The One... The Only... The Vieve

I <3 KEXP

And John <3s my name. Awww.

I was just saying this last week...

One of the indictments of civilizations is that happiness and intelligence are so rarely found in the same person. -William Feather, author, editor and publisher (1889-1981)

(Actually, I think it might have been more along the lines of, "I think things would be easier if I were stupider," but same idea.)

Inscrutable

My weather site says we are experiencing "snow fog." What the hell is snow fog? It just looks like snow to me. Fluffy, foofy, wet, cold snow.

Whatever it is, it's way less cool than the thundersnow we had last winter.

I. W. F. Y., L. A.

Just a private message between me and the universe.

Crikey

Last night I ventured out into the slush and onto the T, downtown, where I have a weekly thing. I picked my way over mounds of ice and around tidepools of ice water of indeterminate depth. After I got out of the T station, the wind pushed me around on the icy sidewalk, and then I stepped in a 6-inch-deep lake of slush. Then I got to my thing, only to find out it had been canceled. Fuuuuuck. Either I'm losing my mind and I just forgot it was canceled or no one called to tell me. Thoughts of either, but particularly the latter, pissed me off. So much.

I dried out my shoe, fired off an angry/pathetic text message, and then headed back, packing myself into a train, extricating myself, and then squishing myself into another train. Walked back out into the cold wind, picked my way around the ice floes again. I got to my car, and decided to be responsible and clean it off before the snow froze into a solid mass. I tried opening the car door, so I could get the scraper, but it had frozen shut. My hand slipped from the handle, which caught and ripped off one of my fingernails. I cursed. And cursed more. Then I chopped the damn ice off the hood and windshield. And cursed some more.

Winter: 5 bazillion. Vieve: 0.

Sucker

I was thinking about Valentine's Day yesterday (the most evil of all the "holidays") and wondering whether anyone would send me flowers or something like that. It's happened only once as far as I can remember, way back in the days of Kozmo.com. So, you know, it's unlikely, and I suppose I don't care all that much. (Though I am a sucker for sentiment, to a degree that is a little embarassing.)

So I bought my own damn flowers, and they are very very pretty.

Kittehs

I keep having dreams about kittens. The night before last, I dreamed that the baby I was taking care of (mine?) disappeared, and I frantically looked for it all around my room and my apartment, under the bed, in the closet. I finally found it, unharmed, but it had somehow turned into a kitten. I was a little confused, but relieved.

Last night, I was at the airport on my way to Paris. Suddenly, I had a bag full of kittens. I knew I couldn't take a freaking bag of kittens with me on the plane or through customs -- I got it into my head that they would take the kittens away from me and drown them, and I couldn't let that happen. I had to protect them. I made a lot of frantic phone calls to people who might be able to take care of them for me, but I don't think I had much luck. The kittens were mewing, the clock was ticking, and I felt desperate and confused and stressed.

Apparently, my dreams are telling me that I can't take care of babies or kittens very well. Poor things.

Warning

Filter = off = bad

After a lifetime of operating within a shut-down, barricades-up mindset, I guess it's only natural to overcompensate. But I think I need to learn how to turn the filter back on, at least selectively.

No filter leaves me indiscriminately vulnerable. Makes others uncomfortable, and maybe hurts them, too.

I'm feeling bad about this now. And sorry.

I will not

I will not eat spicy chili before I go to bed.
I will not eat spicy chili before I go to bed.
I will not eat spicy chili before I go to bed.

It gives me nightmares. Ugh.

I <3 snacks

I'm makin' chili tomorrow. And deviled eggs. And nachos. And god knows what else.

Bring yer fat pants.

Touchdoooowwwwwwwn!

Indeed

Sound of silver talk to me
Makes you want to feel like a teenager.
Until you remember the feelings of
A real live
Emotional
Teenager.
Then you think again.

When I feel old (which seems to be more and more often these days), I remind myself what it felt like to feel younger and stupider. More fucked up. Thinner skin in all the wrong places. Full of misplaced yearning and dangerous illusions. And then I feel better about being 31-going-on-32.