I get all kinds of Facebook friend requests from people I don’t know. Not even a clue who they are. Very very rarely, a person will have their twitter or blog on their profile, so I can venture a guess of how or why they would want to be my friend. The rest of the time, I am left in the dark, with only an opaque “you have x number friends in common”. That tells me nothing, as I don’t know if our friends in common have no qualms about befriending everyone. Hey, people you know that friend everyone friended this person! Since my personal life and my online life sort of bump up against each other there, I’m more wary of a “just add everyone” line of thought. Stranger danger? Does anyone even think about things like this anymore? Am I being an old-fashioned fussbudget? I know this is too many question marks! Now exclamation points! Stop hassling me!
So what do y’all do, friend up everyone? Only accept friend requests from people you think you know? Only from people you’ve made out with? Want to make out with? I have been particular and gregarious in turn, but with no rhyme or reason. Not a great system so far.
If you were a superhero--well, I'm not saying you're not a superhero, because you probably are--but if were/are you are a superhero, what would your favorite fruit be?
Also, what color are your cape, tights, and bitchin superhero boots?
"If" I were a superhero, hypothetically, my favorite fruit would be raspberry because it’s also a verb and part of my crime-fighting repertoire, which involves protecting people from themselves and their ability to become total negative vibe merchants and harbingers of doom. I’d disrupt people’s infernal wankfests with a good, hearty raspberrying. If that didn’t work, raspberry pie usually puts people in a better mood. I can already tell that my market tie-ins are enviable and delicious.
My cape is butter yellow ostrich feathers, my tights aren’t tights they’re stockings (get it right!) and they’re raspberry red, as are the boots. Now I need to figure out what my vehicle would be and who my arch enemy is.
Well, I’ve had my fun; I’ve had it, he thought, looking up at the swinging baskets of pale geraniums. And it was smashed to atoms - his fun, for it was half made up, as he knew very well; invented, this escapade with the girl; made up, as one makes up the better part of life, he thought - making oneself up; making her up; creating an exquisite amusement, and something more. But odd it was, and quite true; all this one could never share - it smashed to atoms.
I took a Pilates class tonight, for the first time in, well, ever and it was pretty good, I was getting pretty into it, and then someone turned on a fan really close to me but I didn’t notice because I was so focused on the instructor and within a few minutes, in the middle of a leg extension, my left foot crumpled into a muscle spasm because cold fans and hot muscles don’t mix -MORANS!- and so I spent the rest of the hour alternately getting great extension and then immediately trying to work out the twisted talon of pain my left foot had become and like a loaf of bread that some careless grocery clerk has flattened with a can of pineapple chunks (the BIG one), it ain’t coming back and it’s been hours and I’m still sore and where is my royal foot masseur? and I think I’m just going to hobble back up on my pedestal now and regroup.
So I’m in bed, asleep dreaming. And in my dream, I can’t seem to lock the car. I keep putting the key in the lock, turning it, but when I check the handle, it pops right open. I try repeatedly but can’t get it locked. I know, I know. Then I’m somehow in the bed of the truck (it turned into a truck, you guys, dreams are neato!) and now the truck is in drive and I can’t jump out because it’s going too fast and I realize I have nothing to break the glass and climb into the driver’s seat like in the movies and on top of that I’m too much of a baby to probably even break the glass and as I’m wondering how we’re not crashing into anything, and beginning to think this seems a little far-fetched, just then I hear my phone ringing and realize I’m dreaming and I’m really relieved because this dream was starting to get scary, so I answer the phone and it’s @vmarinelli! But then almost as soon as I’ve said “Oh my God, HI!” I hang up on her with my face, as I do on occasion, hang up on people inadvertently with my face, so I attempt to redial her. But she has this gigantic six-page profile on my phone that has all kinds of options like: txt, send elf strength, give a hug, video msg, and I can’t even find the call-on-the-phone-with-voice-like-olden-times button.
So I cancel out of that and go to recent calls to try again, where I succeed, and apologize to her for hanging up on her with my face and we start having this great talk, as people sometimes do, and then my phone rings. My real phone, inches from my head. And my unconscious, who’s been going on excitedly about the princess and the fortress and the dragon, her Barbie still poised in flight, stops midsentence. And waits for me to answer the phone. Except I’m still listening to the story, like no really, do go on, this is great! But my unconscious says nothing. She just sits there, waiting politely for me to pick up the damn phone already.
And there I am, stuck on that tiny bridge between asleep and awake. Even as the celluloid is melting and the screen is bubbling and hissing, I pause there. Even after I know I shouldn’t. I feel like I’m seeing something I’m not supposed to see, eye-to-eye with her, like I’m catching the magician’s sleight of hand.
After I answer the phone and mutter gravel-voiced into the phone and hang up the phone with a sigh and a huff, I roll over. Floof my pillows. Try to go back to sleep but find I can’t. I lie there and think about that little moment and my unconscious staring at me, waiting for me to wake up.
Go, loving woodbine, clip with lovely grace Those two sweet plants which bear the flowers of love; Go, silken vines, those tender elms embrace Which flourish still although their roots do move. As soon as you possess your blessed places You are advancèd and ennobled more Than diadems, which were white silken laces That ancient kings about their forehead wore. Sweet bands, take heed lest you ungently bind, Or with your strictness make too deep a print: Was never tree had such a tender rind, Although her inward heart be hard as flint. And let your knots be fast and loose at will: She must be free, though I stand bourden still.