Unhinged

"It's my last entry," she gasp-chokes.

For anyone who may be interested, I am now at Blogspot. Someone already has the title Unhinged, dammit, so my new title is Still Unhinged.

And I am and will ever be.

Your loss, AOL.

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... be back soonish.

Update: Or not. Spellcheck and a font color that can be read against a black background isn't enough incentive to stay when I compare it to the crap up top. The banners make the journals look commercialized and amarteurish. 

Not that AOL cares. It's a waste of time getting all pouty and threatening them with membership cancellation. They're not going to remove the banners. Since I don't like them, since there are other free, non-banner programs out there, I'll be moving.

Yeah, it breaks my heart, but I was looking for a good excuse to move back to Blogspot, anyway.

(Shit! Now I have to figure out how to do all of that HTML stuff.)

Update update: I'll post my new blog link here when it's ready to be seen. I'm kind of looking forward to starting over again in relative anonymity, you know? There's a sense of freedom in that. No expectations to meet. No one I have to make laugh, no one to disappoint, piss off, or posture in front of. 

Good things end to make room for new good things. It's going to be okay. It's the people who matter, not the cyber space ...  

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There are clocks on the wall. One for Hong Kong. One for New York. One for Hawaii. And one for Indiana.

The alarm goes off at 5:15 a.m. PST (she thinks ... there's still a bit of confusion about Pacific Daylight Time versus Pacific Time versus the East coast's--and hey, sometimes the Midwest's--Eastern Standard Time versus Daylight Savings Time ... and damn, this is confusing). Anyway, it's 8:15 a.m. in Indiana when the alarm goes off, but this doesn't register until later.

Much later. Like when she finally shuffled to the bathroom in her fluffy foam slippers (the kind that almost make her feet slide right off of them) and thought about how it must be light and all in Indiana by now. But that's later. It's still 5:15 a.m. and darker outside than one of those deep ocean abysseseseses. 

So she gets out of bed and hits the snooze, even though the song is a good one. Who knows what it was ... but it was good, one she hadn't heard in a long time, only it was 5:15 a.m. (8:15 a.m. in Indiana) and she's not a Marine or a Navy Seal or a super secret government operative who wakes up like someone never having been asleep. Details, schmeetails.

Uh, the thought of 5:45 a.m., when she finally got out of bed for good, is too much to contemplate right now. Besides, it's almost 10:00 p.m. (1:00 a.m. in Indiana.)

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I don't usually do J-Land memes, games, etc., but today this one just so happened to offer a nice change of pace. If you'd like to participate, copy and paste these questions into your Journal, then answer them.

~*~*~*~ 

1. What is your name? (Or what name do you go by here?)

2. Where are you from?

3. When did you make your first Journal (here in J-Land)?

4. What was/is the name of your AOL Journal?

5. What meaning does the title of it have?

6. What types of things do you share in your Journal?

7. What do you appreciate most about your readers?

8. When you are Journal browsing, what is it that gets your attention?

9. What Journal gives you the best laugh?

10. What Journal inspires you the most and gets you THINKING about things?

11. What Journal is the most eye-appealing to you (colors, graphics, pics and set up)?

12. What J-Landers have you connected with as friends, as well as readers? Any shout outs you'd like to share?

13. What kind of things would you like to see in the J-Land Community as far as writing styles, subjects and or topics?

14. What would you like AOL to do to improve its Journals?

15. Five Journals you visit (please include links so we can visit them).   

16. What do you like about keeping a journal? 

17. Name the person you found this Survey from.

~*~*~*~

17. Name the person you found this Survey from.
Maria
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(Personal joke.)

A lot happened this week.

B, who I never got the chance to meet, died, and I feel a nagging sense of regret. Every Friday I'd send out a calendar for the next week and every Friday, B would thank me. We once had an e-mail conversation about the tradition of eating Chinese moon pies during a full moon. He asked if he was required to howl at the moon. I told him howling was optional. We were like a virtual Mutt and Jeff.

P, who I haven't yet met but one day might, laughed in the face of the odds and skirted that damn hurdle after all. Two weeks ago, he fell three stories down from a scaffolding and put the fear of God into the hearts of family and friends. For a while there, things didn't look for P. But during all of this, M has discovered that she's one tough cookie, and that the love of family and friends really does matter. Not that she thought it didn't before, but sometimes it takes a crisis to drive it home.

D found a pair of black flats that she can wear without feeling like a bunion on the heel of society. She's a high-heel chick and after falling down the stairs due to high heel wearage, was relegated to flat white tennies. Make her eat a can of lima beans without benefit of drink, make her stick her hand in a vat of boiling water, just don't make her wear white tennies with a black skirt. Oh, the shame of wearing white tennies outside of the house was just, well, shameful. She survived it all, but barely.

Sigh.

And I failed to win a Journal Peer award for the third year in a row. (How many years was Susan Lucci nominated without hitting pay dirt?) But I'm just-a tickled pink at the winners! (Girl's Head Noise as Blog of the Year. The Martini Girl as Best Kept Secret. Judith as Lady of the Blog. Walter as Best Pet.) Congrats! It's so good to win, ain't it?

Not that I'd know. But it's good to be monominated. Yeah, yeah, yeah, etc.

I sneezed over 35 times Friday. I started keeping track around 9:00 a.m. By 11:30, I was up to 11 and the girl in the cage across from mine was keeping count with me because hey, it added spice to our day. By the afternoon, my throat and head hurt from sneezing and it was hard to concentrate on anything that required more than two brain cells. (The spice was definitely gone by that point.) 

Friday night, I had to go to sleep with my mouth open. Man, I hate when that happens because it totally destroys my sleeping zoie-de-vivre. I remember waking up the first time after hearing a disturbing noise and thinking what the HELL is going on outside now ... and moments later realized, when the sound woke me up again, that it was coming from me.

Saturday afternoon-ish, I said to my roomy: "I must've peed out every ounce in me because my bones feel achy and dehydrated. I don't think me and my head can make it through a concert."

So I was in bed by nine on a Saturday night, tossing, turning, coughing and blowing my nose while a number of J-Land was going cross-eyed in a chat room, and a few were screaming themselves hoarse over Jason Mraz (Trish has the tape to prove it).

Tonight, I have a sexy rasp to my voice (just like my screaming roomy!), but my bones are feelin' fine. It must be the wine. And the welcome breakfast at Venice Beach that turned into a half a day's jaunt.

Salute.

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A repost.

There was a time in my life when I was frozen with terror. When I nearly passed out from fear. When I whined like a baby. Remembering it, I get hot and cold and feel like it was just yesterday.

I used to have a swanky garden apartment on the edge of Booneytown. The birds used to camp out on my doorstep. It was a real mess and I hated it, but I loved the apartment. It was writer-friendly with one-third of the room devoted to my computer desk and all my books. In another corner was my workout machine, a combination ski-bike deal that I rode religiously.

One night after work as I got ready to mount the machine, I noticed Fergus, my cat, chasing something beside it. Something as big as a mouse. Only it wasn't a mouse. It was a big, hairy spider.

I am deathly afraid of spiders and this one looked like a Grandpappy with the body about the size of a quarter and legs that went alllll the way up. Worse than that, there was no one I could call to come and remove it from my life. Ken was out of town, Oogie was on vacation (and was scared of spiders, also, so a lot of good that would have done me) and the people next door weren't home. This was a do or die situation because there was no way I was letting that thing roam freely. No. Uh-uh. 

I moaned and groaned and agonized over what I was going to do and how I was going to do it. Can you say heebie-jeebie? That was me from the inside out. My knees felt weak and my throat was dry. A shot of spiced rum helped me decide on the plan of attack. I wasn't brave enough to get close enough to drop a glass over it, and I was afraid if I tried to use a broom to scoot the spider out the back door, it'd dash into my bedroom.

So, with a whooping war cry, I hair sprayed it. I know it sounds mean and horrible, but if you could have seen me, you'd understand it had to be this way. I felt guilty, sick and horror-struck. The poor thing flailed and suffered and I hated myself. Boo-hoo-hoo. It took another 30 minutes before I found the courage to scoop up the carcass (in a thick wad of tissue). Usually I take them right to the toilet, but I wasn't thinking right. I took him to the sink and dropped him down the disposal. Then, I barfed.

I've never been so screwed-up scared in my life.

~*~*~*~

I'd never kill a spider that size today; I still feel guilty for killing it the way I did. But I'd move heaven and earth to find someone to remove it for me. And ... I'm sorry, Grandpappy.

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If you haven't heard of them yet, it was only a matter of time.

Two college students in China decided to film themselves lip syncing to the Backstreet Boys' song I Want It That Way (Google has the video ... there's no spam or popups so it's safe to see it). This song's been playing in my head ever since I heard it Thursday night.

I'm not sure when the college boys uploaded this one, but they've received a lot of attention since it hit the cyber waves. They seem to prefer Backstreet Boys' songs and have been dubbed the Back Dorm Boys. Although they have a blog and a radio station in China talks about them, it's all in Chinese, so I don't know that much about them.

But I've laughed myself into a runny nose many times watching the video. I love the looks on their faces. Especially the guy on the left. He's my fave, the goof. The guy on the computer behind them? He never turns around. But there are other music video spoofs where he does. Sometimes, other college kids walk past. But Yin and Yang here never miss a beat. It's hilarious!  

Some people don't understand what's so funny or great about what these kids are doing, but there must be something about them because they're making the rounds on the Internet. I've even read that Motorola China has offered them an endorsement deal to promote their new cell phone.

I love crazy stuff like this. 

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It's all I seem to see and feel lately.

Yesterday morning, she walked to the bus stop in her brown Cobbie Cuddlers. They match the brown suede coat and make her feel autumn-like and color coordinated. If it wasn't for her short height and the pink and mauve striped purse, she's sure there's someone out there who's wondered if she'd been born with it.

It's cold and gray, but traffic is already zipping by at the speed of I ain't gonna be caught in rush hour traffic. She sees a few bicyclists in bikers shorts and wearing slick headgear, trim men on their way to their corporate worlds. And then the kicker: a bare-chested, dark haired Adonis wearing only his sneakers and a loose-fitting pair of shorts. What an idiot. A gorgeous idiot, but she can't help but think the jogging at dawn thing is doing more for his body than it is for his brain cells.

Four minutes away from the normal scheduled arrival of her bus, she sees it round the corner. She's twenty feet away from the bus stop. "Well, damn," she says and hoofs it. Good thing she's wearing the Cobbies and not stilettos. The buses are never on time. Either they're an hour late or five minutes early.

Her pals waiting at the stop do the chicken wing flap. Classy Red pulls off her sunglasses and waves, urging her to hurry, while Darkly Deep, the guy from India, takes care of bus flappage. Newspaper Girl raises her head briefly, then goes nose-down again when she sees everything is being masterfully handled already.

She smiles, laughs a little, glad to see them there, but she won't run for anything but fire, tornado or pursuing rapist because she can't. 

She makes it to the bus stop just as the bus does, laughing and breathless. Never a dull moment in L.A. Oh goody, it's the asshole bus driver, the one who won't open the door for her right away if she makes him have to wait. He definitely wears his shoes too tight. Maybe there's something long stuck in his butt, too.

Dropping her coin into the slot, she passes the asshole without a glance. Really, there's no better way to describe him. He's a slim back man, nice looking. She understands that driving a bus in L.A. is probably not his dream job, but she thinks it's shitful how he takes out that unhappiness on bus passengers.

She counts four coffee houses on the way to work, two Starbucks, one Coffeebean and a mom-and-pop shop she's surprised to see is not even open yet. The thin black man is sitting on the bench near the Coffeebean, his shopping cart bursting with shopping bags beside him. Today he's wearing the navy cap (he alternates between blue and green). On the days she doesn't see him there, which are rare, she hopes it's because he's found a bed somewhere. And she wonders what he does with his days.

Her bus stop approaches. This time, someone's getting off with her, a twenty-something man with a black backpack. As soon as his feet hit the ground, the bus driver closes the doors and begins to take off. "Whoa," she says at the asshole's shoulder. She should really ask for his name and report his sorry ass. Maybe next Tuesday. Right now, all she wants is to get off the bus and leave his ugly self behind.

She hits the building where she works 47 minutes before start time. It's dark and quiet inside, but the doors are unlocked and usually, the little shop selling doughnuts and coffee is open. But not this morning, so she sits on a chair outside the doors and thinks about the two-hit espresso she's going to order. She just discovered it a week ago because she's been trying new things. Having an espresso on rocky-start mornings is her latest addiction.

Her work day begins at 8:30. It's a weird day because B passed away yesterday morning and everyone is facing feelings of sadness, shock and mortality. She never got to meet B, but she traded e-mails with him and she could tell that he liked her sense of humor. There's major pounding and screeching going on above their floor and people are used to the tomblikequiet that usually pervades, so everyone is off kilter. But it's Friday and B isn't suffering any more.

Her work day ends at 5:15, but her bus isn't scheduled to come until 6:03. Last night, it didn't come until 6:58. She hopes to God it comes on time tonight. When 6:08 comes and goes without the bus, anger starts pushing at the back of her throat. A little kid dressed as Darth Vadar passes her on the sidewalk with his pink-haired momma. Next in line is a princess in a sparkly purple dres and some other kid in a costume of a monk-like smock with frayed tassels that could be God knows what. A man walking a Taco Bell dog approaches and she bends down to greet it. Traffic is coming in waves and she longs for the sight of that big, ugly bus, but the kids and the dogs make it easier to wait. 

The bus finally arrives. It's dark now and the passengers inside of the bus are brightly lit. She feels conspicuous. It's difficult to see anything on the other side of the window because it's dirty and dark outside. Also, because she's tired and wearing her contact lenses and they're fogging over.

Suddenly she notices the bus stop in the middle lane of traffic. A passenger wants to get off. Usually, the bus pulls over to the curb to let passengers off. Why it doesn't this time, she doesn't know. But just before the passenger starts to go down the stairs, a car whizzes by on the right side. She gasps. Stupid, so stupid. Why would the bus let a passenger off in the middle of the street? And why would a car pass at such a speed on the right side, where passengers get off? Is getting somewhere that fast worth the chance of hurting or killing a pedestrian? 

It's days like this that make her want to curl up. To give up. She always knew the world was a cold, hard place, but seeing it demonstrated time and time again is breaking her heart. Is making her angry. Sometimes it makes her hate people.

On the way home, she sees a man ahead of her pushing a shopping cart bursting with gray plastic shopping bags. There are so many bags in the cart that there are bags tied to all three edges of the cart. He's leaning and straining into the push. As he hears her approach, he moves directly into the center of the sidewalk so she can pass on whichever side she chooses. She's noticed before that homeless men pushing carts are some of the most polite people around. Just last week, one of them pushed his cart into the grass and stopped to let her pass by. Like everything else lately, seeing it made her feel like crying.

She said good evening to the man pushing the cart and headed for the liquor store. She can afford to buy two bottles of wine, but she probably won't drink tonight because she never does when she's depressed or upset.

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What do these things have in common?

Headache.

Feet throbbage.

Fist in hair.

Hey?

No bus.

No bus.

No bus.

Headache again.

Hunger.

Snoozish.

Fist of death raised against late or no-show bus drivers, missing socks, shoes that won't stay tied, noise-makers and puny willpower.

What's the common thread?

Yesterday.

Thank GOD it's Friday.

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Because it's all about the Vivi, you know. Don't fool yourself--we're talking life and death here. If me and my choices don't win, we might as well go stick our heads in the toilet because our lives will be over.

Oh, damn. That doesn't seem very I'm going to WIN this by a landslide-ish. I need to go find my good luck frog t-shirt.

Okay. I'm wearing it. If my camera was any good, I'd take a photo of it, upload it to my FTP space, then paste it here. (But just the thought of doing all of that makes me sigh.) So let's play pretend! It's a white t-shirt with a droll-faced frog on the front of it. He's resting his chin on one of his hands (remember, I said pretend) and it looks like he might say "Rib ... et," at any moment with all the enthusiasm of a soap dish. I love 'em! 

If you're interested, some of the reasons for why I'm voting for the following Journalers can be found here. (FYI: I'm not voting in all of the categories ... just the ones shown here.) So let's get to it.

Journal of the Year: Girl's Head Noise
No one ... and I mean NO ONE ... deserves it more. Not that the other nominees aren't worthy ... but for me, it's Girl's Head Noise or bust.

Lord of the Blog: Inane Thoughts and Insane Ramblings
Everyone nominated in this category is wonderful ... and yes, I've visited them all. But I've read comments and entries written by this Journaler and have found him to be anything but inane or insane. He's a class act worthy of this award. Let's give it to him.

Lady of the Blog: New Beginning
Everyone knows Judith Heartsong, right? The inspirational artist and Journaler who holds monthly Journaling contests, who awards the winner with one of her paintings? Woo-wee, Judith Heartsong is keeping pace with Vivian when it comes to fostering this Community and helping to introduce us to new Journalers. And isn't that what a Lady of the Blog is all about? 

Best International Blog: My Journey To Life
I know there are only two Journals nominated in this category, but I've been one of those no-good lurkers here for months. She's got intelligence, wit, well-written entries and swanky graphics. I also visited Incidences and was just blown away by "wolf's" graphics, sidebar and words. This is a French Journal (with a linky that translates the French into English). I say give 'em both an award!

Best Use of Graphics: The Love Train
When it comes to the Journal shiny (my new word, my new word!), I just haven't seen The Love Train's equal. He's dark, he's scary, but he's damn good and he deserves this award.

Best Use of Photography: (sometimes) Photoblog
I hate having to choose just one in this category because everyone's photos take my breath away, but here I'm going with the first photographer who stole my breath. 

Most Humorous: Do I AMUSE You? 
There's a fine line to writing humor and Yakvette knows just when to yoink it. She's made me laugh more than any other of you wacky Journalers (but I've laughed at all of you, trust me). Let's award her for it and maybe she'll write more often, huh?   

Best Sports Journal: High Above Courtside
I'm not into sports, they just don't come in on my TV or radio, but anybody with Stacey's unhinged moxie deserves an award. Oh, c'mon! Let's give it to her.

Best Entertainment Journal: Big Brother 6, Live Feeds & More
ETVJackie put her heart and soul into this one. She writes well, she has the spidey sense when it comes to reading and explaining Big Brotherly motives-behind-the-motives and she knows how to upload those live feedy things. 'Nuff said.

Best Pets Journal: Random Ramblings
Walter might be pissed if he wins this, but his mom is nuts. She talks to inanimate objects and eats bad food. We have to give her something. No, really. Anybody who's seen Walter and read xzasporated1's Walter-talk has got to know that he's the woofball of choice for this award.

Most Outspoken: Warrior Hah!
Not many people feel free to communicate what's really on their mind, but apparently chasingmoksha was born without the Homer Simpson D'oh! reflex. She's gotten lots of flak for it, but she still keeps doing what she does. A real warrior. Hah! But she also has heart and in my book, that's the kicker. Bend over, warrior woman! Let's give it to her.  

Man. I'm getting tired.

Best Use of Attitude: Freely Floralilia
Uh, what name is she using now? I can't keep up. Anyway, she's the self-proclaimed queen. Albert's a hoot, too, but if I have to pick one ... well, the pointless poster be it. ::smooch::

Most Well-Written: Unhinged
Yo. I know a dangling participle from a pain in the neck. Vote for me! Vote for me! That's all you need to know. Go now and vote. While you're thinking of it (me).

Best Series of Entries: Growing Up Shelli
This was a tough one because I think Anna's entry series is also an important read--but admittedly, quite painfully dark--so I'm going with Shelli's entries. She did a wonderful job at capturing those early, teenagery feelings. Hello, horny and hilarious confusion. 

Best Collegiate Journal: Hmm or Life or Something Like It
They both deserve it. Visit their Journals. You'll see. (Eeney, meenie, minie frigging moe.)

Best New Journal: By Popular Demand
Oh, if only you knew what this girl has gone through and is still going through. She only gets snatches of time to write, and what she does write snaps with color, verve and heart. She's funny, she's inspirational, she's real. Vote for mikethedawg!

Best Aim Journal: The Daily Snooze 2
It's called The Daily Snooze 2 because first, there was a Daily Snooze right here on the not-for-free AOL. See? He's one of us. He can also write and that makes it so much better when you're reading a Journal, doesn't it?  

Wow. How many freaking categories are left?!

Best Kept Secret Journal: Lotus Martini
I wanted her for best well-written, but since she isn't there, lets give her this one, shall we? If you're looking for well thought-out humor that's presented with style, look no further. Lotus Martini is it. And not enough people know it. So let's change it. A secret is all well and good, but this one's been kept long enough.

Most Original Journal: Journey to Peace
Did anyone (but Freee) notice that I called this Journal Livingroom Superstar the first time around? Go see ... and then you can read what I said again because ain't nothing changed since. Freee is the one and the only and that's all you need to know. 

Now go do it for real. All the cool kids are doing it.

(Uh, next year my vote is for LESS CATEGORIES.) 

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