I’m not a picky eater. I eat slimy oysters (yum!), pickled pigs feet, turtle soup, beaver chili, and this one time in South Korea when I ate an entire side dish of chicken assholes.
I will eat salt and vinegar pork rinds if they were offered to me.
The things I don’t like are as follows:
1) Raw sea urchin
3) Scattered acorns found in the parking lot at work because they are really bitter and best left for squirrels.
That being said, I devised a plan to conquer my biggest addiction with the help of liquorish – the black tar that excretes out of the backsides of demonic babies. I’m going to fill my electronic cigarette with liquorish flavoring. I bought some and it’s even more rancid than I had hoped.
Oh, and I ate road kill a few days ago. That’s another thing to add to my list of shit I eat.
A deer ran into the side of old Esmeralda, my car, and dinged her up pretty bad. It happened on a dark country road around 9 PM and I didn’t have the chance to swerve out of the way – he ran directly into me.
I pulled over to see what was left of the poor little guy. I was afraid to touch him. I never knew that about me – being too afraid to touch a dead animal. I guess you never know anything for certain until it’s staring up at you with lifeless eyes.
Me – “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Are you okay? Oh no oh no.”
He laid there with the wind ruffling his hair, making it look like he was alive.
I worked up the courage to lay one of my mittened hands atop his belly that was still warm. My eyes teared up.
I didn’t know what to do, so I called my Dad. I called him just in case the deer was alive, and if he wasn’t, my rugged redneck family would be sure to make the best out of this incident.
While I waited for my Dad, a car full of lively middle-aged women stopped in the middle of the road to shout at me, “are you okay?”
Me – “Oh yeah, I’m fine but the deer isn’t. I called my Dad and he’s coming to look at the damage.”
Them – “You shouldn’t stand outside alone on this road. It’s dark and dangerous. You should call the cops so one of them can wait with you.”
Me – “Oh no, I’ll be fine, thanks.”
It got me thinking how much people love drama. It gives them the chance to act brave so they can prove how caring they are. This is especially true in instances when nothing is expected of them. When something is expected from them, they flee.
I’m highly cynical.
After the women left, a few minutes later a cop pulls up behind me. I had beer in my car and I may have had empties. But I wasn’t all too concerned about it, the guy was really nice.
Me – “Is it okay if my family takes the deer home? They’re hunters and into that sort of thing.”
Cop – “That’s fine. I don’t care what you do with it.”
My Dad and brother parked the truck, got out and heaved the deer into the back of it like a regular everyday chore. My brother thanked the officer for waiting with me.
Me – “You weren’t afraid to touch it?” I asked my brother.
Brother – “No, did you see me? I picked that thing right up and hucked it in the back. Hmm mmm tender viddles.”
My Dad’s side of the family became enthused after hearing that I killed my first deer. They were proud that I inadvertently killed a deer with my car. And in some weird way, I was happy and proud too.
When you come from a family like mine, you’ll eventually learn why people are fanatics when it comes to hunting. They treat the sport like a competition with who can shoot the first deer of the season. And it makes them feel like real men when they bring food home. It’s strangely rewarding I must admit. I never understood it until now, and I don’t expect you to understand either.
My Dad – “At least one of us caught a deer this year.”
The next day my Dad butchered the carcass and threw its remains in my neighbors backyard.
My neighbor no longer lives there, the property is vacant. So that makes it okay right? To throw dead things in an unoccupied backyard?
I came home a few nights ago semi-tipsy, and my brother was upstairs in the kitchen with his girlfriend diligently working on a cooking project together. The house felt alive and warm.
Me – “What’s going on?”
Brother – “We’re cooking up some deer liver, want some?”
Me – “Okay, sure.”
I sat at the table.
My brother not only served me liver, but heart too. I ate the heart and liver from my road kill.
And I liked it.
I’m sitting in work waiting for my next client. I have three more massages to give until I can put on my pajama’s and hide away from the world.
She’s late. She’s 10 minutes late.
I woke up at 7 AM today from a bad dream about vampires. I fell asleep listening to Monster Hunter International. It’s about a guy who hunts down monsters and I’m guessing one of the monsters was a vampire. I spent at least an hour being chased by John Lithgow and his ragtag gang of vampires.
They were planning to enslave the town I lived in so they can feed on us like cattle.
This dream taken place in the south and for some reason, ethnic people were exempt from being enslaved. When I found this out, I painted my face dark brown, adorned myself in colorful African attire, and started banging a drum. I don’t know why my subconscious thought I could get away with this. Let alone why I think ethnic people beat drums.
But the vampires caught on to me and I fled. I had to pretend I was dead at one point, which is very hard to do when you’re asleep and breathing heavily.
“Why can’t I control my breathing?” I thought to myself. “I can’t stop myself from breathing hard!”
A vampire came up to me and closely examined my face while I played dead. He leaned in close and laughed to his friends, “I can’t tell when humans are alive or dead. They all look the same to me.”
Needless to say, I’m tired. I’m tired and my nose is chapped from blowing it.
My client is here filling out paperwork. I love typing and looking busy while they do their thing. If I wasn’t typing, I’d be sitting here staring at her until she was done.
This is a stupid rambling post.
This morning my brothers dog, Cassius (a big meat-head boxer), left us a present in our driveway. It was none other than the deer leg my Dad dumped in my neighbors yard.
The same dog that kisses my face and wriggles his big stocky body all over my bed sheets.
Second client done. She had on a really cute pair of cowboy boots. Now I want a pair.
Third client done.
Next client will arrive in 12 minutes. 8 minutes…3 minutes….
It’s now the next day. I just got done napping on my massage table while listening to Monster Hunter International. My hair’s all messed up.
My last client is done. I’m done. It’s Thursday, Billy O’s pub night, but I have a shit ton of clients lined up tomorrow and Saturday. Sadly, I can’t go out.
I forgot if I mentioned this or not, but I don’t want to work anymore. I never wanted to work actually.
My goal for this year is to buy a spa in Cheshire. One that I used to work at. It’s poorly run, nobody has a set schedule, the owner is never there, but it still manages to break even every month.
I know exactly what needs to be done with the place in order for it to flourish. I don’t know how I know, or why I know, only that I know exactly what needs to be done.
If my plan is successful, I’ll be one step closer to living life without working. I’ll be able to pursue my real interests such as going on more ayahuasca retreats so I can write a book about them, going to school for medicine which has always been an interest of mine, buying a Honda Grom and becoming a small motorbike enthusiast, and of course, moving out of my parents house by finagling a way to live at a place rent free (minus parents).
These are my goals – my true, real goals. Up until now they were too far away to see, but now that I’m inching closer towards believing in myself, all of this sounds doable.
When I move out of my parents house, that’s when I’ll pursue a boyfriend. I’ll be happy with myself, free of all addictions, free enough to own myself and my life. I won’t need anybody, but will want them.
Needing anyone is a turnoff, but wanting them is inspiring. Just about everyone I know has it the other way around. When you want someone, it’s done through compassion – compassion of not wanting or expecting anything in return (transcendental love). Nobody seems to understand this. And because nobody gets it, I will continue being turned off by the people who seek validation and superficial love. They are needy people. The people who are defined by what others see in them.
Once these people get their fill, they leave you.
I’ll keep my need of compassion and honesty (they are one in the same). If I no longer need compassion or honesty, I’ll be missing the point of life. I’m a seeker and a needer of honesty and compassion. If I give up on needing them, I give up on humanity. I give up on love.
Anyway, It’s getting late. I should head home. Besides, I’m sure most of you don’t want to read about my goals – this blog is mainly for me don’t forget.