Today's Muse: Some Obscene Sound coming deep from within the Recesses of this Apartment


If I could put this emotion into words, I could. Hell, I'll try: This bubbling gooey joy; this fierce, painful spurt of victory; it's like looking into a funhouse mirror. It's ridiculously funny. It's me, that grotesque thing in the mirror, or it was me.

Oh, the internet is a wonderful thing. For with this comes the need to document, and thus I have an abundance of data at my fingertips... On the other hand, it hurts.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Still, it is fucking funny. It justifies every single accusation and stereotype leveled. The only reason stereotypes live on is because people continue to perpetuate them.

I'm making very little sense. Hm. Promised myself not to do that. Well, time to close that can of worms and move on to something else.

I finally got my MSI back. That's one good thing. Yes, it was only for a day or two, but I missed my hairy little cd. If only I could find the other album...

I pierced my ears. And it feels icky.

I've gone through my life without pierced ears, even going so far as to swear (when I was younger and stupider and emo-er) never to do so. Ach, never say never.

So Mother and I spent a pleasant morning elbowing people down at the shopping district, talking. Little did I know that she was slowly but surely leading me to... *gasp!* the place where Ear Piercings Happen!

Oof. Fine, I had agreed, in a giddy moment, to pierce my ears. After having sister after sister pounding "It's totally painless!" into a dizzy brain, you tend to believe it. So, plop I went into the chair, while a nice lady with thick lips fondled my ear ("What thick ears you have! Better get the long ones!"), blissfully unaware of what was to come.

When I saw the glorified staple-gun that was the Thing that Makes Ear Piercing Happen, I opened my mouth to protest. As if sensing this, Nice Lady with Thick Lips, with the reflexes of a python, slid the Thing into place and POP. Numb with shock, I didn't notice her do the other ear until Left Ear started screaming "Noooo! Why have you done this to me?! Eeeee!" and drowned out Right Ear, who was only whimpering.

For a good while I couldn't speak because I was swearing so hard in my head. (Ah, swearing, the crutch of the intellectually-deviant and the newly-pierced) I had to pause a long while before I could speak to Mother, cleaning up the words that were to come out of my mouth.

All in all, it was an Experiance and AW FUCK EARRING GOT CAUGHT ON SHIRT FUCK MUST STOP TUGGING WHORISH MOTHERFU okay, all done now.

Yes, I know I'm whining. "It's only an ear piercing! Back in the old days it was worst! People get pierced all the time! Wuss!"

I am a wuss, and yes, I have faced much worse pain than this, people have faced much worse pain than this, yes, yes, yes. I am making a big deal about this. But, the key to any good story is exaggeration. That's why I do it, make a fuss. Because I like making people laugh. Because that's pretty much the only thing I'm good at, and I'm not that great, either.

Reminds me of this conversation I had a while back while we were working on that hellish book for school: We cannot measure how we are supposed to feel about pain or tragedy against a yardstick for all of mankind. Someone who has had chronic back pain all their life (cough) would feel differently about an scraped knee than someone whose worst injury so far was a paper cut.

We cannot demand that people react a certain way according to some big How One Should Feel About... rulebook. We cannot demand that a person not complain about a stomach cramp because other people suffer from stomach cancer. We cannot demand that a person should cease crying over a dead bunny because other people cry over the death of another human being.

It all boils down to what values you hold dear.

Which, is a great way to be non-commital, Missy. One day I've got to stop being so damn neutral.

In other news: An Exercise in Obsession is going well. So many theories, so little time...

Panda-bot, on the other hand, is in painful limbo.

All I can remember from Popular Culture: A Reader is something about gay porn. Must go back and read again.

Surely there are other things. Hm.


I seriously considered dying my hair a garish, coppery, red. Y'know, a shade so brillant you know it's not natural.

Then I thought of Ronald McDonald.

Then I thought, "Stupid MF."

Then I went and played MSI, and all was right with the world.

PS: Thanks again, Jay, for the book. I grin at you.