Let’s have a mind and raise flowers.

When I utilize the bathroom excrementally, I often do not lock the door.  “Why?” is a question a wise child might ask.   Two reasons: (1) I relish the danger of potentiality; and (2) if someone does wander in, the expressions and uncomfortablity of the situation are as priceless as a Taste of India buffet . 

So the situation was kinda like this:

I am playing some drunken air hockey with my current lover.

He is moving the puck quickly across the board, too quickly to get any hit in edgewise.

I just stand there.

He is moving the puck violently off the board – it flies off the table maybe five times. We have to run around looking for it. It gets buried under boxes. I help with that bit but otherwise just stand there waiting for a chance to move the puck at all.

He comments on my just standing there and then says, “That’s kinda like you in bed.”

I am going to move back to Miami (because it is such the best place in the world) and go find my first love/bipolar junkie ex whose been living on the streets of “Overtown” the past few years, when he’s not been in jail or rehab. And when I find his strung-out self I will rope him up and “nurse him back to health,” which really means bringing him to a point of emotional turmoil and constant hallucination in an enclosed, domestic space rather than lying around a little more peacefully and illegally in public. And then I will go crazy again, too, so we can live on Social Security Disability, in the sunshine, making vegan pancakes all day (because I will have gone back into believing in social agendas and whatnot), basking in the glory of all that GLITTER he wears. And he will be all Buddhist and I will be telling him all the reasons that Buddhism has bad politics and we both will be sooooooooo right. And he will call me mama and it will be more or less true. And I won’t break up with him when he keeps trying to kill himself and cuts himself all up, this time. I will just give him head while he’s doing it. And we will probably die sometime or something, but I can’t get that far ahead of myself.

[This post is written entirely in a South African accent]

Have you ever seen an ostrich in action? This early morning, before you were awake, I had the modest pleasure of watching my miniature brother ride one through Johannesburg! My brother had a seatbelt, of course, because as you must know, ostriches aren’t known as traffic law abiding citizens, and any good insurance agent will tell you ostriches are sixty times more likely to get in a car wreck than a bumper car. And those birds can run like my nose in the wind, even when hauling an 80 pound diminutive man licking his giant lollipop.

Watching my brother, my competitive side got a stronghold on me, shoving me back about three yards until I tripped over a drunk foreign exchange student and fell face first on my buttocks. I needed to beat my brother and I needed a cheetah on which to do it. We would race, a boy on his ostrich and a pudgy grown man on his cheetah. But where on earth could I find my cheetah?

I put my skull cap on to get some quality thinking done.

It hit me: the most natural residence of a cheetah, or any land loving fast paced feline would be certainly somewhere near water. My divining rod in hand, I made for the nearest community swimming pool.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathaniel, my dwarfish younger brother and I were at the starting line. I had just had a pound of ham, so my “fighting weight” was a bit over, but my shaved head and scrotum stood to help make up any lost time. A nearby policeman shot a black man who was voting in a “Pepsi Challenge” and our animals took off like a pair of NASA rockets. Only instead of the moon as their destination, they were apparently headed towards a sprained ankle (Nate’s ostrich) and a distended colon (my cheetah).

Thusly, we switched animals; the ostrich rode me and Nathaniel served as horse to the cheetah back to your house. Now we are all taking a bubble bath together. Would you like to join us, Athena?

Of course you would, you sassy amputee! I see that plastic ear of yours wagging under your wig. I remember when we first met, you and I. It was right here in this very tub was it not? Only you were pregnant then with the twins before the double abortion, and I was still uncircumcised. If my memory serves me right, Nathaniel was here and we were nursing an emu and a puma back to health. History has a habit of repeating itself doesn’t it? Link

When I am older, I will live in Topeka. I have been to the website only once, but it was a great online experience. I talked to my neighbor Jared, who lives near me and he said that Iowa is a great state to live in. He’s never been there, but he saw a college basketball game that mentioned it once.

Topeka is a land lost in time. Like the TV show, “Land Of The Lost”. There aren’t dinosaurs there (I checked Wikipedia) but I have heard on a radio programme that it does however look like the same 10 by 10 foot set filmed from different angles. I interviewed the checkout lane guy at Ralph’s and he said that Topeka has houses in it. I would like to live in a house, so that sounds pretty good to me.

Topeka is basically Minnesota but without the limestone.

Its been said the Topeka is a little bit of heaven, which is strange to me because heaven is purportedly infinite and any fraction of infinity is infinite. But, you can’t believe everything you hear about Topeka. I found that out the hard way when I started online dating a girl from Topeka who turned out to be my neighbor Jared, who lives near me.
So, bottom line: there are two somewhat conflicting maxims here-”Topeka Iowa is the New Jerusalem, a Utopian Paradise where reality and dream meet.” and, “Buyer beware.”

A delightful game: Poke a hole in each tablet and prepare a necklace for the players. Load your water guns and balloons and prepare for battle. The object is to foam the opposition’s tablet so it falls off the string. I learned of this game from the Geekdad Blog, which also has instructions for an Alka-Seltzer rocket! Link

“I like my women like I like my coffee, hot and strong, with a spoon in them.”

In about 45 minutes I will experience live the stream of conscience ramblings of Eddie Izzard, professionally trained mime and comedian extraordinaire, and now star of The Riches, a tv show about gypsies in America. I appreciate Izzard’s politics, his physicality and his unexpected nonsensical miscontextual word associations. I spent $50 on the ticket; the last time I did that was a 1995 Rolling Stones/Counting Crows stadium show. This show probably won’t be worth $50 bucks, but money and value are absurd concepts to me anyway, so what the hell? Link

[Youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ope-1Zb5t-k]

The link below is a personality quiz entitled, “A Walk in the Woods.” My friend Courtney sent me this a while back and I found it insightful and unsettling. Just go with the first thoughts that pops into your little mind. Link

I imagine there is a decent living to be acquired in the hot air balloon racket! An activity that offers so much: the aesthetic beauty of the six-story tall balloons themselves (I am a sucker for stripes!), 360 degree panoramic vistas, the sugary electric taste of teasing the fear of heights, floating on the same clouds where the gods ruminate and marinate, a slow-motion helicopter ride sans engine noise, toying with gravity, living a children’s book fantasy. Where else can you exist in a large wicker basket like plastic fruit and melt into the sunset? This photo is from the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, an event I will attend in my lifetime. Link

In the mold of Found Magazine, passiveaggresivenotes documents those messages from your upstairs neighbor about the fact that you have to make noise to live and maybe sanity depends on a bit of music, or to the roommates who never wash their dishes, or from the politically correct anal-toads who decry the flushing of toilets unless they are full and brown. These notes remind me of my time in residence in cooperative living situations. I apologize for the third one in advance. Link