I’m nearly finished with Sanatorium under the sign of the Hourglass. Can’t wait to start this gem. The dreary days outside will be a perfect accompaniment to this novel of wasting away.

I awoke this morning earlier than I had anticipated. Someone was crashing on my couch, the blinds were drawn, a murky sleepiness shrouded the various appliances and furniture under the cast-off light of the subterrenean basement apartment.

I managed to assemble my coffee after a tedious locating of the various essential parts. Drank coffee.

Return to make bed only to find a lighter where a body should be (a live one, mind you). Did I just plant a symbol for the lack of passion and fire in this bed? A poor substitute. A dangerous substitute. Why do I have a lighter in my bed? Or, more directed, why do I have a lighter in my pocket or my hand when I’m deciding to go to sleep? It’s a sign of the oncoming winter that I am even wearing something of a significant cloth to body ratio that pockets would be in company. I hate this cloth distribution in winter. Get it off!

In other news, I was walking to work the other day and I saw two women walking with a toddler and baby in a stroller and immediately thought, “What a cute lesbian couple.” Upon closer observation, I realized that the two women were more closely akin to what would be referred to as, “mother and daughter.” I believe this blood relation is more the culprit for the vibe of being so close and made for eachother than any shared romantic love. Waaaaaay off. Nice. I should pay more attention on my walk to work.

This lack of sustained focused attention was then repeated when I turned down a street to find a garbage can. Upon locating garbage can I utterred a low “Oooooh yeah” of the most perverted dirty old man variety. As I expanded my view, I noticed a group of tweens standing close to the garbage can, likely wondering why I’m getting all excited. Or, thinking that they know what I’m “Oooooh yeah” ing about, but becoming confused after noticing that I am a young woman displaying creepy old man tendencies.

Riddles for the youth. At your service.

Strange bedfellow

I have long held the belief that there is a tacit agreement during the first few dates one willfully engages in that one has to at least pretend one is enjoying oneself. Or, at the very least, pretending one moderately wants to be there is part of the tacit agreement. I’ve just assumed that if an adult talks to another adult of his/her own volition–without parental or friend intervention– that the follow up “get together” desired by the adult would be enjoyable for that adult. And not a burden. This belief has always been a major part of my understanding of what “dating” is. Am I wrong? Is there a style of dating I am not familiar with? One where you pretend to (or make known) hate each other from the beginning. And the anticipation that this hate can grow and turn to loathing is what fuels the development of the relationship.

I’m of the foundational belief that if you do not want to waste your time with a person, it’s advisable not to do it. No obligations before the six month mark. Or even month mark, really. After an extended period of dating (and SEX, esp. fun sex) you can be grouchy and audibly express irritation at having to be at *given* spot at *given* time with that particular person.

But this privilege comes after several months–or even just a few weeks– of pretending the other person is interesting and fun to hang out with and not a big waste of your time. I don’t particularly need or require a body next to me in order to pursue my various interests; whether they be movies, drinks, walking around in a park, et cetera. Further, it’s monumentally less fun and enjoyable to do any number of these activities if the person-body next to me is loudly sighing and complaining about given activity…

“Can we please do this again? Soooooo much fun having another nay sayer.” I expend enough effort quelling the nay saying voice in my head without having to entertain another one. Ick. “Nay, nay, nay,” no thanks.

Phone number deleted. Engage other interests in… 5…4…3…2…1… GO!

In the end, I still love people. So fucking weird.

“Hang up,” “No, you hang up,” “On three, hang up.”

… that Kanye is not a good rapper. And that Mos Def is the shit. Just. Wow.

“God sent priests, the devil sent jesters”

–Tarkovsky, Andrei Rublev

Just bought this today, I’m excited to listen on some proper sound set up. I bought the previous compilation released by this label on Nigerian music from the 70’s and it was most excellent. So far, so good on the track listening.

Check out their stuff

Muthafuckin’ YES, it’s Kabocha squash season! (sung with a self-composed melody).

I fuckin’ love this fathafuckin’ squash!

In other news, there is a new cute man that works at the Spice Market. As if going to the Spice Market weren’t fun enough (What is Fenugreek? Give me some o’ dat! Now I know what it is. Holy shit! That curry I love has Fenugreek in it. Nice long aside!)

Cute spice slinger. Cayenne. Tea.

I’m in need of some Garam Masala. Can you help me, boy? Ooooohh yeah.

Give me some of that Blueberry Tea. Oooooooooh yeeeeeah. More Cayenne please. Yeah I like it hot. Baby.

I love it when mundane activities become fun. Spice shopping just got more exciting. Those Mung beans are never going to be the same again. Spiced up real nice now.

If you don’t like the taste of alcohol, don’t drink it. I don’t understand such declarations, as “This [the ALCOHOLIC beverage] tastes too boozy.” or “like booze.” You’re right. As it fucking should. It’s got alcohol in it. Order a juice if you don’t like alcohol.

Further, if you, “really like Bourbon,” don’t say your favorite is Jack Daniels. It’s not a bourbon. And if you like bourbon sooooo much, you should know that. DIFFERENT PROCESS.

And finally, how do people get in accidents when everyone is driving in the same direction? This is something that does not cease to amaze me. If you are on the Freeway, maybe pay attention to the cars around you. You’re all driving in the same direction at roughly the same speed, so “accidents” really shouldn’t happen. There’s not a lot that varies here. PAY ATTENTION. You’re in a fucking speeding vehicle for chrissakes. Make that your priority.

Thank you.