I haven't partaken in a week

I have been averaging about 10 hours of sleep a night for the past week and I think I owe it to my fast from Monster. I think I'm catching up on all of the sleep I missed over the past 3 months. So my question is: Do people who drink highly caffeinated drinks their entire lives crash one day? Fall asleep one day and sleep for a few weeks straight? Because if that is the case, sign me up for a year! I'm such a sloth and admittedly love to sleep. Deep sleep, cat naps, sleeping on the bus, sleeping in the park, I take it anywhere I can get it.

For murry.

It is June 26th. The day my sister, Mary came into the world 21 years ago. Welcome to adulthood/spinsterdom my dear sister! The land of barren women whose most aching desire is to be married and have lots and lots of last-minute babies. You might have to give away all your cats before you move in together and start a life of bliss, but that's just a pebble on the beach of happiness. I wish you good luck on the trail of tears. If you ever need a hug or a pint of Ben and Jerry's, I'm only 15 states away.

Let me advise you on a few things to be aware of now that you have crossed the threshold and are not getting any younger:

1. Candy striping is a great way to surround yourself with other pregnant women and whose newborn babies you can hold and pretend they are your own.
2. Going out with several boys at a time is a great practice, and strongly encouraged my your big sister. For it is there in the comfort of your Man Heram, that one may remain unslighted by the ways of the world and stay focused on your single spinster dreams.
3. A pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream goes a long way. I try to keep at least 2 on hand.
4. Make an effort to have on-screen boyfriends with whom you can cultivate long lasting relationships and unfettered romances. A few examples:
Haha, just kidding with Keanu. Even though he was so hot in Pointbreak. Vaya Con Dios.
5. Lastly, please remember that you should be always reaching your arms out to other spinster women around you, so you can slap them across their cheek if they ever get in your way.

Godspeed and many well wishes. If I were with you, I would take you to The White Owl for a proper 21 year old bash. Loves!

I long for the days of yore...

I'm really hating the internet lately.

It's keeping me from reading from paper sources. I miss reading the newspaper in the morning. I miss looking at the obituaries to see how everyone passed on. I miss thumbing through magazines. These days everything has a blog. And, while convenient, it takes away from the comfort of sitting down on a big fluffy couch and trying to catch up on world politics or laying the comics out on the living room floor and trying to keep the good ones away from your lingering brothers and sisters.

Along with the internet comes my recent hatred for television.

I always get sucked into some horrible {read: awesome} lifetime movie or a repeat of SNL. And while these are sometimes funny, it makes me miss sitting in my bed on a rainy evening and reading a good book. My reading lately has only consisted of metro reads, which only amounts to about 45 minutes a day. Not enough to get anywhere in a decent book.

I guess I just miss the comfort of being lazy and doing some old-fashioned activity. I started reading a Book last night. I use the term Book lightly, because it is really a manuscript that was never published into a book. It is a record of one womans life, being a member of the Nazi party and mistreated by the Poles and Russians. I started it last night and could hardly put it down after 2 hours of reading. Learning about this womans life, how her mother was banished from her home as a little girl, forced east to Siberia by the Ural mountains and out of her large family was one of the only two to survive the starvation, sickness and cannibalism. Then by luck and the grace of one progressively thinking woman, she was given food and shelter and education. She met a german-polish man and proceeded to have four children, one of them being the woman who wrote the book. The atrocities she speaks of are amazing. What is even more amazing is she is still living, and is in the same ward as my Dad. She has all but lost her mind and talks only of this experience, according to my Dad. I really can't wait to get back to this book and read the rest, probably over the weekend. I really like books, to be able to feel the material in your hands. Especially this womans book - which is really just a large stack of 8 x 11 1/2 white paper. Something about lifting each piece of paper after I've read it feels so comfortable and nostalgic. Have any of you read any good life-changing books lately?

Oh they do, do they?

After eating 2 donuts for lunch today at The Fractured Prune (I had French Toast and Rolo), I had this conversation with my friend, Laura.

Gnomie: i know.
i told you, we need to go there to eat donuts
its amazing

Laura: here's the thing
I don't "go" to eat donuts
Donuts come to eat me

A qualitative study on Facial Hair

I realize there are many people in this world who think that facial hair may make them look more mature. I am here to tell them that no, in fact, it doesn't.

You are all painfully aware of my beard love, and as an aficionado of manly facial hair, I would like to tell a few men out there what constitutes good FH vs. bad FH.

Exhibit ASick.
Sick, sick, sick. First you have Stewart Townsend (r) who is growing what can only be described as premature Brigham beard. Then Shane West (l) is sporting that ridiculous goatee that should have never been paired with the frosted tips and waxed eyebrows. Too much Tybalt, not enough Romeo. Seriously, Shane. We get it. You're "good looking". Stop trying ridiculous beauty tricks to try to enhance that.

Exhibit B

I realize that George Clooney would have a hard time looking bad...well...ever. But I don't care. This is a great beard. It's so salt and peppery and coarse. It's so thick and full. This is what men should aspire to in life. This kind of beard. Who cares about hair loss? Grow in the beard.

Exhibit C
Ryan Gosling is such a talented actor. Despite all the Notebook garbage, he has some real clout in the acting world. But that's not why I'm writing this. Some people just have the ability to pull off the facial hair. On someone else, this look might go completely awry. They may look like a dirty meth dealer. But Ryan transcends all that and completely pulls ahead of the game with this brilliant display of FH. Well played, Gosling. Well played.

Exhibit D

I know, I know. But it wouldn't be a post about beards if I didn't have Sam Beam to back me up. I adore him. He (Iron and Wine) is coming out with a new album shortly and will be touring again in the Fall. Be sure to check it out and to set his picture as your background.

I would like to admonish all men to take the time to really find their beard style. Not all men are cut out for the full length double feature beard. And most men should never grow a goatee. If you are growing an ironic mustache, then I say A POX ON YOU! Stop it already with the ironic mustache. Because unless you are Brandon Flowers, the likelihood of you being able to pull that off is nill.

The mail must go through

I found a large envelope to mail some documents the other day. I was being helped by a cute boy who, after seeing how large the envelope was, said:

This envelope is too big for these documents. I could fit half of you in there.

Thus begins the Crush on the Post Office Boy.

Social Experiment #1: Dressing Like a Republican

Sometimes in life, it is necessary to step outside one's comfort zone. I decided today was the day. As I was deliberating on outfit choices last night, I put together a skirt and collared shirt combo. Very cute. As soon as I put it on, however, I realized I looked like a flaming conservative republican. Neatly pressed shirt in a conservative color. A khaki "safe" knee-length skirt. Brown peep-toe stilettos. Conservative jewelry. It all looks pretty good. I mean, I'm wearing it right now and I feel fine.

Here is the interesting part: I have been getting compliments all day...from republicans!! They all love my skirt! The shoes are so cute! So I have decided that this is the first of many social experiments involving politically swayed outfits. Stay tuned. Oh, does anyone have a peace sign necklace and bellbottoms I can borrow?

I liked that last post so much and I like Mike so much that I will dedicate this space to him. Mwhalen50, you are my one and only.

**Editors Note - This post is to be read while listening to the Allman Brothers Bands' Ramblin' Man. It makes it that much more authentic.**

My first big excursion with Mike. On this trip he won the Hairiest Legs competition in Delta Junction and I saw his hindquarters when we sorta skinnydipped in a glacier runoff lake. Soo Hawt.
Inside the holy house of The Blue Marlin. Jim and Mike protected me from the barflys by draping themselves all over me. See the mason jar? What did I tell you.
Hippie in the morning. My favorite thing about Mike is that he professes not to be a hippie, but he bleeds burlap, my goodness. I remember half his head having dreds and the other side just dangled across his face, usually with food particles stuck in the strands. Beautiful.
Only Mike could take a picture like this and make it look completely not contrived. I could imagine hiding in the grass on some mountain top and observing Mike running like that without pretense, oblivious to his surroundings. Once we walked on slackrope behind our dwellings and he kept at it, even when his manhood was endangered. I've never known him to be uncomfortable in any setting, except for maybe a mormon barbq where he couldn't get a hug from a lady who was scared of him. Heh heh.

Mike I love you and I miss you and I sometimes get the pangs of withdrawl and longing for the times of innocence and laughs we had in Alaska. Remember when you got in trouble by David Lee for keeping your bathroom in such a state of filth that nobody would share it with you? And the time we salsa danced at The Dog and you spun us around so fast that we both fell on the ground? Or the time we shared a tent while the two others canoodled a mere 15 feet away from us? But you found the softest mossiest spot for us to lay on because you are kind and a gracious host, even when what you are hosting is a tent in the middle of a campground where you would later melt your frisbee to your car and we would see a duct tape display of private parts. I'm moving to DC and accepting roommates. And for you, I extend a free standing invitation to sleep in my apartment for as long as you would like, with the understanding that you will once again bring excitement and oddity and drunken antics into my life. Muchos Besos.

Love,
Gnomie

Monday

Sometimes when you are having a Not So Good Day, it helps to see/hear the following:

1. A chubby old man pushing his car door open with so much gusto just to stand up quickly enough to reach his doting girlfriend and give her a big loud Mmmmwahh! smack on the lips. Then he holds her hand and helps her into the drivers seat.

2. An ugly baby in a stroller looking at you with his eyes a little bit crossed. He is so happy and that makes him a million times more adorable than any Gerber baby I've ever seen. This baby's got character.

3. A bluegrass banjo-y song came on my iPod and it reminded me of being in Alaska with Mike and with Boot (yes, his name was actually Boot). Mike and I would do the boot dance (which had nothing to with the human being Boot) and kick up our heels and link arms and drink drink drink out of mason jars all night long. The tables were covered with polished stones and the floors were a blackened mess from all the years of dancing and drinking and sweating and spilling. And Boot would come steal me away and we'd swing around and get all sweaty and everything was so spinny and beautiful. And Boot had a truck with the word Hillbilly spray painted on the back and a dog in the truck with only 3 legs. I loved Boot. And walking down the busy streets of DC thinking about your days spent with Boot and Mike and hippy dancing in small Alaskan bars called The Howling Dog and The Marlin can really put a smile on your face.
The Boot Dance, at the annual Anderson Bluegrass Festival.

Violent Dreams

I had the worst dream the other night. I can't stop thinking about how disturbing it was.

So my sisters and I are all hanging out in this room, talking and having a great time. The room is an average sized room, maybe a salon or foyer type of room. We are talking when out of nowhere, someone bursts through the door waving a gun around. We all scream, scared and unsure of what to do, when I take a look at the gunman. It's my brother. He starts shooting all of us and we are screaming and trying to find furniture to hide behind when I realize - he is shooting blanks. So we grab him and try and settle him down. That is when my other brother walks in and surveys the room and what is taking place. My brother, the gunman, sees him and starts shooting. Except this time, he is not shooting blanks. He shot him about 5 times and blood was spurting out everywhere. The look on my brothers face was one no sister should ever see. He fell back with this Frodo look on his face and was grabbing his stomach where blood was now gushing out all over the carpet. We all ran over to him crying and trying to calm him down. But we couldn't. I'm totally creeped out over this dream. It's haunting my days and my nights.

Why would I ever have a dream like that? Have you guys ever had any awful violent dreams like this? I'm totally going to therapy because this surely makes me an insane person.

You can't make this stuff up

Jack Kevorkian, the infamous best friend of many suicidal human beings, is being released from jail after serving an 8 year sentence for assisting assumed terminally ill patients die with dignity. But many of those people who died were not terminally ill. Thus enters more ethical debates on euthanasia practices.

In the AP Press Release, Jack is said to have promised to never help another person in an assisted suicide. Interesting promise. I can't recall having made such a promise in my lifetime, but maybe we should all start signing such waivers when we pass a certain age. What is the age limit at which time you become responsible for Knowing Better than to help someone kill themselves?

It is good to know, however, that Dr. Death (as he is known to close friends and family) is looking forward to the normal things in life. As one friend who is close to him revealed, he is planning on partaking of grapes...apricots...pistachios. He loves pistachios.

Awww. Dr. Death! You are so cute and personable, aren't you? You know, even crazed maniacal death assisters aren't so bad. In fact, after seeing this in the news article I decided I would dig a little deeper to find The Person Behind Dr. Death. Someone I'd like to call "Jacky".
This is Jacky on the cover of his jazz album. Did you know he was a jazz flautist? Just like this guy... In fact, not only is he a talented flautist but an artist in general.

He has painted many oil paintings. One of these paintings even ended up on an album cover from that popular band, Acid Bath.

Pretty. I like it Jacky. You are so quirky.

I think the event in his lifetime that probably has proven most frustrating is his failed investement. He quit his job and invested his LIFE SAVINGS into a project to produce and direct a film based on Handel's Messiah. He was unable to find anybody willing to distribute the film, thus losing everything.

Maybe thats what pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was the loss of his favorite Handel score and dreams of breaking into the Biz that allowed him to look past the moral implications of assisting suicides. I can't say. But what I will say is that I'm buying his jazz CD as soon as I can scrape together some cash.