Pillow Book

I still don’t have pictures of our new baby boy. (Sparky) But I can report that a classic case of sleep deprivation is well on its way. We don’t have a fenced in yard so Sparky sleeps in a kennel in our bedroom. He only whimpers about twice a night to go out to potty. Then he whimpers at least once because he is jealous that the cat doesn’t have to stay in a kennel. Then he has to shake the living daylights out of his favorite stuffed animal. And there is always the chewing of what ever makes the most noise.

My alarm goes off in the morning and I’m left wondering how in the hell I ever survived feedings and diaper changes every three hours with my child.

I live for the day we get Sparky’s out door kennel built

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:56 PM | Permalink

I love it when I run into other bloggers at the grocery store. It's kind of like spotting a celebrity only when you call their name, they reconize you to. And then there is that awkward moment because you haven't actually seen each other in a while but you can't say " So how are things? " because if you are a good reader, you should already know how things are.

Standing in front of the check out lanes the other day, I actually said to another blogger "So, what are you here for?" and he answered with a strait face " Dog food." As if inquiring about his grocery store routine was a valid question.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:14 PM | Permalink

I made it. I made it all the way to Christmas without getting the blues. I very nearly got fired recently, but that doesn't count because it had absolutely nothing to do with Christmas and everything to do with the fact that everyone has their breaking point and my boss found mine. She not only found my breaking point, but she bitch stomped it with golf cleats. And at that precise moment, the moment when word vomit came up and I told her what I really thought, I knew that it was quite likely going to be my last day as an assistant in a commercial art gallery.

Luckily the owner of my company is pretty understanding. So a slap on the wrist later, I still have my job. My boss didn't speak to me for a week, but you'll never hear me complain about that.

I hope everyone is having as good a holiday as I am having so far.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:29 PM | Permalink

I don't remember what the Rascal said that made me turn my back to him in bed last night but he promptly replied to my jester with:
"Great! You're giving me the butt now? I'm going to use that in our divorce. 'Judge, she gave me the butt!' "

Then he snickered as if congradulating himself on his unmatched wit.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 06:25 PM | Permalink

Before our first date the Rascal made mentioned in an email of a Republican indoctrination torture chamber located somewhere in his home. I'm sure his sarcasm was provoked by the fact that I referred to him as The Republican for quite some time after I met him. Anyway, since moving in I have searched the house and found no such chamber of torture. I do get a daily dose of Fox News, but I wouldn't go so far to claim torture. Boring sometimes.

Today I can officially say my voting habits have changed. Now, there is no need to call me a Republican just yet but for the first time I did not vote a strait Dem. ticket. Sadly, I must admit this is the first election that I at least reconized all the names on the ballot. And while my opinions are my own, my new awarness is a direct result of living with the Rascal. My Republican Rascal.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:50 PM | Permalink

I'm just saying. The other day on the news they mentioned that some murderer, who was male, may have been influenced by the female hormones he was taking.

Now, ordinarily I would have scoffed at such an idea. I mean really! The nerve of them -associating female hormones with psychotic behavior. All in front of the general public as if it were a fact to be told.

I don't pretend to know what makes a human kill another human. However, after having taken ortho tri-cyclen lo for a year I owe, I just may have a clue as to how the alleged killer lost his mind in the first place. And that's all I have to say about that.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:23 PM | Permalink

For those of you who aren't up on the current interracial slang, I would like to enlighten you with a term I learned a couple of years ago. Grey Squirl. A "Grey Squirl" is a white chick that dates only black/african-american men.

I learned this information from just such a white chick and I was eager to put my new terminology to good use. I'm down like that. I mean I did attend Birmingham City Schools. Where whity-white girls like me were the minority. One could easily assume that I should be in the know when it comes to grey squirls. Sadly, 12 years of city school did nothing to change the fact that I am in fact- white. Whity-white. And so, everytime I tried my new phrase I kept saying Brown Squirl. And even when I would get it right, I would correct myself and say "No, it's brown squirl isn't it." Now, I don't even try. I just giggle when I see the eyes roll. Because well, it's funny.

Anyway, my number one reader is a lady I call- Brown Squirl. The week before last, Tori had her baby and when I went to the hospital for a visit, Brown Squirl was there. She started bitching at me because I don't post regularly and I mentioned meeting up with some other bloggers. I had answers ready for any number of questions. Like: Yes HD's t-shirt was lewd; No, I had no idea who Matt was; I do in fact want to be Sarah when I grow up; Skillzy really is that cool; it's true,Wade really did make the entire table laugh with one word; etc. etc. etc.

But Brown Squirl had one question on her mind. "So what does Dre look like?"

From the cut of his hair to the shine of his shoes, Brown Squirl probably left the hospital feeling like she met him herself. You're welcome Dre.

And I never even got to tell her about the crooked looks I got for following a couple male bloggers to the Fox and the Hound to have a bite to eat. Someone even asked if I was going to tell the Rascal. Are you kidding me? There was good food, beer, and arguments about war.- He lives for that shit. And so does a white girl named Irish.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:08 PM | Permalink

I heard from the Rascal today. He had been out to the bars and he had to call me to let me know that at 6'4" he is the biggest man in Bremen.

Not that size matters...Ahem. Like I was saying, I told him about snooping for porn and he directed me to the box of 1971 Playboy Magazines in our living room bookcase. "That's it" he said. And I believe him. Because I looked. Furthermore he said if I could talk Pretty Helmet into sending him some free porn, he would gladly hide the porn from me.

I'm not sure what to think about that, but I do know that the cost of an international cell phone to cell phone connection is astronomical. In other words, we just spent a small fortune on a conversation about porn. I miss him.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:56 PM | Permalink

Day two of the aloneness was rather boring. Since I only just read Pretty Helmet's comment about searching for porn, the search will have to begin tomorrow. Today I cleaned. Our house has been a wreck since I moved in and I broke down and cleaned all day. And I'm still not finished. It was that bad.

I did take one break to visit Tori. She found some stripper boots that she had borrowed from me a couple of years ago for Halloween. Neither of us are very promt about returning items we've borrowed over the years. As I left I realized that today was the last time I would see her before the baby comes. The doctors are going to induce labor Tuesday if she hasn't alrealy begun by then.

Today was productive. But tomorrow-the porn hunt is on.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 11:55 PM | Permalink

For the first time in years, I am home alone. No Angelbaby. No Rascal. Just Irish, all by her self. Angelbaby is spending the week with her father. The Rascal is in Germany. Originally he was bound for Russia a couple weeks ago but when those plans fell through, Germany became the new destination.

Thursday, the Rascal called one last time from the airport. He could tell I was a little sad and attempted to console me by saying "think of it this way, you have a whole week to enjoy by yourself AND you can search through all my stuff." While the thought did make me laugh, when you get down to it, going through others people's personal belongings isn't much fun unless they are there with you. It just doesn't feel the same to find imbarrasing tidbits unless the owner is standing by waiting to flash the look of horror at you for finding that secret photo they thought was long gone. Or the letter they wrote but never sent. Yes, I will save the prowling until he returns.

So Thursday evening I spent preparing Angelbaby's things for her week away. And Friday I was free. Someone came by the galley promoting her art show at Sloss Furnaces. A co-worker and I decided to go together since I had no other obligations. The show was great. Iron sculpture by "at risk" teens. If you like that sort of thing, and you are in Birmingham you should check them out at the upcoming Artwalk.

Now it's Saturday. First things first. In celebration of my alone time I woke up this morning, turned on MTV espanol, and danced the Flamenco naked all around the house. Just because I can. Then I took a leisurely shower, got dressed, and went shopping. I couldn't remember what it was like to try on clothes without Angelbaby in the dressing room heckling me,"mommy, are you really going to wear that?"

I came home and promptly took a two hour afternoon nap. Then I got up, turn on tivo and had a bowl of Cheerios for dinner. It feels unnatural to be the master of my own schedule. Like the commercial says "having kids changes everything." But don't get me wrong, I am definately going to enjoy myself.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:56 PM | Permalink

Lately I have been having time management problems. At work, I have two bosses with completely different agendas. At home I have a daughter and a boyfriend with varying agendas. It can get a little overwhelming sometimes. And PMS on top of that-forget about it!

But today I was really grateful that my life was not as complicated as Tori’s life is about to get. Of my 15 friends and acquaintances that are pregnant, it seems that Tori will be the first to deliver. Even though their trip to the hospital today was a false alarm the doctor told them it could be any day now. A little unexpected I’d say since she isn’t due for another 2 weeks. Although I am totally excited for her and NHP, I am proud to say that baby fever has not hit me this go round.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:10 PM | Permalink

I have been without my beloved computer for over a month now. Even as I am typing on the Rascal's laptop,my beloved computer sits on the basement floor, cold and disassembled. But not without good reason. I have traded my spot in the shade of Vulcan's lucious ass for the simple life in Charles Barkley's hometown.

I'm talking about moving from Homewood to Leeds. The Rascal and I decided to move in together, rather I should move in with him and shortly there after commenced the longest move ever recorded in human existence. Or, so it would seem. I have until Friday to complete the migration and there are still 2 beds and 2 car loads of boxes left.

Wish me luck.

Angelbaby is happy that she has a yard to play in and a place to ride her bike. I haven't been able to fully enjoy my new residence because my mind has been on geting all my stuff here. But two nights ago I saw I did see a deer crossing my street. And much like the T.V. show Trading Spaces, we have alrealy had our first disagreement over paint color. I'm not going to say who won but her first name rhymes with Pirish.

On a final note, does anyone need a set of mattresses? We have 3 extra sets in the basement, keeping my computer company. Queen, full,& twin.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 07:37 PM | Permalink

I had the opportunity to hang art for one of our biggest clients today. Not very exciting but I always enjoy getting paid for things that don’t require me to physically be at work. It makes me feel like I’m not really working.

Anyway I had to make two trips to bring in all the art. So I was on the elevator going down and when the door opened and I started to get off but it wasn’t my floor. So I made a comment to the man getting on the elevator about being programmed to get off when the door opened no matter what floor you’re on. He replied, “Maybe you should have gotten off.” But I could tell what he really meant was if you’re too stupid to use the elevator you should take the stairs.

I would like to say it took every bit of my self-control to keep from getting off on the very next floor and pushing all of the buttons between him and the floor he was destine for. I could see past his condescending corporate tone and knew right away that he was a peon headed for a smoke and any elevator snafu would eat up his measly 15min break rendering him with no other choice but to wait until after work for that smoky nicotine goodness.

Being almost 30 is not what stopped my childish impulse to fuck with this man, nor the risk of loosing my job. It was merely the fact that it would have required effort on my part to spite him and fortunately for him I’ve grown lazy in that aspect.

I did get the last laugh, if only in my mind. We ended up in the same elevator going back up and this time I had two very large pieces of framed art. “ART” he said. “And what do you have?” “Something very special.” My retort, in a tone that said you and I are not friends. And though I didn’t even turn to look at him as I spoke, I could see out of the corner of my eye he was straining his neck in an effort to see what I had.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 05:37 PM | Permalink

Last Wednesday was such a big day for me it has taken me this long to get around to writing about it. I started the day by dressing up. Normally I dress down because my job is pretty messy but a girl gets tired of looking like a Wal-Mart shopper. For lunch I went over to the Birmingham Botanical Gardens to catch the last of the cherry trees in full bloom. I wish I had my camera.

After work I took Angelbaby to Rib City because I didn’t want to ruin my good day by being frustrated in the kitchen. Just as my waitress was bringing out my pork sandwich I get a call from Tori. “Guess who’s opening for Ministry?” “I give up.” “AARON!” “No way.” “Yes.”

In the middle of discussing the specifics of our friend drunk-Aaron opening for Ministry, I let her go to answer a call from The Rascal. “I’m going to Russia for free!” was the first thing I heard. “RUSSIA? When?” “This summer.” “How LONG are you staying?” “A week.” After I was clear on the fact that he was not leaving me for a mail-order bride I let him go so I could eat.

Wow, a boy I kissed is going to open for Ministry and my man is going to Russia for a free vacation. Good day huh?

Not so much.

Picture it- Irish is now at home in her favorite pink Old Navy pj bottoms. Angelbaby is still up finishing her homework. And I get another call. It’s the Rascal. Out on the town. He stopped off at the local pub to have a drink to celebrate his good news and at this point he has decided to play a game I like to refer to as the taming of the shrew. Where as the part of the shrew is played by yours truly Irish Geisha. There is only one rule and it is as follows: No matter what the Rascal does or says, I am to trust him completely.

This is not the first time I played the game. I am sure it will not be the last. But further explanation on the subject will have to be deferred as it was not the game specifically that turned my day sour. While playing the game the Rascal mentioned going to Hooters. Like clockwork I gave my stock reply “YOU STAY AWAY FROM THOSE HOOTERS WHORES!” And with that statement in play, the only choice before him was to in fact Go Directly to Hooters (Do not pass Go, Do not collect $200.)

So he got off the phone to pay his tab and the next call I got the Rascal was sitting in Hooters. “Is your computer on?” It was. “ Go to imdb.com and see what was the first movie that Harry Potter kid starred in.” I didn’t ask why, the Rascal often calls me for information when he is away from his computer. “Who are you arguing with?” I say. “Look up blah, blah, blah- I’m not arguing with anyone.” I gave him the second answer “Then why do you need to know this crap?” “I’m at Hooter’s trivia.” I asked him if the other bloggers were there and his reply was “No baby, I’m at the good Hooters.” The good Hooters he says, implying that such a place exists.

Well, as it turns out the other bloggers were there. HD called me after he got home. I was sure he had recognized the Rascal and was calling to chastise me for feeding the Rascal answers. Not the case. I ended up selling myself out and to make matters worse, I laughed about it to his face because I didn’t realize that he was actually angry.

He demanded a public apology and a wing party or else he was going to remove me from the combloggerator. Who knew HD was an advocate of extortion? It was truly upsetting. Even though he caved like Richard Scrushy’s Empire, I would still like to apologize to HD and to all of the bloggers for their loss. And offer my only excuse- the devil made me do it. And by devil- you know who I mean.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:01 PM | Permalink

A week ago Friday HemisphereDancer practically threatened to remove me from the combloggerator if I didn’t post more often than once a week. So did I post more? No, I spent the week with my boyfriend and didn’t come near the computer.

Last week was spring break for Angelbaby. Since I couldn’t get the week off from work the Rascal volunteered to baby-sit. “Camp Jason” he calls it. He taught my daughter how to fish, how to make pancakes and popcorn, and how to set the yard on fire. And by “on fire” I mean, I came home from work one day and half of my boyfriends very large yard was black and smoking from where he and Angelbaby had set the leaves on fire.

Being away from home all week has me all disoriented. My apartment will be declared a disaster area if I don’t clean it soon and I don’t know where to start.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:32 PM | Permalink

Unfortunately I won't be able to party tonight. Angelbaby is home and even if she wasn't- the Rascal has some aversion to bar hopping on holidays. So everybody drink one for me, and drive home on the left side of the road, I mean be safe.

May you live as long as you want,
And never want as long as you live.

CHEERS!

Posted by Irish Geisha at 06:48 PM | Permalink

I once lived in a house owned by a hippie. She moved all her furniture out but left shelves full of books. They covered a wide range of subjects including law, art and classic literature but most of them were geared towards psychology. The hippy gained her masters in psychology before she realized her depression would conflict with being a shrink.

I lived with the hippie’s discarded library for several months before I checked any books out. I woke one morning after having a terrible dream, went to the kitchen for a glass of water when I passed a book just eye level entitled: The Dream Directory, by David C. Lohff. I wish I could say this gem of literary burlesque changed my life. At best I can say it killed a few hours that would otherwise have been spent actually learning something. I rank it right up there with reading my horoscope.

So anyway, I woke up this morning ANGRY. I dreamt that I was being hassled by an Army recruiter. And when I refused to join on the grounds that I am a single mother, the recruiter opened my front door through which a child welfare services employee promptly gathered up my child and headed back out the door. My anger woke me up.

I’m not sure what the dream meant but my horoscope today said:
Your imagination could run riot today, for good or for bad, as you are likely to misinterpret something. However, you’ll be more decisive, so this would be an ideal time to invest your energies in some kind of artistic activity, which should keep you grounded!
Hippies. They are out there man.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:33 PM | Permalink

If I were a city official, I'd be the kind of city official you see on TV that gets her name drug through the mud due to a slew of unpaid parking tickets. Not that I haven’t paid all of my parking tickets mind you, I’m just saying if I could get out of it…

Yes, I guess you could say I have absolutely no respect for the laws governing parking in the city of Birmingham. You could say that, because I have no idea how many parking tickets I have paid since I began driving some 13 years ago. If I had to guess I would average 3 a year times 13 years would be what? 39. Give or take.

My favorite thing is when strangers with a superfluous concern for my well-being insist that I move my car because “You can’t park there. You’ll get a ticket.” In the past week alone I have been warned twice that parallel parking east bound in a west bound lane will get me a *gasp* “TICKET!” On both occasions I assured the Good Samaritans that they might rest easy knowing they have secured their place in heaven despite the fact that I refuse to move my car. After all, it’s hard to find a parking space within decent walking distance of my bank.

For the sole purpose of putting these poor souls at ease, I would like a bumper sticker that reads, “I’ve weighed the consequences and I’m willing to risk it.”

And just so you know, I have yet to get a ticket for parallel parking in the wrong direction.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:26 PM | Permalink

Have you ever seen one of those coffee mugs with a smiley face on it, only the face isn't smiling and the caption says, "Have a Day.”?

I am having a day. One of those days where I look at my life as a whole and say "What the fuck just happened?" As in, what the fuck just happened in the past 29 years that got me to this point right here. Then I look at Angelbaby and think how the hell did that gigantic cranium escape from my body? In fact I stopped just short of saying “This is not my beautiful wife!” Whilst pondering the matter I was continually on the verge of tears until I came to the conclusion that I will deem this month, March 2006, NATIONAL IRISH DROPPED THE BALL MONTH. This made me laugh. Upon further contemplation I believe to celebrate properly, everyone should drink daily instead of the traditional lushing that only happens March 17.

Yes, having a day indeed.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:11 PM | Permalink

The weekend started off well enough. I've been spending almost every weekend at the Rascals house for months now and this weekend he invited me to bring my cat along. Quite a big deal considering the Rascal hates cats. Surprisingly enough Kitty was on his best behavior. And so was the Rascal.

Saturday night was Elizabeth’s party. I still haven’t downloaded the pictures from my camera but somehow I managed to have a good time without pissing anyone off. I did touch Jen’s boobs- but she offered.

Sunday I helped the Rascal clean his bedroom. There was an inch of dust in some places and while I was vacuuming I found a mirror that has successfully escaped being hung for the 3 years the Rascal has lived in Alabama. This sparked the following conversation:

Rascal: I should hang that.
Me: Where’s it going to go?
Rascal: Probably that wall right there.
Me: Yea, I don’t really want a mirror on that wall.

As I heard the attitude laden words come out of my mouth they sounded like the roar of a wild tigress defending herself in battle. I didn’t say “I wish you wouldn’t hang it there” I didn’t say, “That’s going to creep me out” No, I went for the full on psycho approach I DON’T WANT A MIRROR ON THAT WALL. ROAR! The Rascal looked at me as if to say, that was uncalled for. I continued with “ah, I mean it’s your bedroom hang it where you want.” Instead of addressing the fact that I had just turned into psycho-girlfriend from hell, the Rascal went on to say “maybe this wall then…” opting to completely ignore my transgression.

The thing is, he wanted to hang the mirror directly across the room facing the bed. No perv factor involved- to a man that doesn’t care about decorating trends or Feng Shui energy patterns the empty wall he suggested was simply the most logical choice. And he had no way of knowing that it creeps me out to have a mirror face the bed. Every time I roll over I see myself moving in the mirror and wake myself completely to make sure that what I saw was just my own reflection. Then I can’t go back to sleep because I’m angry that I woke up for nothing. I say he had no way of knowing this because the subject has not previously been discussed between the two of us. So you see the attitude that I totally didn’t even anticipate having, was completely unjustified.

The Rascal’s reaction (or lack there of) can only mean one of three things: either the Rascal really does keep up with my pms calendar or he is content with the fact that at any given moment without warning or reason my psycho-girlfriend personality will show up and bite his head off or the third possibility …which left me to wonder for the rest of the day when he actually planned to kiss me goodbye for the last time.

But he hasn’t dumped me yet.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:50 PM | Permalink

When I first met the Rascal I referred to him as the Republican because that is all I knew about him. Then we started dating and I decided he should be the Rascal. The Rascal King by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones is high on my list of all-time favorite songs and it just so happened that the lyrical description somewhat resembled my boyfriend. Now that we have been dating almost a year I am amazed at how dead on I was with that connection even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

After I started dating the Rascal, my bar hoping days came to a screeching halt. He claimed he was trying to get away from that scene and I (having never truly been comfortable drinking at the bar) was o.k. with finding better things to do. Months later I learned that the Rascal does still like drinking at the bar. I learned this fact at or around 2 a.m. on a weeknight when the Racal, way past drunk, called me just to say hello. Now, I suppose some women would be angry. And I feel I had every right to quarrel with him over the matter. But I am the kind of girlfriend who takes advantage of a situation like this. So, instead of demanding an explanation for his behavior, I coaxed him into telling me how he feels about me. Because I know alcohol doesn’t lie. But inducing a drunken "I love you" is a how-to post for another day.

Last Friday night I expected a quiet evening at the Rascal’s home maybe watching something from Netflix or something he Tivo’d. The Rascal called just as I was leaving work to say he was going to stop off and get a beer while he waited for me to go home and change to come over. When I finally met up with him at Wings he decided he wasn’t as tired as he thought he would be and somehow we decided to go to the lesbian bar down in the Lakeview District. Unbeknownst to me there was a very good reason the Rascal avoided taking me to any bars until now. My first clue was when we were in the parking lot and he stopped me in order to go over the rules of the night.

I’m paraphrasing here:
Before we go in Irish, there are a few things you need to know, one is that no one can hurt you. If anyone bothers you at all just call my name and I will take care of it. Two- I will not go to jail. Three- if there is a fight I WILL win. Also, we are going to get kicked out of at least 3 bars tonight.
Then we walked into The Barking Kudu.

Before the Rascal took the first sip of his beer we were told not to come back to The Barking Kudu by a very angry bartender. I knew it was illegal in the state of Alabama to walk out of a bar with an alcoholic beverage in hand. And I knew the Rascal knew. But the doorman was missing and the Rascal said “trust me” so I did. And that my friends, is the first time I have ever been kicked out of a bar.

One down, within walking distance is the next stop: The Bombay Café. Two words: white tablecloth. We seat ourselves at the bar and almost immediately the Rascal begins heckling the bartender. After being hassled into reading the menu to the Rascal, Daniel, our bartender, offered to bring over a waiter to help the Rascal order. It quickly became evident that ordering something that wasn’t on the menu was not going to get us kicked out. But the food was great and Daniel was a real trooper. By this time we had made some friends at the bar but we still had 2 bars to get kicked out of so off we went through a hallway to The Bombay Café’s martini bar The Canteen.

Bar #3 looked like the kind of establishment one could easily get kicked out of, and we soon found out. Nothing illegal this time, I’m really not even sure why they made us leave. I remember a table full of ladies that were none too happy with the Rascal intruding on their “Ladies night out.” But there I was sitting at the bar and the man on the other side of the mahogany says he’s closing our ticket out and could I sign for it. “I’m not his wife,” I tell him “ I can’t sign that.” Than a man almost as large as the Rascal tries to push us out without actually touching the Rascal. “It’s time for you to leave,” he says. Two down.

One half block down is bar #4 The Oasis. There was a band and a crowd. This was going to be easy. I would say we were there less than 15 minutes. I didn’t actually see what happened, some tall men were in my way. Apparently some sort of push/shove action got started and the Rascal was promptly escorted out with me in tow. Minimum quota for being kicked out of bars met. However the night was young. Sooooo, we set off for club Chaos around the block.

I would have thought that the only two white people in a black dance club would have no problem getting kicked out. No such luck. BLAST THEIR RACIAL TOLERANCE! So when the Rascal was all danced out and I was weary of the Mexican dance-humping my leg we called it a night.

We never made it to the lesbian bar. Someone at Bombay pointed out that it had just been closed down the week prior. I had fun playing the game anyway. After all it was my first time to be kicked out of a bar. To be quite honest, it was really anti-climatic. I understand why the Rascal does it. When he was a bar owner himself, he tested other bars in this fashion to find out what works as far as crowd control. I guess old habits die hard. Whether or not I ever agree to this level of fun again remains to be seen.

“The last hoorah? Nah- I’d do it again!”

Posted by Irish Geisha at 11:09 PM | Permalink

7 years ago I gave birth in front of an audience of 4-6 people. (You'll have to forgive me if I can't remember exactly how many nurses were in the room, I was a little pre-occupied at the time.) The point is- you would think that the previous experience would make going to the gynecologist, less uncomfortable. Yea. Not so much.

But it has to be done. Right? Now, most women will tell you they feel more comfortable with a certain kind of doctor. Like for instance my Dr. is quite easy on the eyes. Some women find that intimidating. But seeing a hot Dr. doesn’t make me feel any more or less comfortable about being naked in his office than the ugly Dr. I saw 3 years ago. I tried a woman M.D., a man OBGYN that was older than dirt, and one Dr. looked like he just hopped of his Harley. As far as I’m concerned it does not matter who your Dr. is or what he/she looks like because they all have to see you naked.

So the nurse calls me back. An older lady with a fist full of diamonds, she begins asking questions about my period and what drugs if any am I on. Then she weighs me, takes my temperature, and passes me off to the next nurse. This kid looks like she is barely out of high school and with a straight face she hands me two pieces of paper that I should change into. “Put this one on like a vest, make sure it opens in the front. Then wrap the other one around you and push the yellow button on the wall when you are ready.” She actually had the nerve to sound cheerful about the paper vest. As if it were a Vera Wang original that I would have great anticipation about wearing. A FUCKING PAPER VEST. Luckily, for her I was painfully aware of the attire for this visit and I did not feel the need to put little miss neo-nurse in her place.

There I am swaddled in origami and I hop up on the table awaiting certain humiliation. Then I remembered the yellow button. The I’m naked you can come in now yellow button. With one hand hanging onto my paper fashion vest I lean back as far as I can nearly rolling right off the table just to push that damn button. Nothing left to do but wait. One would hope that in an office where women are regularly required to wear paper that the heat would be at an appropriate level for not freezing ones nipples off. Hope indeed.

In walks Dr. Hotass all chipper with his flunky nursette. “How have you been?” “Where are you working now?” “How old is Angelbaby now?” I wanted to say “Hey buddy, I’m naked could we get this over with?!?” Soon enough he has me lay back and begins the breast exam. He probably read in some medical journal that making eye contact during the breast exam makes women feel more at ease. But all I was thinking was Fuck off and quit squishing my breast like an over ripe tomato! With that ordeal behind us we moved on to the pelvic exam.

I am convinced that the stirrups they put you in have no purpose except to keep you from kicking the doctor in the face when he tries to make small talk and/or asks you a stupid question like: “Are you o.k?” YOU JUST WEDGED MY HONEY POT OPEN WITH A PAIR OF ICY TONGS! ARE YOU SERIOUSELY ASKING IF I’M OK WITH THAT? My actual reply went more like “yea, I’m fine.” This part of the visit doesn’t take very long but for me, and most women I’ve talked to, having some man you barely know stare at your hoo-ha for any length of time feels like an eternity.

When it’s over, the doctor and his legally required nurse/witness leave so that you can get dressed again. Which seems odd considering they both just saw every inch of my privacy. Smart. Very smart, how they only prescribe birth control with 11 refills so that you have to come back once a year. Otherwise the yearly exam for women would be virtually non-existent. But you can’t really bitch at your doctor. After all, no one forced you to make the appointment.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 12:10 AM | Permalink

I'm ready for the new year! The last one I had was less than satisfactory. My resolution this year is not going to be 'to loose weight.' It very well could be, but it's not. I have already lost about 15 pounds in the past month or so. At this rate I'll be a sickly flat-chested waif by summer. It would be pointless to resolve to do something that I have already begun to do. And none of that 'to be a better person' garbage! I am already being the best that I am capable of-all things considered. I have two goals for this year, one is to not date anyone exclusively. I have not gone longer than 6 months without a boyfriend or husband since I was 17. I'd like to break the cycle. Maybe get into a new routine that involves healthy relationships and time for Irish to do what ever the hell she wants. And if that means that I don't get "laid" as BoxRocker so eloquently put it, then so be it. Sid Vicious described sex as "boring, ugly, hippie shit." I do not agree entirely, but I do not disagree. Goal number two: I will visit a state that I have not been to already. Which leaves me with about 46 choices. Top of the list would be Louisiana, Pennsylvania, maybe New York. I plan to wait until Angelbaby is on holiday with her father for the week. I'm just going to get on a bus with a backpack and a smile and figure everything out when I get there. It could be disaster and I will not complain. Because I will have been anywhere but here. Happy New Year from me to you.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:45 PM | Permalink

I must be mad. Yes, I'm quite sure of it. Mad. As in Crazy. My eccentricity allows me a lot of leeway. But I miss the drummer and that is madness. I think partly it was sparked by a book I got for Christmas. Henry and June by Anais Nin. The extent that I relate to this Anais woman is infuriating to me. I do not respect her, I don't even like her, but I am like her. While I have never known lust for another woman (despite what you may have heard about my Christmas Party kissing shenanigans), I do know how suffocating it is to be married to someone you adore but simply does not stimulate your intellect. To think, if only I had taken a lover I may still be happily married today. Not that I am fool enough to actually believe that. But I do believe in the love that she shared with her lover Henry. The Love. The love that is nothing. It goes nowhere. It's only purpose is to exist and nothing more. It knocks the breath out of you quicker than a hard fall. It's a poetic love and it is my favorite one. It was the love I shared with the drummer for years before we ever dated. And I miss it. I never cheated on anyone with him. We went years without even speaking. But when things got bad, in the back of my mind I knew my drummer loved me and I loved him. I won't speak to him. The phone bill is still in my name and I won't even call him to settle it. I just don't believe in beating a dead horse. Or speaking to a man who may or may not have ever loved me at all. I'm going stir crazy. I'm afraid I won't be kissing anyone in Birmingham on the New Years. DJ Geisha and I have just nailed down plans for a road trip to Huntsville. I don't remember the name of that band that's playing and I honestly don't even care. I just want to breathe again. Song of the Day: It's a Sin, PSB

Posted by Irish Geisha at 06:39 PM | Permalink

I have labeled this picture WTF! It has been on my blog as a draft post for almost a week. I did advise Liesl I would be posting it with a dissertation explaining the wrongness there of, however I don't think that will be necessary. The picture was taken at the afore mentioned Christmas party from the loo.( See the shower curtain rod?) Also pictured is a "Prozac" promotional clock. And a cable connection. A CABLE CONNECTION IN THE BATHROOM. What's that all about? The only place a television would fit in this water closet is in the bathtub. And how much Prozac do you have to consume to get the free clock? And that's all I have to say about that.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:05 PM | Permalink

It's time for another quote from my good friend MK. When ever I complain to her about something stupid a man has done or something a stupid-man has done, she always offers this gem of compassion. "There should have been a third sex. For those of us who don't like the opposite sex, but aren't attracted to the same sex either." I do so love men. But on days like yesterday I tend to give the 'third sex' idea more than a passing thought. Picture it, I'm sitting at home minding my own damn business, when I get a call from my friend NHP. I have known this man for over 10 years and if there was ever a chance for us to be an item it has long since passed. He only called because he was bored and wanted to tell me about the great deal he got on buying a new easel. And blah, blah, blah he didn't know what he was going to do for food until payday. I simply made a comment about how I could never do that since I have a kid and BAM! Suddenly I became pseudo wife in the middle of a marital spat about money. He started trying to justify why he did it. Like I give a damn what he does with his paycheck. I come back with 'Look man I'm not judging you. If anything, I'm jealous.' Then he goes into a tirade about how I don't have it so bad and all I need is a man and my life will be complete. Excuse Me? Perdone? Sumimasen? Excuse Moi? Gestatten Sie??? ALL I NEED IS A MAN AND MY LIFE WILL BE COMPLETE. Ordinarily, I would chalk it up to a tiny idea somewhere in the back of his mind that he could be the man to complete me. But he has made it quite clear to Tori and I in the past that he isn't interested in being in a committed relationship. The subject used to come up when we would try to set him up with someone. So eventually we stopped trying to set him up. So I have no idea where this came from. I asked him exactly that when we were talking yesterday. "Where is this coming from?" His only reply "All I'm saying is, you don't have it so bad." I still don't get it. I didn't call him up and start bitching about how bad my life sucks. It was almost as if he was lonely so he called to pick a fight with me so he would feel like someone cared. I do care about him as a friend but I'll be damned if I'm going to give someone the benefits of having a girlfriend without actually having to call me his. A third sex indeed. Of course this came from a woman who has been happily married for 30+ years. Which gives me hope. Hope that I will one day find a man that I can tolerate -I mean love. A man that I can love.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:09 PM | Permalink

The day before yesterday I had turkey just like most of everyone else. No stories this year of crazy paranoid granny or uncles loosing false teeth at the table. Just good food and family, and a shot of vodka to wash them both away. I never shop on the Friday after, just watched some movies on cable. Gone With the Wind, Meet Me in St. Louis, School of Rock, and Chasing Amy. In that order. I love Jason Lee. I'm going to marry him when I grow up. Actually my obsession with him has grown to a frightening level and I should think it best if we never meet at all. Today I took angelbaby to the Galleria for a ride on the carousel and to make a list for Santa. I hate crowds, I am going to do my best to order any and all gifts I buy from the internets. The rest of my time was spent sleeping and playing the Winnie the Pooh edition of Candy Land. Why is it that I will go to great lengths to make sure angelbaby is the winner of the game but if I catch her cheating to win, I'm on that transgression like a duck on a June bug? Does that make me a hypocrite?

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:00 PM | Permalink

Generally speaking, I don't give a rat's fuzzy ass about politics. BUT, recently I came across this website courtesy of Super Action Kevin. (see Nov. 9) I did not find it humorous in the least. Every election since I turned 18, rain or shine, I have carted my happy ass down to the polls and voted a straight democratic ticket. Does it feel like my vote doesn't matter? Yes! Do I vote anyway? Yes! Because I can. Now some bitter bloody yank, who has probably never even been to the south, is going to talk shit because W won !?! Way to fucking rally. If he's so smart, why doesn't he carpetbag his ass down here and tell it on the mountain? Because frankly, regurgitating inferred statistics in between offensive explicatives isn't doing anything to forward the cause. Furthermore it just plain pissed me off! Game Over- we lost. Resistance is futile. Better luck next time. And all that jazz. I guess mostly it just angers me to hear people dawg the south for any reason. As much as I have thought about it and as mad as I am, I did not bother to email the schmuck who published the site. I'm sure my effort would have been fruitless. After all, I am a southern democrat. Suffice to say- a lesson in futility is not something I've gone without.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:48 PM | Permalink

Holy crap I need a job! Not that I don't like my job. I would even go so far as to say I love my job. But I make about 1/3 of my last salary as a sales associate (call center hell.) And about 1/2 the salary of someone who is floating just at poverty level. Thanks W! I currently frame art. And while I have had my grubby paws on works worth thousands, most of it is the mundane tripe you see on the wall at the doctors office. I still like the whole being surrounded by art thing. And I like that everyone I work with is an artist. "Nay" you say. You should be doing 3D computer animation, since you still owe 20,000+ in student loans. Gee, why didn't I think of that? Like my diploma from jiffy tech is worth the paper it's printed on. So anyway it's not like I'm not searching. Just last week I got 2 rejection emails for jobs I applied for back in September. Hope they're not as lax in their payroll schedule. The Weekend. Did nothing! Thank God for nothing! I love it. OK, I did get new shoes. But that's it. And I went to the open house at Pepper Place Friday night to see what pomp and grander rich people buy to decorate their houses. ( Don't believe the hype, it was all crap.) But that's really it. I hope to have a picture of myself posted soon. For those of you who don't know me, keep your disenchantment to yourself. First I have to figure out how to get the damn pictures off my camera. I think I need to reload a driver or two. A big pain in the ass mainly because my machine is not currently connected to the net. Blah, blah, blah, don't have the original software because I bought the camera at a pawn shop. Just know that soon you will get to see me in the contacts I wore on Halloween to make my brown eyes white.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:06 PM | Permalink

Last night I went to a wine and sushi tasting with my dad. It was held at Konomi in Trussville. I hate wine but I like sushi and dad was buying. So... I had never been to a wine tasting before. Except for what I have seen on TV, I didn't know what to expect. We started off with cheese and crackers, strawberries, grapes and water. Then came the first glass of wine. There was no sniffing or spitting involved just a full glass of Anapamu Riesling. *It tasted like ass. Then came the sushi. Sort of a sampler plate, about 12 pieces. Bagel roll, spicy shrimp roll, tuna roll, eel, and several kinds of fish on top of rice. (Nigiri) With the food came wine #2. 2003 Unoaked Marborough Chardonnay. This is the only wine I have ever tasted that I actually liked. It almost tasted like white grape juice. Then there was a 2000 Raymond Reserve Merlot and on to the reds. Ah the reds. Folie a Deux Menage a Trois *please see the previous ass comment. And lastly, DaVinci Chianti Tuscany D.O.C.G. The letters are apparently some sort of "elite classification." Personally I think they stand for Does Often Cause Gagging. We finished off with a shot of sake, and dove chocolates. The sushi was good, the people at our table proved to be good company, the more they drank that is. Since I seem to have inherited the alcoholic gene, I think I won't waste anymore time acquiring a taste for wine. I'll just stick to sushi and sweet tea.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:54 PM | Permalink

Well last night I brought home the last of my possessions from the drummer's house.(most recent ex) I gave him a check for some money I was holding ransom to insure the safety of my things until I could retrieve them. Then I gave him my set of keys and "Have a nice life." I thought that was it. Then he calls me at 7:45 on my way to work this morning to tell me I forgot some mail. -So much for having the last word. Top 5 things I will miss: 1. Conversations about nothing and everything. 2. The smell of Nag Champa oil on his skin. 3. He understood and accepted my eccentricity. 4. Being surrounded by music and musicians. 5. Knowing I was truly loved. Top 5 thing I will not miss: 1. Arguing about nothing and everything. 2. His constant need to be intoxicated. 3. His step-momma drama. 4. A house full of musicians over every night to 'jam'. 5. Being last on his list of priorities. Oh and this didn't make the list but I feel very strongly about cuddle sleeping. I'm against it. I love, love, love to cuddle. But when it's time to go to sleep- Get Off Me! I wish I had more to offer tonight but my mind is scattered, my body is tired, and my heart has yet to mend.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:02 PM | Permalink

So I just finished reading a book called A Confederacy of Dunces. It has only taken me about six months. I wish I could say I liked the book but I still haven't decided. It won the Pulitzer Prize but the author committed suicide before it was even published. So that should give you some perspective about the content. The main character is Ignatius J. Reilly. Possibly the biggest cluster fuck Louisiana has ever seen. Aside from being a complete bum that totally sponges off his mom, he has a Masters in medieval history. Or something like that, he's constantly chattering on about Fortuna's spin and Boethius. Anyway- complete idiot savant, so for the first couple of chapters I had to keep a dictionary next to me while I was reading. (well, I do have a limited vocabulary, sue me) It's kind of written in the Pulp Fiction/Lock Stock & 2 Smoking Barrels style. For the most part you meet everybody separately before you find out how the hell they fit in the big picture. So you don't find out until the last chapter that everything works out in ultimate irony. I guess that would have been more impressive if I actually read the book back in the 70's. I was just too busy being a toddler. I wasn't lying when I said I had no problem putting a book down after reading half of it. I can't explain why I kept reading this time. It just always seemed like it was about to get good. And then I was finished. This feeling was partly fueled by several people who knew about the book and said it was supposed to be hilarious or they compared the main character to Jesus. (yea some of it was painfully funny but JESUS? Please!) I thought surely if the book was still this popular that it must be good. I'll just say, that I do not have the feeling I get when I read a book I really liked. But I do love a happy ending. And I have to admit that this book had one hell of a happy ending.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:24 PM | Permalink

Well lately all I have been up to is the drinking part, but I still feel like common people. Tori was right! All Hallows Eve was a bomb, as opposed to da bomb. I mean, there were some good moments. I can't recall them just now. I remember, avoiding the creeps on someone's back porch. Then, being the creeps on another person's back porch half-way across town. Then there was walking through crowds of people in hopes of finding an empty restroom. Saving Tori from creepy old guy at the bar. And finally spending the end of my evening chatting with the doorman of the Plaza. I like getting out of the house to blow off steam every once in a while. I think anyone who has at least one child should take time to let go of rational thought even if it is only for a few hours every other weekend. Because taking care of yourself is one thing but maintaining an entire other person can be taxing. But I am so sick of the Plaza I could scream. I feel like I'm too old for that shit. But I'm too young to just be content to never leave the house. Yea, I'll probably be posting this time next week about my Saturday Plaza Escapade.¯¯¯¯Because there's nothing else to do!¯¯¯¯

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:47 AM | Permalink

So, I haven't seen the episode of The Chapelle Show where Wayne Brady almost has to choke a bitch. But it has been haunting me for months now. I first heard clips of it on a site I found through BlinkerFluid.(click 'choke a bitch') And several people have re-enacted it for me. I even have cable now, but I never know when to watch. Really what has been buggin me the most about it is that fact that Wayne Brady reminds me of my highschool prom date. No my prom date was not a black comedian. It was actually a double date. And purely by accident we were all dressed in black and white, my date and I were white (still are) and the other couple was black. So of course that was our first topic of discussion for the night. It was the most fun because we were all just friends. And even though it was the first time I had met the other girl, we bonded quickly when we both realized, at about the same time, that the jokes from the guys-had been rehearsed. And poorly executed anyway. So yea, back to Wayne Brady. My prom date looked just like Drew Cary, glasses and all. He even had the same voice-type. And more often than not, he cracked me up. Still don't get the connection? I never dated my prom date besides the prom. He asked, but for some reason unknown to even me I turned him down. I thought my prom date was hot, and if I ever get a chance with the real Drew, Wayne Brady will definately have to choke the bitch that gets in my way!

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:35 PM | Permalink

Well another birthday has come and gone. Yesterday ended my 27th year. If I were a rock star I would have made it through the jinxed year. Sure, I'm no rock star, but looking back I have experienced more this past year than I would have liked-truth be known. Here's to not looking back! So, what did I do to celebrate? I'll just say it ended with a scream and a drink. Maybe tori will elaborate.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:16 PM | Permalink

I made some new friends this weekend. Last night after angelbaby went to bed, I took off to nhp's house to give him a hair cut. (no I don't leave my child home alone, we're staying with my parents currently.) I don't know why people ask me to cut they're hair. I'm not good at it. I think mostly it's because I have scissors and it's free. I'm certainly not a professional but between cuts, perms, and color jobs; I'm almost sure I have logged enough hours for a license or something. Anyway after the cut I watched local programming with him and Oscar for a while then I headed home. On my way home, I decided to to stop at Al's deli for some hummus and a piece of burma. I'm standing in line minding my own business when I notice I'm surrounded by 3 dread locked cuties: a blond, a brunette, and an asian/black mix. They couldn't have been older than 23. Then from behind, this kid that looked like the star from Entourage started crowding me and talking like I was someone he knew. Sidenote: I am not a very social person. I mean sure if I'm drinking, I'm everybody's friend. But otherwise I won't even speak to an acquaintance when I'm out unless they speak first. So I'm trying not to be rude, because he seems like a nice kid. Then all the dread heads start talking to me and I realize 'mr. leaning on my back' is with them. They're all asking me about the menu because they had never been there before. I could feel the anxiety welling up like a river waiting to escape with rage over the top of the damn. Here I am in an old navy stripy shirt, birkies, no make up and curls that I didn't bother to fix and this kid wants to know "where's the party at tonight?" I smiled and politely said "Not at my house." "good answer" was his reply. What I was really thinking was "dear Jesus, if you let me live through this I will never..." I just new they were all fixin' to pull out gats and start unloading until every wallet in the place was in their possession. Then a ray of light peeked out from behind this dark cloud of apprehension. Blondie says to Mixed "well if your not going to eat then go out to the car and roll a blunt" Never in my life have I been so happy that someone was on drugs. All at once I understood that they really did just want food. Just like me. I don't know if I'll every get over my phobia of meeting people or talking to strangers. It's not like there was an incident that I could work through with a therapist. My mom says I've alway been that way.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:16 PM | Permalink

...of the silvery moon... While I'm in the mood. I thought I might ramble a bit about my weekend. First thing first, I'd like to give a shout out to monkfisher. Welcome to the bloggernet. Friday -I went to the last of the Sidewalk parties for this year. Clever how they saved the handing out of the volunteer t-shirts until half way through the party. Otherwise I wouldn't have even gone. I didn't sign up to be social, that was just one of the unfortunate benefits. Over-all I must say that I did enjoy the experience and I plan on doing it again next year. After the party,I met tori and ben at the Plaza for apparently a night of being beaten at game after game of pool. After a while some of ben's friends showed up. One guy I hadn't seen since my marching band days. The other, I met for the first time at the Plaza the weekend of the filmfest. I find him to be quite interesting. But I am glad he is not interested in me because both times we have seen each other out, I was giggly-fall down drunk. And what's that saying? I cannot be associated with anyone that would associate themselves with me. Or something like that. Saturday was a sham. I told tori I would meet her at some fallfest thing in the Lakeview District around 1 or 2 pm. I lost track of time and about 6pm I called to let her know I was on my way. By then she was at Mrs. Hutton's house scarfing spaghetti. We left and went to Bailey's then to the Plaza. Then back to Bailey's. Then to NHP's house. Then we made a run for the border for some late night heartburn. And "home again home again gigedie gig." I was tucked in save and sound by midnight.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:32 PM | Permalink

I read a post by HemisphereDancer about his first trip to France. And I have to admit my first response was jealousy. I mean while currently it wouldn't be my first choice if I were traveling abroad, it was the first country I remember being interested in as a child. And French was the first foreign language I attempted. HemisphereDancer has also posted some marvelous pictures that almost rekindled my love for the French, until, I had a flash back from 1995. Tori and I were spending the summer with her father in Orlando that year. He is a Florida resident and got us a discount on tickets to the Universal Studios Theme Park. So there we were standing in line for the Back to The Future ride when we heard the most interesting conversation. In French. A mother and her daughter, chatting away while we hung on every incomprehensible word. (I only had one year of high school French) Then it's our turn on the ride and we pile into the simulator sitting just next to la femme et la femme petite. The door closes behind us and we are completely enclosed. A smell that we had not previously noticed could no longer escape. The smell that was obviously coming from the French lady and her daughter. An armpit odor like I have never smelled before nor since. We were panic stricken as we realized that there was no way we could hold our breath for the duration of the ride. Some may say, how uncultured! Every body knows the French go natural. I can't speak for Tori but I was 18 and though I knew about the armpit hair thing, I did not know that going natural meant that a beautiful, 3o something, drop dead gorgeous, blond woman could ever smell like rotting flesh. I don't know how long the ride actually lasted, 5 min, 10 min, an eternity. And I don't remember anything about the actual ride itself. To be quite honest, I had forgotten the whole thing until I read the afore mentioned post. I can't help but to laugh at the whole thing. Maybe I will get a chance to visit France one day. But not in the summer, and I certainly won't subject myself to any enclosed spaces while I tour.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:42 PM | Permalink

I cannot believe I have written this much without having made mention of my friend MK. I met her while working at Bellsouth and though she is about 25 yrs my senior, we have become great friends.
I made mention last post that I feel a nervous breakdown coming on. I have come to a point in my life, a crossroad if you will that has left me dumbfounded. I know, I know-it doesn't take much.

Anyway here's the what-I have no idea what to do with my life. That is, I have plenty of things I would like to do but, every path I take seems to lead me further and further away from my goals. I just spent the past 2 yrs in a relationship that did not go where I thought it was headed. Before that, a year wasted in the same manner on a different man. And before that, a divorce that was predicted by (seemingly) everyone but me. It has been my decision to end each of these relationships because they weren't what I wanted my life to be.

Every time I get down about my life, MK always cheers me up by saying "Look at where you are and compare it to where you've been." And she's right, I would never ask to go back to any age I've already been. I wouldn't gamble by changing any decision I've made, because I know that things could have been worse. But what's killing me is the suspense of "What Next."

Song of the day: Float On by Modest Mouse

Posted by Irish Geisha at 02:20 PM | Permalink

This has been a very long weekend. Starting Friday morning with a job interview.(I start Oct 4) Then sushi dinner with my most recent ex. It went ok-all things considered. I'm not sure if he just wants to be friends or thinks we can work things out but I told him I would not be moving back in with him and it didn't seem to faze him. Saturday, I was a volunteer at the local film fest. Tech crew. The tech crew only works if something goes wrong with the equipment. So for most of the day I walked around in a walkie talkie head set watching movies for free. Ate free food from Zoe's and the restaurant G, I think. And got free passes to the after party at the B&A Warehouse. Free Beer! Normally, well since my divorce, I have a self inflicted 2 beer max and only one beer when I'm around certain people. It helps cut down on the jackass factor. But there was free beer while it lasted at the after party. So after about 3 beers, we (tori and I) were off to the Plaza with some people we met up with at the B&A. There I had a 4th beer and thus became the loud girl at the bar. I guess it could have been worse, I could have been the redneck middle aged lady sporting a spandex skirt and a frizzled mullet. She was at the pool table next to ours. Anyhoo, we met some of liesl's neighbors. We supposedly went to the same highschool but I only recognized 2 out of 3. We spent some time discussing Liesl's boobs. Apparently, she was topless in the indie flick Hide and Creep which kicked off the film fest on Thursday at Sloss Furnaces-I did not attend. Then I lost a game of pool to tori. No! she didn't run the table, I prematurely sunk the 8 ball. And that was that. I got home at 4a.m. Sunday was for sleep. Stay tuned, I feel a nervous break down coming on.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:41 PM | Permalink

It has been brought to my attention that certain folks, after reading my last post, are under the impression that I think I'm perfect and I don't mind saying so. I guess I should have included a disclaimer in the post script. I simply did not include my faults because they weren't part of the story and at no time have I made any claim that I use my powers for good instead of evil. For further proof of my incompetentance (in case you didn't read all about my Bellsouth endeavor) I would be more than happy to post a list of virtues that I do not possess as counter to my last post however, I am not sure I am allowed that much space on this free blog.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 01:00 PM | Permalink

I am so very bored with life at the moment. You'd think I would have enjoyed being unemployed for the past 10 months. But being without a job has just about driven me mad! Don't get me wrong, I have mad domestic skills. I can cook, and not just grits and eggs. I can make a risotto that would make any Italian slap his momma. And cakes and candies are my specialty. But that's not all, I can sew just about anything with a machine or without. I have a green thumb, and I have a vast knowledge of which cleaner to use on what stains. And if that wasn't enough to keep me busy I could always surf the net on the computer I built by myself. Or create a cartoon in 3DS max. And for the first time since I learned the stained glass craft, I even had a place to set up my glass grinder and work bench out of reach from Angelbaby. Sounds like the good life right? So why couldn't I enjoy myself? Because no self respecting libber can live on someone else's dollar. Sure I had my savings and for six months my "pennies" added up to nearly 1,000 bucks a month but it just wasn't the same as having a job or being independently wealthy. I wish I didn't feel that way. I'd love to be one of those girls that just takes and takes never caring where it comes from. My mom never told me who I should be but watching her from an early age I learned that you make your own money, spend it how you want and anybody that doesn't like it can get the fuck... I can't lie though, my daddy did spoil me rotten. Maybe that's why I'm so conflicted. Yea, that's it! It must be my parents fault!

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:56 PM | Permalink

Dave has requested that I write something juicy about my life involving "gas powered vibrators and sasquatch porn." Sorry to disappoint but there's been none of that. I will however punish you with the story of how I came to be unemployed. Bellsouth, it was the best of jobs it was the worst of jobs. So a couple years ago I was a substitute daycare teacher.(Yea this is going some where) And a manager at the local phone company (my moms bestfriend) told me to get my butt down to some second rate temp agency because they were supplying temps for her department and they needed more people. It was a done deal so I started right away in the HR dept scanning personnel files. For some reason, becoming a paperless society involves a lot of paperwork. So the temp job that was supposed to last 3 months lasted about a year. Then a regular employee left and I lucked up and got hired. It was great until a year later when cut backs came and I was the lowest totem on the seniority pole. Next after me was a lady with 10yrs service. I thought I was safe because there weren't any cuts in my dept. But thanks to the union contract two ladies in another department that were cut, were allowed to bump me and ms. 10yrs out of a job. That should have been the end of this story. But, lucky me, they were hiring in the sales dept and after a few assessment tests I got hired into THE WORST HELL OF MY LIFE.(to date) Basically if you owned a small business and needed to call Bellsouth for ANY reason you had a 1 in 600 chance of talking to me. No matter what you actually called for my job was to sell you something. I had no idea that the unwritten job description involved sucking up and becoming popular. It would be suffice to say I do not have the personality for sales.(or sucking up) Hence the hell of never making my quota. I lasted 13 months which is a long time in the sales world so obviously I wasn't completely lost either. After being written up several times for failing to convince hundreds of people they needed extra phone lines to run their businesses, I was offered 2 weeks pay plus unused vacation in exchange for a letter of resignation. Now had I been a good little girl and kissed ass properly the sales faerie would have mysteriously arranged extra credit on my sales report. But prove it. I lost my job knowing others that were favored in the office couldn't sell crack to a junkie much less phone service to business owners. The end, right? Right. Yesterday, I ran into a girl that worked with me at hellsouth. She took the same retirement package as me and told me that a week later they fired 7 people in one day including one of the top sales people. I can't tell you how great that made me feel! Not because others are now suffering but firing a top sales person(who didn't have many friends) proves (in my mind at least) that I'm not a screw up. And I don't kiss ass regardless of the pay check. Office politics can be cruel, especially if you don't realize it's not what you know or even what you can do, it is definitely WHO you know. Just a footnote: I have been in tears writing this, painful subject? No, every time the spell check gets to Bellsouth it offers "Bullshit" as an alternative. -No lie.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 05:28 PM | Permalink

This weekend has been a complete waste. Yesterday was ok I guess. Angelbaby and I lounged by the pool all morning. I pointed out some large mushrooms that were growing in the grass and said "I bet a lot of faeries could live under there" without skipping a beat she replied "I didn't even know any faeries lived around here." Ah, the mind of a 5 yr old. Later Tori came over with her bouncing baby boy and the kids fought while we watched Cribs. Puns are optional. Today was well, just a day. So I guess I'll end with a list. 5 things you should never leave home without:

1. lip protection i.e. chapstick, lip gloss, etc.
2. gel pen-identity theft prevention
3. hanky- because you never know
4. mirror-so your not the last to know
5. I.D.- so they know what to write on the toe tag

Note: No, cell phone should not have been on the list. I admit that I do have one but I still believe they are overrated!

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:22 PM | Permalink

Went to Punk Rock Bob's house tonight. It was supposed to be a big party but only two other couples showed up. I'm not sure why I was invited. And even though I've known everyone there for years, I still felt like I didn't belong. For some reason when I'm around this circle of friends (most of which I have known since high school or longer) I start running my mouth and pissing people off. However tonight I tried not to show my ass too much. Just had the one beer. I felt weird about the whole situation and looking through Bob's photo albums didn't help matters. I don't know, something about being friends with my ex-husband just doesn't set

Posted by Irish Geisha at 01:05 AM | Permalink

At the risk of gloating all I have to say is I have not been without power or cable.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 06:23 PM | Permalink

I had fully intended a follow-up post to the tree of life, to examine the possibility that one book could change a persons life or a relationship at the least. I have had a change of heart. I decided to move out instead, leaving the book behind. You may ask how someone could just read half a book and stop. Never knowing the end. The answer is simple. Just leave it right where you found it. Song of the Day: Dry Your Eyes by The Streets

Posted by Irish Geisha at 11:51 PM | Permalink

Went to the artwalk last night with tori to see N.H.Puckett. Better know to us as Heath. We have been watching him draw naked women for over 10 years and now he's finally getting some recognition as an abstract painter. A sample of his work is posted at www.birminghamartwalk.com under 2004 participating artists. We also walked around and saw some really great art and some over rated crap. We walked into one studio to get a better look at some really great concept art but we had to leave with a quickness because the place smelled like an armpit. My favorite (well besides Heath's stuff) were the dresses welded out of scrap metal. I think this artist has one of her "dresses" displayed at the Birmingham Museum or at least it was there the last time I went. In other news Dave got a new blog and lost his mind. If anyone knows a good therapist that would be willing to donate some time to the cause, please contact Boxrocker at Dabox.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 01:23 AM | Permalink

I have begun reading a book called "The Mystical Qabalah" by Dion Forture.( Not to be confused with Warwick) Not because it's all the rage in Hollywood or because the Bible just doesn't do it for me. But equally as flippant, it is a sincere effort to better understand my boyfriend. He's always talking about left hand path this, plot it out on the tree that. Frankly, the boy talks a lot and most of his qabalah jargon gets filtered out by my handy dandy "hear what I want to hear" boyfriend filter. So the other day he was going on about having chosen the right hand path and I really didn't want to ask him to explain what the hell he was talking about, trust me a lecture would have ensued. So, I decided fine-I'll have a go. Now, I have to say I'm all about Jesus but my parents were not religious in the least. I remember being six years old and at my own request my mother put me on a church bus to be shuffled off to Sunday school by myself because for what ever reason she didn't want to go. My father never talked about religion except to randomly spout off "Give your heart to Jesus Christ" for no apparent reason. So pretty much I have been uninfluenced by my parents and though I was baptized when I was 19 I'm still pretty open to new concepts. (or new to me anyway) The Gospel- I am on chapter 10 of 27. So far I have learned there is a tree of life that is the "glyph" of all existence. Now like I've said, I'm open. I mean I've seen the movie "Pi," I've read "The Bible Code" by Michael Drosnin. I totally can grasp that the universe is built on a system of numbers. But, whoopity do! It's like telling Neo the matrix does exist, here's a picture of the code. Oh yea, by the by you can control the universe if you figure out how to work the damn thing. I suspect the second half of the book will be dedicated to teaching me exactly how to work the damn thing. Oh Hoorah! I just find it very hard to believe that if some group of chosen Jews- rabbis no less, has knowledge above and beyond the King James Version, that they would feel the urge to share it with whitey white. I mean if said knowledge does exist on earth, and the all mighty wanted everybody to get in on it, don't you think he could have spammed us by now? Anyway, I'm really trying to keep an open mind. My boyfriend swears Qabalah changed his life. I haven't seen the proof. At any rate, he is excited that I'm reading it and convinced it will change my life as well. We shall see.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:53 AM | Permalink

So, nothing new to report. Except that my good buddy Dave gave me a long over due phone call. I thought I was dead to him since my relationship with his best friend ended badly over 2.5 years ago. But Dave said he still has love for me. I say this with love and the upmost respect, Dave- POST ALREADY! Anyway I've been thinking about something lately and in an effort to get it out of my mind I thought I would share it with the world. (aka the 2.3 people that read this blog) OK so here goes. I get a lot of questions/comments about my nose ring. I've had it since I was nineteen. Most people want to know if it hurt. Some strangers just want to let me know that they don't normally like them but the one I have is cute. (2mm ball stud) And third, of the most popular comments is " I had my nose pierced but it wouldn't heal so I had to take it out." That comment is often coupled with the disgusted look of jealousy. I tell them that mine wouldn't heal either until it met concrete under 140 pounds of pressure. Actually 140 pounds dropped from 6 ft in the air. But we'll have to come back to that. It all started one night when I was at work (Seattle Connection Cafe). Mr. Caramel Latte showed up for the usual. He always came to the counter with a smile on his face but tonight his eyes were lit up as well. Same chit chat as always-how are you? etc. After we exchanged latte for money, he lingered with something in his hand. He asked if I liked Bush (the band you perv!) Of course I did, it was 1996. Then he said he had tickets to the Goo Goo Dolls/Bush/No Doubt concert at the Boutwell later that night but his friends told him he was too old for that kind of thing. I can't remember anything I said because well- I had been crushing on this guy for the whole 6 months that I had been slinging capuccinos. All I remember is he was tapping those tickets on the counter and starring right into my eyes the whole time we were talking. Oh! yea, and I was about to pass out because in my little 19yr old mind I just knew he was about to ask me to go with him! He asked a couple more questions- "can you get off work?", "do you have someone that can go with you?" then just like that he threw the tickets in the tip jar, said have fun and left. I closed up the shop, called Tori and we got to the auditorium just after No Doubt left the stage. Being the mosh pit junkies that we were, we didn't have to be asked twice by the mammoth redneck guys standing next to us, if they could lift us up for a good crowd serfin' safari. Can you guess what's about to unfold? Yep, I got dropped on my face. All 140 pounds of me from 6 feet in the air hit; solid, nasty as hell, wet- from God only knows what, face to concrete.( I never got the stain out of my shirt) Go ahead, laugh all you want, I've heard all the jokes. Everyone who saw my face starred in horror as I made my way to the ladies room to clean the blood from my nasal jewelry. My face was numb, so Tori and I went back out there and saw the rest of the show. It actually turned out to be a good thing. My nose healed up for good and I haven't had a problem since. Here comes the what if. Now, it is a relevant fact that anyone who has ever tried to play the "what if" game with me has been stopped right in their tracks. Especially boyfriends who were just trying to pick a fight or ask me something without having to ask by saying those two stupid little words what if... It literally makes me angry to even hear someone say those words to me. But in my own head the "what if" demons will not be hushed. And the next day after that concert I couldn't help but wonder, when Mr. Crystal Blue Eyes I mean Mr. Caramel Latte asked if I had someone to go with, What if I said "yea, you." I have seen Caramel Latte a hand full of times since that night. And he has never so much as hinted any feelings for me. I found out where he worked purely by accident one day. And the last time I "ran into" him there he asked if I remembered him. "Of course I do! Say, would you like to go out sometime?" Well, What if I had really said that.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 11:24 AM | Permalink

If you've ever gone to a bar to see a certain band play I'm guessing you have also spent some time deciding what to wear. Whether it's 5 minutes starring at your open closet or a 45 minute personal fashion show it's something everyone thinks about. Have you wondered what it's like for the band? Yea, me neither- until last night when I was surrounded by what could have passed for the next cast of the surreal life.

My boyfriend's bandmates were here getting ready to play a show for the def-rock crew at Sobo. And after loading up all the equipment and instruments it came to one guy's attention that his bandmate had on an apparently offensive Mickey Mouse shirt. If fact it was so offensive to the other band members that for at least 30 minutes they begged and pleaded with him to turn it inside out. At one point I heard someone say "Dude, I am not walking out on stage if you wear that shirt" reply-"Dude, I'm not turning my shirt inside out. I'm not in f-ing high school anymore." Luckily, I came to the rescue with a 20 year old, bright yellow, Jaguar logo T-shirt that satisfied everyone involved.

My question is this, since when did the right t-shirt make the music sound better? Of course, I didn't have the balls to ask the band. By the by- I'm told the show was a success.