"I know I'm unloveable. You don't have to tell me. Oh, message received. Loud and clear. Loud and clear"

Nothing like insomnia and intense loatheing of "family" members to kick you in the ass. I have not posted regularly and think this needs to change...RIGHT NOW.

Social networking is much like the marginalizing culture of schoolyard cliques and the jugular grabbing is particularly vicious with extended family. I say family, but in truth, the space this person occupies is more of "insipid twit cousin", to be fair their brothers are great guys...who don't shun me.

I have never gotten along with this cousin,in part, due to a lifelong habit of temerity coupled with good looks far superior to theirs. I don't actually think much of the good looks part, in fact I am the originator of fake self esteem™, and practice it as a means of self deprecation wrapped within a cocoon of social buttress. It seems to work, in theory at least.I did not grow up in close proximity to my cousins and our "bonding" was confined to summers, holidays and death, which did not lead to much but an obligatory knowledge, toleration and acknowledgment of our kinship. Well I cannot say that this maximum holds true for all my cousins..just two and they make quite the pair. One likes to steal husbands and the other lives in a parallel universe where she is literally better than *anybody* else...in her mind at least.
How does this relate to social networking? Facebook. Fucking goddamn Facebook.
I have had more conversations with a kid in Malaysia, about Fashion Wars, then my cousin who excludes me from our family's online presence. I do not know what is more bothersome, her assignment of my leper status or my mother's continual cordial treatment of her, my objections notwithstanding. My cousin, the husband stealer, still gets birthday gifts from my mom, handmade in fact...yes I am in therapy and no it does not diminish my anger at the absurdity of the situation.
When our grandmother died two years ago I was forced to deal with both cousins while attempting to grieve for a woman I felt I failed, but that is a whole other post in & of itself. I flew into Florida and made the car ride to Texas with a sense of eminent dread, not just the obvious, ie. deal with dead grandmother, but knowing I had to step foot in my cousin's house. I had not seen this person for 11 years, not since "the incident" and I had avoided any contact since. I was given the option of not staying there but didn't want to force anyone to drive an extra 2 hours, so I fucking sleep on the couch. We never spoke about the past and the conciliatory concession offered up was breakfast taquitos with coffee. I didn't even have to pay, I had paid enough already perhaps and I was too tired for indignation. I made it through the funeral, Texas heat and inherent lunacy thereof. It was on a ride, to Wal-mart of all palces, that my aunt offered up a curious statement:

"Thank you for being forgiving to (insert name). It was very Jesus-like of you.."

Of all the traits I've been assigned this was by far the most disconcerting, yet it makes one wonder; would my cousin deny Jesus' friend request quite as quickly as mine and why should I always be the one to offer up the forgiveness time after time.

"...And we can ride the boogie. Share that beat of love"

It seems that the nostalgia we carry of our childhoods wanes unabated until family members and icons leave this mortal coil. We live in a suspended state of denial that we will never be touched by death, old age or suffering. We often are unprepared for it when it comes...we are young, unfamiliar with the inevitability of death...we do not know, nor are we prepared for what our "elders" have already begun to experience. The arrival of that inevitability crushes us...and awakens the reality of our own mortality.It is a reality that youth foolishly suppresses so that we drive headfirst into life with zeal, abandon and glee...isn't that what youth is for?

As the icons of our childhood fall we are forced to face the unflinching reality that if,say a musician or actor can die, so can our loved ones. As we mourn a singer or celebrity we also mourn the passing of our naivete and somberly acknowledge that the ones who hold dearest will one day be gone. This truth hurts far more than never seeing a man moonwalk again. I will miss Michael Jackson, but acknowledging that I will one day lose my parents is far more sobering. I have seen far more death in 35 years than I ever imagined and yet it still does not get easier to bear...does it ever? Perhaps our collective grief for someone we really do not "know" insulates us from thinking or dealing with the possibility in our own families or among our friends? Either way it is painful. I guess sometimes you just have to clutch your memories, wipe away your tears and keep going...


I am just rambling...sadness does that. It makes you pour out things best left unsaid and things you hold back from saying. I may be seen as foolish for crying over a pop star, but that pop star was someones brother, someones son...someones friend and I know the void left whenever that is lost. The long march of adulthood lies ahead...and the illusion of vicariously living through pop culture no longer protects us to the realities of age. Sometimes the fall of the famous so sharply focuses us to the picture of what is yet to be lost in our own lives. It is a picture we flinch at and avoid but must steel ourselves to tackle one day. I will never be an 10 year old girl riding a bike, boombox lashed to the handlebars, belting out "Billie Jean" again but I have the memories and memories sustain.


“And when the groove is dead and gone
You know that love survives
So we can rock forever on….”

"Nervous messed up marionettes Floating around on a prison ship"

I often wonder what first impression I make on random strangers, and if I am not only strange yet hopelessly random. I chalk it up to awkwardness and a feeling of jet propulsion that takes over my speech. I talk too much, too fast and without a filter. Charming is not the first word that comes to mind...crazed maybe. I think the internal awkwardness swimming in my head manifests its self into this whirling dervish, stream of consciousness mania that I feel compelled to let loose. It is unfurled haphazardly and earnestly, yet it pings wildly from many divergent points and I walk away from many a conversation convinced that the other person thinks I am a freak. I set this bet with regards to a fellow student. They often work late in the lab, not talking much and leaving in such quiet manner that I often do not know they have left. I figured that by the end of the semester we would have a proper conversation. Instead I unfurled crazy ramble girl instead. I think I should have just stayed in my office and not scared the guy. Great..another student who thinks I am a whackjob.I may just single handedly kill enrollment yet.

"Can you hear the drums Fernando?"

"So why don't you use it try not to bruise it, buy time don't lose it"

In my attempt to become a "better student" I neglected this great literary opus of a blog. Ok, it is not an opus..rub it in why don't you. I came to the conclusion that perhaps I should post more...I only have 1 follower. Sorry Rodney, I appreciate you I do, but why should you be the only one to suffer my inept written ramblings? No, there is a world full of people clamoring for my dazzling wit and finely tuned cynicism! It is my duty to humanity to post more! Just not tonight. There might be porn I have yet to download or ebay listings to follow...