Today I am wondering about boats and the sea. What is life on a boat really like? When you cannot find land and have to wear a uniform? I can hardly imagine it and wish I had sailor wisdom to propel me through that mental scenario.
Beth is back, in case anyone didn't realize it. I neglected to mention it because I am so ashamed of myself for allowing this level of female manipulation. She is actually part hamster, I should specify that. She was pliant for a while but now she has become tiresome and textured again, refusing to cook my stew and failing miserably in any attempt to please me. The latter part is fine though because it gives me opportunities to laugh at her and humilate her in various ways. Hi Beth!!! Haha on you for living with such swine as myself. That makes you a swine-phile.
I am actually not so bad to live with. I paint her toenails every week. I give her catalogs from time to time. She has pretty hair.
Ok, not so much more to report. Except that since its casual Friday I will be wearing overalls and no shirt underneath to work. I figure my body hair provides ample fashion-forwardness.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
18 comments:
MM you are the cutest ever. I like you.
I suggest you bring a small spray bottle filled with sugar water with you today. (Secretly) spritz the chest hair periodically to fluff it up. This is the new style - all-over volume - spikes. Chest hair spikes. The sugar provides the glue - also it attracts larvae and flies. Some will go with this - affecting the grunge/hobo look so popular in the 90's. The scabs will form on the skin, rings. Others use the flies and lice infestations as a reason to self-groom in public. This is hot. Metallic lice combs come in a variety of styles right now and its nice to have a reason to use them. They really complete the look when hanging out of a tool belt or wrench pocket of overalls. Some just stick them in the hair like a pic. This provides interesting angularity. Think about this MM. Since beth is part hamster already the infestation will be the easy part.
That is truly quite brilliant not to mention resourceful and multi-task oriented. Wondrous thinking. Good lines of consciousness. Spikes.
I am here to tell you about sailing autobots. We live on boats and avert the realm of scurvy through vitamin c pill popping. We never get wet for we stay on the boat. Everything is neat, everything is in order on the boat. We like streamlined shelving units. We keep our shoes shines clean and rid our bodies of unwanted hair, unlike you MM. But still you could come on the boat if you brought your lice comb, like la donna suggests for you to.
I miss someone.
Is it me that you miss Lila?
Are you really a firefighter?
No.
Aye! She is yar, but move her three points from the larbord bow lest she go by the beam. Once more I find meself pinnned against the taffrail, with me slops around me ankles. Bless the buggery delights of the highseas! Rum soddomy and the lash, me boys.
I know the boat life all too well, Mountain Man. And, my, was lice a problem. The Portuguese called it, "Piolhos," the Russian seamen, "Crabs!" But by any name, it was itchy business. Though it did provide a certain level of consciousness down there. And since everybody had the little buggers, it was fun times.
Please Mountain Man, I am losing respect for you and your commitment-phobic meanderings with the wench, Beth. Rid yourself of that lice; there are many of us who would have you.
will someone paint my toenails? they are like hobo-nails right now, and very long - many inches. Crabs are delicious, by the way.
Slowpoke,
Your hair curves all wrong, you overbrush, it's almost unnatural. It goes in the opposite direction of most other mammals: from the stomach to the back, and what a furry back. Your stinky hair is covered with a coat of blue-green algae all rainy season. You think this provides camouflage, but your stench, oh, the smell; I know your are there, before you are.
You don't drink but get water from eating juicy leaves & licking dewdrops. Lick, lick.
You are all flipped out; you do most things upside down: eat, sleep (an average of 15 hours per day, Slothy), mate, and think, all upside down and backward. Because of your upside down life, many of your internal organs (stomach, spleen, pancreas, even your swollen liver) are in different positions from other mammals. Worst, you sometimes, nay often, let out a cry or hissing sound. You should be more quiet, really.
You wish someone would want to attach themselves to you!
Now gals, what did I tell you about airing your dirty compositions in public?
Pinkeye, don't call names to Sloth. Sloth may be slow sometimes, but will bring jump if provoked! Are you sure it's Sloth who is upside-down, and not you? (Plus too, don't knock upside-down sex until you've tried it...)
I'm ugly. I know I am. All I try to do is escape that simple fact. I'm a freakin ugly duckling. I might as well move to depressotopia and die. "Oh such a sad, and yet pitiful existence, I live."
I've never had a steady boyfriend--gees, in today's world it sounds so odd to say that word, we get so lazy and just say bf which makes boyfriend sound even more direct. Ah! God and her twisted sense of humor. Sometimes she really ticks me off. (Ah, a quiet, small, laugh in the midst of my sorrow)
I try to fool myself (denial is such a beautiful thing) and say a whole bunch of excuses to hide the fact that the answer is, and you guessed it, in the mirror in front of me.
I think I might have a natural male repellant on me that scares all men away. That's my face. (Another pitiful attempt to lighten the pitiful mood I'm in)
What brought on this sudden, but too real of a truth to my eyes, you ask? Well...
I was chatting with some friends online. I had my most recent best picture up--I don't take many pictures of myself because of the same reason I'm writing this blog (I'm ugly) but I found a recent picture that wasn't too bad--and as we were chatting (about who was cute) someone said, "Gee, look at that person how ugly," then I asked who (God's use of irony is always best when you don't know what's coming). Like a lighting bolt from Zeus he said my name, and then other began to agree with him. And like the scene from a cartoon where the character falls off a building and sees their entire life before their eyes, it hit me, I'm ugly. Sad but true.
Why did God make ugly people? A.K.A Why did god make me? Is my life nothing more than to be the object of comparison, nothing more than to compare myself to beautiful people--so they could marvel at their own face.
After the person told me I immediately called my semi-you really can't call him this--ex, he consoled me a little, but that's just to make me feel better. He then showed me a picture of his new boyfriend--which ladies and gentlemen just made my day feel so much better, like stabbing me with a camera after taking my picture and having me look at it as punishment.
I'm about to cry right now. I need someone to hold me.
Oh wait, I don't have anyone to because I'm ugly.
At least now I can assure myself that my title, "Always the bridesmaid never the groom", is secure for the rest of eternity.
I'm ugly: I'm short (5'10"), I have these plump bee stung lips (that have blood flowing through them like a blood transfusion), I have huge ears (that I can twitch), I'm fat--not that foolish slang "phat" genuinely fat, no nothing but fat. Lets not even talk about sex appeal since I have as much sex appeal as the Dead sea has fresh drinking water. (And for those of you that know nothing, the Dead Sea doesn't have any fresh water, it's just filled with salt--enough buoyancy that everyone can float in it)
I feel like wearing a "Save yourself the time" mask for the rest of mother fucking eternity.
I hate taking pictures, I hate seeing how horrid I look. How terrible my smiles are. I destroy most of the picture of myself (or with me in them) once I'm sick of looking at them. I don't have a high school senior year picture for that reason, I could stand the fact of looking at it months later.
I just want to go home, lock myself in my room and eat (I might as well be fat(ter) and ugly than just one, then that way they can keep each others company) and bury myself in my books, because they can't hurt me--unless it's one of those self help books that tell me to face it that I'm a ugly and it will never change, I think I'll pick it up tomorrow. (Might as well, it will be my second bible for the rest of my life.)
(cries)
(cries)
(cries)
(cries)
Why me? Why anyone?
Why can't I just be locked up in a tower, a place where I be ignorant to the fact that I shall never be loved?
Oh! You must be saying be saying to yourself, "I can't believe this kid is crying over that one comment." And I would say the same thing same too, if it was just one event, but it isn't. It's been this ever repeating pattern of loneliness, despair and false hope--that I always mistake for a sign of good days to come, the irony of it all. What no body knows (well besides you guys that are reading this) is that every event I go to alone, I cry. I brag about the fun I had but if you watched me (I don't know why you would) you see a tear crawl out of my eye. Screaming the best he could, like the train that tried to make it up that hill, to tell the world that his master is dying inside, those are my tears, shouts for help. People mistake it for cries of joy, but that's what the mask I wear is for.
Those are my happiest and sadness moments. I am comforted that I those tears are finally able to make their crusade down my face, but I am saddened that there is never someone there to end their struggle.
What shall happen tomorrow you ask? Will he be alright?
Yes, I shall be fine. These tears that run down my face, as we speak, will go unheard with their pilgrimage and will be absorbed by my ebony skin once again, only to make their journey again tomorrow. Their master shall go to bed, after he wipes their tragic trail off his horrid face, and the go to sleep and dream, of dreams of a smile and nothing more. I'll wake up under the deceiving sun that, that day, will somehow be different, and I’ll believe that it will. Only to find later that same night that it wasn't and so on so, until natural death decides to end this cruel tragedy and free me.
-Adieu Luvs
Clarence
Wow Clarence. That is sad. I feel terrible for you and I don't know what to say. Except that, maybe, aren't there other "ugly" types out there that are as lonely as you? That would not hold you to conventional beauty standards? There must be. I hope you do not fall apart under the weight of this sadness. You seem like a fun guy underneath it all. Kisses, MM
Mountain I have updated the link and it now leads to this blog.
Post a Comment