Seeing Spots: Procrastination Station |
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Mehitobel Wilson: writer, reader, chronic curmudgeon.
Tomboy bombshell cowgirl; lover of funk, attracted to roadsides. Besotted with spots. Friend to sleaze. Admirer of filthy films, fleshy steaks, Hong Kong rap, new felt and pocket-knocking 8-balls; prefers 10 gallons of hat and 4 fingers of Jack. Procrastination here breeds urgency there. Urgency begets sharper fiction. The dream: hone it to a splinter, and sink it deep. So I'm here. 
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Sunday, November 30, 2003
Thanksgiving at Bel's, again  No roadkill-skinning this time, unfortunately. This time, Tony and Eike and I went home. Eike chased the Currydog, then the Currydog chased Eike. All of us ate. I entertained notions of going shopping at 6am Friday morning with my dad, but did not go.Friday we drove back; Saturday we went shooting. I still don't like our Glock, but am really happy with our S&W HP .357. We didn't get to shoot long because we went out a little late and the hunters were going out in a couple hours, so we had to stop to give the deer time to come back into range. Then, off to Waffle House for cheese grits, and Walmart for ugly sheets. Happy Georgia Thanksgiving. Thursday, November 20, 2003
Shit, Reptile Man, never trust a snake Rupert: doll, your final words were a little melodramatic, but I feel ya. I hope you feel better now that you've seen how much we all loved you from the moment you stole the shoes and shed your chafing jeans - but, hon, if I ever, ever see you pull a Sally ("you like me!") or a Lil ("I AM a nice person!!") I'll smack you. Don't think I won't. You may be a behemoth, but I've smacked bigger. I poured one out for my departed homey tonight. Let me clarify: by "out," I mean "down my gullet," and by "homey," I meant "honorary member of my posse whom I must truly dig because the only thing handy was some foul-ass Evan Williams." Rumor has it that you return from the dead, so to speak, in January. By then, you'll know your fatal mistake (trusting too easily) and have the confidence of knowing how many STRANGERS adored you. Fuck, I'm bummed. Wednesday, November 19, 2003
 Christopher Walken says the job has got to go! "Okay, baby. I've been meaning to tell you. Nobody can do what you do. I mean look, you're there with your suit...your coffee, your brief- case every morning. But, :sigh: look! Monkeys...monkeys with two shoulder patches and a hammer for a fist get paid more money. They get paid by the hour, man. They get paid so much, your Aunt, the one with the...the one with the sweat stains on her shirt is going to puke. She's going to puke. You're worth so much more, my pal, chum, friend? Get yourself a new job, and maybe some crotchless panties from Victoria's Secret. Something in red, for you and yours." What advice would Christopher Walken give you? brought to you by Quizilla Thanks, Seth, for pointing us toward this one. The Walken's advice is alarming. I just BOUGHT red shit from Vict Sect, too. (Soon I'll scan in the photo of Tony in his own red shit. His is from Walmart, but is sooo much sluttier than mine.) Thursday, November 13, 2003
Dog Day Took the day off work today so I could go out with Tony on Tuesday night and take Eike to the park during the day today. It was her first trip somewhere that didn't require her to 1) get a shot or 2) get trained. Weekends are too crowded, and it's dark when I get off work, so I had to take a Dog Day. Tony took some good photos, too, including a great one of me with Eike. See 'em here. (Hey, my left arm's visible in one of them. I'm trying to decide whether or not there's proper space beneath my angry-dog-with-a-bow-tie tattoo to fit the art from the Cat in the Brain poster on there. What do you think? I can't figure out where else that Cat could possibly go.) I have FINALLY set up a proper work space and, now that I have a desk, I haven't left it in a week. It's bliss. It's like being given a bed after having slept on a pallet for a year. Desk! Desk! Bliss. Tonight's heavy-rotation song: Outkast's "ATLiens." |