An astronaut Floating Away part Deux -or- I Drink Therefore I Am

A stupefied expression must have lingered on my face after that encounter

Never in my life had I dared to believe such a wild notion

I do admit having considering it but the pain associated was too much to bear.

Here is the story...

Kind of like a space-time continuum, not unlike what you may discover if you've the courage to use the infinite probability drive, there exists a place in the vast nothingness we call The Universe where a perfect relationship was born.

An untouchable place, not accessible by even man's greatest attempts, greater even than any proverbial heaven that could be imagined, two small figures, identical Shadows, converged - quite by random - and found that what was previously thought of as misplaced faux-creativity, was actually the singularly unique and distinguishable ingredient necessary to fulfill their respective destinies.

Shadow One: "I knew I'd find you here."
Shadow Two: *laughs* "Where else would I be?"
Shadow One: "By that big lake in Fowey. When you weren't there I knew you'd be here."
Shadow Two: *laughs again* "Right. What do you want to do, then? Should we work on music?"
Shadow One: "Nah... let's go pick a fight with some idiot on the internet instead. We haven't had a go at Rebecca Black fans in ages."
Shadow Two: "Nice. Agreed."

And off they went, two identical shadows, completely confident in their relevance, heading to the home of one or the other to chastise anyone brave enough to publicly support such a worthless and asinine form of entertainment. However insignificant they were, they had each other and that was enough to keep them occupied and content.

*The Next Day*

Shadow One sat before a glowing screen, alone and comfortable when a idea, more like a voice, strikes at his heart from the darkness, exclaiming,

"You are only a figment of the imagination".

Aghast but not completely unnerved, Shadow One deliberately rationalizes the eerie manifestation, leaving it to the past,

Shadow One: "That was... weird. I think, yeah, I think I should probably go to bed now."

Sleep was long in arriving that night.  Shadow One, distracted by moving images and colors emminating from yet another glowing screen, became stoic, believing the feeling of stoicism to be peace, not realizing that peace was far from his heart, and his being was close to extinction.

*Nearby* 

Shadow Two, already deep in slumber, tosses and turns while rest remains elusive.  The Sleep of the Damned includes no rest, no peace.  Not tonight... His heart races with his dream, dark and slow movements, creeping and unavoidable... something is there, something in his mind.

Shadow Two awakes screaming, not sure why Terror has him so tightly in it's grip.  Not understanding of sudden urge to cling to life.  Why the sudden, urgent need to live?  Shadow Two picks up the phone.


*Nearby*

Shadow One, finally drifting off to sleep, bolts upright with the shrill ring tone resonating in the previously silent room.

To be continued....

Hair Bleaching Catastrophe

I wrote this for craigslist.org ... I'm posting it here too The hair Bleaching Catastrophe Anyone who colors their hair DIY, or who is considering it, should read my tale of woe. I started coloring my own hair in high school. I think that's when most people start experimenting. I followed the directions. I did what I was supposed to do and the worst thing that ever happened was my color turning out ugly. So naturally, when I wanted to bleach my hair, the first place I went was to a local beauty supply store/salon and asked a professional. They helped me choose the products I would use and told me how to apply them. It was pretty "cut and dry" (pun intended). At some point in 2002-03 we had a friend from LA staying with us. He was a drummer and was playing in my husbands band. I asked him and also the guitar player for their opinions because they always had some crazy color job going on and I figured they did their own hair frequently enough to know what they were doing. *Big Piece Of Advice*: NEVER listen to what your punk-ass friends tell you about coloring hair unless they have graduated from Cosmetology school. The ladies in the salon told me to avoid getting bleach directly on my scalp, since it would burn me. My friends told me to rub that shit in good or else my roots would be left exposed. Of course I said fuck the beauty store lady! I do shit the hectic way. The way my rocker friends do their shit. Sure the process was uncomfortable, my scalp was tingling and it felt like a zillion bitting ants were swarming my head. Sure I got a few burns around my hair line, but my hair came out a dazzling bright white and I was super stoked. Fast forward a couple years. I'm an old pro now. I know what the hell I'm doing. On the chilly winter evening that the Catastrophe transpired, my friend and I were busily styling. I think I was going for the straight up bleach job and my friend was going to do some black on white number. I had finished setting my hair. My scalp was already starting to tingle, especially since it was winter time and I had a bit of dry scalp going on. We had run out of bleach and my friend needed more to finish her hair. My head was starting to itch like crazy, and I gave it a nice good scratch. A deep, hard, thorough scratch. It felt better for a few minutes. Since my friend had her hair only half done when we ran out of supplies, I was designated the one to go fetch some more. I had my head wrapped in cellophane and a knitted beanie over that. I had the bleach in for about 15-20 minutes already and the hairline on my neck was starting to kind of bother me, but I'm tough, man. I have a pretty high pain threshold, I think, so I chose to ignore it. Yes, I ignored that and the burning that was happening on the top of my head where I had scratched so well. I jumped in the car and drove a 1/4 mile to Longs. I think I was approaching the hair care section when the pain really started to hit me. I was somehow able to find what I needed and made it to the counter. But at the counter I was barely holding it together. I knew I was in trouble. I think my face must have been red by then... It sure felt red. My scalp felt horrible... kind of like electric hands were slithering all over my head, under the skin. Every nerve was on high alert. Code fucking red. The counter girl probably thought I was crazy, I'm sure. All they saw was a wide-eyed, red faced, beanie clad, mad lady trying to buy some shit with ammonium chloride in it (the same ingredient can also be used to make nerve gas). I staggered back to my car and tried driving home. I made it, but it wasn't pleasant. It took every ounce of will power I had to keep my car under control. (I know that statement will probably piss a lot of you road Nazi's off... but hey, if you're afraid to drive with people who suck at driving, maybe you should figure out some super cool method of public transportation and quit driving, I mean God, how hard can THAT be? Let the rest of us kill each other then you won't have to worry about the surplus population either). Aaahh, but I digress. I was whimpering in the car. Whimpering. I don't know how else to describe it. I didn't mean to get myself into this mess, but I did and all I wanted to do was get myself back out of it. My scalp hurt so bad. I arrived "safely" at home and even remembered to bring my friends stuff in with me. She looked at me and didn't know what to say. I think she asked if I was ok. I just drug myself to the bathroom and started to disrobe. The world was reeling around me. I turned on the shower and gingerly started undressing my head. The beanie was no big whoop but the cellophane was HOT. It could have easily been 80+ degrees. Maybe even in the 90's... is that hot?  I don't know... but it was hot.  Some of my hair peeled off with the cellophane and anytime anything (from my hand to a strand of hair) touched the area on the top of my head where I had scratched earlier, it sent a stabbing, red hot, fire knife right through the top of my skull. I took a cold shower. I started rinsing my hair. It was a million icy needles driving into skin that had just been burned off with acidic chemicals. My hair was pulling apart like warm sandwich bag plastic. Like the plastic streamers that hang on bicycle handles. So much of my hair came out while I was trying to rinse. My hand skidded over the area where I had scratched, and it was gooey. The hair was gone, and I had some serious 3rd degree burns going on. I dressed and walked (again, staggered is a better word) a half a block to a medical clinic. At the desk I pulled out the first insurance card I found and shoved it toward the lady. I was in tears. I head a head ache, a scalp ache, a brain ache... my hair still felt like it was sizzling. I could barely talk coherently. The receptionist told me my insurance had expired and I had to go to the emergency room several miles away. There was no fucking way I could drive and I knew it, my friend didn't have a license and my husband was a work. My head was fucked, the receptionist told me to go somewhere else and I basically freaked out. I collapsed in a chair and called my mom who came right down and demanded that I be seen. Good ol' mom. She wrote a check, bitched out the receptionist and also chewed out the doctor. (I should have mentioned before that my mom is a nurse and had known the doctor for years, so she was extra pissed that he didn't see me.. he told her that he didn't realize I was her daughter. Like that should make a difference in a medical emergency... my scalp was melting off, and the clinic was not busy.) Anyway... it turned out that I had given the receptionist an expired CARD, but my insurance was fine. I just couldn't think to find the correct card. I was finally seen, treated and given some serious pain killers (woo hoo!!). For weeks after that, a large area on the top of my head was a swamp of festering puss, it was like a bad abrasion only worse. It was a 3rd degree burn. I kept picking off these boogers that would cling to the strands of hair surrounding my wound. One night I had insomnia and I sat up watching John Carpenter's Vampires. While watching, my hand kept traveling to the area of the burn and pick, pick, picking at what was up there. A good scab had finally formed, and I was picking around the edges of it... loosening it up. It would have freed itself within another 4-5 days probably, but I wasn't willing to wait that long. I kept picking at the scab while I watched big titty vampire bitches get stabbed through the heart. Finally the scab came loose, but it had formed around clumps of hair, which were keeping it in place. *Big Piece Of Advice*: DON'T PICK IT OR IT WILL NEVER HEAL!! I was determined to get that scab off and I finally did. It was somewhat of a battle of will... I was pulling skin off that wasn't ready to come, and also pulling my hair out from under a few layers of skin. It hurt in more than just a superficial way, but stupid me, I did what compulsion drove me to do. It was a pretty big scab. I tried ripping it in half and was unsuccessful. That scab had previously been a good chunk of my fucking scalp. Now, I have a quarter sized bald spot on my head. The incident happened 3 or 4 years ago now... and I still have a nice, smooth area up there. It is always peeking out. I couldn't decide whether to get a hair transplant or what. I finally took care of it. Thanks for reading, guys. This was a long one. If you ever see me in Santa Cruz, say Hi and tell me you read this, and how what an idiot I was changed your life or saved your friend or something. I'd like to think something valuable came from my experience. ~Many Thanks to Bret Scheinfeld for the picture and the unconditional friendship. I love you. ♥~

Bank Robbing Dream (from 5/22/07)

~Dream~

The other night I had a dream that a friend and I robbed a bank. It wasn't some big, glorious, shining bank on the corner of a nice street, it was more of a hole in the wall bank. It was small, clean and dim on the inside. We walked through the door and a front desk stood off to the left. There were a few windows for the tellers and we approached one. It was... like a dream... haha. It wasn't violent. There was a tall man standing at the window to our left, and as soon as he realized what we were doing he screamed and ran out of the building. I remember thinking that my face was uncovered, and I was somewhat worried about it. My friend had a black mask over her head. We turned to our window and told the person we wanted money. They gave up the money and we left.

That's when my friend disappeared and I was on a desperate search for Ted to let him know what I had done. I found him and was crying that I had fucked up BIG TIME. I don't have any priors. I've never been arrested. I used to have a poor driving record but now (that I'm well past my teens and early twenties) it's clean as a whistle. (This is all true). So why in the world would I just toss all that aside and rob a bank? I was so upset and scared. Ted didn't have anything of value to say... I think I was waking up at this point, and when I did, the overwhelming flood of relief washed over me. I hadn't robbed a bank. It was just a dream.

Well duh.

A Disturbing Dream (from 6/29/07)

~OR~ The Storm Died I don't know if I should even share this. If you didn't think I was a total freak before, you might now. I would say, and in fact I AM saying, that a good 25 percent of my dreams lately (lately meaning the last 6 months or so) have involved death in some way. I have always occasionally dreamt about someone I know dying... and sometimes when I dream about someone close to me dying, it's accompanied by a deep, wrenching feeling of loss and dispair. Like a piece of my loved one's spirit getting ripped out of me...like quitting sex just before climax....lol (not really). Last night I had a dream about me dying or at least wanting to die. I'm not sure why. I don't think I was particularly depressed or anything in my dream, all I know is that I wanted (needed?) to die. I don't think I had children in the dream, but I was married to Ted. I can't remember all of the details, most of what I recall is just moving around in a blur of colors and people. Shapes would emerge occasionally to affirm whatever environment I believed I was in. In my dream I wanted to die. Somehow or another I got a hold of Stormy and he must have agreed to help me, becuase I found myself sitting opposite him in a diner booth. There were people at the tables around us. I was talking with him about my feelings, I guess, and we agreed that he would shoot me. He produced a small pistol from inside his jacket. We exchanged a few more words and I opened my mouth. I guess he was going to shoot me though my head from inside my mouth. At least, that's what I believed. There was no malice. Only being. Only fact and acceptance. And, believe it or not, friendship. He asked if I was ready. I said yes and closed my eyes but then decided I'd rather die with my eyes open, and opened my eyes at the last minute. I opened my mouth wider and Stormy nodded. He reached accross the table for a moment and held then gun toward me before turning it on himself, putting it in his own mouth and pulling the trigger. I screamed. He wasn't dead yet. He fired the gun again... and I felt that feeling I was describing before. Like a piece of soul, something, was being forcefully removed from me. Pulled from my inner being. He still wasn't dead. He gave the trigger a final squeeze and that ended it. I was in a daze. I was suddenly outside, wandering in the blur, talking to Ted on my cell phone. The next thing I knew, Ted and I were at a sort of wake type thing for Stormy, at someone 's house. I was clutching Ted's hand in mine... knowing that it was my fault... knowing that it was supposed to be me and not him... Phew!! What a strange dream, eh? I don't know how many of you knew it, but I left the Stormy band. We're still great friends and I'm especially friends with his beautiful fiancee', but I wonder if that dream maybe was me separating from his project in my heart or somthing. Weird.

Dream (from 10/3/09)

Dream It wasn't quite night yet. It was dark because there were many clouds in the sky. Dusk's vague light hung onto life just beyond the thick cumulation. I was driving northbound on Scotts Valley Drive. It was a small, white car, possibly a convertible, I'm not totally sure. There were very few other cars on the road, the street lamps were lit but they were very dim. My focus though, was on the sky. I was alone in the car. At first I was just driving somewhere but soon I realized that something was about to happen to me. About the time I was passing the RV store on SV Dr., I experienced overwhelming feelings of negative anticipation and resignation. I stoically and curiously accepted that my fate was imminent. With some fear I thought, "Something is about to happen to me. Something's going to happen right now." One long breath later, a sharp, bright light tore through my mind and my vision and all at once, my body was useless. When the split second of bright light had passed, I found myself thrown back in my seat, arms flopping uselessly at my sides, my head rolling to the right and to the left. My eyes seemed to work and though I wanted to call out and couldn't, I was able to groan - my groaning was frustrating, affirming my helplessness and not providing the relief one might feel with an unrestrained cry. Before the flash I was traveling in the left hand lane and immediately after, my car began to drift to the left, into oncoming traffic and ultimately into the dirt lot known as the Sand Pit, situated next to the RV Store. I was paralyzed, only able to move my eyes and pull the slightest groaning from my throat. I thought, "I've had a stroke. I must have had a stroke." I worried as my car was drifting that I would soon collide with another car, though, I was somewhat reassured that there weren't many other vehicles on the road. My head lolled and I groaned in vain as I awaited the shock of hitting the curb outside the Sand Pit, but in one very swift movement, the scenery faded and I felt myself pulled by the inside of my chest, from my dream to my bed and reality. I lay partially coherent and feeling like I had been shocked, like how you feel after being rear ended in traffic (maybe you haven't ever felt that way). In a moment though, the feeling that I had been somehow violated gradually subsided, and Ted's rhythmic breathing finally helped me back to sleep. The physical sensation of being pulled from my dreams is odd and uncomfortable, but not new. I've noticed that when it happens I always associate it negatively to my dream, as if some ominous force isn't sparing me from dream death, but is waiting until the key moment to add the final shock. A glance at the clock told me it was 3:03 am. Prime R.E.M. time. (I've been watching the old Nightmare on Elm Street movies On Demand lately.)

Ok, so like

here... I'll make up a little ditty so there's actually something in this folder.

(think of fingers snapping to 2/4 and people dressed all in black standing around... ha ha ha ha)

This cave of mine, this dark space
to look outside, to reach through the window of my soul,
to yearn for sunshine, to face the cold
the millions of dials like the millions of unanswered prayers
the millions of knobs like the knob I wish to hob
only smaller
the door like a prison gate, the time of release so far out of reach
each minute a millinea
each second one second closer
the walls like a muffling pillow held over a silent scream
the windows make me like the zoo monkey
the air waves make me their jezebel
to give the elderly dirty throughts
to give the middle aged dirty thoughts
makes me fucking ill inside
yet they like my sultry voice
though they say, I'm not the smartest one in the batch...
fuckers.

ha ha ha ha ha ha... if you like that poetry, I don't want to be your friend.

One might wonder, when Phil Hendrie is the only thing worth listening to on a certain station, what's the point of going on? Not that I don't like that asshole... he makes me pee my pants half the time... but three and a half years at minimum pay... the best program is Hendrie, and I don't feel like I'm learning anymore. They certainly don't feel like giving us proper training, and they wonder why the turnover here is so high. Maybe I'll go to beauty school. At least then I won't have nasty middle aged men telling me to use my "sexy voice" when I do their radio ad.

I really want to to voice acting for anime. That would make me the happiest girl in the world.

I'm going to start putting poems and song lyrics in here

until I get some up, you'll have to deal with more balnk space. blahr.