Nature, Go for the Eyes!!!

Have I mentioned that I have a zoo?? Eight rescued parrots of varying species, sizes, demeanors and colors; and three rescued dogs from two different countries. Anywho, they all have an overabundance of toys. The favorites being little stuffed animals and anything made of raffia (this mostly for the birds). However, herein what I would like to address are things with eyes - painted, plastic, cotton, whatever. True to nature as the cobra spits his venom at the eyes of his hapless victims, as the tiger claws the eyes of its chosen prey, as the goat gores out the eyes of the unknowing grasslet, and the bunny gnaws out the eyes with its big, nasty bunny teeth. So am I surrounded by the limp and eyeless bodies of lavender T-rexi, blinded and de-moo-ed cows, the unseeing globes of Nemo's floating over the tiles of the great room. Even the lobster with its large, snappy claws has fallen victim to Chauncey's clever de-eyeballing pranks, not forgetting to remove the back-up sensory antennae [technically termed the "corollary Cheetohs" (I'll provide photographic evidence when I get my camera back from work)]. Even now, Mr. Pants has proudly presented the most recent de-eyed victim, a purple Nemo, all other parts perfectly intact except for the two eye polyps now exploded atop his head.

Instinct embedded firmly in the frog brain, the Nature-Nurture controversy rages.

Priscila, Reina de Mis Labios

Current idiomatic expression in the vernacular suggests that some people "wear their emotions on their sleeves." Meaning that they are transparent in the display of their feelings. While I, on the other hand, being a twisted and misshapen example of the human genome, seem to "wear my feelings on my lip." Yes, I have a fever blister on my lip (Superior Maxillary Dexter to be exact), and I am now calling her "Priscila". Not because she is particularly pretty or lovely or feminine, but for precisely the opposite. A big, obnoxious, suppurating fibre on my most sensitive lip, feeling for all the world like a giant pulsating advertisement of my contagion, should have an ethereal and graceful moniker to adorn it.

Now it is on the wane, retreating into its dendritical terminal hidey holes to await the next onset of a super stress event. The ever-present threat of a maximum critical mass event just out of sight over the event horizon. Ah.... the thrills that await.

Empower Thyself, Woman!

I once knew a woman who reeked of, was perhaps the embodiment of, empowerment or something very similar looking. It may just have been a very clever illusion, in fact now that I think about it, this is probably the inherent case-in-fact of empowerment, mostly illusion - smoke-n-mirrors, disappearing Statue of Liberty thing... Anyway, I digress.

The night in question, a torrid yet breezy Mexican evening in the caldera hills outside of Guadalajara as we all sat bloated postprandially round the terraza, I watched in abject, drop-mouthed revulsion and dribbling awe as this diminutive, child-sized woman related her triumph over another in a verbal dual. At the climax of their exchange she screeched horribly at her rival, ".....ram my fist up your aaaaasssssssshhhhhhhhhooooooollllllleeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" while she pistoned her tiny, skeletal fist in the air repeatedly ramming her virulent empowerment up the poor adversary's already ravaged colon. Her "Devil-May-Care" attitude struck fear and amazement in my wimpering, cowering heart. Where does one come by such cojones??? Such naked entitlement to yours, theirs and mine?

I need some of what she is having, Garçon!

Equus Multi

A stable is what I am going to have. No more of this "one" business. Not one to buck the system now, whether it be termed "cougaring"" or not, I am in for the long run. I will have mudders and trackers, goers and finishers. There will be young 'uns with fire but no know how, and there will be mature charmers with panache. I will have my choice from a panoply of flesh ranging from firm and sleek to ripe and full. And I will do none of my own training. Nay, none of that here at my horse farm. There will be a professional on hand to train these fellas up. I have put in my time and trained my fair share only to have them serve up the win for other fair damsels. No, this time 'round it is the roses for me and for me alone.

Let the races begin!

I don't Exist

except in a book or perhaps in 19th century France or Italy. While driving home this morning, ears bleeding and in a fat-induced haze (a completely different story altogether), I finally came to the conclusion that the bundle of attributes of which I am concocted could only be found in the imagination of a writer or possibly in a person of a different century. Many of us labor under the uncomfortable suspicion that we have been born in the wrong century, the incorrect social "time" because we can't seem to fit in, to "groove" with the current sociopolitical milieu. And usually that is a case of being too lazy or stubborn or stupid or obtuse as opposed to truly a rare combination of attributes.

But...in MY case, it's true! Examing the facts we can only come to the conclusion that I am indeed a social misfit. Somone who has so many contradictory, archaic, sensitive and divine sensibilities that it makes it virtually impossible for me to be absorbed into the fold. I present:

1) Always been told I'm smart. Not just by family, not just by teachers, not just by the tests. But I excel at nothing. Work at the family post. Making "B's" in grad school, no famed literary achievements, no movie roles, no scientific awards, no immense brainiacal expellations. So what am I doing with all these smarts???

2) I am the most insanely naive person on the planet. After 40+ years of frustration, lying, abuse, deceit and general stinky behavior on the part of those with whom I interact, I still labor under the misconception that folks will act in a manner that is consistent with a wholesome and honest approach to life. I get burned by this every day. It blows. I am unrealistic and I am positively and absolutely unwilling to abandon my need to believe that we are all fundamentally good despite the mounting evidence to the contrary.

3) Chivalry and nicety should be a way of life not something we should have to read about in a book or see in a Merchant/Ivory movie and recall as "quaint". Sex is not the end-goal, but romance and passion are. Yes, I am the more delicate gender despite the fact that I am self-sufficient and can operate power tools. Just because I can, doesn't mean that I want to, ALL the time.

The list goes on but I think you can see where this is going. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces missing and some of them jammed together just to try to get the damn thing finished - but the edges don't really match up. Just the other day I mentioned to some friends that what I really wanted to be when I grew up was an Italian goat farmer. They laughed. I was serious. I imagined myself on the lush hillsides of a small township in Italy, singing gaily to my goats as they munched yummy green grass, milking them for their fat-laden milk and then hand churning it into delicious goat cheese to sell at the local market or restaurants. Feeding my goats the finest herbs and flowers to effect a flavor to their milk and cheese that would be unparalleled. I've got it all planned. I'm a big chicken for not picking it all up and following my goaty dream. I could even learn to drive a moped.

Or maybe it's just the new medication.

Against the Wall...

Once again I am out of clever beans. Everyday stuff seems just that - everyday, mundane, cliché, and trite. Bird stories are only fascinating to bird people unless they are truly out of the ordinary. [I mean who wants to hear how the Twins clean my noseholes and chew off my small moles, crawl in my pants legs, and attack paper with a vengeance (they were much offended by the nudies of Britney on the cover of Bazaar)].

School is school - business law is much like science. Very strategic. The only interest is in the details and we're not actually litigating, just learning theory.

Personal is the struggle as usual. How do I fit in? How do I fit it in? (I wish) Do I need to fit in? Why won't my head fit in the oven?

Maybe I'll work up a rant. I must be coming to one. The other day I cried all the way to work. For no reason. Then I cried at home. For no apparent reason. Just weeping. Hot tears squeezing out against my will. Lip a-tremble with some unknown shame or insecurity. Sweaty with pent up angst and imagined derision.

Another light-hearted post from Yours Truly...

Travelling Nuts

This morning while munching on my nut mix, I accidentally dropped a cashew.... in the bib of my overalls. I still can't find that little sucker. Should make quite an impression as I stroll into the bank for a mortgage loan and a cashew casually pops out my trouser leg. I will pick it up, brush it off, and scold it heartily for being such a little miscreant nut. Then I'll munch it down right in front of the loan officer and everyone. Then they will know I mean business and they will approve my loan without an application or credit check.

The power of nuts!!!!!!

(Did that sound vaguely Jack Handey??????)

Like the movies,

that's how I want my love. Poignant, dramatic and a little less than 2 hours long. Ah, but seriously, methinks my love-life suffers from my unrealistic expectations about how it should unfold.

I think I think too much about things that are best left un-thunkened.

Throbbing... Pulsing...

Neck Vein! Standing in the middle of my small office, swearing vigorously and attempting to communicate my frustration to my minions, my step-brother seems to be rapt with my rant when suddenly he points out that I have an enormous throbbing neck vein that is jerking and jiving like a thousand Mexican jumping beans embedded under my skin. Then the other boys chime in that it's all they can look at - just like that little piece of glitter or hairy mole that someone has on his face. Dammit, Man! I'm trying to be in charge here and you are spectating the gyrations of my blugy vascularity.

Welcome to my life!

Typo, Schmypo

Sometimes I think my e-mails and/or blog entries would be much more compelling and funny if I left in the typos. The other day I had some good ones while writing to a prospective date from an internet dating machine (which shall remain nameless so I don't have to plug the site which is quite worthless in my opinion, but if you have a couple of glasses of wine on a Friday night and start feeling sorry for yourself, maybe even pathetic, you might be tempted to join for a month), and I almost left them in ("puince" and "creppy") but then thought better of it.

In hindsight I should have left them in...

Poor Pathetic Me...

About a week ago at an highschool alumni function, a friend told me that my blog was "pathetic". I chuckled as if he was just pokin' fun at me, but my selfconscious meter went haywire and my confidence took a nosedive. All this time I've been so sure that my pitiful moments were few and far between. That mostly I write here with tongue firmly in cheek and the breath of sarcasm swirling sinuously just below the type.

When I first got ready to write this it was the day after, a Friday, and I was doin' my usual - hangin' out at my house, cleaning the etigére, talkin' to the flock, having a glass of yummy Kim Crawford Sauvignon... Hey! I am pathetic!

So I waited. I wanted time for that pathetisism to roil around in the grist mill, fling out the chaff, and perhaps see if there was any grain to that particular thought. (Are you loving my metaphor??) Wanted to decipher my own insecurities and superiorities, ready to accept what I found.

I, I'll have you know, am not pathetic (in general). Sure there are moments of self pity and seeming distraughtfulness, but the overwhelming sentiment is that DAMN! I am righteous! I rock, I could be said to be the pinnacle of Rennaissance Woman. Hence, any fleeting instances of incongruent self image should be completley ignored.

Give us a Little...

New blog I've been visiting... http://thecheerfulnihilist.blogspot.com/. Nice and weird, twisted and longing... I likee, I likee.

Give us a little read if you would be so kind and please check to see if my skirt is caught up in my panties...

(I'll be adding zippy to the blog links in the left column)

And In Related News...

Continuing the testosterone theme for today... http://www.nature.com/news/2006/060605/full/060605-1.html

Parts Is Parts...

So much from so little... http://www.nature.com/news/2006/060529/full/060529-12.html

Most of you, no doubt, have little if any experience with mice or any other rodent for that matter. While I have been thoroughly and completely indoctrinated into the world of rodentia (a complete other part of my life), and will just tell you from experience that rodents have some of the largest balls, as percentage of body size and weight, to be found in the mammal kingdom. While primates (of which we are the most recent incarnation if you subscribe to evolution) have an amazingly low body size/weight vs. testicle ratio, with those big giant mountain gorillas having almost imperceptible balls, but pretty amazing cojones. I certainly wouldn't stand one off.

Today's science lesson brought to you by the letter "T" and the number "2".