First things first, based on the comment section below: I don’t even have a straight razor. Closest thing is a few disposable two-track kind of razor gizmos, left behind by a certain handsome fella who one might think cares if I off myself. Astutely, and no doubt sarcastically, the same guy points out I love myself too much to dispatch my own wonderfulness. Far better that I inflict myself on you the other members of the planet.
Also related to that comment, don’t you think it would be kind of creepy if the only thing between me and the final adios was meeting a guy? I mean, he’s cool and all, but I’m not quite that psycho. Or my psychosis doesn’t run in that loop. Tomato/Tomahtoh, I guess.
Speaking of living, man oh fucking man, did a ghost just remind me of how choices can affect you. I worked late tonight and then fellow ridiculous work-later Julie and I grabbed some din-din. Consequently, I rolled down my street at about 11 p.m., and right there outside my car door is my old neighbor, Jimmy, who used to knock on my apartment door borrowing a cup of tequila to get him through his jones du jour. Jimmy who always assumed me far hipper than I ever will be (I know this because I never once indulged him in his invitations to share whatever drug was being served on our stoop). I mean, I’m as curious as the next whitebread, yuppie suburban transplant on enjoying the sweet seduction of smoking the rock, but just the same, no thanks.
Anyway, back in the day, Jimmy used to tell me I worked too hard and having a 9-5 gig was bullshit and I had to learn how to kick back more. His advice, quit my job, look into welfare, check out Section 8 housing and, if need be, try to get some workman’s comp/insurance fraud/disability kicking in for me. Then, I would enjoy the succulent pastures of freedom and free time. Alright, Jimmy, SWEEEEETTT, where do I sign up?
I didn’t quit my job. Duh. And, I still tend toward working too much.
Flash forward a decade or so, and we are at 11 tonight in the streets of Cambridge. I’m pulling in in a convertible, he’s walking. I’m wearing a leather jacket from back then that still fits me, he’s in raggedy looking sweats. I’m sober, he’s… OK, that’s all superficial. But, I fucking swear, we used to be around the same age. Now, one of us looks fucking old and beat down and not quite healthy and like life has smacked down more than a few harsh realities of hard living. Salt and pepper with more salt, pallidness and bad teeth, bulk over tone, and clearly still drinking and smoking and whatever the fuck elsing. He looks like 40 looked when men died from factory work and bad healthcare well before 50.
Turns out freedom takes it’s motherfucking toll. Shit. I’ll hold onto my middleclass complacency and keep working for “the man” if it means I get to enjoy and work with what I got.
Speaking of choices, I haven’t had a chance to check in on my favorite conservative Catholic sites for awhile. Caught up tonight. Motherfuckers! Lots of anti-feminist, “pro-life” style women bashing and the homophobia seems to be at a good old hysterical pitch. (Best comment was something about how some colleges now approve sodomy in men’s rooms around campus. Do people really believe this shit? What school is saying “yeah, in addition to co-ed toilets, we really need ass-banging and glory holes!” If you must rail against PC bullshit, there’s enough there without making up mad, sex romping sanctioned by bureaucracy lies. On second thought, keeping it coming because while I love hating your narrowminded arrogance, it’s even more fun when you project in your own little swirl of perversion.)
Finally, here’s some good news. With JetBlue and America West offering up some Cali to Mass and back runs for the low, low, low price of $198 round trip, looks like someone might get to see someone else sooner rather than later. It’s probably another bit of evidence in the pastiche of my sick mind that I almost groove on the romance of the estranged couple separated by a continent. It ain’t so bad to think that maybe somewhere someone might be missing you, is it?
found you while looking up other things. “pro-life” is anti-feminist? come now. all individuals, every one of them, have a right to life. whether they are in the womb or walking around. you want to kill babies because they aren’t convenient? think that through and tell us how every individual’s right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness stops at the cervix.
think, child, think!
Actually, I did not write that “pro-life” is anti-feminist. I wrote something more about the people who purport that view.
I am not fool enough to engage in a pro-life/pro-choice tug of war with anyone who uses the phrase “killing babies.” It is not rhetoric I agree with and/or understand. And, yes, it very much is rhetoric. How and why people started labeling abortion as “baby killing” is a mystery to me. It is dishonest hyperbole at its worst.
In matters of medicine, I tend to err toward rational discourse, facts and evidence. Whatever you believe, these things inform my position. So does compassion for the human race and both its strengths and weaknesses.
These things inform my feminism and my pro-choice values.