Mental Wanderings

While the title is not as representative as Mental Diarrhea or Brainal Puking. Just a wee bit vivid, eh?

Anyway -

I like my Student Massage Therapist. He's nice. He hasn't yet achieved tea "out-of-body" massage expertise I long for, but his improvement is apparent. And free. I don't feel self-conscious when I haven't shaved for a week. Since he found out I am one quarter Cajun and a fingernail's worth of Indian, I am "his blood." If there was even a spot of African, I'd probably find myself in his will.

Misterpher is upset that one of tea girls in his class wants to marry him. They're five-fucking-years old! Of course, when I was in kindergarten, I knew I was going to marry Pat Taggart. Then, as a freshman in high school, he tried to get me and Kelly Morgan drunk on airline sized bottles of something, then french-kissed me. I never spoke to him again. Let's hope it turns out better for Misterpher.

Whiskey Jack, aka Atheist Anthropologist, has taken the "Steve, Don't Eat It!" thread and made it her own. Now I'd like to start what we call here, "Food Grenades." Those are the foods that not every one in the house may like, or even be tired of and one brave soul finished it off. There was a slightly underdone quiche food grenade that LOML threw himself on. For me, it's usually hummus or brussels sprouts.

Straight Gay Friend believes that the gleaners' group is a cult. I rib her and accuse her of thinking of taking me to her safe house for de-programming. But hey! I figured that we saved over $400 last month. And that's a conservative estimate.

The Door Curtain Friend called and asked if her son could hang with us Wednesday. Sure! I then admitted to her that I have plans to steal her idea of gluing groovy door curtain beads to the hood of my dilapidated Ford. She has a nice white coupe with blue door curtain oval beads on the hood. Mine is a basic rainbow set. LOML has asked only that I not glue the hood shut. The corollary to that is for me not not glue the doors shut either. And WJ wants to find a huge green 60's daisy so she can transform her van into the Mystery Machine.

DCF and I talked about society's view of art. She belives that everyone is an artist, we just need to trust ourselves to create. Society be damned! She was intrigued to know that I still harbor some self-consciousness based on what society deems acceptable. It is nice to know I have either fooled her or my complex system of hiding my psychoses is effective.

Maybe that could be one of thethings I choose to work on. Drink plenty of water and drown my inner critic. Or maybe turn that IC onto really good chocolate.