I like My Horse Like I Like Tits: Bare Back

I am generally writing on my travel blog these days and that is called travelbolognie.blogpot.com

However, every once in awhile something crosses my path that extends past cultural bounds and brings me back to nature... where we all come from.

So, travel with me on this life journey- we shall roll through the meadows and dance in the wind. The sky will dress us and our love can trot/ gallop.

In the present we are free, just like a horse or a child without discipline. The sun bathes us like the water- so far from one another, but so close- like politics.

I found the inspiration from today's blog from a thumbnail to an invite called "Equine Vision Journey"... yes, I was invited. I will not be attending because I left my horse in the 1920's, but it's nice to know I can still return to a simpler time. The picture from this event was too small to see clearly, so I got on google and searched "woman on horse meditating". I don't want to say what I found is better than Europe, but really- it's better than God, so it's at least better than Rome.

Oh, Too Much Chocolate?!

I just ordered my friend a mocha from a coffee shop, where I asked about the amount of chocolate they put in their mocha, she told me about 3 pumps in a 16 oz... and she said it in such a way to suggest she didn’t even use full pumps. I said “oh, so not too much, then?” She shook her head and I turned around grimacing at the stupidest question ever posed at a coffee shop. I say that knowing some pretty stupid ones, I worked at coffee shops for years- hip establishments, at that... Oh, I didn’t work their long, due to my deficient proclivity to be chic.
“You’re my BEST FRIEND!” I would declare with indiscernible authenticity to the “coolest”, bitchiest co-worker/ manager... She would tell me something about working and I would tell her how we are like sisters.

So here I am posing a hypothetical question to a barista that can only be the evidence of a sheltered life and repeated head injuries: “So not too much chocolate then?” Like she was going to lean in with a slow wink, real slow- questionably slow, and after looking around to make sure no one was watching smirk at me and whisper “no, too much.” Her mouth didn’t move when she said that and come to think of it, she could have thrown her voice in case someone was listening. I turn around with the heavy burden of knowing the weight of the world.. BOOM, the back of the shop explodes and I am knocked to the floor. I am laying in a pool of someone else’s blood, it’s the barista’s- they killed her and now large black boots are running past my face, splashing DNA in the form of waste and brains. My eyes fill with the parts of other people before I go completely unconscious.

When I wake up, I feel like I am made of cement and would like nothing more than to lay back down, but I am chained to a chair in a 200 watt sterile room, when I see myself in a two way mirror. I have been shaved completely and am dressed in a hospital gown, everything is blurry and slow to advance with my gaze. I’ve been drugged- heavily. A voice comes over the intercom in a muffled metallic “Abbey?” “what do you want?!” I say with the effort of a scream, but the result of a whisper. “How did you know about the chocolate?”

You get the gist. I am very important and my questions reflect that. The mocha wasn’t even for me and now I am probably dead- if I continued writing, but I wont because this is a ridiculous topic.

This Is Today, But Also It's Life

Oh boy, I am so lucky because my boyfriend is going to drive me to get coffee! I mean, he has to because he chose to live somewhere that has nothing around it and he’s not exactly my boyfriend. He is my ex boyfriend who I sleep with when we are in the same town. So he tolerates driving me around in exchange of fluids and affection. I also buy lunches and stuff. YAY! He also loves me and I love him. I love coffee. I love my lap top and hula hoop!

He said he wouldn’t be grumpy about having to drive me somewhere. YAY. He said he’s resigned to his fate because he knows I can’t stay put and need to go places. I’M A PRINCESS!
He’s making jokes right now while I type and I just want to say, you could be driving right now- instead of making wise-cracks. We’re on the couch watching a documentary.

CORRECTION: We’re sitting on the couch, he’s watching a documentary and I am making fun of funny things I hear, as I hear them.

I want coffee now. He said we could go when the “movie” was over. He’s only saying that because he has had cowboy coffee (the cold stuff in the coffee pot from the day before) and thinks I will literally drive into the coffee shop if given a set of car keys, so he has to make me wait until he is ready to take me. I have given him two blow jobs since I’ve been here- with my mouth. I do that for his satisfaction and leverage.

The documentary is over and now he is running into things, doing his best retard impression, no doubt trying to get a blow job. Be right back!

Oh, I almost forgot about you- no offense, but I was shopping! Ordered a dirty chai and got my eyebrows waxed (eee gad!). I also bought a Diva Cup, which is like a reusable tampon. Environmentally sound and ultimately cost effective- BF commented that it will be nice not to have to deal with those “red mice”. I think the purchase was a success to have inspired that rodent blip.

I am going to make soup/ teach BF how to make soup. I want to go for a run, but have to make this soup... we’ll see. Also, I am hanging out, waiting for boy wonder to get whiskey, so we can continue our demise in Beaverton, OR.

You might read this and think something about me, but don’t judge a book by what is typed in bold, declarative print. Trust God and just kick back, life is happening to you soldier, so you just have to wait for the pay check.... or you have to create your own destiny- it’s really about balance. Namaste.

Light Rail: A New Age Train

You ever see an elderly person or someone with unfortunate circumstances and feel an urge of good will, but realize that every thing is hopeless, so you write a sardonic blog about the needy, in front of the needy?

Yeah, me too.

I am on the Max train, in Portland, OR, which is public transit for “train” or “light rail” (new age terminology). I am sitting across from a “blind guy”. I type that in a condescending fashion because I really feel like he’s embellishing his situation and trying to make ME feel bad. He has a dog, he’s old and his eyes are rolling in the back of his head. It’s like sitting across from a HAM SANDWICH.

Give me a break, “blind guy”, I am a woman so things have been hard for me for like three and a half years. Two years is like twelve years in dog time, so you can only imagine the pain three has brought me!

Speaking of dogs... I thought that someone might have brought a box of Popeye’s fried chicken on this train, but realized that “blind guy’s” dog just farted. Not only am I having to look at this guy every once and awhile, his dog is possessed by Asian shit ghosts right under me. Why me? WHY ME!?

I feel like I can’t go anywhere anymore without being harassed by the handi-capped or homeless. Where do these guys get off?

He’s been pretending to be sleeping... he just opened his eyes. Like that is adorable, or something. This guy’s been coasting by on his Anthony Hopkin-esk good looks for too long and it’s about time I said something. Blind people; cripples just coast through life and my boyfriend* has to get a job?! It’s just not fair... he has plantar fasciitis, where’s his dog?

This is what it’s come down to. This man got on the train and my first instinct was “how can I assist him?”. I saw him feel around for his seat and realized he didn’t need me. Well, nobody is going to take my power/ worth... not even *, because I am an independent woman who buys my own fucking latte (unless someone else offers to treat me- I am a princess).

In other news, I am liquidating my self-esteem all week in hopes that relieving that weight will make me skinny.

Oregon COASTING Through The Weekend

I am spending the weekend at the Oregon Coast with my friend, C. C and I used to date and were in love... he broke my heart out of stupidity and I learned to value myself enough to not expect anything from him, so now we get along great... I haven't met anybody else, so we are doing mushrooms at the coast. I am not on mushrooms, but he is playing Mario Bros on Nintendo... what else are you going to do when it's gorgeous outside and there is beer in the fridge at three in the afternoon. He just grabbed a drink, the beer is peeking over my computer, in between C and I- as usual!

Last night we walked into "town" just to laugh at a town smaller than the expansive presence that we are. We were the ones driving an hour and a half to get here. Who spends that much effort to enjoy and simultaneously break something down? Parents, the Government and Us, I guess.

I wrote an earlier blog talking about how I made love to potatoes... then I cut it, thinking I would write something more relevant to the times, but... I am only writing right now as an exercise, not because I'm inspired. It's the same reason I have sex, really.

Not really. The reason I actually have sex is to fake some sense of authenticity between myself and whoever I'm seeing at the time. Pumping and grinding to feel something in this void, this sea of potatoes; fingerling potatoes.

I love potatoes, but our relationship makes me fat. Potatoes don't break my heart, which is a nice respite from fellows I have dated in the past- the drinkers. The only difference is that potatoes can't drive- at least that's what the officer said that one time I got pulled over for driving under the influence and insisted my "friend" would take it from here. He let me know the towns' traffic laws about legumes and such and I let him know that the 50's were so last year- I could love whomever I choose and he should drive because I'm a *hiccup* lady.

There it is, much needed potato commentary.

I Really Mean It.

I will explore the experience I have when I go into grandiose confidence on stage... I can accept that the quips might not be very funny, but the way that people seem to take it really blows my mind.

If I brag about having an iPod touch, you can't think that this is me placing my worth over yours. This is me, bringing to light that I have my notes written on an iPod touch and that's why I'm holding it on stage. If you're still working with an archaic note pad, well I have compassion for that. Vintage really only works with clothes and wine, but you're trying and I commend that. Good for you.

Seriously though, I do have an iPod touch... poor people can only steal them and I bought mine by working and setting aside money to get it. Sometimes, I just put my hand on it and feel better about who I am as a person. I am functioning in a respectable society. I write this as I watch commercials for gadgets I will soon own, as well.

A canvasser asked me if I had time for the environment and I said "is that an app?" she looked at me bewildered and I said "I don't have time for anything but my iPod touch... 32 gigs, very spendy."

That's not true, though. I also have time for my MacBook Pro. I am typing on it right now, but I'm also sitting next to my iPod touch and my phone. I also have a phone, there are only a handful of friends I can still call on it because everyone is so jealous of my success. I just took a photo of myself sitting at a coffee shop with my computer. Everyone is so jealous.

I have $1.13 available funds in my bank until my $2,054 check clears. Deposited it on Saturday and it's Tuesday... I feel hungry, but I wont eat because I have to wait. Luckily, there are a lot of distractions here, on the internet. I look at Oscar photos and know I am not far from looking that good now that I'm starving.

I am flying on an airplane tomorrow with my lap top, iPod touch, iPod nano, and my phone. Thanks America.