So in discussing my new love of coke zero, I
...Among all that I wondered if coke in puerto rico was made from sucre or maize-e, and googlegod brought me the pr coca-cola bottling company's webpage (please look at it and tell me whats wrong here), with no help. Also found an sec document on pepsi's pr bottler being censured for falsely misstating profits, no help. And an article on the use of child labor in sugarcane plantations that sold sugar to coca-cola, no help but makes my corn is poisoning us and the government's helping asspull
Kinda like my life this past month, aka: all over the place and not quite right.
I've been living in the horror of horrors the past month, southern california. Nothing like getting a phonecall on Saturday afternoon and buying the last seat on southwest to orange county that nite (last person on the plane, so you know i got a great seat between the crying baby and the lecherous ninety year old located in the back of the plane after walking the long, literal walk of shame in being the dumbass who didn't queue up three hours in advance in an attempt to be at the head of the southwest cattlecall...) Also nothing like packing six pair of socks and only one pair of underwear, no toothbrush but a leaky tube of toothpaste (i left the cortisone at home, tg for small miracles), and a knitting project to which i was slick enough to lose the pattern to once
I thought about talking about the whole host of crappy reasons why I was in so cal, but 4 weeks of tempering has me thinking I just want to talk about ANYTHING BUT the reason I was there... oh, and anything but poker, at least for this post. So, no poker content, thanks.
[2 of 2 readers disgustedly roll their mousewheels down their rss reader, seething at the suicide of the few braincells necessary to get down the yellowbrickroad to this point.]
I'd forgotten the simple catharsis of screaming down superlane highways with the radio blasting so loud you can't hear yourself singing. And those songs... socal's got a new radio station called jack, (i dig oddjack btw, bill-- just for the possibility of further jacking up
letter to elise (cure): john u., who never will get over that ex who dumped him or the 30 lbs she lost after doing so (oh yeah, and broke me in the process)
add it up (violent femmes) : paz, the coolest girl ive ever met
laid (james) : mercadia, kroq weenie roast 1997 front row
ill be missing you (puff daddy) : john d., who i feel bad about all around
the more you ignore me, the closer i get (morrissey) : ray, opening my eyes to the singular thrill of being ms right now and collecting smiths vinyl
21st cent digital boy (social d) : mikie, who im glad didn't end up w. my sister after all
is this love (bob marley) : hugo, took me to my 1st rave, lived out in the boons with no running water, knew me but never said anything about it
I've got great memories of socal, but I still hate it. Hate it for always making me feel [halfbreed, fat, unworthy, self/bodyhate], for being the scene of sh!t like the reason I was away for so long, etc. Too freaking hot, too plastic, too hair-removal.
It's like how I love my family, but, wth?! Favorite mom-quote of the visit [talking about her new doctor who had a SLIGHT accent]: "You know, I never can quite understand orientals, even though I was married to one for so many years." My dad is 3rd gen Japanese & can't speak a word of it, btw.
Anyway. So I'm home and able to blog again. And cook-- going to go serve myself some homemade, oven-baked mac & cheese I made, watch drunken master and walk around the house in my panties and bra, just cos I can again.