How we live.

So, I'm sure if we've talked at all in the last 8 or 9 months, you've heard me rant on about my aunt. This is a woman who lives in our home... and technically, she's my mother's sister. But this woman does not have a job. She lost her job at the end of this last October and has yet to find another one. It's not because of the horrible economy or anything... it's because she isn't looking. But this state of unemployment might be more acceptible (or easier to take) if she at least helped around the house. But she doesn't. Since October, she's cooked about three meals for the household, she hasn't done any cleaning around the house, hasn't raked any leaves in the front yard... doesn't do her own dishes. She seriously has a stack of about 11 dirty bowls and 4 or 5 plates in her room. She has glasses and cups on her dresser, and a few in the trunk of her car. And recently, when my mother and I went to get silverware to use with our dinner, we found very few. Yes, this woman has more silverware in her room than they have in the kitchen of the Olive Garden.

But she still thinks she has the right to complain and criticize. Our house is under a veil of poverty on account of her inability to get and hold a position. When given the choice of paying either the electricity and water bills or paying the cable and telephone, my mom had to go for the utilities. But my aunt still gets to complain about not being able to call her inbred friends while watching Showtime. But it isn't as bad for her... in my bedroom and the front room, the cable boxes have been disconnected, but because the cable is still technically connected to the house, she's able to plug the cablewires straight to her TV and get almost all the channels she got before... and that doesn't work in here. She thinks mostly of herself, while the rest of us (my mother and I) are left to think of Randy at Chase Visa and the miracle that is the fact that Brighthouse didn't disconnect my internet when they took the cable. So when I disappear for another extended period, don't worry (not that I fool myself into think anyone does). It just means the internet is gone too, and with it the only means I have of communicating with the few friends I have.

It's great when I can't sleep because I'm so hungry from not having eaten in a while (because groceries have become a luxury) and she's down the hall, belly full of food she ate at her rotten friends' houses, in the peaceful slumber of the unemployed. It's awesome when my mom, who works the night shift at a job she no longer enjoys, gets her pay check and has to give every cent of it away to bill collectors because she's now supporting nearly the whole household. And let me tell you... it's truly the highlight of my evening when my aunt returns home after a long, difficult day of loafing, and I get to bask in the glow of her happiness. Finally, at 50 years old, this woman has found her life's calling... she's meant to be a freeloader, and dammit, she's good at it.

Old Time Radio

This blog is brought to you by Jell-O brand gelatin dessert - look for the box with the beig red letters spelling J-E-L-L-O!- and Phillip Morris - America's most pleasurable cigarette!

There's nothing better than laying in bed awake (as I usually am in bed) and listening to a little old time radio. Last night I listened to this great episode of "The Whistler" about this man who worked in accounting firm with his brother and their partner. The man was framed for juggling the books and went to prison for 15 years. While he was locked up, he realized that the partner had to be behind framing him, and when he was released he decided to take revenge. He found out that the partner had a heart condition, and he pursued him for almost the entire episode - scaring him death. His brother finally came in with a gun saying he'd kill either of them if they had evidence to pin that crime on him. So revenge was taken on the wrong man.

Another radio program I love is called "My Favorite Husband." It stars Lucille Ball as Liz Cooper and Richard Denning as her husband George. This show is a predecessor to "I Love Lucy", which is one of my all-time favorite shows. I have seasons 1 and 2 of Lucy on DVD and there are quite a few radio episodes among the special features, and I've been listening to them again here lately.

Some other radio shows I enjoy include: Superman, Fibber McGee and Molly, The Great Gildersleeve, The Life of Riley, Baby Snooks, Granby's Green Acre, Burns and Allen, Martin and Lewis, Milton Berle, Our Miss Brooks, CBS Mystery Theater, The Whisperer, and Dr. Ben Casey.

But my all-time favorite radio program is My Friend Irma. This is an under-appreciated sitcom about a smart, serious, straight laced girl named Jane Stacy and her roommate Irma Peterson. Irma and Jane are exact opposites... while Irma is very sweet and lovable, she isn't particularly bright and can be easily swindeled. Poor Jane is in love with her boss - Mr. Richard Rylander, and every time he comes around Irma embarrasses Jane. Irma's boyfriend Al is something of a con-artist... he always tricks her into getting involved in his latest plan to avoid getting a job by telling her that they'll get married as soon as he gets enough money. And his pet name for her is Chicken... she thinks it's cute.

So yes... I love old time radio. I like coming up with a mental image to go along with what I'm hearing. I love the extremely cheesy commericals within the program... I love all the 1940s lingo. I love hearing the characters telling you to save gas and use your ration stamps wisely. It's a wonderful way to waste time.



And remember to call for Phillip Morris and look for the box with the big red letters!

You know who I wish was real?

So, this will probably surprise no one, but I love Superman. He's just... wow. I mean, this is like the most virtuous man ever... caring, loyal, self-sacrificing. And he's hot. Seriously! Thick black hair, piercing blue eyes, muscles everywhere... but not to where it's creepy like all those steroid filled he-men *cough*Governator*cough*. He's loyal to a fault... he's only had eyes for one girl -- since 1938! He's just an all around wonderful guy.

If he does have one fault though, it's his taste in women. So... Lois Lane. Now, here's a woman who is being wooed by a totally charming and devoted guy (Clark Kent), but she couldn't be less interested. But then the unthinkable happened... he FINALLY told her his secret identity. (Let me tell ya... it's amazing what a pair of glasses can hide.) And Lois, fickle and silly woman she is, falls all over herself accepting his proposal. He was suddenly good enough... no longer just the geeky Clark Kent. But hey, I'll go on record... Clark Kent is cool! Sure he wears glasses, and he's practical and all. But come on... he's like the fastest typist to ever hit the Daily Planet. And he's an all around nice guy. This nice guy was never good enough for Lois... not until she knew his secret. (And then he died and came back as a robot and stuff... but he pulled through. And they got married *groan*)

So Lois Lane married Superman... or was it Clark Kent? Which one is more truly him? Is this a normal man with extraordinary powers, or an extraordinary man with the ability to appear normal? Maybe it depends on which movie or TV show you watch or comic book you read. I kinda like to think of him as really and truly being the lovable, bumbling Clark Kent... he just happens to feel more confidant in his Superman suit because then, and only then, can he stand out as something more than just ordinary. Maybe that's his personal paradox... the need to be ordinary but feel like something more all at once.

God, I love talking about him... and waxing philosophical about him... and thinking about him. And... is it weird to have a crush on a fictional character? I mean, he's not the first, but he's certainly got a pretty big portion of my alloted fictional character love. *sigh* To fill that famous girl reporter's shoes for even one day...

Quirky Black Girls

So, if you read my blog at all, you'd probably be well aware of the fact that I have been in what my mother would call "a mood" (said with a sigh). A while ago I was reading this sort of debate on a forum I'm on. It started out innocently enough but became about race, which is a fascinating subject to me. Someone posted a link to a (three year old) blog posting about racism. After reading that, I went to the main page of the blog and saw a link to a site called Quirky Black Girls, and another blog who had written about them. This site's manifesta literally had me smiling from ear to ear... it's just may as well be about me. This made my day, and I'm so glad I read it.

Quirky Black Girls - Embrace the Quirk!

Manifesta:
"Because Audre Lorde looks different in every picture ever taken of her. Because Octavia Butler didn't care. Because Erykah Badu is a patternmaster. Because Macy Gray pimped it and Janelle Monáe was ready.
Resolved. Quirky black girls wake up ready to wear a tattered society new on our bodies, to hold fragments of art, culture and trend in our hands like weapons against conformity, to walk on cracks instead of breaking our backs to fit in the mold.

We're here, We're Quirky, Get used to it!

.... Quirky Black girls don't march to the beat of our own drum; we hop, skip, dance, and move to rhythms that are all our own. We make our own drums out of empty lunchboxes, full imaginations and number 3 pencils.

Quirky Black girls are not quirky because they like white shit; rather they understand that because they like it, it is not the sole province of whiteness.

Quirky black girls are the answer to the promise that black means everything, birthing and burning a new world every time.

Sound it out. Quirky, like queer and key, different and priceless, turning and open. Black, not be lack but black one word shot off the tongue like blap, bam, black. Girl, like the curl in a hand turning towards itself to snap, write, hold or emphasize. Quirky. Black. Girl. You see us. Act like you know.

We demand that our audiences say "yes-sir-eee" if they agree and we answer our own question "What good do your words do, if they don't understand you?" by speaking anyway, even if our words are "bruised and misunderstood."

Quirky black girls are hot!
Whether you're ready to see it or not.

Quirky means rejecting a particular type of "value," a certain unreadiness for consumption and subsumption in an economy of black heterocapital. This means that Quirky Black Girls act independently of dominant social norms or standards of beauty. So fierce that others may not be able to appreciate us just yet.

No matter what age we are, we hold onto that girlhood drive for adventure, love for friends, independent spirit, wacky sense of humor, and hope for the future.

Quirky Black Girls resist boxes in favor of over lapping circles with permeable membranes that allow them to ebb and flow through their multiple identities.

Quirky Black Girls- Embrace the quirky!"

I wonder...

Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all. With anything really. I'm strange, sad little person. I don't fit in well. My life is devoid of most aspects of socializing. I have two friends that I actually ever hang out with, and one of them only wants me when all her other friends are busy. I have no romantic prospects. It would curl your hair to know how long it's been since I was in a relationship. I don't have backbone... I see a guy and think he's cute, the last thing I'd do is talk to him. It's all bordering on pathetic.

I'm lonely. All the time. You have no idea.

Am I too old to experience another extended period of ennui?

Moody blues -- a collection of random, semi-related thoughts

I haven't been very happy lately. As a matter of fact, I've been downright unhappy for reasons I'm not fully aware of. I know, I know... I do try to be cheerful. Often I try to the point of hiding all my real feelings, and that isn't good. But lately, I haven't been hiding it very well.

I just feel completely blah. I guess something good is coming of this... I've been in a lifelong battle with insomnia, but I've been sleeping pretty okay the last couple of nights. A lot of the times I don't want to get out of bed though. Many days I can't remember what the point is.

I'm getting old... life is getting more difficult and trying. I know. I sound like a broken record. The kind with long bangs in front of it's face, thick black eyeliner, and skinny jeans (all of which I love *sigh*).

I can't remember the last time I was happy about something that wasn't completely material.

See, there was a long period of my life in which I was next to never happy. It was sad and difficult, and I couldn't put in to words what I was feeling or what was wrong. And it seemed like no one cared. I'm kinda negative like that though... I always feel like no one cares. I know that is most likely not the case, but it still feels that way sometimes. But the good thing is that the difference between me before and me now is that when I do get to feeling this way, I realize it's rather irrational. When I was that moody 17 year old, I wouldn't have.

iWant of the day: Essential Ellowyne Too, Redhead and this outfit for her to wear.

The voices in my head, and why it's my fault they're there.

If my constant long windedness on this blog hadn't tipped you off, this will shock you: I like to write. I write a lot... stories, plays, novellas... I've made a few brief forays into poetry too, but they all turn out a lot more emo than I hope so they usually end up hidden away forever. But this evening as I was living my full and exciting life (you know... playing video games of the karaoke nature), one of my abandoned stories popped into my head. This particular story has been 1/8 written and taking up space in my mind for a while now... probably since my senior year in high school or shortly thereafter. This story is inspired partly by something that did happen to me, and partly by something that I wish would happen to me. The rest of it is inspired by the worst case scenario if I did end up getting what I wanted. So this main character is loosely based on me... she's even more like me than Wendy (a doll/character from another story of mine) or Morgan (character from my first ff). But this character is a little different than me... she isn't nearly as insecure, but she's a lot more foolhardy. The crazy whims I get and talk myself out of plague her too, but she actually follows them, and that's a big source of that worse case scenario thing playing out for her.

But anyways, whenever something I've been writing pops into my head like that, there's nothing I can do to get it to go away. Except, of course, devote the rest of my time to writing it until I get another block. Then it'll go away for months and come back at some inconvenient time.

And in other news... I'm officially a nerd, as if I wasn't already. The song stuck in my head?