i have fondled an iphone, and i will never be the same again.
it was like visiting a holy shrine. or something.
you can call me ibananie.
and. whiskey tango foxtrot?
very NEARLY spotted: ELEPHANTS! walking down 6th street.
we have spent our afternoon at rio rita. helen's working. i am putzing. broquito, who works a block away in an office on the railroad tracks, chatted me, all excited that THE CIRCUS IS HERE! THE TRAIN JUST ROLLED IN!
he then popped over to the cantina to visit us, and we adjourned to the back patio for awhile. and what do you know? THE ELEPHANTS MARCHED DOWN THE STREET AND WE MISSED IT.
i could use a story.
tell me a story.
to inspire you, here's a photo of mister lawson.
spotted! a real and scary looking clown, driving a ford explorer on 183. as i passed him, and before i looked into his black-ringed eyes, i noted the following decal-ed advertisements for his services: clown! "live reptile show!" (quotation marks added for emphasis by the clown). "twisted balloons!"
eek. are the balloons twisted in a sadistic sort of manner? do they torture the live reptiles?
spotted! old man. skinny. bent. straw hat. old boots. wranglers. straight off the farm, hobbling across the street...wearing bluetooth, talking on the phone, and not to himself.
today is the one year anniversary of moe's adoption into our ever-expanding fambly.
little did we know that our decision to keep him would set in motion a world of change. but here we are, a year later, living in paradise the house. the condo is sold, and we are freer for it. we took big risks for this big dog, and he has given us big love in return.
without further ado, here is a year in the life of moe:
happy anniversary, milton bradley adcock pickles. there's a meatfull gift awaiting you in the freezer.
hello friends. i've been having a comments discussion with a (new?) reader named brian. i would like to open up the topic to everyone.
it began with his opinion about my feelings toward james dobson, as i used him in the title of yesterday's tongue in cheek post.
comment away, please.
the discussion thus far:
James Dobson isn't making all this stuff up, he's an accomplished psychologist who lives by the Bible. Satan is the father of all lies, fortunately there are people in this world who realize this. Posted by Brian at June 20, 2007 01:40 PM
actually, he is a deluded tool, who is an oppressor and an embarrassing representation of christ.
but thanks for the opinion!!
Posted by bananie at June 20, 2007 03:42 PM
do you know the man personally? If you don't want to be judged yourself, than surely you shouldn't judge others such as James Dobson. Why don't you attack the Muslim religion? they openly beat homosexuals to death, yet I don't see anyone in the gay community taking aim at them. You attack Christianity because we don't bite back. We attempt to turn the other cheek. Posted by brian at June 20, 2007 07:51 PM
i'm afraid that i'm engaging a troll here, but i'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. if you must go with the generalizations, here you go.
i speak about dobson from everything i've ever heard him say or write. my disdain for what he represents is not limited to him (of fotf) alone. anyone who oppresses is wrong. period. muslim. christian. whoever.
i did not attack christianity. i highly disagree with the damaging theology of one of its most popular voices in the media. i am a christian.
feel free to judge that.
Posted by bananie at June 20, 2007 08:14 PM
when helen and i first began thinking about kids, i knew there would be risks of exposing vulnerable children to the gay agenda, the code by which we live our deviant lives. they could turn out gay. or feminist. or pro gay marriage. or or or. gay.
what we didn't bargain for was the effect our lifestyle could have on our pets. i wasn't aware of cross-species abomination influence. how could i have been so ignorant? so naive?
behold, exhibit a:
what you are witnessing is the illicit love affair between one 9 month old doxiepoo and one 6 year old ornery calico. i have caught them, on more than one occasion, spooning in our bed. she licks (licks!) him on the face. he nibbles behind her ears, checking for fleas. she bites him in the eye. he bites her in the face. and then they spoon some more.
canines and felines have no right to be such intimates. i'm sorry, it's just wrong. and disgusting.
despite the absolute cuteness factor, clem and claira are putting their souls in danger.
tonight, i am going to sit them down for a conversation. "it has to end," i will tell them. i will separate their spooning with my legs if i have to.
wait a minute. i just thought of something. clem = boy. claira = girl.
*logic logic logic*
I'VE GOT IT!
the interspecies abomination may just be nullified by the fact that i have raised two animals who are attracted to the opposite sex. *whew*
okay kids. sorry. as you were.
not really sure how to begin this entry.
i'm afraid it will be an incoherent, emotional, poorly written mess.
here we go anyway.
i've written before about how every father's day since my father's death brings forth a different emotional response. grief. anger. numbness. nostalgia. et cetera.
this year's theme is simply tears. i can't even say father's day without a quivery lip. now that it's that day and three (three!) people at work have asked me if i remembered to call my dad, i'm just sad.
i cry over not seeing my dad in 10 years. i cry over not seeing my mom in nearly 2. i cry over the shifts and fractures that inevitably happen in families. his absence makes every other painful thing more painful.
i miss his actual, maddening, ornery presence. and i wonder what we'd find to bicker about now that i'm a bonafide grownup with retirement savings. politics and religion, probably.
i wonder how his constant storytelling would resonate with me. i wonder i wonder. and then i get drippy and snively.
the hole he left in my life is not always obvious, 10 years later. i am no longer jealous of friends with living fathers. i don't constantly view the world through the eyes of what i lost.
today, and recently, however, it does not take much to remind me of the hole.
this achy, rawer grief happens on the cusp of change, or growth, or accomplishment.
i want helen to know him.
i want my children to know him.
they will only know him through my memories, my stories.
it's not enough.
and that's about all i can say in words.
still lounging in bed at noon, with a gunther who refuses to leave my chest, making it very very difficult to peruse teh interwebses.
actually, now i'm hungry. hmm. what to do. how ever will i get this 3 lb catbaby off my chest?
...where randomness ensues.
sitting on my beloved porch with a glass of wine from a box (target! 4 bottles' worth! not bad!), and a trusty bottle of off!, which does not keep junebugs out of my hair. ew.
hector next door has sprinklers going full blast on his green, green lawn, and he actually has his good tejano going. the kind with operatic voices en espaÃ±ol, and no synthesizer whatsoever.
waiting for greggy to come over so that we may all play cards or watch a movie. or continue to sit on the porch listening to tejano con sprinklers.
i actually have a mini controversy going on over at youtube, over this video of gunther, taken back in september. a few catlovers have suggested that the poor sleepy kitten just doesn't look right. like maybe he's sickly. others, however, are suggesting that I TRANQUILIZED HIM for the sake of a funny video. attempting to squelch the rumors now. because we all know i
never thought of that before would never do that.
oh, greg has arrived! with food! and a new dvd player to replace our crappy old one that i got as christmas swag from a southern gospel record label 6 years ago.
i was just chatting with jude about writing. and my inability to do it well these days. or frequently.
(for those of you wondering, that is pretty much the gist of "issue 2" i didn't write about yesterday in my 'yet another symptom of my inability to be normal' post.)
i'm reading amalah's archives on slow afternoons at work (because i'm allowed, thank you), and am amazed by her writing style. she is such a fantastic storyteller. it's a little uncanny how similar we are, actually: both from pennsylvania, with blond hair, suffering with a chemically unstable brain, etc. i must confess, though: i am jealous that her blog is super popular, and bananie.com is feeling old and rickety. i'm funny, too...right? i can tell stories, too...right?
so. i'm going to start trying to write again, ok? not
only to try to compete with the popular girls, but because when you, dear reader, pop over here, you're looking to read or see something interesting, yes?
content-wise, what would you like to see more of around these parts?
i'm going to try to oblige you.
it would really make me happy to see bananie.com brimming with the vitality of her younger years.
in short: i need inspiration, peoples.
i've been so blocked for so long that i can barely construct a sentence.
help me entertain you?
sipping a coffee liqueur concoction that martini joe came up with, after a long uneventful day at work.
helen is mowing the yard with the huhduhduh. the dogs are all vying for my attention, somewhat violently throwing themselves against my side as i lie in bed and type.
i am cranky.
i am cranky for mostly trivial reasons. i had a crown replaced last week, after the last one came loose and what used to be food took up residence underneath. and now, the new crown seems to be headed in the same disgusting direction. the result? really sore gums, and shuddering pain when room temperature liquid touches the vicinity. lets not discuss cold liquid.
also. on friday, i spent the better part of an afternoon at the doctor, with my feet in stirrups. no, it was not a gynecological visit. i would have preferred that, actually. in reality, i was bitten by a spider or a mosquito or something. the bite got infected before i even knew i had it, and it turns out that i developed a staph infection. so why the stirrups, you ask?? because this bite happened to be on my very inner thigh, near the unmentionable area. and i had to have it lanced. i won't even tell you about the 5 cc's of stuff the doctor extracted for culturing.
and so. now i'm on internal and external antibiotics alike, and i have to keep the area covered in a big, sticky heavy duty bandaid. removing this bandaid is what i like to call painful as a mothereffer. that is the clinical term.
my crankiness has got me thinking about other issues.
unfortunately, dear readers, some of my issues end up involving you. and i apologize in advance.
issue 1. the telephone.
(those of you who have called me in the past 2 years know where i'm going with this.)
i have grown to hate the telephone. maybe it has something to do with working in a call center environment. or maybe it's the fact that i spent over a year making a long distance relationship work with the phone as our most reliable means of communication. i don't know. all i know is that i never use the phone if i don't absolutely have to anymore.
people call me, and i end up not calling them back. it has nothing to do with not wanting to communicate with friends and family; i simply clam up when i even think about making a phonecall. i wish i could better convey my anxiety about using the phone at all, but it causes so much that relationships suffer.
i can make phonecalls that have no emotional importance. appointments are fine. calling a friend to confirm plans is fine (though i much prefer texting). it's making a phonecall for purpose of having a meaningful conversation that is inexplicably agonizing.
to those who call me and leave me messages that get responded to with emails, let me use this clichÃ© that is actually true: it's not you, it's me.
ok. just writing that silly confession has exhausted me. i'm not up for writing about issue 2. perhaps next time.
if you've read this far into the post, i apologize.
i realize it is totally wah wah.
unfortunately, it's the truth of my deepest inner life today.
after severalteen hours of driving and still being in texas:
h: so. do you know the quickest way to get out of texas?
h: [pregnant pause, followed by laughter at the fact that i trumped whatever she was about to say.]
well, i was going to suggest just driving to mexico, but your solution is much faster.
i shall tell you the story of our trip in pictures:
there are many ruins of 17th century missions, as well as 19th century mining ghost towns. naturally, there are also a lot of cemeteries. desert cemeteries are all about rocks, makeshift crosses, and shrines. here are just a few of the many we saw.
and finally, the best part of the whole trip...the border patrol. oh how they loved to stop our suspicious vehicle (aka boompmobile, aka grand marquis) under the likely suspicion of our harboring mexicans in the huge trunk.
i hope you have enjoyed our show.