Mr. zippy and I are IMing each other.

Dudes... he's totally cute... sent over a personal icon image of himself as a cartoon.... gotta love that geek o' mine.

Here's my story and I'm sticking to it:

I'M FRELLING BROKE.

1. Dog $1000 and counting, heading off to the vet in a few to add some more.

2. Lawn $4000 and counting... got an OOPS! bill in the mail for something forgotten on the original bill.

3. Airfare $1000 not counted on as they upped the SkyMiles you need to exchange for seats. Now it will cost more to fly coach than it did to fly first class last September.

me: "Can we wait to see the rents at Christmas?"

he: "I don't think we should wait that long..."

*NOTE: we have not flown home since moving here, except when mr. zippy's rents (the rents in ?) were both gravely ill. Now they are of better health but ancient, and one has just had surgery on his arteries.

4. I have zero savings. zero. cero.

5. My dumbass brother is heading this way and I know I'll have to put cash in his pocket in order to get him out of here.

I am not going to see the ortho doc after all. She requires a new MRI and WHO CAN AFFORD THAT??? So, I stretch and stretch and walk and stretch and hope and pray nothing significantly bad happens between now and, say, three months savings from now.

If he just would not call me, I think, life might be fine.

If he just would not call me collect, I think, even better.

If he would just leave the fucking country and send me a post card along his journey to wherever, from wherever, that would be ... okay. At least I would know he was still on his journey to wherever and not exactly on my door step.

Where mr. zippy is bound to unload him into the arms of the police, even though he condemend Sea Cow for doing much the same thing just a year ago.

If he would leave the country and I would not hear from him for years, that would be okay because then I could tell myself "it's okay - he's out of the country, he can't call." I could live with that without fret.

It might even make the recurring nightmare of being raped by every male member of my family, strange in face, familiar in name, so as to keep them from raping those younger than me, from recurring. It might make it cease altogether.

Because he could not show up on my door step without some forewarning, and mr. zippy could not call the police simply because he's a fugitive. Or they could (both are possible) but not likely.

He's gained 20 lbs these last two weeks by being indoors on someone's couch and eating plenty and checking his blood sugar like never before.

He's about to lose his happy home.

I recently tried having a phone conversation with my good friend Michelle. We are both learning second languages and thought it would be fun to try them out on each other, which was FINE until my Spanglish was met with a resounding silence and I remembered what the acronym "ASL" stood for.

I ask myself, SELF, who's the dumbass???

and my SELF replies, You mean besides the eight assholes in Texas who set the homeless guy on fire?

Yes, I say to myself, YES, besides them - and the one in the White House.

WHO? WHO IS THE DUMB ASS??

I am the dumb ass.

The dumb ass is I.

Me culo esta muy tonta.

After two weeks of disc pain that has finally dulled to the amount of pain I've grown accustomed to over the years, the Spine Center I managed to get into muy pronto would not see me today.

WHY??

"Because you're a dumb ass," said they.

First, I left all forms of payment at home. All of them. Couldn't even prove who I was.

Second, nearly got hit twice on the drive over there.

Third, was met by an uber pleasant receptionist who said, "No, senora, no hoy tienes cita con la doctora. "

BUT I DID HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH LA DOCTORA, she said, ON WEDNESDAY PAST!

grrrr....

THANK GOD, I mean, truly, thank God, the pain has dulled. Otherwise this would be a bad bad thing. As it is, I'm merely having a bad start to the day.

Now I have to live with the pain of being a dumb ass with no one to blame but myself.

Fourth, another dumb ass rode my DICK on the drive home and at a red light actually screeched into the turn only lane, rolled down her window and said, "I'M SORRY. I'M IN THE WRONG LANE. I NEED TO GO AHEAD OF YOU."

"NO," replied I. "NO YOU ARE NOT IN THE WRONG LANE. YOU PULLED INTO THAT LANE HOPING TO PASS ME. YOU HAVE A PROBLEM DRIVING THE SPEED LIMIT. YOU ARE A DUMB ASS. "

and then she shot me with her bazooka but not before I hacked her with my machete. blood and guts were everywhere. it was a massacre. men with thick mustaches and very dark glasses took bets from bystanders on who would win the title of BIGGEST DUMB ASS IN THE CITY TODAY.

Then I came home, told mr. zippy and he just laughed and laughed and laughed.

Thankfully.

Thursday conversation in zippy's world:

me: How do you like your new Humingbird flosser?

him: Eh. It'd probably make a better woman's vibrator.

me: RRRRRRRRRRRRREALLY?...

True Confessions:

I have over 1000 music cd's. I have so many discs that I sometimes find one that I don't remember buying, or remember buying, but have never listened to. Or have listened but have forgotten listening to it. Every such find is a new treasure.

I dug out the one Anne Murray disc I have and listened to it this morning as I practiced Spanish. Someone needed her at one time, and in another moment, time itself ran out on her. I bet she still sells well in Canada.

I have this one Anne Murray disc for my very schmaltzy moods. Like yesterday when I started humming "You Needed Me" but couldn't remember any of the other lyrics. That drives me nuts. Instead, I remembered hearing it for the first time on a school bus in Gonzales, Louisiana. It was followed by Journey's "Lovin, Touchin, Sqeeeeeeeeezin" and I have that disc, too.

I also have one Queensryche disc for my head banging moods. If you listen to "Empire" and get past its loudness, you will discover the story of a man in transition, from naive youngster to worldly missionary.

Not unlike Radiohead's "OK Computer" which is GENIUS commentary about the current state of western society.

I have Coldplay for when I feel like listening to U2 but don't want to listen to U2 themselves.

I have Arrested Development, the first hip hop that reached out to me. I still miss them, and Soul II Soul, as well. But, to keep on movin....

I have Weird Lizard Disease... bet you've never heard of them, have you? WLD is a Colorado band that should have made it big, but never did. And now that grunge is gone, I suspect they are too.

I like to balance all this out with Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, Rosanne Cash, Elvis Costello and Rickie Lee Jones.

Between us, mr. zippy and I have every Nanci Griffith, Big Head Todd, Cowboy Junkies, Melissa Etheridge, The Chieftains, Bach, Mozart and Vivaldi worth having.

And every now and then, Louis Prima demands attention, as do Erika Badhu, Tom Jones and Elvis.

Coltrane is a permanent disc in the carousel.

Etta James, Uta Lemper, Ella, Billie, Dave's True Story, and if I'm not mistaken, Dwight Yoakum.

Peter Murphy anyone? The The? Kate Bush? Prince? Psychedelic Furs? The DeVynls? Oooh, oh!, I touch myself...

Yeah, got them, too.

We got rid of all the jewel cases a few years back and put all the discs w/ liner notes in plastic sleeves. Then we bought a dresser just for them. We have room to grow.

No doubt we will.

I dreamed of my brother, Tim, all through the night. He was in jail, of course, and giving me grief when I wouldn't let him smoke in my presence during our visit. It was a closet-sized room in which we had to face each other. So, because I wouldn't let him smoke, he said I didn't love him, just as he suspected, and gathered up his stuff (he'd brought everything from his cell with him to our meeting) and stomped away in a huff. As best he could anyway.

And then I woke up singing So You Say by the Manhattan Transfer.

I don't mind mentioning here just how miserable I have been these last two weeks with a herniated disc flare up causing a particular nerve to pinch between my neck and my left shoulder blade.

IT FUCKING HURTS!!!

But I know there are worse things to endure, and my plight is small, in the grand scheme of things.

None-the-less, I have spent the greater part of today in a Darvie-induced snooze. It's impossible to get comfortable, so I just slog back more pink pills and hope for the best.

ButI did get to practice mi espanol on the guys who came over to put in our fence posts.

me: Buenos diaz.
he: Buenos diaz. ¿lkjfoaiudoiajkrlnektafjoidjafd, ?
me: ?????
he: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
me: I'm just learning.
he: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
me: But you knew that.
he: HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHA
me: Deseas cafe?
he: No gracias.
me: You mean I said that right?
he: Si.
me: WOO HOO!

Tony, the foreman, stone mason, was most impressed that I am learning Spanish simply because I want to and not as a job requirement or some other reason. Well, yes, it is a school requirement, but I could be studying French instead.

me: I also think it's increasingly necessary in this country to be able to communicate in Spanish.
he: That's no joke. When I moved here in 1977 there weren't any Mexicans. Now we're all over the place!
me: Cierto.
he: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

In the meantime I am reading a collection of essays by Lucy Grealy "As Seen On TV: Provocations." Very interesting view of the world by the writer of the memoir "Autobiography of a Face." I think she committed suicide, not sure.

I just finished reading "Unless" by Carol Shields and THAT turned out to be a fascinating read about a woman who has it all until her eldest daughter drops out of life and turns up on a street corner, mute, begging for money, w/ a hand made sign around her neck that simply reads: GOODNESS. Why?? What happened???

Otherwise, I'm wondering just where in the world Becka is if she isn't blogging. I'm waiting on a watch I ordered to arrive. I'm hoping to pass this Spanish class and have a few days off for writing before my next course (American Gov't) begins.

Been listening to a lot of jazz lately, especially early Ray Charles. (weep).

More than any other thing, I want one friend in particular to know that he is the most precious thing on this earth, and that he is loved, in every possible way. My heart aches and soars with you, mi amigo.

Tonight I was talking to a friend in California when a GINORMOUS tree roach FUCKING! TREE! ROACH! THREE INCH GOD DAMNED ROACH! climbed up the wall, cast an eye on me, and ZOOMED MY DIRECTION!!!! I screamed as I threw the phone, landed the bastard on the floor in a daze, fortunately, on it's back.

He is no more.

No weeping and pass the margaritas.

Of course, I had to yell out "I'm ok! I'm ok!" not only to my California friend, but my husband who had just gone to bed and I heard scrambling in the next room.

I hate roaches.

My husband thinks I "should be used to them by now" having grown up in Florida, but I say WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN "USED TO THEM"??? HOW CAN ANYONE EVER GET USED TO GOD'S MOST VILE CREATURE??? besides, you know, The Fly... heh...

Here's a story, and it's true... when I was a child, my cousins and I were all dumped off at our grandmother's house in Tampa, Florida. All our rents were going out for the night and grandma got the brunt of twelve unruly runts for the duration.

It wasn't too long before we were all on our giant pallet made of blankets and pillows, laying on our stomachs, watching tv in the living room, as Grandma sawed logs in her Lay-Z-Boy behind us.

One by one, the elbow nudged the side, a face lifted to peek behind our bodies at our sleeping grandmother, a calliopy of giggles gathering in waves at her feet as the GIANT COCK ROACH climbed across her face and into her mouth and SHE CHEWED IT AND SWALLOWED IT AND WE ALL LAUGHED AND LAUGHED AND LAUGHED... we hated our grandmother, every one of us. It was so much easier to let her eat GOD'S MOST VILE CREATURE than to try to intervene.

mr. zippy thinks I should be used to cock roaches, but I never will be.

and I clench my jaw so tightly when I sleep that I sometimes wake with migraines.

here's my straight-out-of-my-ass attempt at not writing despair:

the flood of sunlight on sopping wetness


brown is the mango putrefied
and oozing through the netting
that once was its red skin.
pull the stone out, reveal
the cold, hard heart of what
once was a bloom of possibility,
aching to be harvested, waiting
for a change of seasons to bring
the fulfillment promised on the
sun's tongue as it tasted the tips
of yesterday, but not quite today,
and perhaps never tomorrow.



HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

ain't that a real knee slapper?!?!

in 1983 I fell in love with the words of two people: Tennessee Williams captured my poet's heart, and Nanci Griffith captured my melancholy.

I was a student at St. Edward's Uni in Austin, Texas, and I had just seen Nanci on Austin City Limits singing "Daddy Said." At the time, I was in mourning for my dead father, departed some dozen years before but, still, I wept. "Daddy Said" spoke to me about my father like nothing ever had. I was able to embrace him and release him at once while listening to her sweet lyric.

Over the years, I bought every release Nanci had, but to my complete astonishment, no one I knew - ever - knew of her. No one.

Until several years later, in 1994, when I was flipping through the cd collection of a man I had only recently started dating. He had every Nanci Griffith album I had - and then some. More than any other reason, that's how I knew I could love him. We were married five years later, and five years on, he's still the most amazing thing that I've ever experienced.

Nanci Griffith has provided the soundtrack for much of my life, particularly the love affairs, big and small. I was so JEALOUS of my husband when he called me from Atlanta the summer of 1996, where he had gone to work on the Olympic news coverage, to tell me he'd just seen Nanci Griffith play at a high school stadium in Decatur, Georgia, in the rain, without shelter.

We will see Nanci play in a botanical garden setting in Atlanta, Georgia later this month. It will be our second Nanci concert together. Like the first time we saw her, I won't be wearing make-up, for I know I will be weeping throughout the evening, tears of joy and hopeless romantic heart breaking, and aching for:

1. Mary and Omie
2. Love at the Five and Dime
3. Gulf Coast Highway
4. Wing and the Wheel
5. Spin on the Red Brick Floor
and
6. Late Night Grande Hotel

Waking up is hard to do.



Tuesday night conversation in zippy's world:

me: are you going to sleep or to read?

him: I think I'll read for a few minutes.

me: we could fool around.

him: we could do that. how's your neck?

me: sore. how're your knees?

him: sore.

me: can't wait until we're old.

him: yep.