This is one of those rambling ones. But with bullet points. And some might be seemingly passively-aggressively directed toward someone specific, but those are really just things I wanted to say but didn’t that are being directed here at nobody in particular. And some of these are just facts. And some of these could be sung out loud to the tune of “Lady” by STYX. Maybe.
~ A couple weeks ago I was yelling along with the “Pick of Destiny” soundtrack as per all my solo roadtrips when I came upon the “Dude, I Totally Miss You” track. Now, a dear friend of mine and I have sworn to sing it at the other’s funeral, depending on who goes first and I’ve howled along with the song dozens upon dozens of times since we made that pact, but, for some reason, driving down the road all by myself in the middle of nowhere in broad daylight, my mind somehow conjured up the emotions that would have accompanied my performance if I was actually doing it at her funeral. Like, you know how sometimes you get so lost in a fantasy or a thought or a memory on the road that you kind of drive without thinking for a while and when you “come back”, you don’t remember a chunk of the trip (they referred to it on “30 Rock” once as “driving amnesia”)? Basically, that happened as I was absorbed into this insanely elaborate fantasy regarding me singing in front of a packed cathedral, being backed by Tenacious D on guitars and vocals and Grohl on the drums and I was sobbing as though it was all real. Okay, I’m sure that sounds nuts, but I figured it was just a manifestation of my subconscious grieving the fact that she was moving far far away relatively soon. Either way, I gave a harrowing performance that I’m sure looked more than a bit alarming to anyone who passed me on the road, but that definitely had Peter Dinklage weeping slow tears in the fourth pew back.
~ (WARNING: Here be euphemisms) When I’m “in need of a fix” and I can’t “get my old engine out of the station” so I have to “double-click my own mouse”, the most efficient visual aide for the last 10 freaking years has always been watching Pelle Almqvist in the “Hate to Say I Told You So” video. Literally nothing “gets the job done” as quickly or as effectively as that… not even “Stoya Kills the Bear” (the latter is NSFW, should you choose to Google it. Heh. I’m kinda hoping a few of you do, actually, ’cause I love bewildering people.)
~ I did not know that “Mahatma” was a title of sorts whereas “Mohandas” was Gandhi’s actual real name until this week, when I finally read the back of his autobiography, which has been laying beside my bed in a pile of literature for over 6 months now. And I feel like the biggest moron on the planet for that.
~ When your name pops up in my Facebook Notifications, I get uncharacteristically giddy and bashful and giggling-behind-my-curled-in-hand weird. At my computer. All by myself. Every single time.
~ Today, the Bear and I were tumblin’ around together and she pulled me over into a position where I was lying halfway over her on the couch, with my elbows supporting my weight, but my legs still dangling off the front as though I was sitting upright. Suddenly somber, she reached up and pulled my head into the crook between her neck and collarbone on her left side and started stroking my hair and giving me kisses on my forehead. Obviously, she was mimicking an action I’ve done for her many, many times but she kept it up for about 20-ish minutes, just stroking my hair and softly saying things like, “I love you more than anybody.” and “You make me sooo happy, do you know that?” It was more healing than many of my years in therapy.
~ I totally voted for you even though I knew about some scandalous (no-harm-no-foul-type) stuff way before all this other junk hit the news. What I mean here is: you should probably hire somebody to write “thank you for not ever saying anything” letters for you full-time ’cause you’ve got looooads of people who ain’t talkin’ and haven’t been for a long time, apparently.
~ My daughter is obsessed with that story about the girl with the green ribbon around her neck who grows up and asks her husband to untie it and her head falls off… and it’s creeping me out how often she wants me to read it to her and then answer her probing analytical questions regarding the plot.
~ It is literally mind-numbing how much hotter you’ve gotten since high school… which is why I act like a moron when we communicate…because my mind is unable to process the very obvious, basic reality with which is has been presented and, therefore, cannot possibly be expected to do anything else.
~”Swingers” and “Ghost World” are both overrated crap, along with “Lost in Translation”, no matter how good any of the individual performances were. There. I said it out loud.