repulsive

am I really that repulsive? why is it the only women who can seem to stand me anymore tend to be thousands of miles away? or are completely insane. or both. I can't seem to tell anyone anything with out the world coming down on me. am i really that fucked up? I mean fuck i knew last guys finished last, but come on can i at least FINISH! I really am fucking tired. I'm tired of the false bullshit that goes on now days. I'm tired of all this god damn self help bullshit. I'm tired of the word NORMAL... read more

Continuing my ranting about VA being a battleground state, McCain has released an absolutely repulsive ad that starts with Britney Spears and Paris Hilton then asks if Obama is ready to lead. I get to see this every 10 minutes or so.  I REALLY hope he gets a lot of heat for that moronic commercial, dumps his ad agency and finds someone who knows their ass from third base. People -- can't we have a professional, cordial, and TRULY informative campaign season where these jokers run on who they are...

what i have become is awful. I am fatter that i ever have been. i eat like shit. i don't exercise. i can see the fat all over me. the water fall of fat over my too tight jeans. the rolls pouring over the sides of my bra. my huge arms with fat hanging off the weak bone. the stretch marks, the cellulite. my giant thighs that are squashed together. the rolls underneath my chin. everywhere. i have no one to blame but myself. i shove sugar, fat and carbs down my throat till im choaking. i sit around...

I grew up on a steady diet of public broadcasting cooking shows. I remember being 14 and languishing all day in front of the TV watching classics like B&W episodes of Julia Child, Jaques Pepin, Martin Yan, Lidia Bastianich...the list could go on. I always wanted to be like them. As I got older, the shows names changed but most of them remained the same: classic chefs teaching classic cooking techniques. Craftsmen. Artisans. All brilliant in their own field. I remember watching Martin Yan's cleaver...

Memories flood the mind, like so much drift wood washed ashore.  Each piece is different in appearance, but they are all made up of the same material.  Surely on may be more water logged than the other, and this one may be heavier than that one, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t drift wood.  Much has my mind wandered to that beach that is my past.  The moon is full there, the shoreline littered with drift wood.  Some of it beatiful to see, other pieces resembling something repulsive but I do not turn...

i just saw celia usunov at the mall, more precisely, on the steps cascading down from the main entrance to the mall. she looks so incredibly garrish in the light of day. i don't understand why i wanted to be her when we were friends in high school. what was so alluring about the dark brown roots matted under her fried blond highlights? the layer of caked foundation making the front of her face a different color than her neck and ears? her reddened fake-and-baked tan and the white spots under her...