Eleanor Bigsby

The name, "Eleanor Bigsby" has been like a marble rolling back and forth on an uneven floor in my mind for several months. The reason why haunts me - I have no idea who that is, if its even a real person, nor what it means.

Yet, I repeat the name over and over whenever the lack of white noise in my brain needs a replacement. I imagine it could be a past soul in a previous life but I have a tiny inkling that its just a name that was used in an old Beatles song that I can't put my finger on.

I imagine, at times, that my dad is trying to send me an important message from beyond that this name should serve as the gateway. That's probably not the case but I'm clinging to cheese and cracker bits of hope that he's trying to send me any messages from beyond.

Speaking of, I missed my psychic's appointment this evening to instead sit at a bar with the other media supervisors and discuss an upcoming client meeting. In other words, I replaced an evening of future insights and exciting upcoming events for talks around logistics, process and return on investment. Please see the post referencing my fantasies of stabbing writing utensils into eye sockets...

Anyway, if anyone out there has any insight into who or what Eleanor Bigsby might mean, please let me know. I can sing you the jingle in my head that goes along with her name.

Lawyer's Credo

–noun

1.	Psychiatry. the condition in which sexual gratification depends on suffering, physical pain, and humiliation.

2.	gratification gained from pain, deprivation, degradation, etc., inflicted or imposed on oneself, either as a result of one's own actions or the actions of others, esp. the tendency to seek this form of gratification.

3.	the act of turning one's destructive tendencies inward or upon oneself.

Why is it that I need to explain the common sense rules of love and life to people that are more intelligent and mentally stable than I? I don't get it. I don't live by the rules, but I get them. It angers me that you people don't get it. I'm not smart. I don't make wise decisions but I can tell you that showing up on that "she's the one"'s doorstep drunk on a Wednesday night is not a good move.

Why do I need to tell you that purchasing sexual intercourse from a transsexual prostitute is against all religions and moral beliefs? Yes, it's appealing. Yes, I'd do it if I had a wiener. But I don't, so come on!

I have tons of not-good ideas if you want them and I promise they'll be more fun than getting your heart and ego stepped on or a raging case of herpes.

How about pretending that life is magical and we have special individual gifts and trying to capture and embrace those gifts to see where they take us? Doesn't that sound fun?

How about pretending that we're all part of a bigger entity and we should stop trying to degrade each other for our own perception of self worth? What if we try to improve the self worth of the greater entity? Doesn't that sound hip?

How about pretending that our lives are worth more than the daily input we provide to meaningless, greedy corporate continents that do far less for future well being than they do for the immediate CEO's bottom line? Doesn't that sound neato?

My two cents. They won't get you very far monetarily but I'd rather have two cents than a million dollars worth of asshole-ness to leave our future generations.

*I say that as I work day and night, weekend-long shifts, for Bank of America :)

Kohl's Pin

Yellow cake batter spilled on her crisp baby blue apron as Lea’s head swooped and wept. Another birthday gone by with not a well-wisher in sight. Twenty-eight years alone. Have another one, she thought to herself, as the burning tequila begged for what little saliva lined her esophagus. Gus, her shitzapoo staggered in drunk from his own water-diluted tequila bowl and silently vomited on Lea’s kitchen rug. The stripper was due in one hour and Lea had not even set out the cheese plate – what was Dynamo to think? Lea popped in the greatest of Bel Biv Devoe and went upstairs to make herself pretty. She tucked her boobs into her big-girl panties and hummed a Mel Torme song to herself as she French braided her mousy brown locks. An obsessively perfect packaged box sat on her bed garnished with a gold sparkly bow. Lea silently prayed that it contained all she ever wanted - a single sheet of paper with mere ink in sweet shapes. But, in the back of her pathetic mind - she knew. As she yawned, she stretched down to pick up the weightless package that felt like two tons to her frail arms. It was the gold dog-shaped faux-pearl-encrusted pin she had picked up at Kohl's earlier that week as her sole birthday present. With the weakest smile she could muster, Lea flimsily pinned the upper left shoulder of her navy blue and sunflower-drenched dress. Dynamo would be pleased with her presence she thought as she picked up the glimmering silver cheese platter...

Venn Diagram Billy

Lilly grabbed the bag of chocolate coated peanuts from the old man's hands and ran like her heels were set ablaze. She laughed with her head tossed toward the twilight and as her stomach lept into her throat she heard an internal thud like a clap of thunder as she hit the ground. Cocoa nut goodies spewed across the pavement like dice in a game of craps. Her brain knocked against an interior wall and her lungs clapped hard on her breast bone. Good riddance, though, as chocolate peanuts were not cool on the South Beach diet.

Petinkieai

Chris saved my life 12 years ago when I was at a holiday party and fell on a block of black ice. I heard, what I thought at the time was the voice of God, say "Merflin Pickopsietop Valvoline." I didn't know what it was, but when I came to, I had a renewed sense of being. I later realized it was not God, but Chris, saying "Merflin Pickopsietop Valvoline."

Hair Pie

Doomsday teetered on the edge of a stool and fumbled to remove a piece of apple pie from her long strands of blonde hair. Flicking the nibbly bits to the ground where Aretha, her shitzu, happily lapped them off the linoleum. Her husband grumbled jealously from across the dinner table, "don't give that dog no more hair pie."

Mongoloid Barbecue

For some time now, I've believed that aliens created the pyramids. I have recently found that I am incorrect in that assumption. It has come to my attention that small french-fried mongaloids, instead of aliens, are indeed responsible for the triangular mysteries. My friend, Dr. Pignuts MacFinklestien, has conducted extensive research into the paranormal entities of deep-fat cooked retards. Apparently, they hold the key to the past, present and future.

Fred Savage

Muerte was afflicted by an ancient curse begrudgingly passed from one generation to the next with cautious ambiguity and flambéed jambalaya. The flailing ailment — a tiny unicorn growing from underneath his left pit of the arm. Named “Fred Savage” by the people of Muerte’s village, the unicorn grew to a girthy nine inches excluding the 2.46-inch horn. Fred Savage was not so much a beguiling antagonist as a woeful reminder of the days of yore when unicorns roamed the earth freely, unfettered by locks of pit hair and friction-induced bereavement. When Muerte was in grade school the other children would taunt him and call him “Horny-pits”.

Down in Fraggle Rock

Blame it on the vodka
Blame it on the henny
Blame it on the blue top
Got you feeling dizzy

I think God used a finite set of cookie cutters when he made the world's peoples. I can lay out a scripted plot for several certain kinds of people that I have had the most interaction with in my life. I recently dictated verbatim what an ex-gf's actions, tone and messages would be for a heart-broken friend. Less than two weeks later, she had found her character and began playing the role. He was in shock. I was less surprised.

I know the selfish friend type that needs to talk about themselves 24/7 even when "listening" and playing an active friendship role in others' lives. These people are all the same.

What keeps me interested in the human race and in love with my wonderful friends is their surprising random acts that teeter on the line between extreme kindness and insanity. I love my Wife, my Doomsday, and my m.i.a. Dirty South. You girls keep me young, grounded, scared, ambitious, anxious and grateful.

But all of this makes me think of the saying, "breaking the mold" - she broke the mold. I think that is the highest compliment to be given in a world of similarities and familiarities. Break it, pee on it, make sure it cannot be pieced together and no matter what you're making an impact on the course of history. And if nothing else, it will entertain God and he'll want to keep us around for a few more years ;)

If you're going to fall, fall forward

i'm learning a lot about reality lately

it's like hitting a sidewalk from 50 stories up but in a good way

Friend: share anytime

me: first lesson - give up all your dreams and ideas of who you are and who you were going to be - you'll be much happier

second lesson - accept society's boundaries and learn to enjoy them - you'll be much happier

that's all i've got so far

Friend: oh

me: you sound less enthused than i had imagined

Friend: i heard that one before

and i'm undecided

me: i think its true

i think its good

i think it'll get us through this part faster

so we can get to the creamy center

Friend: all right

i trust you

me: i've been broadcasting my newfound wisdom all over - crushing people's hopes and dreams left and right. it's powerful. and when they give up on theirs, it clears the path for me to take over without competition

Friend: i sensed a dark sub-plot

me: m'eh that last part was fiction

i'd give $50 for a neck rub and a hand job

What goes around...

I was talking to Emily today. She's always having these awful fantasies of walking down the street and having some random person smash her skull in with a brick or the cars passing by accidentally knocking up on the sidewalk and smashing her against the wall.

I told her - don't worry, I have horrible fantasies that I might just take the pen in my hand and stab it into somebody's eye socket.

I think I made her feel better.

Apple Bottom Jeans

I have that song in my head. Drinking gnarly head cab. Watching Gossip Girl. Just finished an amazing barbacoa salad from chipotle. Hello! Good night. Now, if I can get rid of the kinked neck with a hot 4-head shower, I should be like brand new.

I am not going to have any plans for this blog, as this is the premier post. I'm just gonna write stuff. Not use any internet acronyms, which I hate. A lot of it won't make sense. To you. I will make only one concrete statement - I don't believe most of what I say so don't take it seriously.

That's it. Game on milfs and dilfs.