“You could try eating your tears,” a coworker joked today. And I laughed.

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sliced pig on pizza that looks like it has cancerous boils

The photos I’m posting here are two examples of  “**** no, I’m not touching that ****”  that were lovingly presented to me while at work within the past week. Sometimes a person can have the best intentions and want to say “thank you” or “I love you” when they’re unintentionally threatening to sabotage you.

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Cowballs in coagulated gravy, served with yellow cake as a side

Newsflash: if you want me to be happy and able to work, feeding me lard is not going to do any good. My body will ask me why I hate it so much as it beings to process the various animal fats and crude ingredients that went into your charitable contribution. Then I’m going to feel bloated and sleepy as my mind comes unraveled because I just gave in to temptation and did something that my better self didn’t want me to do.

You’re very welcome and I love you, too, but I can’t eat shit.

What really sucks is that you don’t even particularly care if I do or not, because someone else is going to eat shit and everyone will be grateful overall. You won’t even remember or even realize that I had to look at your meatballs and pizza and pretend that I didn’t want to be a big shit-eater, too.

Then I’ll stand back and judge everyone harshly, because I will be the only one who beat you at a game you weren’t even playing.

And I’ll be the only one hurting, regardless.

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Spring 2013

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Spring has sprung, the grass has ris – I wonder where the flowers is?

 Once you’ve been on your hands and knees on the ground and brushed hair away from your face to the point of getting dirt and sweat in your mouth, it means the world every time the things you planted resurface. Winter couldn’t kill your design and nature only adds to it, growing, multiplying, building on your efforts. And if you’re like me you’ve left just enough weathered cracks to tell your story from the countless points in time that have made you who you are.

The One With Potassium Citrate

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I’m staring at a ridiculously tall can of Diet Mountain Dew. When I carried it out of the gas station a guy fueling up seemed to watch me. I knew I’d been right when he yelled over, “Goddamn, I thought you were carrying a really tall beer. I was gonna say, ‘fuck yeah, that’s a Friday night alright’”.

It was funny, because I had actually just spent entirely too long inside trying to find something that wasn’t lard or ridden with calories. The best answer was an over-sized, overpriced can of acid and substitute sugars. It’s Friday night somewhere, but not here. Not under this skin. This is the start of my work week.

 

It feels like aspartame. And one big zero in every serving.

White Gold

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Fantasy bottles at the window

 As soon as she could cash in, Elizabeth Arden teamed up with the Britney Machine and signature fragrances were born. As a fan, I never felt the urge to give my money for sticker books, window clings or anything else that was being churned out at high speed around the turn of the millennium. A perfume, however, is purposeful – the scents are actually good, and I’ve been on board with her fragrance line ever since it debuted with ‘Curious’ in 2004.

The Brit Stink is collected from a stream of pubescent hormones, saturated in amber and infused with extracts of orchids, cupcakes, vanilla beans and candy.The ‘Fantasy’ series has raked it in by the million and there’s a different one for every Britney era (‘Hidden Fantasy’, ‘Midnight Fantasy’, etc) with a slightly different take on the smell of Yum. It’s a sexy syrup and if you abuse it, it will fuse into garbage juice. Each bottle typically has swarovski crystals embedded into it and I go nuts whenever I hold one. Must be some clever design that appeals to my love for shiny, sparkly things that make me happy. I dunno why I think they’re beautiful; I just dig them and go hunting for them in their various sizes and colors.

I have some issues with the concept of ‘Circus Fantasy’, as that translates to ‘Elephant Poop’ in my book – and there is a very peculiar release called ‘Believe’ that smells like sandalwood, licorice and ‘guavo’ (which sounds too close to ‘guano/bat poop’) that I don’t particularly care for. Did that stop me from compulsively completing my collection? Hell no. I’ve got em all.

While I could never convey a scent using only words, I can say that I just about always spray some in the room before I sit down to write or listen to records. It’s not my fault that my LastFM play history has lately been getting clogged with electro-pop; it’s what tends to happen when the sun reflects that fruity, seductive liquid onto my MP3 player.

It’s interesting to me, how women wear mostly sweet scents while men wear musky, woody tones. Speaking personally, if more men smelled like sugar, I would feel tempted to seek out and devour them.

The Shit-ton

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breakfast: ECA home brew stack with open faced tuna and granola bar

This is somewhere around the second week of taking an ECA stack since damn near 2003. Anyone who knows me well is aware of my stimulant fondness; I abhor sedatives as I seem to be naturally daywalking most of the time. Basic things like mornings and responsibilities had gotten to be fairly burdensome lately so I took matters into my own hands and researched some loopholes for getting the sort of boost that the boys at work think they’re getting when they buy little vials and tall cans of sugar water: Energy.

Side effects: appetite is suppressed, so you’ll lose your love for gorging on food. Also, your bronchial tubes are opened more so breathing will be easier. I hope these sorts of things are okay with you. Finally: act like a dumb shit and take way too much and you could kill yourself, just like with everything else under the sun.

So far I’ve noticed a change in the hours I keep: I can stay up later and get up earlier. Time no longer drags. My eyes are in the open position. People tell me I have acquired a ‘glow’. And apparently, I can spot a shoplifter from across the building.

***

“We need to make a shit-ton of money today, guys. If any of you aren’t familiar with my units of measurement, a shit-ton is several shit loads.” — one of my favorite managers at work

We had a chick come in wearing a boobie dress and tall heeled shoes. She was pretty young and had one of those supple faces with doe eyes and fat lips. My orientation confuses a lot of people as I am always looking at humans objectively and noting the ones I like. I watched her come in and I thought: I wish I could be walking into a place right now, as free as she looks, and balance myself in that sort of complicated footware, and carry my fancy shopping bag around like tra la lalalalalala….wait a minute….

Girly didn’t seem stable on top of those bright orange heels and it made me wonder why it was so important to her then, to look like that. She had just told someone nearby that she didn’t know what sort of gift she was going to buy (pretty girls, always on their way to parties, you know) but she seemed like she knew where she wanted to go after looking at a few movies: straight back into the empty gaming department.

Let’s not hate her just yet.

I showed one of our cashiers via CCTV, how Girly seemed to be shopping and putting specific games all in one spot on the rear wall.

“That’s called staging. It could be nothing, but thieves do it so they can get everything ready to take. They decide what they’re going to steal, position it and conduct research around them until they think they have that safe second to boost it.”

She pretended to shop a little while conveniently faced in other directions. She was trying to see if anyone was around. Trying to see if anyone noticed her. She tugged a little at the fabric keeping her breasts from popping out. She was Just A Girl In the World and certainly any boy who wandered over into gaming would assume the same?

Maybe they’d be thrown off by her shape. Or look the other way entirely because of it.

Then the fashionable bag was suddenly open, her fingers were around the merchandise and it disappeared behind an aisle. The cashier watching with me was stunned and a little excited.

“Alright. Someone just put a shit-ton of games into her bag. [Manager’s Name] I need you to get over here NOW.”

“On my way.”

“Put your hands out like me and smile huge like I am and act like we’re joking around and not paying attention. She’s going to start watching us now to see if we’re on to her,” I said, extending my arms and turning my head from the public view monitor at the front doors. The cashier was confused, unsure, but smiling regardless.

How long had she been getting away with this? Was she waiting for us to contact her and make it obvious that we knew so she could dump and bail? I am so tired of that routine.

The suspect kept shopping away, ducking into the XBOX corner and stuffing another few hundred dollars into her bag.

“Do you want us to, uh-“

“NO. Leave her alone.” And on camera you could see salespeople casually walking by her, giving the impression of being completely fucking oblivious. It delighted me to no end. Meanwhile the manager had the police on the phone, en route.

She had to pass me at the front doors, so I grabbed a circular and held it out like I didn’t know how to do my job. We were both pretending not to see each other as she put her cell phone to her ear and passed the last point of purchase.

I looked up at the very last second as if I’d forgotten about the pretty girl in bright orange heels. “Oh! Have a good day [walking into your fate]!”

She, along with her accomplice waiting behind the wheel, ended up in the back seat of a police car. Over $500. Felony.

“Hey! You used my word, didn’t you?! HIGH FIVE!” I reached up and slapped the manager’s hand.

Tra, la laaaaaaaaaa!

Of Truth and Beauty, Or, You’re Welcome

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some looks are effortless

Sakina, a Muslim friend of mine/sideways little sister, has been experiencing a lot of change and heartache during her last year in high school. When I first met her she was rather mousey, withdrawn and honestly, a bit alienating. But we’ve come a long way since then and I take some credit for that, including my serious push to get her eyebrows waxed and open her face to society. I decided to go the ignorant route so that she would have exposure to such idiocy in people, and help her find strength in that fine line where reality is still cruel but laughable just the same.

Out of nowhere the other night she sent one of those feel-good quotes via text. I looked at my phone and knew I wouldn’t be able to leave it alone.

Sakina: Be your own kind of beautiful!

Autumn: Oh. Okay.

Sakina: Lol, what?

Autumn: I dunno. You said it, not me.

Sakina: I know, I like that quote!

Autumn: All girls want to believe they’re beautiful. Even the ugly ones.

Sakina: hahahahahha wtf!

Autumn:  Beauty can be hard, though. Still, it’s the way of the world.

Sakina: But internal beauty…

Autumn: Internal beauty doesn’t matter if no one can see past the mess on the outside.

Sakina: …I just thought it was a nice quote… True beauty should be judged, not your makeup…

Autumn: But if no one can get past those birds nests on your face you’re screwed. Just don’t let your eyebrows grow back. Ever.

Sakina: THANKS AUTUMN.

***

Big thank you to Jeffrey for THIS LINK about perception: Real Beauty Sketches

X Marks the Spot

As I carry more of the virtual world with me wherever I go I find myself looking for ways to make it count. So far I’ve discovered Wunderlist to release the burden from my mind of having to remember every grocery, chore or dream that I have. That application is really nice because you can also break your list items down and elaborate. I.E. ‘Sooner Than Later’: Start A Vinyl Club/Listening party. Buy milk.

Another way I’ve been using my smart phone is by operating Four Square which allows you to leave GPS-identified foot prints of the places you frequent. Now this concept is a little scary but I have a goal to tell an overall story about my life in a different way. After all, you can tell a lot about a person by what they’re doing – not just by what they’re telling you in front of a laptop. Only problem is, I keep getting this image whenever I “check in” (as I’m leaving, if not comfortably lost in a large crowd) of a bomb dropping some hundred feet from where I’m standing. It’s that cautioning from my paranoid self that reminds me of what has happened in the past.

They will try to find you. They will conduct their research. X will mark the spot if I’m not careful.

Speaking of locations, I had a pretty busy week. I attended a gun show for the sure sake of seeing this day and age for my own two eyes. My country is fighting itself for gun control and the right to have guns, so I figured this Gun Day Out would help me to decide whether or not our civilization is headed toward absolute breakdown. After all, it is a bit concerning when you can’t find any bullets in any stores or online… is everyone getting ready for something I’m unaware of?

It’s interesting, how you have to step through loops to acquire a gun from a dealer but can avoid all paperwork if you’re buying or selling a gun as a regular domestic soul. People were getting in line, holding their gun from home, with the intent to sell. I was expecting more camouflage and kooks, but there was admittedly a lot of seemingly sane people touring the booths. Then there was me, proudly claiming that grey area in between:

While I didn’t buy any guns or bullets I did walk away with a sweet pair of goggles which I happen to be wearing right now. Because you never know. One of those FourSquare bombs might drop and send dirt into my face. And while they’re clearing their eyes, I’m off to the next check-in.

On a lighter note, I had a real Martha Stewart moment last weekend. After buying a lacy shirt from the Salvation Army for a buck or two I cut up the material, wrapped boiled eggs and dyed them for awesome effects.

There’s something ritualistic about dying eggs. The porcelain cups, lowering the eggs with a bent wire, monitoring shades and saturation… my friend LaFlavia saw my photo and asked, “What you gonna do with them now?”

In other words, what’s the point? I was thinking, “This is arrrt, living right nowwww on the counter, this IS the whole point.”

Then I put them back in the fridge.

Maybe I ought to start planning a little but further ahead.