gee brought this up- 'something occured to me today. I often go after men who seem too good for me." are people really 'too good' for other people? how? i sort of don't understand this. is it just about standards not matching? for instance- you like money and they don't have enough?

It's all about feelings of self-worth. but, I also used to assume that when I heard the "you're too good for me" part of getting dumped, it meant "You bore the living hell out of me."

oh my god, I did the 'I'll hurt you" line. But i seriously believe that I would. You're too good for me is way worse than that. Isnt it?

"You're too good for me" Translated: a) "you are [prettier, cuter, wealthier, smarter, of higher social status, more educated, etc.] than I, and therefore you make me look bad in comparison, and my self-esteem is threatened" b) "I really think that *you* think I'm not good enough for you, so I'm going to say it first so it won't hurt so much when I hear it from you" c) "I tell myself it's better to feel bad about myself than to try to feel good and fail, so I'm not going to allow myself to get involved with someone who is indeed [prettier, wealthier, etc] than I, because if they succeed in pulling me up to their level, it will hurt all the more when I fall" d) "I'm lying. I need an excuse. This one sounds good" Which one? Which one?

Is it me, or is anyone else reminded at times of Vonnegut when reading Rhiannon?

I think its you but I could just be uneducated.

I hate Vonnegut. I do not hate Rhiannon. Thus: no. And usually I get D.

I've only kind of read "Slaughterhouse 5," so I can't think of where the Vonnegut-like tone would come from, unless I'm channeling him or something. But thank you. I think. We should all hope to get Ds. As opposed to the others, anyway.

the guy I'm crazy about told me I was "superior to [him] in every way." "you're smarter, you're more attractive, you're thinner, you're braver, you're a better writer -- what else is there?" I remembered that he said that when I wrote to him afterward: I'm not even mad, I don't think. just sad. and I'm sure you're right about everything. [...] anyway, as I may have told you before, I knew this would end this way, even if you didn't, which I'm sure you did. yes, I knew this would happen. remember, I conceded defeat like two months ago. congratulations, again. but you're right you're right you're right. if I had won, you would be mad at me. and there's no reason to think things would work out. but I know that it's too potentially important not to try. (I know this, believe me, trust me.) I want to understand that maybe you think it's too potentially important not to try the right way, the right time, etc. you want to save me for later. that's nice, I guess, and also totally shitty. [...] I hate that you may be feeling shame and regret. I know you're in a totally different situation, but I regret none of it. (and of course I feel no shame.) even if ultimately I wasn't good enough for you, or was too good for you, or whatever guys say about girls they reject.

"it's all copy." I love that, droopy. thank you. if I were a state, that would be my motto. have you ever been to the seventh street theater? or, rather, did you ever go there before it closed? my friend in ft. worth wants to buy it and turn it into a repertory art-fag movie house.

I just got the other classic line: "Let's just be friends." Someone explain _what exactly_ that is supposed to mean? Especially after someone professes attraction to you? Clearly wants to fuck you? Hm. Curioser and curioser, said Alice.

i got that "all copy" line from nora ephron, i think...her mother said it to her when she was a kid. seemed like a handy way of looking at things. the last time i was in the 7th st. theater was in '85. or thereabouts. i saw "to live and die in l.a." hey, there's nothing this city needs more than a repertory art-fag movie house. tell him to make sure it's handicapped accessible. and that he plays "eraserhead", i've always wanted to see that on the big screen.

eraserhead creeps the crap out of me especially big screen i hate watching films on video, i always get distracted- walk away, start talking, kiss, fall asleep...

my point on the other thread was that I was shooting for guys that were unattainable because I didn't Really want to get them. I was trying to protect myself. and yes, I do think there are such things as unattainable guys. not just for me, but for everyone. and what makes someone unattainable is different for everyone. with these last few boys, my general line of thought has been "He could have any of those girls, why would he want me?" which I don't think is so weird. which is more attractive? The girl who looks you in the eyes and talks and laughs back with you, or the girl who sits and smiles and occasionally mutters "yes" and "no"? someday I'll get sick of this and stop being a mouse.

Gee, let me fill you in on something I learned for my paper on shyness and social phobia. Okay. Montgomery and Haemmerlie (1986) came up with a really neat way to "cure" shyness. They operated under the self-perception theory, which states, basically, that we come to know ourselves based on our behavior. So, for example, it's not the case that we think we're afraid of dogs, and then we avoid dogs. Rather, we avoid dogs and then think "I must be afraid of them." So. What they did was, they got a whole bunch of shy students and made them fill out a questionnaire that rated their level of shyness and asked them how often they dated. Then, they got a bunch of other students whom they knew to be really friendly and good conversationalists, and the researchers told these nice students that they were going to talk to some shy students and whatever happened, they had to be nice, warm, and positive. Then the researchers told the shy students that they were going to be involved in a "dyadic interaction process" (basically, a fancy name for "conversation," since they didn't want the shy students to catch on). The shy students then had 15-minute conversations with the nice students, conversations that they were guaranteed to "succeed" at (since the nice students wouldn't reject them or put them down in any way). Then the researchers gave the shy students the same questionnaire, asking them to rate their shyness. Well! Turns out, their shyness decreased. 6 months later, they were still less shy than they had been and they dated with more frequency. Conclusion? By making yourself interact with people, you won't think of yourself as a mouse anymore. You'll see that because you don't act like a mouse, clearly, you are not a mouse. And you'll feel better. [I had to give a presentation on this topic. I have social phobia and am extremely nervous when giving oral presentations, and I told this to my class before I began. After my presentation, my prof. told me how cute it was that I started smiling and getting into my presentation just at the point that I was talking about the above study. So it works!]

is that rhetorical? If not, i would have to say the girl who looks you in the eyes and talks and laughs back at you......yes thats ideal. I need to look in nico's eyes and laugh with her more often. Yesterday on her day off ("jury duty") she was at the coffee shop and this italian guy came up to her and noticed her red leather rockstar pants and said your pants match your lips......she replied "really?" he said "but i am sure you know that right" she said "well no" he leaned in for a closer look "well maybe your lips are a bit darker" he proceeded to talk to her about all kinds of things over coffee. Damn thats good. And this sorta of thing happens all the time. She was relating all of the cat calls she got, and the two other compliments she got on her pants on that two block walk to the coffeeshop. When was the last time someone complimented your pants from a moving car? My neighborhood is primarily gay too!!! WTF! I don't get it, i think i am loosing my touch. Damn the bit about lips and pants matching, thats pretty good. She didn't think it was a come on, but guys approach her all the time with various lines like that. She never looks at them as come on's. I call her naive. Am I wrong? How come girls never do that to me? I frequent the coffee shop as much as she, often alone as well. NO ONE ever stops to talk to me. Perhaps I don't lend myself to be approached. I always make sure i have something to read, and I rarely make passing comments to strangers at a nearby table like, "hey cute dog, he looks like you". Maybe i look intimidating. But then again she is often reading too. Once she was reading some H Miller and a guy next to her pulled out his copy of Tropic Of Cancer....baddabing baddaboom they are hitting it off and this guy is calling my house asking her to go out with him and such. All the while she proclaims his innocence...all the while i say he wants to get into your pants. I just don't get it, and after hearing about the slick italian and his words, i realized i have become complacent and need to whip out more woo. built to spill sounds really good this morning.

How'd the Tropic of Cancer dude get her phone number, Patrick?

of course she gave it to him innocently....she is always making friends...girls and boys. frankly, the more i think of it, everyone around us wants to screw my wife...seriously....its not an exagerration... This girlfriend of hers that works at BCBG, where she may go work soon, told her yesterday.."i can see why your husband is crazy about you" i could site two more examples from this past weekend alone..

if you were a girl and wore red leather pants, you would probably get more attention also, patrick. red leather pants are a symbol that most men recognize. gee, just because someone is "unattainable" in your mind doesn't mean that they are better than you in any way. that's all i'm saying.

yeah i guess that would apply if i had tits as well but i don't. but it's not just the red pants, that was only yesterday. yesterday was not isolated

I used to be really shy--I guess I still am, but not to the point where I used to be. I think it was being forced to do an oral presentation on the Civil Rights Movement in high school that really did it to me. I thought it would be too humiliating in front of all my cool new friends to run out of the room to puke, so I stuck out the presentation. After that, the rest was history.

i get a lot of "you'd be bored."

You'd be bored? I didnt realise that you are Mr Excitement. Are you? Do you have a secret life that we, as subject sorabjians know nothing about? Thats way worse then 'I'd hurt you" but not as bad as 'You're to good for me'.

Rhiannon, that was really interesting. Generally when I'm around people who are friendly and talkative I'm a little more communicative, but I still feel shy, even after knowing them for months. most of the time it's not even that I'm afraid to say certain things, it's just that my mind goes Blank and I really have Nothing to say. Even if someone asks me questions my answers are usually brief. and when I do have something to say, it sounds so dull to my own ears.

Let me ask you something, Gee: When you feel shy and/or nervous around people, what do you pay the most attention to? The way you feel inside (either your emotions or, say, your heartbeat)...or are you worrying about what they think about you?

actually I become very aware of my body and whatever movements I might be making. I notice that I'm pulling on my hair or biting my lip or wonder if my breath smells. stuff like that. sometimes, when I try to converse, I just think about how Uninteresting what I have to say is. it's all about me. maybe I'm too selfish.

no Gee, unfortunately it gets the same as you go on-less so, but you still notice it. As you go on & on, you know yourself more, and the older you get, the less you care. which is sad in a ways, but never forget, ever, in case you have children, which i do not know that you already do. take care, do not ever forget. you are not uninteresting...do not ever forget that.... you are NOT selfish, you are like all of us...

You're not selfish, Gee. There are two kinds of shyness: fearful/trait shyness and self-conscious/state shyness. The fearful/trait shy people are afraid of strangers and unfamiliar environments, and they fixate on their own internal distress. Unfortunately, like the name says, this is a *trait,* which means you were born like that and you'll probably always have the tendency to be like that. It doesn't mean that you can't get better, though.

is there any particular reason Gee you are capitalizing the particular words "Uninteresting", "Blank" and "Nothing". They don't follow a period or start a paragraph. just wondering. by the way I think your nice and your insecurities are no different than anyone else's.

"your insecurities are no different than anyone else's" Well, this may not be the case. Note: "Generally when I'm around people who are friendly and talkative I'm a little more communicative, but I still feel shy, even after knowing them for months." Most people aren't like this. Gee probably has social phobia, in which case she is certainly not alone (one study placed the prevalence of social phobia at 13.3% of the general population, which is a huge -- in the millions -- number of people), but *most* people don't feel this way. Gee, these are the diagnostic criteria. Do you meet them? 1) A marked and persistent fear of one or more social or performance situations in which the person is exposed to unfamiliar people or to possible scrutiny by others. The individual fears that he or she will act in a way (or show anxiety symptoms) that will be humiliating or embarrassing. [The "feared situation" can be things like public speaking, eating in public, going to parties, blushing....anything that involves other people sizing you up] 2) Exposure to the feared social situation almost invariably provokes anxiety, which may take the form of a situationally bound or situationally predisposed Panic Attack. 3)The person recognizes that the fear is excessive or unreasonable. 4) The feared social or performance situations are avoided or else are endured with intense anxiety or distress. 5) The avoidance, anxious anticipation, or distress in the feared social or performance situation(s) interferes significantly with the person's normal routine, occupational (academic) functioning, or social activities or relationships, or there is marked distress about having the phobia. [In other words, having this phobia makes you or your life suffer] 6) In individuals under age 18 years, the duration is at least 6 months. 7) [the phobia is not present as a results of schizophrenia, drug-induced behavior, or any other mental disorder that could better account for the anxiety.] If a general medical condition or another mental disorder is present, the fear in Criterion A is unrelated to it, e.g., the fear is not of Stuttering, trembling in Parkinson's disease, or exhibiting abnormal eating behavior in Anorexia Nervosa or Bulimia Nervosa. If you're hesitant to "admit" to this, it may help you to know that I meet for diagnosis (my "feared situation" is speaking in front of a group...and I really dislike walking through restaurants or other crowded rooms, and I avoid situations that would force me to have to socialize with a lot of people).

Rhiannon, does it make you feel better to have a scientific explanation for everything we humans experience? Seriously...... Not knocking your info or anything.....but at times I think giving our little human nuiances a prognosis, diagnosis, criteria, meeting 1 out of 3 levels of insanity so on and so on...well it can be even more nerve racking. making one question every thing they say and do...."was that due to my (insert any mental disorder) how bout that..." I am not doubting how having this knowledge can help people too, but sometimes it just seems to much. Wondering if your breath smells, thinking what you said may sound dumb, being shy well after inroductions......and so on....this is just all insecurity.... we all have various forms of this. I see no need to complicate it with criteria and an official diagnosis... again I don't want to knock your knowledge...but do you see where i am comign from.....anyone?

Yeah, I see. And yeah, I overanalyze. But, mental disorders are real, and people really do suffer from them, and it often helps people to know it's not just them...that other people suffer as they do...and that there are ways to get help. Because I can tell you, from experience and from research, that this particular disorder is much worse than worrying if your breath smells. There are people who can never go to the grocery store because they're afraid they won't have enough money with them and then they'll be embarrassed at the checkout counter. People who never have any intimate friendships or relationships because they're too afraid that they'll blush when they talk to anyone. People who drop out of college rather than take a required public speaking class. People who can't drive because they're afraid of making the other drivers on the road mad at them when/if they cut someone off. People who can't walk down the sidewalk because they're uncomfortable with people in passing cars looking at them. Rather than minimize things, I think it's best to advance the possibility of "you know, maybe I have a problem here....what can we do about it?" Not saying that Gee is crazy or anything. No, far from it. But she has repeatedly mentioned feeling very shy and wishing she weren't like that. Well, so here: if you know that this is not within-the-normal-range shyness but is something that warrants attention, maybe you'll be motivated to find help. Read "Shy Children, Phobic Adults" by Deborah Beidel for really good descriptions of social phobia and treatment options (which don't all involve therapy either...many things you can do on your own. Not that there's anything wrong with therapy...the social stigma surrounding such a thing is very unfortunate.)

i recently took this test I am sure you are aware of it. the wife is a psych major and she spoke as if it as a fairly profound doctrine in the field. and well, it just annoyed the hell outta of me being broken down like that. Humans are far more dynamic. Everything is not so black and white. When the phone rings, I may rush to answer at times and at other times I may let someone else get it (one example of the type of either/or questions). And well, I kinda have some sour taste for the field of psychology. I think it has it's finer points and it's time and place, and at other times it's utter poop. i think it's interesting the people who are often fascinated in the field of analyzation are often over analyzers themselves, perhaps perpetuating the labeling and diagnosing of every little human response. The wife can overanalyze too, not trying to pick on you spider....

My psychometrics professor has a huge problem with tests like that because they're categorical. For example, it ranks you on a scale from 1 to 10 for extraversion vs. introversion, so you're considered an extravert if you get a score of 1-5 and an introvert if you get a score of 6-10. So what it's saying is that someone who gets a 5 is *completely different* from someone who gets a 6, but clearly, they are not, there's only one point on which they differ. Actually, that's a big problem a lot of people have with the DSM (where the diagnostic criteria above are taken from). It has, for example, 9 criteria for clinical depression, of which you must meet for 5 to get the diagnosis. But what about someone who meets 5 criteria, but very "lightly," versus the person who meets for 4 criteria, and their symptoms are more profound? The 4-criteria person would not get the diagnosis. Is this right? Many people think not, including me. Then there's the whole issue of "abnormalizing" what are just variations in human nature....whole other can of worms there.

PS. How did your psych major wife get a job as a textiles designer? Did she go on to design school?

Those tests suck. Mostly I'm inclined to say neither or both to either/or choices. Fuck all that. Rhiannon, I hit your little questionnaire hard. I am 'shy,' but have that streak of faux-macho that makes me do things that are uncomfortable for me. I like people, but I don't like going to parties where I only know one or two because I don't want to be clingy or monopolize their attention but I'm afraid of interacting with strangers. I tend to make excuses not to go to parties. Lame excuses. But I had a great time at the last party I went to. But I STILL don't want to go to parties. Anyway, I also abhor public speaking and my voice quavers. On the brighter side, I will totally compliment random strangers on clothes. etc. I have two parties I'm supposed to go to this weekend. One is with people I work with, and I'm drawn more towards that one because I know the people. The other one is with Cameron's friends, and I'm drawn more towards that one because it's likely to be smaller and more intimate. I already tried to weasel out of both, telling Cameron we just didn't have time what with moving his stuff in. He didn't buy it and said we'd been doing that way too much and we need to slack. Sigh.

i too am like you in regards to parties margret, not wanting to go to parties inwhich i only know one or two people.....unless i am with someone at the time that knows the host. In hollywood, people can be assholes to strangers, because of the celebrity status of many people and the way people get ahead in the industry, schmoozing and so on, people in higher places can be skeptical of strangers.....immediately they are on guard as if you are trying to gain something from them, which many people are. I am actually glad to say i am not in the industry, nor am I looking to rub shoulders with some bigshot producer. Rhi, she actually landed the job she is doing now about 6 years ago as an admin asst. she moved up to production and then on to desgin over the years. she originally wanted to go to Rhode island Institute of Art but her parents didn't want foot the huge bill, so she opted for a private women's college, Meredith in Raleigh and did the psych crap. She always had an interest in design, but her passion was cemented with the job she took 6 years ago, giving her the opportunity.

ENFJ. whatever that means. Margret, you sound so much like me. I hate parties, even though I usually end up having an okay time at them.

Guardian both times i took it Supervisor ESTJ-the first time Inspector ISTJ-2nd time through i took it twice to see if my answere had any variance depending on mood. Slight variance.

NT. I can't remember. The one what ummm Einstein was.

i have a deep animosity toward the psychology industry. still, i see all their "insights" in pretty much the way i see musical theory. when you jam around with different people, you run into the guys who think that all they have to do is learn all the scales, others who don't bother learn anything but the most basic stuff because they just want to "express themselves" (and therefore play like crap), and then there are those guys who know how to use scales and theory to find their own way to express themselves.

I love parties and I,m not shy.But I have many phobias,I take meds for it,but they haven,t seemed to help me with my fear of driving.Panic attacks are so scarey.My mother and her deceased sister both had agoriphobia,I,m probably not spelling that right,but they are afraid to leave the house.I,m all for some insight about what is being done to prevent this.

"others who don't bother learn anything but the most basic stuff because they just want to "express themselves" (and therefore play like crap)" thats not always true droop. i have met some very fine self taught musicians. i think I pretty ok as well......

Droopy, what do you play (instrument and genre?)

that's not what i meant. i'm completely self-taught, too. and i'm a garage player through and through. it's one thing to be the ramones or the stooges, and it's another thing to have absolutely nothing express and just being lazy.

i'm a bass player, but i've been known to play guitar and harmonica. not sure what genre. i once sent a semi-audible tape to agatha, ask her what it sounded like.

Rational Nt - that's closer to me than any horoscope. Architect INTP - I don't think I'm as arrogant as he description, but other bits were right on.

i see droop.....speaking of stooges, if you dig...i recently picked up some unreleased tracks put out on Bomp! records........some of the same tunes you may have heard on raw power and funhouse, diff recordings though...HIGHLY recommened for the stooges fan in us all!

INTP right on. including the arrogance.

As a highly paid and over educated member of the "psychiatric/psychological quasi-scientific technological drug-driven western allopathic medical establishment" for several years now, I can tell you that most of what my fellow "therapists" and psychiatrists do .. is ... bullshit. I no longer believe in - and actually have trained myself out of - therapy as such. So we diagnose. So we label. We don't deal with what's wrong - if anything - with folks. One person's pathology is another's visionary experience. The arrogance of diagnosis, testing, proving scientifically someone's screwey ... for what? It used to pay the bills, that's all. Yeah, and now I go around the country teaching therapists how not to be one. Pays more of the bills. Called me jaded if you want.

Rhiannon - I meet up with almost all of your criteria, except for number two. as far as I know I've never had a panic attack. my shyness can be odd sometimes. if I'm supposed to speak in front of a large group of people, generally, the bigger the group, the better I feel. If I need to talk to a stranger, I do Much better in situations where I'm the one in control, so to speak. Like, I'm fine with helping people when I'm at work. I can be polite and tell them what they need to know. If I needed to ask someone for directions, I'd be a bit wimpy, though. my shyness doesn't effect me to the point where I'd drop out of school or a class to avoid public speaking. I do avoid choosing classes where I know I'm going to have to give oral presentations, though (unless I Have to take them). I'm more like the person who won't ask the prof. a question in the middle of class, even if he encourages the class to ask questions. I'll just go up to him and ask him afterwards. I've always figured that someday I'll just get sick of being shy and Stop. I haven't always been this way, so I figure I won't always be in the future. Somewhere inside me I must be able to force myself to overcome my shyness sometimes if it's really important to me. If I really need to tell someone how I feel about them, or if I'm sticking up for someone I care for, I can be bold. If I can do it then, why can't I do it all the time? oh, I know I'm saying a lot here, but I just thought of something I always thought was really interesting. I used to work in a daycare with kids who were three or five. I'm still shy, but not Nearly as shy as I was before that. Being around those kids all the time just made me more bold. Patrick - when you see me capitalize the first letter of random words in a sentance, that's just my way of putting emphasis on that word. if I were actually Saying the sentance, that's the word I'd hit the hardest. Ben Ohmart does that all the time when he writes stuff, and somehow it just attached itself to me. I think I like doing it because it's subtle, and most people don't even really notice that I'm emphasising anything. thanks for saying something nice about me. Look how I called you by your name.

Folks with social phobia can get to the point where they won't even Enroll in School Classes, oral peresentations notwithstanding, or ever answer Anyone on a message board. We all probably meet criteria for many Wonderful Disorders, but almost always there is the need to evidence a maladaptive pattern of recurrent behavior, nearly always with negative consequences, in order for someone to Be Diagnosed. My garage door keeps opening by itself lately. Sorry, Rhi, I didn't mean to sound harsh. it sounds like you have a good amount of knowledge about shyness and social phobias; I was more commenting on my profession than anything else. If you live in a large city, there exists phobias of all kinds. Out here in the stricks, we just fear the UFO's and the meth heads. They might have the code to my opener. Panic attacks are a pain in the chest, shortness of breath, and an impending belief one is going to die, among other pleasantries...but very over- rated: sometimes it is just the body's way of getting our attention or getting tension out. We have pathologized them in our culture. They are, however, quite debilitating to some people, fairly treatable with both various talk therapy and (unfortunately) drugs (and usually the wrong kind, thge kind that makes one into the thorazine, xanex valium pill popping shuffling shit in your drawers useless protoplasm). Most folks I see who complain of panic attacks are just having a bout of high anxiety; panic attacks are either or not accompanied by agoraphobia. The door was closed this time. When dear Old Freud started out, he had two diagnoses: sane and hysterical. Period. The way one fixed a hysterical man was to give him alternating hot and cold baths, or fire hose him while manicled to a wall. The way to fix a hysterical woman was to give her a hysterectomy. Go figure. So now we have a zillion labels and a zillion zillion diagnostic criteria. I'm glad garage door fantasies aren't included in the DMSIV. And one might argue that humans are more neurotic than ever, May be more psychotic too. May be it is the salt in our diet. I keep extra salt in the garage in case I run out. You're fine in my book, Gee, and so is everybody else here. Mostly. Maybe. A little schizotypical tendencies are a bit fun every now and again. I have to go check my garage door. The original question (just because I am detail oriented...) was something to do with why we are attracted to partners who allegedly are out of reach for some reason Because They Are Safe Because They Are UnAttainable Not Necessarily Because They Are Better. Everyone's comments about What THAT Really Means is right on. And Gee, your 4/24 3 am first paragraph is clear as a bell. And seems to be true and insightful for many people. I can often open up to someone I Know Can't be Interested in ME Because of Their Preexisting Relationship with Someone Else. I can't date anyone with a Stanley opener on her door; it would be sacriligous. Enough ranting this morning. I hope you all have a wonderful panic free Saturday morning, and wake up next to someone whose name at least you know, and breath deeply in the draughts of human dignity and lunacy today. You guys have problems with Your doors, don't you? It's pretty common. House hunting for me. One without a garage. It will cure me.

I keep my garage door locked at all time so no one will steal my bike or my fireball rackets. I advise you, Daniel ssss, to use your garage door opener as a pinata. Speaking of whcih, anyone see Thursday's Daily Show, with the security cam footage of some winner down in Mexico, screwing a pinata in the ass? It's seared on my memory.

the wife gets scripts of xanax for "panic attacks". I probably drive her to them. I see Gee, i appreciate the unconventional style of writing like that.

interesting form daniel. i have lived my life too safely

Ever notice that the word therapist breaks down to "the rapist"?

i never noticed that before.

Here are some tests. http://www.emode.com /

Wow. That's eerie. Luckily, I've never seen a therapist in my life.

So you are suggesting that I do something lewd with my garage door opener? Like that mexican chap with the pinata? May be that would fix it, but the chain oooooo the chain is long and could be painful. Besides. Just besides. That's enough. I will unplug it. I promise I will. Emotional and psychological rape. (oh shit, he's serious again) Interesting that the word breaks down that way. One of the groups of men I work with is composed largely of pedophiliacs. I try to help them put their lives back together after their exposure, court battles, incarceration, and shame. I don't agree with what they've done, they don't either. Messy work but beats herbal cleasning or colonoscopy. And pays much better; and you don't have to drink barium, just hemlock, every so often. I can sleep at night. So much for the therapy business. I found a house with four bathrooms, hot tub, and two sinks in the kitchen, and a country canning kitchen in the walkout basement, nestled in the woods, but alas! it has a four car garage with one single and one double door. But no openers. Yeah. Despite the work it needs I put a contract on it today. My therapist says I can get better now...now that I will be poor again.

tonight in the car on the way home from the gym I felt better for a couple minutes. "everything is going to be ok," I thought. I felt sort of relaxed. then I got sort of pissed that it was probably some weird endorphin thing. and I realized that I don't give a fuck about feeling better -- I want things to be better. I'd rather have all the things I've decided that I want than be happy with what I already have.

I'm applying for a new job in a new city. I am not hopeful. I am never hopeful. I am becoming all melodramatic and sending hostile e-mail and overworking at the gym and not sleeping even after drinking lots of extra-strength chamomile tea. all I want is just an itty-bitty promise of nice things to come. I can't decide whether to cry. I think I'll just hold it back. I don't want to be puffy and red. this is how upset I am. I weighed myself last night and realized that I am within a few pounds of my whole-adult-life low. yet today I had lots of time to kill and I was near lots of clothes shops, and I didn't even feel like looking.

you could say that I bought the farm. Contract was countered; sellers came down $19,000, and I snatched the puppy up. I will miss my little rock and brick place next to Grant's farm where the buffalo and zerbra roam...and th Clydesdales are brought up. But it appears more likely than ever that I will have my place in the country in sixty days or less. Closing is the 7 of June and I head for Aruba on the 9th. What timing. What an answer to my little itty bitty plea of a place in the woods. Cyst, it does get better if you don't give up. Hang in there.

Cyst, if you know anything about accounting and want to live in New Mexico, go to www.prolaw.com and apply for a job with my company. Apply for a position as a trainer. Even if you don't know anything about accounting. I will see that you shop at the best shops and eat at the best places and meet only really cool men.

Tell me more about this farm, Daniel. I mean, besides the stuff you put about the house up above. I'm looking for a job too, cyst. It's very depressing trying to find work around here. (My old job done gone and died on me.)

thanks, you guys. margret, I think I am going to try to move to seattle. that will be the most convenient place for me to seriously fuck things up. I cried and then went out and had a couple of margaritas and now I am going to try to finish an e-mail message and then I will try to go to sleep, I guess.

drunk: your name came up tonight. the waiter wore a --- t-shirt. sober: you know what is really awful, that now I have neither you nor AC. my very smart and oversensitive friends who went to private schools, like martin amis and live in this region. you perhaps don't realize how important a category this is. I want to be taught. I want to get really stoned and talk about stuff no one else would understand or care about. when I was letting myself like you, it didn't matter that AC wasn't speaking to me. but now. god. I wanted so much to talk to him last night. I needed to discuss the subjunctive mood. who the fuck can I call at night and talk about the subjunctive? how can he not be my friend? who has taken my place? how can he live without me? what is truly perverse is this frantic discarding of tall, bright, pretty, tragic women who have nice figures and aren't taking anti-depressants. I guess it finally got to be too much that it was all always on my terms. that I didn't think I needed him. he knew I didn't think his well-fed goth suburban girlfriend was smart enough for him. I encouraged his enthusiasm about his assigned partner in film class. "it's good," I said, "that you realize that you may have other possibilities before things get, um, inextricable." I wonder if that's when he knew he had to do something about his love/hate for me. I guess it would be better if I were righteously hell-furious at you instead of just indignant and annoyed. better for both of us. I could indulge my secret love of ugly histrionics, and you wouldn't have to waste any more time on this bullshit end-of-the-affair pussyfooting. I understand how that infamous woman ["an ex-mistress"] would rather piss you off than just have you pity her. (middle english "grass widow" - discarded mistress. she who lies on a mattress of hay instead of in a conjugal bed.) you do too. you copied M's notebook and gave it to me because you knew I would actually do something about it. [long story.] drunk: I kept this message to finish later. now it’s later and I don’t feel like it. tonight I want to sleep. oh, I just remembered how I wanted to end this. I wanted to explain something about how I feel, something you may not have considered. we talked and talked and talked and talked and talked, and that was great, and then we started getting together, and that, I thought, was great too, but that was when you said no. one interpretation of that could be that in that way I was inadequate and couldn’t sustain your interest at all. and I almost feel like your explanation of your vitriol toward that woman was supposed to contain some sort of message to me, like, look what I saved you from, you should be grateful! but, anyway, the cool thing is, the more I say about all this, the less it seems to matter. I mean, clearly we don’t need each other. you just need someone, and I don’t need anyone, and chances are neither of us will ever stay content, so we’re already set. that word makes me think of jello.

You know, in my mindless self-absorption I'd assumed I was the only person in the world (outside of a highschool language class) who ever actually wanted to talk about the subjunctive. Fuck.

since we purchased Out magazine and have become a a mega big gay publishing conglomerate. We have tons of jobs open. Everything from photo assistants to senior editors. I don't think you like LA, or perhaps you are indifferent. Most people don't like LA, for no good reason. I was once like them. It took several years to actually start to appreciate this place. There is history, scenery and not enough rain for my tastes. There are plenty of dingy Bukowski bars to have drinks in. Such as Hank and Franks. Last night. The place looked like someone's rec room where i once ate dorritos and drank coke. There was the pool dolphin (not shark for no money was at stake, and he was quite nice and even complimented my horrible pool playing, a gracious winner), the guy with all the coke, the few freaks who i played darts with, and a bartender that would rather watch wheel of fortune than get you a drink but smiles when you pay. There are a few other haunts he was known to hang in as well, not that that matters too much, but he had good eye for decent company in the oddest of places. None of these bars have changed. This was (last night) the kind of place, oddly enough, an attractive woman can go and be relatively safe and not get hassled. Yeah, LA is growing on me. Cyst if you have ANY...... interest send me an email, i can send you job info.

Today, I was flipping channels and came across Mike Nesmith of the Monkees, dressed as Frank Zappa. He was being interviewed by Frank Zappa, dressed like Mike Nesmith. They ripped on their own (real) music, and then demolished a car to the tune of "We are the Other People". God I miss Zappa.

I rember getting the tape of Zappa,s dancing fool song and as soon as I put it in the tape player it got ruined.He did a movie once,it had Flo and Eddy in it,I think it was called 200 Motels

I think the ads in Out magazine are fucking delicious!!! :-)

I would just like to say that I've been very happy lately. I love my job. they keep teaching me new stuff, and I love learning new job skills. in a month or two I'll probably be sick of it, but right now I love it. Or maybe I won't be sick of it. I'm even starting to take the tasks I couldn't stand with an easy going attitude lately. I used to groan and think about how I didn't want to do it, and now I just do it and let my mind wander onto other things. also: boys. I feel good. Ishmael said to me the other day that a girl he used to like once told him he was "obviously looking for someone". I told him I was obviously looking for someone too, but I don't feel like I am anymore. I enjoy being around Ishmael because he makes me laugh and I'm somewhat relaxed, but I don't feel all the time like I Want him anymore. I think realizing what I was doing (the boys I was going for) really helped me. I feel so relaxed, and I'm really enjoying my days. I hope it lasts.

Isolde: email me and I'll be glad to share all the dirty details of the little place I found. It looks like the financing is good, the inspections and appraisal set for next week, and a closing perhaps before end of the month...the house is log, the grounds include woods, ivy, a yard of flag iris, nut and fruit trees, two cement block composting bins large enough to bury a small car, grapes, berries, and then the good assortment of herbs, perennials, and woodlot full of things like self heal or heal all, mayapple, dock, bloodroot and goldenseal, and many undiscovered little treasures. Not alot of acreage, but big enough for one person to handle. Huge house. Four car shop garage barn thingy. Long driveway through the trees (mine) on one side and on the other, my neighbor's little vineyard well groomed despite his obvious Coors Light attraction. I'm happy but a little scared: I've lived mostly with sidewalks for over twenty years now...so I'm going back to the country, end of the road, edge of the ridge, and seclusion. Meth lab county, but none in the immediate vicinity (I asked my clients...) Oh yeah, hot tub too. Room to write and dream.

Sounds like a really nice place. A friend of mine just bought the rance of another friend which is similar. I have much jealousy. I want a nice house with big gardens and a pond. It's going to have to happen sometime. And a hot tub...you're riding high. I lived in the city for a couple years. I thought I was going to die. Now I just have a little dump in a village out a long road. Nothing special. Sounds like somewhere warm (vineyard). It's neat that it comes with orchard and stuff too...

Isolde: I answered last night but after a long message and considerable editing, got bumped off the server and lost it, Today I visited the place and walked the 127 acres down the hill on the south slope. There's rumor there was built a lake of about five acres at the bottom, in the 70's, but because of the karst topography and the numerous caves in the immediate vicinity, it never filled. I'm liking the place more and more. Where's your little village? I'm four miles from the nearest gas, propane exchange, video store, and discount food chain...and these places are 16 miles from civilization. This little shopping center has a drug store (Otto Drug) and a tiny medical office. I think it needs to eventually house an office for me. I'm dreaming...but as it stands it's 16 miles from the hospital where I work, about five miles (the other way from Otto Drug strip center) to the county seat, cowboy heaven....where the company I woirk for part time has an office...and only 45-50 miles from my furthest office right now...which I hope to change.

I,m jealous too it sounds beautiful.That,s why I want so badly to get out of here,the traffic,the crime,all the houses look the same.

email to the guy who's too good for me, or I'm too good for, or whatever it is that guys say to girls they reject: I didn't even read the roth article that closely, but I noticed a bunch of people at the new yorker let "finnegan's wake" slip by. I haven't even read it, but I know the title contains no apostrophe. one of the reasons I was glad I didn't end up fucking my friend, the stephen malkmus-looking guy I stayed with [last saturday], is that during a phone conversation we'd had a couple days earlier he said "between you and I." (as did the guy who called me yesterday and invited me to come to santa cruz with him and spend a couple days lying on the beach, but he's not cute so it doesn't matter that he doesn't know when to use the object pronoun.) another reason is because his girlfriend [...]. he was going to try to have her not come over that night so he could try to sweet-talk me into fucking him, but apparently she's very jealous and was not into his having a strange female overnight guest over by himself. on sunday I got up early, still wearing the slutty outfit I'd been in since saturday morning, and I heard her downstairs, loudly proving that they were HAPPY and IN LOVE, even though he says he isn't either. I wished I'd brought something other than proust to read (he's part of my own little campaign, to prove I am SMART), and I couldn't think of anything fun to do while I waited for them except put on all that fancy new makeup rich guy had just bought for me. so I played around with that and regretted not letting him buy me an outfit too. we went into a bunch of the trashy little shops at northgate, and I tried on some little dresses at express, the one that used to try to seem french by playing euro synth pop and putting up rococo-style wall fixtures made of gold plastic. I knew he would only like the least subtle outfits, so I chose something small and tight and strappy and slitty. I was a little embarrassed to leave the dressing room in it (does this make me look fat?), but I did, and he said, "no no no no! I've told you! this fits you like a mumu. it needs to hug your waist, like THIS--" he grabbed the dress from behind and tugged me back with it. he pulled it tight against my skin, and he was right, it did look better that way. I know we were making a scene. I know if I had seen some guy do that to some other woman, I would have been outraged (though not enough to say anything, of course). but to me playing a pampered, battered girlfriend in the mall was comical, as funny as the last thing I thought was really fucking funny -- remember years ago, in hong kong, they thought the chickens were spreading some awful disease, so the (british? chinese?) government ordered all the chicken killed. every single chicken in hong kong. then they figured out it wasn't the chickens at all. hilarious. and I wanted him to tear the dress because I wanted to hear what he would say to the salesgirl about it. I was sure it would somehow end with his asking her out. but it didn't rip, and I didn't ask for anything else. since I didn't have any new clothes to try on that morning, I just kept on wearing the might-as-well-be-topless shirt, which went well with the shiny and dark $60 lip ensemble but not with the wholesome sunday sunshine. oh well. I stretched out on the easy chair by the window, and I waited. eventually they came up, all glowing and giggly. I'd never seen her before. tall, great figure, nice complexion, not that pretty. she was wearing a little skirt with leggings underneath, a tank top and a black leather jacket. she had just bought her own motorcycle in order to help him forget that she didn't like to have sex. "look at you!" he said. "you look so beautiful, posing like that the sun." people are always accusing me of posing. I mean, yes, I am a poseur, a poseuse, I love to pretend, I am a complete fake, I think I am incapable of saying or doing anything genuine or sincere, but that doesn't mean I was POSING, I was just sitting there for fuck sake. and why did he have to flirt with me in front of his insecure, oversensitive girlfriend, from whom I was going to try to get a job? what good is his crush on me if I can't use it to get what I really want? she's [...]. I wonder how she can overlook his little pronoun problem. [...] I called CM to ask if I could use him as a reference. I've been calling a lot of old crushes to find out who sounds the best these days. we talked for a long, long time. I told him I don't have a boyfriend. I told him I saw a cute guy in qfc who could have been a contender, but then I got closer and noticed his basket contained a loaf of white bread. "I couldn't date a guy who ate white bread," I said. "you need to remember two things," he said. "one is that guys learn everything they know from their girlfriends. maybe he just needs someone to teach him that oat bread tastes a lot better." "I don't really care about the bread. I don't even buy bread. it's just a symptom. and I don't want to be the teacher. I want to be the student. I want to learn from him. I don't want to have to be the smart one." "and the other thing is that you don't have to get all that from the person you love. you can have your intellectual discussions with your other friends." not only was he not impressed by how quickly I can dismiss attractive people because of their choice of groceries and pronouns, but he thought it shouldn't fucking matter. he was telling me to settle. well, all I needed from him was [job] advice, and I'd gotten that ("lie. say you know xml."), so I could go ahead and hang up. and I'd always known that he was a force of good in the world, one of those people who really meant well, so whatever he had to say to me was irrelevant anyway. (anyway.) saturday I pretended I was an overachiever and I rode my bike 28 miles. then I went to the gym. friday night I started making you a tape. as I was getting ready to go out, I spoke into the recorder for 45 minutes. as you can imagine, it's so fucking boring I wouldn't dream of actually sending it to you. I got the idea when I felt I needed to record a greeting for my voice mail because I'd thought I'd lost my address book and didn't have anyone's phone number. maybe also because I had been thinking about how sarah vowell sounds like someone who would write sarah vowell stories. when I listened to my message I realized how well my voice reflects my languor. I was exploring its mae west, slow-sex-in-the-afternoon elements, pressing the "listen to your greeting" and "record a new greeting" buttons over and over, hoping my mother wouldn't call until I'd found my book and changed it back, when I decided I should play with the tape recorder instead. sunday I took a hundred pictures of my legs. I wanted to clean out my refrigerator, but all that was in there was film. it's gone now.

do all of your (straight) male friends have crushes on you? I don't think I've ever seen you mention one who didn't.

yes. >From: [HG] >To: [cyst] >Subject: will you > >go to my twentieth high school reunion this summer and pretend to be me? You >only have to remember one line, "I don't remember you, either." I would not >expect you to attend the golf game, but I think you should show up at the >family picnic after a night of dancing on the tables (sans panties, of >course) at the American Legion Hall. You could reek of stale booze and stalk >the ugly, puffy children. I think I went out tonight completely out of character. entirely naked. I just went out. I think I wasn't playing because apparently I forgot that I was pretty. I had no idea. I had a bunch of drinks with c. and then he said he didn't want to go home and suggested we go to trivia night and I said ok, sure, why not. k. was there. we sat by her at the bar. she had been drinking too. we hit each other and pushed each other, and I felt like one of us was going to get hurt or we were going to get kicked out, and this one smart guy, with the intel group that usually wins, said something funny to us and I told him something dumb, like we were going to kick ass. then we kicked ass. I happened to know almost every single answer, like the largest country in africa (sudan) and the name of the skunk in "bambi" (flower) and the race track where the kentucky derby is held (churchill downs) and the nickname for the clarinet (licorice stick) and fred flintsone's boss (mr. slate) and the chromosome that contains the down syndrome gene (the 21st) and the greek god of the sun (helios). we won. they didn't even place. they gave us a pitcher of beer, which I certainly didn't need. then that guy came up and talked to us. I wanted to know what the hell he was doing. he was standing between me and c. so I drunkenly asked him. "so, are you bisexual?" "no, are you?" he said. "I'm about 95 percent straight." "I recently read from a book where the guy said something like that. he had a chart..." "oh, you mean that dave eggers book, 'a heartbreaking work of...'" I can never remember the full title. "yeah, that's the one." "yeah, I've heard of it. but that's not where I got that from. I don't think. maybe," I said. "so, you guys won just the three of you?" he said. "yeah. we're smart." "yeah, we were talking about which one of you comes up with the answers. I thought it was him, but everyone else thought it was her [k.]," he said. "oh no, it's her," k. said, looking at me. "so, did you come up here to hit on her?" I asked him, wanting to facilitate the flirtation between them. "no. I came up here to hit on you," he said. oh yeah. oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah. guys like me. I'd totally forgotten. I can never quite believe that I'm the type of girl a stranger would approach, even when I'm with other people. "she has really high standards," c. told him. "she gets asked out a lot." "yeah, but do you ever date guys?" this strange man asked me. "do I date guys?" I asked c. I really didn't know. "yeah, rich guys," k. said. I'd told her about rich guy, really emphasized him, to throw her off track about my trips to seattle. she believed it all. "um, yeah, I think I date guys," I told him. "why?" he asked. "um, so I can write about them afterward," I said. "do the dates last long? long into the night, I mean. and when you write about them, do you change their names?" "yes, sometimes, and yes. I come up with, um, epithets for them," I said. I wasn't sure I had the right word. really drunk now. "descriptive nicknames." "oh, that's good," he said. "I think everyone should have descriptions instead of names. it would be more meaningful. do you ever get wrapped up in what you write, I mean, do you ever feel anything for these guys?" "um, yes. unfortunately," I said. "oh," he said. "but you're still a user. I would never date you, not in a million years." "that's because you've never felt her skin," k. said, putting her arm around me, rubbing my bare shoulder. "it's really soft." "oh," he said. "I am not going to say anything about that now." "I'm 6'4," I said. I wanted to let him know, to give him an easy out. "but my body is fantastic. how tall are you?" "6'1. why, do you have a cut-off?" "she doesn't even look at guys under 6'3," k. answered for me. my friends were making this very easy. they talked on, and eventually he gave me his card. I was too drunk and tired for that get-to-know-you chat, especially when I was being judged by three people. when c. was driving me home, I thought, then said, "my god, I am so hostile." "uh, yeah. but it works for you. please don't even think of changing," he said. "guys just love to be abused."

is anything fun anymore?

serotonin re-uptake inhibitors are supposed to be fun. i'll let you know.

prozac can cause sexual dysfunction and possibly suicide. i read that.

man, i have nothing but fun. seriously. last night i downloaded an eval copy of my company's software because i want to work on it at home. want to. last night i had rollicking good sex with the man i love. last night my mom brought in one of the kittens and it was soft and responds wonderfully to human voices. last night i got an email from my friend cheryl.

no cyst nothing is fun anymore. nothing nothing i'll start my work load just increased by about 100% ergo work is no longer "fun" i am lost in my photography, i need money to get my home set up like it needs to be to make it fun again. i hate my school and the nazi's that run it ergo photography is not fun right now if i may be so blunt as to say married life isn't fun anymore, that may surprise some of you, but thats all the details i can afford now drinking isn't fun anymore i possess some fine narcotics and i have no interest to take em. drugs aren't fun anymore my cats are just consumers without morals, they are no fun my music isn't fun becasue i don't have free place to play playing with myself isn't fun anymore fuck!

Main Entry: an·he·do·nia Pronunciation: "an-(")hE-'dO-nE-&, -ny& Function: noun : a psychological condition characterized by inability to experience pleasure in normally pleasurable acts Have you been feeling down lately, Patrick?

there is a psychological condition for everything. excuse me if i think it's crap. people need to take responsibility for themselves- and you already know that all is not always peachy for me- i am not talking from an overly happy place. but i am happy right now.

Damn, I wanna be Margret for a day, except I'll forego the rollicking good sex with the man she loves.

Last night I reread one of my favorite books: Karl Menninger's "Man Against Himself." It's about suicide and self-mutilation, and it was written in 1935 so everything is explained from a psychoanalytic perspective. That alone makes it interesting. The book is full of case studies: women who liked to break their own fingers, men who opened their scrota with their fingernails and removed their testicles, children who pulled out all their hair and fingernails. One case was a girl who was the darling of her family, much prettier than her sisters, favored by her parents, very intelligent...and yet she was something of a malingerer -- drinking dirty water to make herself sick, picking sores all over her skin, insisting that she needed surgery for her "chronic appendicitis." Menninger explained this as a way of punishing herself for the perceived crime of stealing her parents' love away from her sisters. According to him, the girl felt guilty that her parents favored her over her siblings, so she would do things to get sympathetic/negative attention rather than praising/positive attention. She was still so neurotic and ego-centric as to demand the attention of others, but her superego knew this was selfish of her, so she would do things to get the attention but without the accompanying envy. Obviously, no one could envy her for being sick, while they *had* envied her for being so pretty and loved. And through her chronic illnesses and unneeded surgeries, she was slowly destroying herself. Chronic suicide, Menninger called it. Thanatos winning out over eros. The wish to kill and the wish to be killed melding into one. Menninger raised an interesting point when he said that people see suicide as cause-effect; e.g., your wife leaves you, so you decide to kill yourself. But really, suicide is a years-long process that only culminates in the final act of total self-destruction. If we could understand this, we could see that you were setting yourself up to die years before you pulled the trigger, and so maybe we could have intervened at an early point and saved you. Anyway. A lot of people cause their own problems. That doesn't mean that if you put them in a place where there are no problems, you'd have healthy people on your hands. Some people aren't happy unless they're miserable.

I,m miserable lately myself,and it,s not something I created,was supposed to see Jonathon this weekend now he supposedly has pneumonia which is bullshit.

i vacillate between happy and unhappy. i have had this thick feeling of dread in my chest for a few weeks now, since stella died or thereabouts, and i'm not sure what it stems from. i have for the most part successfully ignored it, but it's been cropping up at odd moments and making me cry. i don't know what i'm doing in my life. i work at a really stupid job, and i'm not having any more kids, and my relationship isn't perfect, and i want to make nice things but i'm terrible at deadlines and inconsistent in my output. i'm sorry that everyone is sad. it's almost summer, and things will be better soon.

the planets, it's all about the planets

I had a patient about 5 years ago who quit eating because she wanted to die. The ironic part was when she had starved herself to the point of no return, she suddenly decided she wanted to live. OOPS! too late:o) ps what are these fine narcotics?

Count your blessings, Patrick. You have more than most.

tylenol 3, vicodin, valium and xanax. not to mention a few left over "space brownies" down? yes Rhiannon, out? hell no!

I picked up 100 morphine tabs yesterday---legally

mmmm, morphine sounds good right about now. some of the best moments of my life involved morphine. but the best involved intravenous shots of valium. alas, i have neither. vodka will have to do.

Patrick, you made me happy :)

jesus christ beav.....!!!!!! Really Rhi? not sure how but glad to help.....

Did she say "DOH!" fb?

how do you get on the beav's fedEx list?

this is not a cry for help. but I've started to understand suicidal depression. I remember years ago kids used to wear kurt cobain t-shirts that said, "I hate myself and want to die." I thought they were funny. it's such a dumb, trite, silly thing to think, "I hate myself and want to die," but those are the words that have been going through my head. it's really hard to go to work and act cheerful and get stupid things done and talk to people when you're thinking, "I hate myself and want to die." not that I could ever kill myself, especially while my parents are still alive. I hate being depressed because depressed people are so fucking boring and annoying.

so that guy I met last night, I wrote my e-mail address for him on the back of a picture of some old u.s. president. I didn't know who it was. I told him he should figure it out and let me know. so last night he wrote me this: "who he is and what he did to get his face on a stamp is privileged white male redundancy. his middle initial carries the truth of life, and makes the king equal to the topless dancer, and the nuclear submarine as fanciful as a cartoon skunk named 'flower.'" is that some sort of riddle?

sounds like it. but i don't know much about whose faces are on stamps. the ones i used to mail my car insurance had flowers on them. the most recent person i lost to suicide took a good 22 years to do it. i know that's a long time, but it still counts as killing yourself. i'm becoming convinced that it isn't so much the brain willing death, but the body giving up the fight. your animal core, the organism whose business is to survive, is stronger than your will. when it stops being stronger, your shit out of luck. i remember reading somewhere that many of what we consider voluntary acts were actually decisions made by the body and later justified by the brain - for example, you could plant a post-hypnotic suggestion in someone's brain to do x when you say the word "clambake". do the twist, say. and when you say the word to the subject and he dances, he will say something like "i just suddenly thought of my favorite song and had to dance." believing that he had control. now that i think about it, i think i got that from a douglas adams novel - the one with the knight and the horse. i may not be making any sense. or i may be on the wrong track.

I applied for a job and they haven't gotten back to me. it's so hard to want to go out of your way to be rejected. how can I gear myself up for more of that?

I'm not terribly unhappy. I have a bunch of poppies which will soon start to go to seed...I have a warm loving cat on my lap. I haven't had rollicking sex with the man I love, though. I ought to work on that. I got a job. It's going to be miserable, but I will survive it. I just saw a whole bunch of beautiful photography, and heard sme good music, and saw a really good dancer. I haven't eaten in a while. (That's not such a happy thing.) I'm sorry that married life disagress with you, Patrick. Be well?

I'm going to stand in the corner with Margret. I'm pretty happy. Rhiannon, I never knew you were a goddess. I was looking in a book of myths and I saw you there. celtic myth, I think.

Hey, cyst... Date a smart, sensative, fat, ugly guy. It'll make you feel better. Hey, heather... Psychology is just a way of describing and understanding behavior. Just because you name something doesn't mean you're not responsible anymore. Hey, patrick... Bummer, dude. Got any LSD? Hey, droopy... Yeah... Hey, Fetidbeaver... That really sucks, man. Hey, Isolde... Aren't cats the most bitchin' thang? Hey, Gee... Good. Hey, Dougie... Fuck you, you ass! Hey, agatha... You are consistent in your perseverance. And you have a cool website. Hey, Nate... You can fuck me up the ass if you want. Hey, J... Just start shooting people at random. Hey, Rhiannon... Rhiannon, Rhiannon, Rhiannon, Rhiannon, Rhiannon. What can I say? Hey, dave... St John's Wort is better. Hey, semillama... semillama, semillama, semillama, semillama, semillama. I just wanted to say that... Hey, Margret... I didn't forget you, but you're happy, so what the fuck?

st john's wort takes too long. like saving money.

Hey, Antigone... Up Yours!

feeling down? practice violence as a virtue and hate as a hobby. that always makes me feel better.

have you beat anybody else up lately?

I'm a lover, not a fighter.

hey, i never said i was depressed. the subject of suicide. and i was drinking vodka. i still can't my cousin's death out of my mind. people sometimes ask me "how do you go on" ('cause i'm in a chair), and my honest answer is: for the same reason roaches still crawl around after you cut their heads off or weeds grow out of cracks in the sidewalks...because they can. here's a question on the subject of drugs: after a weekend-long party i am cleaning up. i am collecting doobies (marijuana cigarette butts) in a plastic bag. i find that 4 doobies will make one joint. how many joints can i make from 16 doobies?

4 doobie doobie doos.

I always knew the small, unused portion of a joint as a roach (hence, roachclip) and a doobie as a joint.

i always did too, i just forgot and picked the word doobie at random. i'm only an occasional toker, dude. the above puzzle originally involved a tramp and cigarette butts. the answer is supposed to be 5 - you make 4 joints and out of the remaining 4 ROACHES you make a 5th one. or 5 1/4, since you'll have one last roach left.

what?

speaking of suicidal depression, I've been cleaning and finding all these old notes to and from people, written in highschool. (yes, i keep all this shit, i keep EVERYTHING) It's interesting shit. You think you never change, but then you read that kinda stuff and it's like the past came around to slap you :) i'd say (with much certainty) that i wanted to die straight from ages 8-15. I could never figure out why. You ever seen a manic depressive ten year old? it's not a pretty sight. when it all stopped i'm not sure. Or why. One day it was like the birds were singing again (if i may be so stereotypical), and i never gave it a second thought. Actually, no, that's not true, it's always like a lurking shadow. I have to run pretty damn hard from it.

a co worker killed himself the other day, another had a nervous breakdown and a senior editor up and quit friday. the planets man, i tell ya it's the planets. married life is ok today, i think. yesterday it sucked ass LSD is for high school kids antigone, you don't need that crap.

and you snort that last roach. love god country.

i love LSD. no wait. i hate LSD.

when i worked at a flea market there was an old guy who would wander in every so often and ask me a puzzle like the roach/butt one. that's where i got it. he was always real proud of them and would say that he'd asked the governor or president or someone famous that riddle and they never got it either. for some reason pot makes my legs hurt. it has something with paralysis, maybe the poor circulation, but i'm not sure. when i was in rehab, one of the other inmates had somebody sneak a joint in. so one night we all convoyed outside in our chairs, lined up against a wall in the front and lit up. i declined because i was already on massive doses of stuff called dilantin that was making me hallucinate. there were two paras on my right and one quad on my left, so it was my job to hold the doobiejoint up to the quad's mouth so he could take a hit. i don't remember any of them having leg pain. there was another para - a swiss-french guy in his 40's - who would have vodka smuggled in. half-pint bottles he'd hide in his room. then he'd buy V-8 juice from a vending machine and mix up a bloody mary.

Pot just made me lethargic and not want to do anything. I smoked a lot in high school and college, then just quit altogether because it was making me paranoid. In high school, I think it was more the thrill of the hunt trying to get the stuff, then in college, it was everywhere, so when in Rome... I tried it a couple of years ago, and couldn't remember what I had ever liked about that feeling.

I smoked a joint today and remembered why I like it.

feel this

man I did my first trip on the weekend. It was pretty weird. Jules and I had our friends camera, so we took heaps of pics. Theres one of us with a policeman. Our eyes are huge. I dont think the policeman noticed. I danced lots. It was fun - but I dont think I'll do it again. Although thinking about it - we went down the strip (a street here with a million trillion bars), and everyone was drunk and stumbling and yelling and I felt in full control. It wasnt pretty. You could definetely spot the other tripsters. The ones walking straight and chewing gum.

That's cool, J. Glad you enjoy it. Give me a beer or G&T any day though. My drug days are long gone and not missed.

thanks swine, that made my day

droopy, how did you end up in the wheel chair????

a mellow thighed chick just put my spine out of place.

I wasn't really depressed, and then I realized that Trader Joe's was out of Vodka of the Gods. Now, if you haven't been to Trader Joes/tasted Vodka of the Gods, let me explain--it's this wonderfully repulsive taste that kind of grows on the palate. It's difficult to explain why I like it. But I do, and they were out. It made me sad. Momentarily. I've been hanging out around the house the last few days--my foot's kind of hurting and walking on it sounds like a bad idea. Lots of tea and books, mostly. I found these Doctor Dolittle books from God knows when that I kept. I love Hugh Lofting. I know they're little kids books or whatever, but I really like them. The only one I don't have is Doctor Dolittle's Return, and I'm at Doctor Dolittle in the Moon right now. Anyway. Moonit--I was a suicidal ten year old too. It was rather pathetic, thinking back on it. And I can't remember what made me change either. I think I just woke up one day and said: "This is silly."

Is that the real line? I always thought it was something like, "As a matter of fact chicks just put my spine out of place." I'm not very good at picking up lyrics, especially british singers. Elton John's also tough, i.e., Benny and the Jets.

i used to think it was "marshmallow fat chick...." according to 3 internet sources it's "mellow thighed...." you would think mellow thighs couldn't do that kind of damage.

I always thought it was "this mellow fat chick." huh.

Hey man, oh leave me alone, you know Hey man, oh Henry, get off the phone, I gotta Hey man, I gotta straighten my face This mellow-thighed chick just put my spine out of place Hey man, my schooldays insane Hey man, my work's down the drain Hey man, well she's a total blam-blam She said she had to squeeze it, but she, and then she... Oh don't lean on me man, cause you can't afford the ticket Back from Suffragette City Oh don't lean on me man Cause you ain't got time to check it You know my Suffragette City Is outta sight...she's all right Hey man, oh Henry, don't be unkind, go away Hey man, I can't take you this time, no way Hey man, droogie don't crash here There's only room for one and here she comes, here she comes Oh don't lean on me man, cause you can't afford the ticket Back from Suffragette City Oh don't lean on me man Cause you ain't got time to check it You know my Suffragette City Is outta sight...she's all right Oh hit me! Oh don't lean on me man, cause you can't afford the ticket Back from Suffragette City Oh don't lean on me man Cause you ain't got time to check it No my Suffragette City Don't lean on me man, cause you can't afford the ticket Back from Suffragette City Oh don't lean on me man Cause you ain't got time to check it You know my Suffragette City Is outta sight...she's all right My Suffragette City, my Suffragette City I'm back on Suffragette City, I'm back on Suffragette City Oooh, my Suffragette city, oooh my Suffragette City Oooh-how, my Suffragette City, oooh-how, my Suffragette Ohhh, wham bam thank you ma'am! My Suffragette City, my Suffragette City Quite all right Suffragette City Too fine Suffragette City, ooh my Suffragette City Oh, my Suffragette City, oh my Suffragette City Oh, Suffragette.. Suffragette!

RESPECT Aretha Franklin - written by Otis Redding - a #1 hit for Aretha Franklin in 1967 - lyrics as recorded by Aretha Franklin February 14, 1967 in New York City and included on the 1985 compilation album "Atlantic Soul Classics" (Warner Special Products CD 27601) (oo) What you want (oo) Baby, I got (oo) What you need (oo) Do you know I got it? (oo) All I'm askin' (oo) Is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit) Hey baby (just a little bit) when you get home (just a little bit) mister (just a little bit) I ain't gonna do you wrong while you're gone Ain't gonna do you wrong (oo) 'cause I don't wanna (oo) All I'm askin' (oo) Is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit) Baby (just a little bit) when you get home (just a little bit) Yeah (just a little bit) I'm about to give you all of my money And all I'm askin' in return, honey Is to give me my profits When you get home (just a, just a, just a, just a) Yeah baby (just a, just a, just a, just a) When you get home (just a little bit) Yeah (just a little bit) ------ instrumental break ------ Ooo, your kisses (oo) Sweeter than honey (oo) And guess what? (oo) So is my money (oo) All I want you to do (oo) for me Is give it to me when you get home (re, re, re ,re) Yeah baby (re, re, re ,re) Whip it to me (respect, just a little bit) When you get home, now (just a little bit) R-E-S-P-E-C-T Find out what it means to me R-E-S-P-E-C-T Take care, TCB Oh (sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me) A little respect (sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me) Whoa, babe (just a little bit) A little respect (just a little bit) I get tired (just a little bit) Keep on tryin' (just a little bit) You're runnin' out of foolin' (just a little bit) And I ain't lyin' (just a little bit) (re, re, re, re) 'spect When you come home (re, re, re ,re) Or you might walk in (respect, just a little bit) And find out I'm gone (just a little bit) I got to have (just a little bit) A little respect (just a little bit)

I learned not to sugarcoat things, re the whole who's too good for you thing. I learned to say things which basically boiled down to 'my ego is too strong and my will to weak to allow me to let all the dumbassed things you say go, and this obviously upsets you, which means either you're weak or i'm cruel but the net effect is: it won't work,' or 'i don't want to fuck you anymore and i can't maintain the concentration necessary to think of other things while you wiggle around up there' (ok, i've never said anything remotely like that, people's sexal prowess is for some reason way more psychologically fundamental than, say, their brains...i know why but i'm not quite full enough of myself tonight to post it) or 'you're an asshole and you treat me like shit and since i was settling to begin with i know i can do better.'

i always thought it was "give me my propers", not "profits".

I think it is 'propers'. I yanked the lyrics from the page and did my only test, which was 'does it say take care comma tcb?' and it did, so I thought it was ok and yanked it wholesale. Obviously, though, it wasn't so good.