August 14th, 2003

Chalkboard

Lyrics For the Clueless, I Love the Doors, Mary Get a GD Journal Will Ya ; ) and Mom's Trailer Park.

An In-joke For a Friend Who I Hope Will Get This and Cheer Up Or Not

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
Nothing seems right, when you're rejected. Hunh?
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange

BTW except for the women are wicked line, which as it applies in the song is really not that bad, I love this song, always have, even when I was an infant my Mom used to come in after playing a nice set of tennis, in her perfectly pressed all white Lacoste tee-shirt, (with the exception of the alligator of course), her prim but ruffley tennis panties, wipe the delicate beads of sweet smeling sweat off her lovely brow with a Pratesi towel, shoo away the maids and the nanny, and wind up this little Door's Mobile that she had so thoughtfully hung over my crib, and play this tune for me ; ) That and Your Daddy's Rich and Your Mama's Good Looking -- now that one she really did sing to me. Sheesh.

PS: My ex was/is a contractor/carpenter and for a long time he was working on John Densmore's gorgeous cabin-like house in Santa Monica so we got to spend a lot of time there. And from what I understand my dear friend M^$# is good friends with PATRICIA KENNEALY MORRISON, (oh no apparently I made a huge mistake and put down the name of the wrong woman, and I know my friend has been very specific about her allegiance to Patricia, I just got them mixed up, all fixed now, silly me), but darn it if she won't get her own journal and tell you all of her many wonderful stories herself, (stingy goddamned writers always holding out for a buck), she seems to know everyone and be ever so full of terrific stories but we'll never get to hear them, waaaaaaa.

Oh God, now I have to get dressed up, put on a bra and makeup, (forget the underwear, I did that yesterday and my poor vagina was on fire from the up the crack action of those things. How does anyone wear them? I hate them!), hustle Beau out of the house when all he wants to do is play with his toy guns, lovely that, and go get my Mother so she can take us to Palos Verdes and show us the friggin' mobile home park that we own. I've been there before, been there done that, you know what I mean, but she doesn't believe me and wants me to see it and then she wants to go to the marina, that she also thinks I haven't seen. I've lived in LA all my life and she thinks I've never seen the fucking marina. God spare me. I used to live two blocks away from there.

Light My Fire - The Doors

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire X2
Try to set the night on fire
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire, yeah
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire, yeah
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
Try to set the night on fire
Try to set the night on fire
Try to set the night on fire
Chalkboard

A Bowl Full of Cat, More About the Pain of the Funeral and My Ex, Sex and Scott, and Hair Loss


This is Triple B, our tiniest kitten, well, actually no she isn't the tiniest one anymore, now that we've just had new ones. We had three very sick kittens whose mom's figured they weren't worth the effort and abandoned them, so we took them on and bottle fed them ourselves round the clock. Only two of them made it. Baby died and broke our hearts, but Baby Baby, and Baby Baby Baby, or Triple B, as Beau likes to call her, is still here fighting. She has died and come back to life several times. We've given her mouth to mouth and pushed on her chest, forced liquids down her, given her IV Fluids and antibiotics, incredibly expensive eye drops, Irma even took her to her church so people would pray for her, and at one point the vet said he thought we'd have to remove her eyes. But as you can see she's doing just fine, this super soft tiny little monkey girl, and we're all pretty proud of this and completely dote on her. I took this picture tonight when she jumped into Beau's bowl of plastic bee bees. Triple B in the Bee Bee's, get it.

I'm having a super late dinner. Yum, salad with Girards original Italian dressing, my fave, a few olives, a couple bites if beans and cheese. Maybe this is why I'm not losing weight anymore. It goes up one day and then down the next then up again the next, soooooo frustrating when all of my other WLS pals are losing half of a pound to one pound and sometimes even two per day, sob, sob. It sure feels good to be able to eat lettuce again though, I just have to chew it really well.

Then there was the fact that, (and I know this is narcissistic of me), no one even noticed that I had lost eighty-six pounds when I saw all of my old Robby-family at the funeral. I told myself, "Jacqui, you horribly selfish person, this is a funeral for God's sake, people are devastated here, they wouldn't really notice or care if you had a turnip growing out of the middle of your forehead." But I had hoped that Robby and Matthew would notice. They had seen me at my top weight.

It really hurts that Rob couldn't care less about my weight loss. He never asks after my health when we speak, never asks how much more weight I've lost. Just further confirmation of how little I mean to him, how little I always must have meant to him. But then again it could be because he's super self centered, as if I need to wonder about this, he's his Mother's son. I don't know how he turned into this shiny bald headed Mr. Clean, the new version, with the multi piercings guy. It was so painful being with him for so much time, sitting next to him as if we were a couple again, and then saying good-bye and going our separate ways to our cars. I cried.

His wild Aunt Fina, Lucy's sister who got us all high when we were so young, said, "Oh you still love him. Don't cry honey, he's not worth it. You know I've never known what that feels like, to be in love. I married three men and they were all bastards. The first one beat me for hours one night, and my brothers went after him in a truck. You better believe it! The second one I've forgotten about, and I caught the last one fucking our maid so I threw him out on his skinny ass and was glad about it."

She's such a kick this wild older lady. She said that when one of her daughters married a man who abused her she went over to his house and , "Beat the shit out of him with a two by four. Oh you know I did girl, I fucked him up but good. Would have killed him too if someone hadn't stopped me."

Then there was poor dear Tracy, my old friend, who had needle scars all over her feet. Kicked up all of my codependent rescue fantasy stuff. I went around asking people if we couldn't have some kind of secret family fund raiser to help her out. You know, do an intervention, find the most affordable rehab we can. But only two of her sisters seemed interested. The one's Tracy was drunkenly calling, "Fucking two faced bitches. I don't need their judgment. If they loved me they wouldn't judge me." To which Fina raised her glass and said, "Oh you know that's true girl. Those fucking snobby cunts, they think their shit don't stink." A rollicking wild ride of a family experience, let me tell you, and so sad, no one's judging her, they can just see what's happening to her, she's wasting away, her face is covered with sores and bruises, her face is so drawn and wrinkled, she looks so much older than her age. She needs some love and help but she doesn't want it. And everyone in my life, family, friends, and therapists, have been telling me that I need to work on my own issues, keep the focus right here at home, for some time now.

It was good to see Robby's cousin Marty married and with a little baby girl. I was so sorry for him when his first marriage fell apart. He had had a big wedding and married a famous professional volleyball player, who we all thought was a lesbian, but no one told him. When she left him for a woman he was so angry that no one had said anything to him before the wedding, but we all thought we must be wrong. That gaydar thing, it's so complicated, and how can you butt in on something like that, now that would be judging.

My family by comparison was so sedate and discreet, they were all about polite dinner conversation while they chewed up their meat and spit it out. Cocktail parties where people made racist jokes under their breaths and the greatest scandal was when wealthy Dwight Whater-His-Name-Was married a young gold digger named Cookie and she sat on his lap in my parents dining room. Oh wait, there was Reese Milner who went to jail for something and whose wife bit of the top of two of his fingers when they were screwing one night.

I worry sometimes that Robby reads my journal, it wouldn't be hard to find, there are so many links to it hanging out all over the place. I was looking up something completely unrelated and one of my journal entries popped up at the top of the pile, very strange. I had this sad fantasy that maybe he wasn't saying anything kind about my appearance or weight loss because he has read my entry where I had written about wanting to look so good he'd be sorry he left. But I'm thinking that was just some kind of ego-saving fantasy on my part.

I know it drives Scott crazy that it's taken me a decade to process this loss, but he's so good about it, on the whole. I wish I could wave my sparkly, hard won, Barbie wand and fix it so he would never be burdened with any of these feelings of mine, but it doesn't seem likely. In the early days of his breakup with his wife Nancy I used to listen to him talk about his hurt and the pain and loss he felt, but he got over that so quickly it worried me about him. I wondered if he was incapable of going deep enough into a relationship to get as torn up as I do when things get ripped asunder. Although he says they were much closer to breaking up than we were, which just makes me feel guilty and sad for my part in it.

Oh well. I'm going to sign off here, I have so much more I'd like to share with you but I am sooooo weary and tired. I have got to have sex soon before I have any more of these weird transsexual Asian Restaurant sex tent dildo dreams. (Oh that had better not be a mosquito bopping around my feet or he will be one squashed bug. Look at what I've been driven to, I am fast becoming a murderer when it comes to mosquitos, sad, sad, sad, and not like me at all, but these bites are setting my skin on fire. I feel like I have these tight round knots of fiery itching mosquito poison buried just under the surface of my skin just waiting to explode). I have been having the wildest sexual dreams and I am actually getting pretty pissed off at them and sick of it. There is only ever one cure for this. Scott, are you out there Mister? I don't care about eBay and the cats, interruptions and Beau, just get over it and fuck me, okay?

Yeah right, like that will get him to come running over here in the middle of the night, swollen and ready for love. This would never work with him, he's much more feminine about this than I am. He needs more wooing and romance and frankly is a bit of a delicate environmental fuss pot. (Oh he's gonna kill me for this) Although who wouldn't be with the amount of cats and umm, cat mess, that we have around here? Still, it pisses me off that he can't just throw me on the bed and do me sometimes.

I'm more of a sudden masculine, "Do me! Do me right now!" kind of gal. Well, to be fair, due to my many hormonal fluctuations I fly wildly between the two opposite axes of Who cares if we ever have sex again, to If you don't fuck me right this second I swear I am going to fucking die! Sex is so complicated at times don't cha think?

Love you guys,
Jac

PS: My hair is coming out in handfuls. I knew this would happen but it's sadly disconcerting nevertheless, sigh.
Chalkboard

Love, Prayers, and Cheers, for All of Our LJ Friends and Everyone Else Affected by this Blackout.

Love, Prayers, and Cheers, for All of Our LJ Friends and Everyone Else Affected by this Blackout. We're With You In Spirit Dear Friends!!!




Curly is so beautiful but he's so black that it's hard to get a good shot of him. Here is Uncle Curly and one of the babies on my bed.

God this black out has me feeling so frightened and concerned for people. It just reminds me so much of September 11. All of the TV channels tuned to the news, the mayor speaking, the shots of people walking across the bridges. Then there's a big fire here in downtown LA. I have chills up and down my arms. Poor people. Maybe I should just turn off the news but it feels like an abandonment of those poor people. Maybe everyone can get together like they did in '65 when this kind of thing happened once before and create a lot of little people who will make their debut in about nine months or so.

Weirdly, I'm seeing all kinds of Department of Water and Power trucks all over the place here. It's probably just a strange coincidence but I'm wondering if they're keeping us in the dark so to speak and just checking to make sure everything is okay. The LAPD are on tactical alert. If it's just a localized plant accident why are our police on alert all the way over here?

I just had three bites of a Lean Cuisine pasta thing for lunch and I so feel like I'm going to barf. I think this is dumping syndrome, darn it. Ouch, pain. Yeah Scott come do me baby. Hopefully I'll be feeling better by tonight. What was it, did I eat too quickly, have liquids too close to my "meal," was it the pasta? It's so hard trying to figure this new body of mine out.

I went to Mom's today to do the whole bill paying thing. I took Lulu our new Boston Terrier with me. She has a cold so I'm worried about her. I got to go nude swimming in the pool though and that was heaven. Surprisingly Mom didn't give me a hard time about it. Man, what is going on here? That is just not like her at all.

Oh phew my body is starting to calm down a bit. It's such a huge relief when it does. For a while there I just felt this panicky pain. I just can't get this eating thing down. It's so complicated; I'll feel super hungry and weak, so I think, Hmmmmm, maybe I'd better eat something. Then I eat something and I instantly feel so stuffed I think I'm going to be sick. Well, at least the super hungry weak thing will be off my back for a few hours. I just wish I'd lose some damned weight again. I seem to be stuck at a number I hate so much I don't even want to write it down and share it with you in my main journal.

I want so badly to be the perfect wifey grrrl to my Scott when he comes over. I want the cats in the bedroom, (he "may" be allergic), tucked away safely in the bathroom, which means we have to move Ping and her little litter to another space, (the shower maybe?), I want to be ready to list about three things on eBay so we won't have to sit here and slog through this for hours so we're too tired to spend any private time together, but I just don't know if I have the stamina to pull this off.

Poor Irma is really freaking out. Her family called from El Salvador yesterday to tell her that her Mother is bleeding from her mouth and her bottom. She's so worried and sad, even though her Mom was really mean to her when she was little and beat her all the time. I wish there was something more I could do for her.

Irma just came in with a present for me, a paper bag and... why look, it's moving, it's... wait... a kitten in a bag.


I just wasted more than an hour trying to make this collage out of these shots of Triple B ripping her way out of this bag and I got so frustrated with the clone and erase functions and the look of it that I just gave up and put this one up. You get the idea.