sixty second memory.

five seconds after I put the rusty camping hatchet into my foot, and started running through the brush toward the river, all I hear is the "SQuiShSQuish" of my blood filling up the sole contour of my Birkenstock. I don't feel a second of pain. My main concern is MY BLOOD. I exclaim to my ex-boyfriend: "TED! THIS IS BAD. REALLY BAD. I'M LOOSING A L O T OF BLOOD!".

That didn't make him feel any better as he was getting ice from the cooler into a bag to PUT MY TOES IN (he said by the sound of it, he thought for SURE I lopped off my toes.)

and one little girl in the children's hospital that LIT UP when she saw me with a teddy bear and ballons for HER!

I saw four dead people today.
The one funeral home I went to, the L.E. Black Funeral Home, the funeral home that the rich black people go to (THIS IS HOW IT WAS EXPLAINED TO ME - BY A BROTHER "See, white people, they go to funeral homes by religion, the blacks, they go to the funeral home of who is the most popular, and this here, this is IT. A black funeral is way diferent than a white people funeral, them women, they go craaazy. fallin all over the place, screamin and yellin...")
I just went into that to give you a better visualization of the scene...I don't normally like to say "yeah, that black guy/girl"
because, I mean, who cares?
but there I go.

The way they do it, the body is laid out pretty much all day. I walked in to place the flowers near the casket. There was one woman standing there, over this 39 year old woman who was a doctor, and she was crying. Our eyes met, and I sorta smiled. "do I smile? Do I say sorry? What are the appropriate manners to display here?" I thought in a split second. I thought the proper thing to do was to give her a hug, but I also thought maybe she wouldnt think that, after all - I'm just droppin of some flowers. iegh.

It's spooky, seeing dead bodies. It makes me think about how much I need to enjoy the people in my life that I will someday see in that position too. I couldn't help to take some kind of karmic reasoning from it, because in fact, I am suddenly seeing DEAD people at this time of my life. Whatever has brought me here is trying to tell me something...

I was at a different funeral home. I bent down to place a beautiul arrangement on the little stand next to the casket near the woman's head, and in the back of my mind (from where some might say the "voices" come from)
I asked her: "Aren't these flowers beautiful? Is this where you would like them?"
Because I really FELT her there, hovering over her earthly body.
~Not because I am crazy.

and OH! the little girl named Savannah. How great that was.

I just found out that...
- Wacom, the maker of the WACOM Graphics Tablet, the BEST THING EVER INVENTED. EVER. (at least for the 'puter & Designers) does not make a driver or OS X that supports the tablet I have, because of the way it hooks into the computer. I have to use a mouse for now. freakin iDeeeOts. (just upgraded! runnin with the Jaguar!)
- Gas just jumped up to TWO BUCKS A GALLON. hey, YOU voted for the guy.
- When Martha got home, she went to visit her BEEEAAAutiful Fresian horses.
and...
- Mariska Hargitay is SO PRETTY. She's Jayne Mansfield's daughter!

MY fifteen minutes will only take you two

Don't think I'm the gayest ever, but that pic of me in the Gulf Of Mexico reminded me of something.
A while ago, I made a series of pictures for a reality show audition. Here's how it went:

I have been alot of things in my life:
I was a professional women's boxer.


I was a rockstar.


And then there was that "peace and love" phase.


I even participated in breaking a world record!


I was a first lady.


Now I just wnat to be a regular old millionaire.

if you own a cat, and have one of these, you need to not own a cat.
Forget the sofa. I have cathair in my refrigerator.

I'll correct those typos tomorrow.

It happens in three's. While saturn was returning, I got fired from three jobs in a row. This was the ONLY time in my life I was fired, let alone three times in a year.
no.not.true. haha. oh so not true.
I was bartending at Pogo's Pub, illegally and just squeeking by until my 21st birthday, and that dyke told the owner I was only 20. "That's alright *girl x* because I know you were only jealous...that was the baddest ass under-age penny draft bar on campus and plus, I had first game on getting booty. Those georgeous fraternity guys bought me many more watered down shots of Firewater than you. "I respect your anger, it was with reason." But it got me fired.

I was also fired by my parents FOUR times.
My father owns a fence company, not fence like, "I'm gonna poke you with this pointy poker" fencing, but fences for your yard, your baseball field, fences for your dog or horses to run around in. I started working for him right after I graduated from high school. I started falling asleep at my desk not long after that. I am sure I blamed it on all those watered down shots of Firewater.

I've heard of people getting fired for their blogs, but I may be the only person to get fired FOR NO REASON. When I moved to Pensacola FLA, I had a real hard time getting a job, so I took a job waiting tables at this restaurant on the beach. Since I was NEW, I had to coctail certain shifts instead of raking-in-the-dough like the "older" servers (they all had served for seven consecutive summers or more).
My certain shift was at NOON. the tables I had to wait on? SILVER. Shade? NOPE. Indeed, I had the shittiest shift ever to be scheduled. And even IF someone took the liberty of sitting at one of my tables, I had to bring them a white kitchen towel (to wipe their sweat) along with their first Bushwacker. Hell, I broke out into a sweat just wiping those tables off.

The manager, his name was "Terelle" and I pronaunced it "TER-RELL" instead of "TEAROLE" one too many times. Maybe he was racist...I dunno. But, there were pregnant women tripping over 5 gallon buckets filled with champagne bottles in the DEATHTRAP kitchen and he rolled up on me with: "Christine, I'm gonna let you go. I'm not exactly sure why."
I'm not sure if I even put up an arguement...my friends were right across the street, on the beach, with Coppertone Oil SPF 2 and a Bushwacker for me.

So lets come real time in my job firing triad.
Number one was a brief self realization that I DO NOT belong waiting on tables anymore. At least, not in an overly corporate setting, where how cool you are is measured by the freakishly painted wooden buttons you pin to your shirt, or how often you kiss ass to get them. Competing for popularity with women that say "I have a shopping addiction. NO REALLY. it's an ADDICTION. I eat expensive food, I drive expensive cars, I wear expensive clothes. It's hereditary" ugh. I'm SO over that. She didn't even know what BURBERRY was. However much I long for a nice Burberry bag, I'm just not that into it. I'm not interested in letting my purse define me. ~I would give blood before I pay out that much to satisfy my lurve of that cute Coach clutch~ (however much I wish I had it) but I won't surround myself with people like that. I would if I could, but I have no tolerance.

and, of course number two (appropriately named) are the stables I mentioned earlier: First, I was doing "too good" of a job, then I was told to put a wheelbarrow of shavings in the stall to "make it look cleaner than it really is". Then I started the gator up and that woman that was scared of her horse got mad. I was watching. She was making that horse scared by the way she was acting, so of course it spooked. It hears and sees the gator fifteen times a stinking day with no problem. Then, as that mare that was "untrainable" (WHAT HORSE TRAINER CALLS A HORSE UNTRAINABLE?!) was on her way out, I had to start feeding her some supplement..."until she's gone". uh. Last time I checked it was really BADBADBAD to drug a horse that you are getting rid of, let alone stop your hack to smoke a cigarette. thrice. on top of the horse. hey, everyone does things differently but I never seen it done like that. They didn't need me anymore. I guess the look I unwittingly gave when I saw her smoking in the saddle was enough to confirm that I wasn't well liked. And also, miss puff puff, jumping a horse with a martingale on is just MEAN.

and NOW I got another one. oooh, crazy three. I got called from an application I put in a while ago. I am delivering flowers, and I LOVE it! I always wanted to deliver flowers. I haven't driven on my own yet, but I will (if I don't get fired) be driving around in a burgandy van that says "please drive carefully...the next load can be for you" on the back. I have been minding my manners and watching my P's and Q's (whatever that means). I have come to a time that I am focusing in on how I can act my age and careful to remember that it's hardly. about. ME.
-because I need some cash flow. and THAT'S what it's all about.