Livejournal has just informed me that things are better than ever! Gone are the days of having to stress out about typing in the right html codes for photos. It's easy!

I have been gone a loooooong time.

I have been tempted to just close this account but part of me doesn't want to as I keep meaning to get back into it. My life over the past couple of years has been less than exciting. I liken it to the social life of a snail.

Things are happening now and can serve as inspiration for me to get back to this. Will I be as diligent as I was before? Dunno. I guess I can try. :)

My coworker has been dealt quite a blow in the form of a painful death of her rabbit caused by her son’s psychotic dog.

She now turns to the smooth sounds of Josh Groban for strength and understanding during this trying time. Sitting at her desk amidst the exorbitant amount of Mickey Mouse pens, statues, and other assorted saccharine comforts, she stares blankly at her computer screen while singing softly with Josh and pondering our very existence.

She has selected “You Raise Me Up” as the anthem of the day and as every line of the song is delivered by both her and Josh in unison, I am closer to committing murder. What stops me is the age-old question of WHO it will be.

Shall I murder HER and deal with the frustration I will feel at having to clean up the blood stains and cover up my tracks? What about the body? Do I REALLY want to have to deal with the combined smells of Tea Rose Perfume, Hairspray, and Death? Can the trunk of my car handle it? Will the Disney Store be able to recuperate from the financial loss? Will Josh miss the teary-eyed star struck mess in the front row?

Shall I murder Josh and then have to deal with the various tributes and candle-light vigils? Will some cousin of his in later years make it to stardom and then do a post-death duet with him in a Natalie Cole/Nat King Cole fashion? What will this do to my coworker and BECAUSE of that, what would it do to me?

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up... To more than I can be.

Maybe it’s ME who I need to kill although I am not one for pain. One would never be able to tell with my piercings and tattoos but I admit that I am a wimp when it comes to pain. Imagine a burly dude in the doctor’s office in a trembling voice ask, “Um . . . am I going to have to have a shot?”

So it is clear that the only death in this whole scenario other than that poor rabbit is the death of my soul which becomes more imminent with each passing note coming from her computer.

I pray that this period of mourning ends quickly.

I got up at 6am this morning to do laundry. My suit and other clothing won't get clean on their own and the t-shirt I own with a picture of a gerbil on it that says "I'LL BE YOUR FRIEND NO MATTER WHAT YOU STICK IN YOUR ASS" doesn't seem appropriate although my grandmother would give into laughter after a five-second sour look on her face

Today is the day and apparently there's going to be quite a turnout. This makes me happy. She was a great lady.

I know I have probably mentioned this before but I will say it again:

I want MY funeral to be filled with people throwing themselves on my coffin. I want wailing in the aisles and people unable to cope with the loss. Forget all of these people who say "I want people to CELEBRATE at my funeral!"

Hell no. If you're not at my funeral to have a completely horrible time, then I don't want you coming.

Another thing?

If I decide to be cremated, don't scatter my friggin ashes. What the hell is that about? I don't want to be mulch for someone's vegetable garden or mixed in with the piss filled, oil filled, dirty diaper that is our ocean. Fuck that.

I don't want to be spread around the base of some tree where Fido is going to piss on or where the city is going to dig up and take away anyway.

No. I want a place for visitors. I want letters, postcards, teddy bears, flowers, candles and various other grave-side gifts. You get the picture.

Anyway . .with that said, I need to go get shit done.

p.s. Thank all of you for your kind words with my last post. I will respond individually, but it's been hard to deal with up to this point.

She's gone. She passed away while I held her hand.

An hour before, the hospital chaplain called the whole family into the room and we prayed around her bedside and said our goodbyes. I thanked her for being the amazing person that she was and told her how I always thought she was a survivor. Having dealt with the loss of two of her children and her husband as well as other trials and tribulations she had been through throughout the years. She was the one who raised me primarily and it's unfathomable to me how I am going to go on without her.

She was on morphine and was completely comfortable during her passing. Her breaths became less an less frequent until she finally let out her last gasp of air as i held her hand.

There's so much to think about. Her stuff, her bills, her house, her awesome dogs that i can't keep, etc.

I am relieved that she doesn't have to suffer anymore but I just am not prepared to handle life without her. I can't remember having ever felt this completely devastated in my whole life.

I love you, Grandma.

For those of you who don't know, my grandmother is in the hospital (again). This will be the 7th time in 2008. She was taken early this morning to Little Company of Mary Hospital and is on a respirator to make her breathe.

Meanwhile they are doing what they can for her. She is to be on this breathing machine until Friday. If she is able to breathe on her own, good. If she is not able to do so, she will be made as comfortable as possible with morphine and other drugs until she passes. She has an advanced directive NOT to be revived.

She has advanced COPD which is a disease that affects the lungs. She was a smoker from the time she was 16 years old until 6 years ago when she was diagnosed with this disease.

She was released from Torrance Memorial the day before (obviously way too early) due to medicare issues with length of stay in the hospital. Fucked up, I know. I was with her last night helping her go to the bathroom and just sitting with her.

Some of you know her and have read about her through various blogs and retellings. She's awesome. I really don't know what I am going to do without her. Watching her suffer and face her own mortality has been heart-wrenching.

Anyway. . . I just thought I would put it out there and let people know what's going on so if I seem a little out of sorts or distant, well . . that's because I am.

I spent a few days on this one. Hope you like it. :)

Here's another one I did. Hope you like.

It starts slow but it gets better i think :)

Dear Livejournal,

It's been a longer than my grandma's tits since I have made my last confession/update/what-have you.

Bullet point madness!!!!

1) I am doing well. Still living in LA and have been with Bryan a little over two years now. It's been quite an experience. For those of you who don't know, we decided to be in an open relationship in July. We have our reasons and it's been cool. Don't agree with it? Right on. Don't be in one then.

2) Got some more ink and peircings. You're never too old to fuck up your body.

3) Got a MAC powerbook. I finally made the transition. The awesomeness of it is overwhelming. It makes me PC look like a lite-brite toy.

I know I keep saying that I plan to update this damn thing and then time goes by so quickly and I forget.

Wish I had something witty. Wish I could have come back with a bang.

Am I changing? Who knows?

I am flying up to Seattle in the morning and will be there til Sunday. I am so jazzed cuz it will finally be a chance for me get away from work for awhile. I know I haven't been very diligent in writing in this damn thing but know that I am alive and well.

I have never been to Seattle but I am told that watching the patterns the rain makes on my pile of vomit outside the bar is a zen-like experience and worth at least a few digital shots.

Me yelling to roommate in other room: Hey Shan! GLORY HOLE wants to be added as one of my friends!

Shan: Tell him PUSSY PIE says NO!!!

That is all. Yes, I am alive and well.

Writer's block sucks peanuts out of a dead woman's ass.

The normal half will be down in San Diego eating a butt-white turkey dryer than Arizona asphalt that's been seasoned with a stick of margarine, salt, and pepper.

The normal half of the family will rave about Great Uncle Bob's dip and how it makes every cucumber slice stand out as Anne Murray softly serenades the hungry.

One of the younger cousins will be asked to lead the family in saying grace before plates are passed and filled. Aunt Geri will take a small piece of white meat which will render her fuller than a Mafia Don at an Italian Bistro.

Cousin Paula will have candles lit at the table that will illuminate her "Darling" knitted sweater complete with scenes of turkeys, pumpkins, and other holiday-appropriate designs.

The room will be filled with skinny, fresh faces and chatter of a clean, christian nature. A shining example of Christ's love, the normal side of the family will wrap up their meal early and then talk about what they are thankful for.

Then there is us. My uncle, lesbian roommate, grandmother, Mom (The Marlboro Woman), and her husband (The denim-clad, white bandanna bandit) will begin eating at 4pm. I will wear my HOT TUNA t-shirt which will spark a conversation about how most people like cold tuna better. A fish conversation will ensue. At some point my granny will innocently ask my roommate if she likes eating fish tacos.

"More than you know, Honey" will be her response.

This year Uncle Danny in his vodka-induced stupor will probably try something new like mashing the yams into a watery paste which will infuriate The Marlboro Woman. A fight will commence starting with The Marlboro Woman complaining that we shouldn't have to eat that mush and she is NOT a 6 month old god-damned baby.

"Shut your mouth, Woman!" will be her husband's slow, southern-drawled response as he looks up from his plate, his thick 1970's porn star mustache lightly speckled in orange.

"Fuck off, David" she'll reply.

GO MOM!

Sound sad? Maybe. Are we sad about it? No. This is our time to let our hair down since the normal part of the family will be gone. This is the way we operate and it is what it is. The television will be on, there will be no prayers, the turkey will be seasoned and juicy, everyone will want seconds, and Anne Murray had better fucking hide if she EVEN tried raising her voice in song at OUR Thanksgiving.

It's already starting. I just got a message on my machine from The Marlboro Woman.

"Jamie, can you come over to Grandma's house as soon as you can? Your uncle hasn't done SHIT and I need your help. Thanks!"

Click.

This is going to be fun.

Now I can't go anywhere without getting harassed. I am like Alyssa Milano in Japan.

In terms of technology, I am really behind. I still have a walkman with a CD player, did the majority of my schooling with a “word processor”, and until late last week . . . surfed the net on a dial-up connection. One never knows how crappy things are until they get something better. I REALLY don’t know why I waited so long.

For YEARS, I seemed to be the only person that remembers this:



GET IN SHAPE GIRL!!!!!!!

The message?

You’re fat, little girl. Twirl around our special ribbon on a stick and the pounds melt away like butter in a microwave. Then you will be ready to enter pageants like your mom wants you to and maybe win something this time, you lazy little leach.

Due to strict gender roles, I was not allowed to have GET IN SHAPE GIRL. This coupled with the fact that I was often subjected to second-hand marijuana pot smoke from THE MARLBORO WOMAN (which gave me the munchies) is the reason for my heavy childhood. (The fact that I can’t join CURVES is the reason now. I really think fat gay men should be allowed . . . but I digress)

So DSL has brought me back to all of this through the magic of YOUTUBE.COM. I even ran into THIS:



No . . . it’s not Steven Tyler from AEROSMITH. It’s BESS!!!!

Pornographic in nature? Yes. An excuse for men to pull out their weenies and spit into their hands? Yes. There is a lesson learned here though:

Working out in full make-up allows for a layer of heat over your face. Thus, you sweat more. This allows a more rapid weight loss and a great sex life. Get off the couch, turn on some WARRANT, and STRETCH. After, you can munch on a crispy bowl of lettuce, you fat god-damned farm animal.

Where is Bess now?

• The tambourine player in a WHITESNAKE cover band?

• Sitting at the end of a lesbian bar dishing out good advice and hogging all of the community pretzels?

• Has she found the love of Christ?

I really want to know.

In closing, I would like to say that none of this rant would be possible without DSL.

That is all.

For years I have been using the same excuse for having dial-up: I am retro and all you angry villagers who prod me with your gardening tools by torchlight will one day regret it because I will be cool again.

I have said that the only issue with it is that the actors in the porn I download all look like they are suffering from Parkinson’s disease and that is a small price to pay in comparison to the fact that I will be as cool as your Garbage Pail Kid collection. Parkinson’s Porn wasn't a big roadblock.

Well . . . I have decided that I have waited long enough and it’s still not happening. I ordered DSL and it should be completely operational by tomorrow morning. Now I won’t have to wait 20 years for MARTHA AND THE MUFFINS to download.

I don’t know anything about technology. I used to get up at 4am to record rare Joan Crawford movies that would be on Turner Classic Movies because I didn’t know how to program the VCR. They sent the DSL equipment along with some instructions. I am just hoping for the best. I don’t want to shell out 150 bucks for some nicotine smelling Bubba with bad teeth, faded green tattoos, and a moustache that covers half of his top lip coming into my house and do something that would take 10 minutes.

Fuck that.

New additions to my living room wall. I just don't know which one I would rather hang up.



or



These are the decisions that haunt me.

This last Friday was part 3 of the MIDNIGHT MOVIES series hosted by moroccomole and this time BARBARELLA taught us the value of a good working vocabulary:


As well as the importance of being perceptive:


This Friday at the Laemmle Sunset 5 at Midnight is going to be a showing of THE LONELY LADY.

I may pee.

I actually saw Ron Jeremy coming down the escalator when I went. I don't get it. Porn star, right? SOMEONE please explain it to me. PLEASE. Even when he was doing more porn back in the day, he was fugly. I mean I KNOW that straight men dont care what the guy looks like when watching porn but does the pendulum HAVE to swing that much farther the other way? Jesus.

In other news, I have decided to cut down on my internet usage. Even as I write this, it is being done on a word document and then copied and pasted onto LJ. I just have come to the realization that I spend too much time on it and there are so many things that I could be doing otherwise.

There are so many books I want to read, so many movies I want to go see, and so many people I would rather hang out with in person than spend three hours perfecting the usage of "LOL", "ROFLMAO", and other net-chat shortcuts.

This weekend away from the net was nice. Similar to alcoholics who substitute coffee and nicotine as their addiction, I went to Amoeba and indulged in some retail therapy. literaturecub can tell you that when I enter Amoeba, I disapear only to later return with a stack of gems. This is what I bought:

Maya Angelou: Miss Calypso

Homechickie did an album in 1957. This was WAY before she wrote I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS. Can I just tell you how awesome it is? Maya and bongos really DO provide just the right kind of atmosphere.

Dusty Springfield: Reputation and Rarities

Dusty kicks ass. Many of the songs on this were produced and written by THE PET SHOP BOYS. This was later in Dusty's career (obviously) when she looked like a raccoon getting shock treatments.

An Overdose of Heavy Psych: Authentic Way-Cool 60's Artifacts

Psychedelic music from the 60's. Now if someone would just buy me a neon poster of a pot leaf or of a black panther that will glow with black-light, a macrame hanging plant-holder, and a bean bag, my heart will be full.

Janet Klein's COME INTO MY PARLOR and PUT A FLAVOR TO LOVE

Janet performs music from the 10's, 20's, and 30's. She kicks ass. With such tunes as I'M A WHOLE LOT WILDER THAN I LOOK, BANANA IN YOUR FRUIT BASKET, and IF I CAN'T SELL IT, I'LL KEEP SITTING ON IT . . . HOW can one go wrong?

After buying those things, I returned home for the final two episodes of DALLAS SEASON 5. Which means I have to wait another 6 fucking months to see what happens. That bites.

Have a great monday.

Suggest:

A movie

A book

A song to download illegally on dial-up so that I can feel every slow, criminal moment.


That is all.

I took a vacation day for this.


Get up and go to breakfast with the lesbian roommate:


and the hot boyfriend:


Once finished, we are going to go to TOWER RECORDS to pick up the long awaited DVD:

DALLAS SEASON 5!!!!!

Points to ponder:

Will Sue Ellen end up with Dusty?

Was it Kristen and her fat legs in the pool?

Will Southfork crumble?

Given Ray's new "Ewing" identity, will his new love for business and the almighty dollar force Donna Krebbs to call it quits on the marriage?

Mitch and Lucy. . .will it last?

Will Afton Cooper woo the audience yet again with her amazing vocal talents?

Will JR finally get what's coming to him?

WE SHALL FIND OUT!!!!!!!



EWING DRINKING GAME!

Take a shot of something every time someone says "Ewing"

Its hot and its getting to me.

The huge fan that I have placed in front of me has turned my breasticles into tassles. Picture small, triangular flags blowing over a used car lot, although a tad more orange in hue.

The other fan that blows hot air behind me has given my hair that "Drew Barrymore from Firestarter" scare-do loved and emulated by many a mobile home resident:

Its time for a shave but who wants to do that in a hot bathroom and then have to clean the hairs up out of the sink?

It just really fucking sucks. I am SO not cut out for Los Angeles. Its taken me 31 one years to admit this. This heat really brings out the grouch in me too. With each bead of sweat comes a new discovery about myself:

1) I HATE helping people move, lift, or get shit that is too high for them to reach. I will inevitably walk into a room and I will hear someone say, "I SURE could use some big strong muscles to help me" . . .blah blah blah.

Some of the more clever ones think they can add the word PARTY to the end of it and they will get all the fucking help they need.


"Were having a moving party!"

"Were having a painting party!"


I am not going to bust my ass for hours on end in this heat just for two slices of fucked up cardboard pizza and a bud light. I can get my own mother-frappin pizza and I could really do without the beer to be honest with you. So . . . :

Im having a FUCK YOU party!



2) I ALSO hate when I call someone in another office and ask them if they want me to bring them back lunch and all of a sudden word gets out that I am going somewhere and I am now taking money from 10 different people AND their orders.

Leslie, the woman with an exorbitant amount of candy wrappers in her trash can wants HER ranch dressing on the side like THATS going to make up for the fact that she had 10 pounds of friggin chocolate before 10am. Bob is a diabetic so ask them if they can put the sandwich in a whole grain wrap instead of the flour but if they cant, then just get him a salad as well but make sure they dont put carrots in it. He hates carrots; they remind him of when he was young and his step-mother used to make him eat carrots all of the time so he doesnt want them and he hopes his step-mother is looking up from hell in a cage made of carrots. Lydia only has a twenty dollar bill and she is going to need change cuz she SURE AS HELL isnt going to pay for anyone else when she KNOWS they all talk shit about her . . . blah . . . blah . . . blah . . . blah . . . blah.



Blah.



So yeah . . . this heat is getting to me.