Sunday, October 15, 2006

Aimless Rambling

I am amazed at how hard it is to find gothics in used bookstores. Actually, it is quite depressing. The town where I live -- phrrrrpppptttttttt!!!!!!!!!! Zilch. Nada. And eBay? Oh, my god, forget it. The folks charge more for shipping than they do for the item itself. Theft is one word I could use to describe that behavior, but I'm not cause people are big whiny babies who want to claim offense when you even look in their direction. Waa waa waa!!!

So, you'll notice there is no artwork with this posting. Sorry to disappoint. Well, not that I'm disappointing anyone except myself. No one reads this blog. Who cares? You want political commentary, look elsewhere. Who wants to spend all their time keeping up with that insanity any way? Okay, I will go so far as to say that everyone pointing fingers at whatever political party is opposite them in this whole Foley scandal does not get it. We are talking the violation of young folks, even if it is an IM. I get a pervvy IM, and I block them. Still, we're talking about Foley, a person who was supposed to be a role model and hopefully hold himself to a higher standard. Well, he was probably holding himself, and that's all. It doesn't matter what party is doing what for whatever reason. Worry about the pages who put up with this crap. THAT is where the concern should be. Of course, as Confucius supposedly said, "When a finger points at the Moon, an imbecile looks at the finger." Quit looking at the finger, politicians!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so much for trying to live up to the gothic heroine's standard of ethics. I got really petty with a co-worker. She sits at her desk and eats most of the day. That's fine. But those first few chews of anything crunchy are always done open mouth. It is what my mom would call "chomping your food". I've been tolerating it for days and days, but it got to the point it was like a jack hammer on my head. I snapped. Well, as much as I'm able to snap. I prairie-dogged out of my work area and said, "For the love of all that keeps me from screaming, please close your mouth before you start chewing. Sorry if I'm being a bitch." She muttered, "Okay." She hasn't eaten anything at her desk since, which is fine for me, but she also hasn't said a single word to me. Oh well. She doesn't realize how close I came to pitching my coffee mug at her.

So, I'm dashing about in my snuggly long knitted cardigan the other day. I love the thing, found it in a Goodwill store and it didn't hardly smell. Anyway, now that it has gone from toasty to frigid, I live in the thing. I'm really prone to getting utterly lost in things, like reading. I'm in this bookstore (no names, please) looking through this book on the whole punk history. I'm enjoying the pictures and scanning the text. I felt like I was in the middle of a documentary. I vaguely notice my cardigan move, but I'm in the middle of what they like to call a power aisle, and there are people zipping around me, stirring up a healthy breeze and all, so I don't give it much thought. Then I felt something touch my thigh and a warm breath near the hem of my skirt. I slamed my knees together and felt a rather satisfying smoosh. I looked down to see this little boy, maybe two or three if he was lucky, fall to the floor. He looked up at me, and I could see the eruption of screaming building. I dropped the book next to him and walked away as quickly as I could. I must have cleared three aisles before the scream hit, and I had to wince. It cut right through my head. Guilt maybe? Nah. I just wondered what I smooshed between my knees, and if the boneheaded parents of the junior perv would believe the bruising came from that big coffee-table book falling on his little pointed head.

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