I finally got around to updating the pictures of Ryland. I take about a million pictures a day of him, so it can be a little intimidating and time consuming to sit down and organize them all.
He is 5 months today. It scares me how much he’s growing, how big he’s getting, how fast it’s happening. I want him to stay little forever. I compare his pictures from the past few days to the pictures of when he was first born. They’re like completely different people!
Right now, my internet connection is very spotty. It keeps dropping me and then I have to reset the effing modem to make it work again. And it’s starting to bug the living piss right out of me. Look! It’s made me so mad I’ve resorted to using the phrase “living piss.” I hate Cox. They can suck…haha, well we all know what Cox can suck.
I know you’re all just dying to know what I truly think about this stupid hockey bullshit that’s happening right now, with the lockout and everything. Well, I’ll tell you. I really don’t care much about the numbers or the salaries or the disagreements or the politics and showboating that is currently going on. I don’t care who’s right and who’s wrong. I’ll leave that talk to everyone else, to the media and all the talking/writing heads and jackasses who think they know everything. I’m not on anyone’s side but my own.
I just know that I miss hockey very much. I didn’t think or realize how much I would miss it, even when I knew the lockout was inevitable. But boy do I miss it. It seriously gets me down and I just want it back. I want to watch the games on TV and drive up to Phoenix and watch the Coyotes play in their new rink and get mad at another boneheaded play by the Bruins. I want to curse every player on the Avalanche and spit at Toronto. I want to make fun of Hal Gil and turn the TV off halfway through the game and throw the remote because I am so angry. I miss Barry Melrose. I miss reading the recaps of the previous night’s games and watching the highlights. I miss all the cute boys, skating their way into my heart.
Because even when hockey is bad and people are arguing and complaining over league changes and ways to make it more exciting, it’s still the best thing in sports. But you gotta play to have all that and right now everyone’s just being stubborn and stupid. And what can we do to get rid of Gary Bettman already?
I know, I know, I could be watching college hockey. And if I lived in another part of the country, I could go to AHL games.
But it’s just not the same. And I hate America for not caring.
I have too much stuff. I’m thinking about doing something drastic and getting rid of it all, starting from scratch. I’ve never done anything like that before, but I think it would be interesting. It will probably not happen until I move to another country, which can’t be until I finish emerson, which should be sooner rather than later, if all goes as planned. But still, I’m thinking about it. Who really needs all this crap anyway? It’s just stuff. It’s only important and sentimental if I make it important and sentimental. I’m tired of making everything important and sentimental.
I have come to realize something about myself. I think. Maybe. It seems that I am much better off alone. I mean, it just seems that I be and do much better when I’m away from people I know and love. And especially away from my family.
When I have faraway love.
When I’m close (in proximity) to them, I eat too much, I complain too much, I watch too much TV, I get extra lazy, I am less creative, I am crankier, love myself less and hate everyone else more, I feel less hopeful and more cynical. When I’m away from love, when I’m off somewhere doing my thing, I am happier, healthier, funnier, smarter, snappier, sweeter, and with the perfect amount of cynicism.
If I’m in a relationship or living in Tucson, I find it very hard to break out of that protective coating that I had wrapped around myself for so long. I dropped it easily enough in Boston, when no one knew me and I was just some girl named Christa living in Boston. But then I made real friends in good old beantown and I met Gordon and suddenly I wasn’t alone anymore. I had nearby love. And slowly things began to degrade and I started becoming that christa that I do not want to be.
Of course, the real question now is who am I supposed to be? Is that dampened girl the real christa? or is the real christa continually being hidden by the over-christa in situations of nearby love? And what is it with love that makes me go so crazy?
I am using a lot of stupid terms here: faraway and nearby love, real christa (vs some sort of fake christa?), dampened girl, beantown, over-christa. Who really cares though. It’s my freaking site.
Here is what I think I need to do: move me and Ryland to someplace where it’s just me and Ryland. I love my friends and my family very very much. Without them, I’d be nowhere, with nothing. They support me when I stumble, which is quite a bit. But the great thing about them, but that gets me in trouble? They support me even when I’m not stumbling. That isn’t their fault, it’s mine. Because for me, when someone is there for me to lean against, guess what? I’m gonna lean. Even when I’m walking just fine on my own two little feet. Here’s the thing I discovered though, most recently in Boston: when I start to stumble and someone isn’t there, I’ll fall. And once I’ve fallen, I’ll look around and say “hmm. No one’s there. What to do, what to do.” and then I’ll get up and shake myself off and go on about my business.
When I have nearby love, it’s nearly impossible for me to get up, shake myself off and go on about my business. When I have nearby love, I get complacent.
Although, and this is something I was discussing earlier with a friend, fear is the one thing that makes people complacent.
Hmm. So maybe the issue here is my fear of love. Which I know is totally lame and sooo 1990s, but maybe that’s why I get all funky in situations which require the use of my love muscle.
hahahah, my love muscle. that is so dirty.
Here is one thing that I don’t like: every entry I write for loafe requires a title. It annoys me, that I have to label everything I say. I hate trying to come up with some pithy, relevant or logical title for each entry. It’s stupid. But I guess for the sake of organization and archiving, titles are necessary. It’s just annoying, that’s all I’m saying.
Anyway.
The weekend newspapers usually include two “magazines” each week that I absolutely cannot stand. One is USA Weekend and the other Parade. I just hate them both, I hate them so much. Everything they write about tries to be so helpful and positive and encouraging. It makes me sick. They’ve gone and gathered the biggest piles of shit they could find, slapped some pretty and frilly little dresses on them, and handed them over to the American people. “Here, oh great America, here we give you valuable and insightful information to make your life better! Meaningful, important information and moving, heartwarming stories that will remind you how great life truly is and how lucky we are…”
Here are the two most recent headlines. From Parade, featuring a cover story on Samuel L. Jackson, “Growing up in the segregated South, Samuel L. Jackson knew the painful cycle of poverty, addiction and despair. But, he says, ‘I Had a Dream of My Own’” Puke. And from USA Weekend: “Baby Steps, 15 of the absolute latest scientific findings on caring for your infant. They’ll help make today’s little ones happier, and healthier, than ever.” Vomit.
Nothing I’ve ever read in those publications has made my life better, easier, smarter, happier or less stressful. In USA Weekend, 18 of the 22 pages had either full or half page ads. Parade’s 23 pages had 16 pages of ads. Just thinking about it now makes me crazy. And how much uplifting and emotional bullshit can we take? Honestly, who are these people reading this fluff? Here’s what I want to know: who’s sitting on his couch at home, reading about Samuel Jackson’s life, saying to himself, “Oh yes, Sam! You’ve inspired me to change my life! Thank you Parade! Thank you Sam! You had a dream of your own, and I do, too!” Guess what folks? Mr. Jackson is just pushing his new movie, and he doesn’t give a whit about you or your dreams. I liked him in Pulp Fiction and all, but I care about his personal life just about as much as he cares about mine.
You know what else annoys me? McSweeney’s. Don’t get me wrong—I mostly like the content and I always have a good time there, but the hipness of it makes me all snarly and pissed. Every chump who wants the world to know how cool he is proclaims his love of mcsweeney’s. Some ultra-trendy hipster who hates Bush, walking around with a copy of The Believer under his arm, drinking his lame coffee and smoking his lame cigarettes, saying how he loved Modest Mouse from the beginning, before anyone else even knew who they were and rolling his eyes at all the Johnny-come-latelys.
Here is a recent topic from McSweeney’s: E-Mail Shorthand that Civil War Soldiers Would Likely Have Used in Letters Home Had the Technology Been Available to Them. Okay, we get it. You’re cute and witty and fun and smart and spry and you love love LOVE Death Cab For Cutie and The O.C and jesus, aren’t you just so clever. so okay, WE GET IT. Now give me a fucking break, alright? Cause you’re killing me.
I guess this is a bit of a ranting entry today, eh? I’m full of the cranky and grumpy. To balance things out, I’ll admit I like reading the Ask Marilyn column in Parade.
Oh, also, with things like McSweeney’s, it’s just so hard to keep up with it. I’m exhausted enough trying to stay at my current level of coolness, which is really quite low, and I don’t have it in me to experience or learn or discover any more. It’s kind of like my deal with links and blogs and web journals—too many is too much. You know what I mean? Maybe it’s just me. But trying to stay current and smart takes a lot of work and I can’t be bothered with it.
Laziness—it gets me every time.