ADD. It's "I'm 16, and I'm freaked out." more than anything. Sure, some of it is the ADD, most notably the foot in mouth disease. I'm sure Naomi is totally messed up about trying to live up to her mother's expectations, trying to discover who she is, dealing with a parental death, and dealing with just plain old being 16. Then, dump ADD on top of it, with a parent who refuses to understand it or help her.

And they wonder why she runs away? She tells you the meds hurt her stomach, and you do nothing? You yell and scream at her because all she can say when she does things wrong it "I don't know why?". There is a viable reason why she smokes pot ladies.

I've been Naomi. I've drank until I blacked out, I smoked and dropped and ran around and screwed guys and stayed up for days just to see how long (65 hours was my record I believe). I was TERRIFIED. I couldn't find me, I couldn't talk to my Dad, I was terribly unhappy, and I felt like a moron because the words "You're really smart" were ALWAYS followed by "But". I couldn't understand why getting 90%+ in a class involved sitting in the class, even if you've already read "The Lottery" four million times in other schools and can't bear to read it again. I couldn't understand why nobody seemed to want to love me.

So I'm trying to tell her that her sister needs to let the poor thing be. Whether my Dad knew he had to give me enough rope with which to hang myself, or if he was just too wrapped up in his own shit to notice, it worked. I woke up one day, incredibly stoned and hungover. I hadn't been to class in weeks. I had just gotten over a raging case of Strep Throat (which they weren't even sure was strep) and I felt terrible. I looked like shit.

I took a step back and realized, this wasn't my life. It was, but it wasn't the life I wanted, or had imagined. I could see myself, not far from being a junkie. I was on that path. And it scared the living shit out of me. It was then that I packed my shit up, and moved home. My father had been transferred back to where I grew up, and I saw it as some sort of sign. I got the fuck out of Dodge.

But I needed that space when I was 16. I needed to be "let loose". I met some of the smartest, kindest people. I learned that being a little odd wasn't a big deal. I dated a 25 year old man at 16. In hindsight, EW. But I learned that age does not denote intelligence (he was a computer science major, so that's another issue altogether.). I learned I could take care of me.

I knew something was still "unfixed", but heh, everyone else blamed my mother's death. Why couldn't I?

It feels weird for me to hear about Naomi, because it's like talking about me. I tell her to have the girl email me, or call. They're all freaked out because the girl hightailed it to her boyfriend's house, and called the cops to keep her mother away. She's 16 so she can.

Why do parent's not listen? Anytime my father and I needed a break, we understood it. As my father has said many times, he may always love us, but he doesn't always like us. How could he miss me if I never left?

I tell her that I had a few "mommies" and they were all good people, who helped guide me. Some did not live lifestyles most other people who agree with, or want their children around. But they helped a very scared girl, full of bravado, become who she is.

And they always reassured me that no matter what, someone would be there, and would love me. My Dad.

Naomi needs a mommy. I'm hoping I can be her. Because sometimes, you just don't want your Mom.

I don't want Naomi to end up in places I've been before.

Posted by thordora at 11:47 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I know that something needs to happen, but am I the ONLY one scared crapless by Blair's little plan this morning? The US scares me enough, but this new crap....my fear is, the criteria for these groups, bookstores, will be loose, and ill applied.

Somedays I'm so bloody glad to live in Canada.....where will this all end?

oh, I know. Nuclear fricken war, in which we'll be caught regardless...

Wait, oh, now, um....seems my patented terrorist stopping karate move has failed...oh well, send in the troops to invade that evil bookshop down the way......won't carry "Busty Boys" huh....

Posted by thordora at 10:22 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Ok, an easy one to cheer up a crap week (since we all seem to be having one)


You know, the movie with NO redeeming factors whatsoever......I think mine would have to be ConAir-Nic Cage, John Malhcovic (I can't spell that), John Cusack, Steve Buschemi, all in a really CHEESEBALL action movie-doesn't get much better! (Aside from Face-Off, which is excluded entirely on the basis of that creepy/weird face thing Travolta kept doing....ick)

Admit it-you like crap movies too. And I want to know the sick reasons behind your choice.

Happy Fricken Friday!

Posted by thordora at 8:36 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I used to watch a LOT of movies. Now I have kids. Also close in the running was Saw, mostly for the unhappy ending. But buddy putting himself in the movie pissed me off.

Heathers: Forever my favorite. Killing the annoying popular girls at school? KICK ASS! You'd soooooo never get away with this now. Favorite scene: Why, the "party". Favorite Line begins thus: " I have a little speech prepared for when my suitors...."

L.A. Confidential: I know, the book is likely 10 times better. I DON'T CARE. I adore Kevin Spacey, and I think Russell Crowe showed a depth with Bud that I would have never anticipated. The movie could have been too much. It was just right. Favorite Scene: Bud and Edmund in Pierce's house once they "get it". The blocking and staging are just so frickin good...... Favorite Line begins thus: "Why don't you come dance with a man for a change?"

Delicatessen:

Man, I never watch it enough. I can't explain it, nor do I want to. I don't remember anything about it expect for the entire part of the movie that was in synch with eachother, with the music, AH! WICKED WICKED!

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead: I don't really hear or see anything when Clive Owen is involved. Nuff said. I ASKED for and received King Arthur (which really isn't that bad)

Office Space: I work in an office VERY similar to theirs. I'm obligated to mention it. Oh, and I'm slowly turning into Milton. And my stapler has my name on it. Favorite Scene: Any regarding Milton and his stapler. Favorite Quote: "Have you seen my stapler?"

Nothing deep, or weird and arty. I was just getting entirely too serious lately.

Posted by thordora at 2:55 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

There's a girl in a blue with white polka dots dress serving tea and coffee behind you. She looks slightly uncomfortable, so determined to stay facing the wall, greeting, shaking hands, smiling.

It's grim. The dress is polyester, fought over and finally selected with a simple sentence.

"Your mother would want this."

The fight left then, wandered down the street to the bar.

Keep busy keep busy keep busy.

She won't venture to the front of the room. She can't. She feels the gaping void she's about to collapse into, struggles to avoid it, sidestep, pull an Indy. Nurse shoed feet teeter...

She can feel the eyes upon her back. She can feel the downglance, the pity slithering out, tentacles reaching for her. It's a trap. There is no freedom in those eyes.

She avoids those too.

She spends the afternoon pouring coffee

"cream"?

greeting friends/not friends, who know not what to say, where to stand; sent by mothers of obligation, they twitch awkwardly in their church clothes, tugging at ties and scuffed shoes.

"she was cool. We'll miss her."

She moves around the room, avoiding arms, hands, moist tissue. She doesn't, she can't see her father or her brother. As of this moment, they don't exist. She feels her own orb, nothing else.

That void presses on her, begins to seduce. She feels eyes guiding her forward.

She glances in, and her world ends.

Posted by thordora at 12:19 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Why is the Dorf such an asshole?

Is there a special asshole gland that goes with the equipment?



I'm not gonna cry I'm not gonna cry at work...

Posted by thordora at 4:45 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken: