I bought a little, piece of shit digital camera this afternoon. You know what that means. I'm probably going to have a site devoted only to my photos in the near future. :)

Not to mention, I'll finally be able to reach my dream of online porn super-stardom. :) Now my boobies will be known worldwide!

Me & Megan, my niece, outside my brother's house this afternoon. 

Meg asking me if I poop. 

Isn't my little munchkin a cutie pie? 

Megan & her weird aunt Twiss 

Green, green, & growing things

I've had this obsession...um, no...wrong word. Preoccupation? Yeah, that's it. I've had this preoccupation with drawing trees over the past week or so.

I've never been much of an artist, really. My dad bought me endless sketch pads & pencils when I was a kid, but I never used any of them. It just wasn't my thing. But over the last week, I've been letting the little kids in my group at work express their feelings & thoughts through art. While they've been working & talking to me, I've found myself drawing trees. Over & over & over. Trees with green leaves, scarlet leaves, orange, & even purple leaves. Beautiful vibrant trees.

It's been so therapeutic & calming. And the trees are getting prettier & prettier. Who knows? Perhaps I'll draw a tree so big, beautiful, & brilliant that everyone will love me forever & ever & ever.

Chris, Burns, & Me at the 2003 Ohio Renaissance Festival. (Neato! I can post pictures now!!!)  

A Date

This past Thursday Rob called me & asked me out. Apparently he & his girlfriend broke up last Friday & he's now free to date. Well, this sounded terribly convenient to me & I told him so. But I thought, "What the fuck? Why not? If he says they're broken up, as far as I'm concerned they're broken up." So I accepted.

He picked me up last night (Friday) & we...or rather...I decided that we would see Hero. The movie was fucking amazing! Breathtaking cinematography! Kick ass fight scenes! It was so beautiful & mystical, & so moving. And yes, I cried a little. :)

Afterwards, Rob & I both wanted to see it again, however there were no later showings. After a bit of deliberation, we found ourselves at the Sound Factory where they were having a benefit concert for Adam Weaver, a local guy with Hodgkin's disease. Noizbox, who describe themselves as "An enormous glob of power-driven rock-n-funk-n-roll madness!" was playing. I concur with their description. They definately rocked out! :) With lots of funky changes in their music, ass-kicking bass, weird noizes, high-pitched squeaky almost robotic singing changing to loud, harsh angry yells, Noizbox certainly has a very different & intellectually stimulating sound.

I had seen Noizbox a few times before, but watching them with Rob was a bit more enjoyable as he used to play drums for them. Every song that they played, Rob gave me a bit of history on how or when the lead singer wrote it & why it was brilliant. :) After the show, we chatted with the bassist, Roadblock or Jason, & the drummer, Vince. I harrassed the lead singer to bring me a copy of their single next show and then Rob & I headed back to my apartment.

All in all I had a really great time. We saw an excellent movie, heard some awesome music, had good conversation, & ended the night with very nice kissing & such. Very nice.

Now the problem is this: I think I kinda like him a little. And he's got that whole breaking-up-with-the-girlfriend drama going on. I really don't want drama or any kind of icky, gooey mess.

*sigh* Ah, well. It's already in motion. I'd really like to see him again. We'll see.

To live in the moment
And never beyond
And never beyond

Ya know what's really kind of weird?

Finding your sister's hot pink panties in your dryer and not knowing quite what to do with them.

Wow. People really read my journal.

Well, Sheila, it seems we've got a case of "he said, she said" going on that's put us both in an uncomfortable position. Especially me. I feel terrible right now. Thank you for contacting me to give me your input.

I apologize for bitching about you & calling you a couple of less than pleasant & seemingly unwarranted names. My journal is how I deal with my stress...counseling for the counselor...so every emotion comes out raw, icky, & pure. Again, I'm sorry. Perhaps it's not too late for opinions to be reevaluated. I hope that we can start with a fresh slate & smile when we next meet, instead of hurling rotten eggs & tomatoes at one another. ;)

As far as Steve goes, I don't know what his motivation was for telling me those things. Perhaps he was trying to accommodate us in the best way he knew how…attempting to keep us from stepping on each other’s toes? I don’t know. He is rarely malicious, but I don’t know. He also told me that I was judgmental & I try too hard. (his opinions of me) On his better days he is less than tactless.

Again, I’m terribly sorry. Thanks so much for setting the record straight, and I hope it’s not too late for us to be pleasant to one another, if not friendly. For what it’s worth, you have a lovely family that I admire very much. Take care.

Nothing more, Nothing less

Man! I wanted to bitch so bad yesterday, but I couldn't 'cause this fucking thing was down! Fuck monkey ass shit bitchcock bitch!!!! Catharsis.

Anyway, I was in a cruddy mood yesterday. I worked from 8:30 to 6pm, and was exhausted from the night before because I had spent two hours talking down a suicidal former patient from the methadone clinic. (The patient looked me up in the phone book & called me. Yeah. I tried to refer him to the Prestera Crisis line, 911, the methadone clinic, & Highland but he wasn't having it.) So being really tired, I was cranky & had a headache. After my groups, I thought my day was going to get better, but I was wrong. :) A kid freaked out & had a two hour screaming/crying, flailing around on the floor episode in my office. I had to restrain him twice.

After that things went pretty smoothly, however, and I thought that the day might just turn around. I certainly thought so when I received an invitation from Steve to see Exorcist: The Beginning free of charge (courtesy of Rock 105). I accepted. He told me that his neighbor, Jessie, and his neighbor's wife would be attending the movie as well. I've met Jessie & Sheila a handful of times and they seem like very nice people, so I suggested that we sit with them at the movie & hang out a bit afterward. Steve said, "I don't think that's a good idea." I replied, "Why?" To which he replied, "Because Sheila doesn't like you."

This totally blew my mind. I expressed my incredulity to Steve & he said, "Not everybody has to like you, Christina." And I know that. I don't expect them to, but I don't know the girl. She doesn't know me well enough to not like me. I've seen her in passing & had small talk conversation with her. It just doesn't make sense.

I expressed this to Steve & he informed me that she told him she didn't like me after my brief conversation with her & her husband at Day on the Green. She told him that she thought that I was fake. What the fuck?!?! I think I talked about the weather & the bands that day. Small talk.

Well, I shrugged it off. Thinking, fuck it, it's no big deal. So went to the movie & Steve decides to sit next to Jessie & Sheila. Great. So I was a little uncomfortable. We watched the movie (which was predictable & boring, with overly dramatic, uninteresting dialogue) and afterwards stopped outside the door to process what we had just seen. So we engaged in more small talk. Great.

After Jessie & Sheila drove away, Steve told me that she had leaned over and whispered to him, "Why the fuck did you have to bring her?".

I had no opinion of this Sheila chick up until this point. I had filed her away on an index card in a filing cabinet in my brain as : Sheila - blonde, cute, wife of Jessie - neighbor & coworker to Steve Perry, ex-boyfriend. Nothing more, nothing less. I didn't know her well enough to form an opinion or judgment of her character & personality. Honestly, I still don't.

But, hot-fucking-damn! If someone can take a total of 30 minutes friendly, interaction & evaluate my fucking personality & character, she needs to do my fucking job!!! Bitch!

So I guess the index card in my brain card file of people now goes something like this: Sheila - stupid cunt, blonde, cute, wife of Jessie - neighbor & coworker to Steve Perry, ex-boyfriend. Nothing more, nothing less.

but I thought you saw
'cause you made me feel
beautiful

Jaggermeister-covered nipple, anyone?

Last Saturday night, Rose & I drove down to they Monkey to see Split Nixon & BobaFlex. Darling that she is, she let me drive her Benz! As indicated by the exclamation point, I enjoyed driving that vehicle...perhaps too much. Every time I drive it, I want one and I become discontent w/ my own little rusty, mottled mode of transport. See! Here's a perfect example! Desire = Suffering!!!! (I'll bet Chris is rolling his eyes at me right now.)

Anyway, we watched SN, which Rose enjoyed, and then BobaFlex, which frightened her. Poor Rosie. During one song, BobaFlex always has all the ladies come up on stage to hump at them..um..I mean dance, while they perform. Well, they called the women to the stage and several, including Rose & I just stayed in the audience. Marty McCoy (vocals & guitar) pointed back at a couple girls, unsuccessfully ordering them on stage. And then his attention shifted to Rose. He pointed at her and asked her to come up. I saw her eyes widen slightly with realization that he was talking to her. She visibly stiffened, her smile frozen in place as it always does when she's nervous, and shook her head quickly from side to side. I'm almost certain I could hear her heart pounding from where I was standing next to her.

After the show, little Marty (he's about 5'4") approached her and asked he why she didn't come up on stage. My sweet sister told him honestly that he and the rest of BobaFlex frightened her. To quote her: "I don't know if I'm getting old or what, but you guys scare me!" He then tried to convince her that she wasn't too old for him, etc. Quite amusing.

I introduced Rose to Jason, Scott, Jamie, & Brian (Split Nixon), who she didn't find terrifying. She got caught up on all the CASCI gossip through conversing with Shauna while I had drunken conversation with whoever the hell would talk to me. I obtained a new, glossy 8 x 10 of Split Nixon & had them sign it, making sure that they personalized it. (Hmmm...it's amazing how about 30 minutes of hilarity and bullshitting can be cut down to one sentence.)

I then joined Matt Wolfe & a Jaggermeister bottle in a couple of goofy pictures. After we had our wicked way with the bottle, we passed it on to a young, brunette, hot thing. First, she put it between her boobs and squeezed them together. In my drunken state, I decided that it was a good idea to shout out, "Show your nipple!" In her drunken state, she thought it was a good idea to follow my advice. She poured a bit of Jaggermeister on the tip of her tata and posed for a picture. Her daddy will be very proud, I'm sure. :)

Set It On Fire, Mama!!!!

This Thursday I caught the Pistol Whippers at the Monkey with Nikki. They "set it on fire" performing Haunted Whorehouse, Chevy Mandango, Roller Derby, Who's your Daddy & other of their ass kicking, hillbilly punk rock tunes. :) We had a great time & afterwards shot the shit with the lead singer (Brian aka. Guy Parker) & the drummer (Rob aka. Lance Steel). I tried to finagle a copy of their first CD, The Fat, the Bald, & the Ugly to no avail. They didn't have any, but promised to get me a copy if I came to their show at the Empty Glass the following night.

The Battle of the Bands & A Boy

Well...I made it out to the Glass on Friday, but I was a wee bit late for the show. As in Rob was packing away his drums when I got there. So I chatted for a bit and then made my way down to the Sound Factory to watch the Rock 105 Battle of the Bands. The competitors were Professor Mike, Shorthrow, Thurst, Split Nixon, & two other bands I can't recall at the moment. All of the bands played their hearts out, however Split Nixon prevailed in the end. As many times as I've seen them, their performance really impressed me! They had so much energy! I suppose it was the competative nature of the thing that fueled them. At any rate, they won the opportunity get open for Shinedown, Collective Soul, & Eight Days Gone on September 3rd at the Regatta this year. Congratulations boys!

(Speaking of the Regatta on September 3rd, the Murder Mystery party that Crystal & Shawn are hosting is on the 4th, so all those staying with me that weekend should come with me to check out Split Nixon, Shinedown, Collective Soul, & Eight Days Gone on the 3rd! I promise it'll be more amusing than sitting in the floor of my apartment playing drinking games & drunken twister. )

After rejoicing for a few moments with Jason, Brian, Scottie, Jamie & their ladies, I wandered back down to the Empty Glass to have a beer & chat with the Whippers. Rob had an extra CD in his car, so I obtained my coveted copy of The Fat, the Bald, & the Ugly. He & I talked for a whle. He's a really nice guy, funny, & intelligent (in spite of his self-proclaimed love affair with the reefer). Yeah...there was definately some attraction there, but he's got a girlfriend. Damn it! Why are all of the cuties that I'm interested in taken? Ah well. See! There it was again! Another example of desire = suffering. But then I rationalized that I'm cool as is, and I felt content again. See it does work! :)

Sunday, bloody, friggin', Sunday

So today I face the 2004 Garris Family Reunion in Camp Creek, WV. It's not the ideal way to spend my Sunday, however I suppose it'll be nice to see my uncles, aunts, & cousins. It's nicer to see them under these circumstances than under the circumstances of this June when my Uncle Elmer died. :( It will certainly be good to spend the day with my Mom, Dad, Wayne, Cheryl, & my precious little Megan Elayne.

I wonder if Meg will let me be "somebody" today? :)

Random Neural Firings on Communication, Impermanence, Death, & Happiness

More than a year ago I was ruminating on the imperfection of communication. I had had the realization that I will never be able to achieve perfect communication/communion with another due to semantics & the different life experience of, & therefore, different perspectives of each individual person.

This frustrated & distressed me to no end. Mainly because the only thing that I've ever really yearned for is perfect communication with another person. A lasting connection. An endless & perfect discourse. This is the thing that I viewed as my vision of happiness. This sought after perfect communication meant a kindred spirit husband that I could make love to every night and fall asleep cradling in my arms. This perfect connection meant, eventually, 2.5 kids & the white picket fence. It meant a constant perfect stimulating, entertaining, & fulfilling intellectual, physical, & emotional exchange.

And my realization of the impossibility of perfect communication meant, for me, the realization that I would never achieve my vision of happiness.

During that time, a friend observed that I was seeking this communion in order to make myself complete through connectedness with another person. He brought to my attention the fact that my intense desire for this connection was causing me suffering. It was making me discontent with my situation. I was not focusing on & accepting what was...I was focusing on what should be. On what I desired. He pointed out that if we accepted the fact that we are all ultimately alone inside ourselves, then we would be able to find contentment and completeness in and of ourselves. And anyone we held communion with after realizing that contentment in ourselves would just accentuate our happiness.

In recent months I've been struck by the understanding of the impermanence of our lives & everything. I was born & I will die. We are all dying a little each day. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. Morning, noon, evening, night. Baby, child, teen, adult, elder. Seed, sprout, grow, wither. Cycles & circles. Everything has a beginning. And every beginning has an end.

I realized that if I do ever achieve that perfect communion that I had been seeking, that my communication with falter, my kids will grow up, my husband will grow old & die or perhaps leave me for another "blond with big tits & an ass that tastes like french-vanilla ice cream", and the sparkling white paint on my picket fence will weather, crack, & fade. And I understood that the impermanent nature of everything meant that we can never own anything for any longer than a moment. We can never hold anything for any longer than a moment. We hold things, touch people, communicate with one another for only a moment...and then the moment is done. And you have your memories, but those will fade as well. We are born naked & alone. We live alone. Among others, yes, but alone in our individual perceptions. And we will all die alone, taking nothing & no one with us when we go.

In trying to take each moment for what it is, a moment that will slip through my fingers like sand, I am learning to yearn less for those things that I do not hold. And little by little, I am becoming more content with what is. And I do not regret all that is not. I just accept that it is not.

This is not to say that I don't have desires. I do. Believe me I do. I still would like to be a mother one day. I still want to marry a man who will stimulate & challenge me by day & burn my flesh with passion by night. I still wouldn't mind a picket fence with a nice, reliable vehicle parked in the driveway. I still want to learn how to play guitar and be a rock superstar. :) But if I don't attain, achieve, or experience these things, it's okay.

I am or have been a girl, a woman, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a niece, a friend, a girlfriend, a lover, a fiance, the "other woman", a student, a writer, a poet, a singer, a lyricist, a joker, a musician, a dancer, a thinker, a feeler, a dreamer, an outcast, a counselor, a patient, a clinician, a skinny girl, a voluptuous woman, a computer geek, a band-aid, a fan, a seductress, a liar, a cheater, a drug user, an enemy, religious, profane, reliable, unreliable, pragmatic, idealistic, ambivalent, stubborn, coy, shy, bold, direct, quiet, loud, happy, enraged, jealous, melancholy, remorseful, surprised, delighted, disappointed, hungry, sated, empty, filled, envied, loved, desired, hated.

I have lived. I have had so many moments, which I only hold now in my memory. And one day, I will lose them altogether. But why should I fill myself with discontent over what was that is or will be lost, what is not, & what may never be? I may never add the titles of "mother", "bride", "wife", or "rock star" to my list. And that's okay. I have had so much. And I accept each moment for what it is & live in that moment.

It's so strange. For the first time in my life, I am unfraid of death. I am becoming content with who I am, accepting what has been & what is, & not worrying so much about what will or wil not be. I can accept death if she comes for me, because I am learning to accept each moment as it comes. And if it ends, well...then it ends. :)

I have a fucking sweet announcement! (And when I say "sweet", I mean totally awesome.)

Ready? Okay...here it is. I contracted oral gonorrhea from Josey Scott, lead singer of Saliva, the night that I gave him the "Best Blow Job Ever!" Isn't that cool? I mean...it wasn't like it was just meaningless oral sex. It wasn't like he just used my orifice for his pleasure. He gave me something!! It meant something, damn it!!!!

Alright. All tomfoolery aside, I'm actually excited because commenting is once again functional on this website! Yay! (I know...not nearly as exciting as oral gonorrhea, but what'cha gonna do?)

Now that you guys can comment, it means that Steve, Brian, and all of you other people out there who have been or will be offended or pissed at something I've written, can bitch at me instantly!!!!!!! Pretty cool, eh? No more waiting around and then making phone calls in the middle of the night!!! Nope!! Not for my readers! First class, online commenting by Haloscan all the way!

~Disclaimer~ The above mention of Josey Scott giving me oral gonorrhea is a joke and is not meant to slander Mr. Scott in any way. As far as I know, neither Josey Scott nor I have gonorrhea of any kind. And I never have or will give him a blow job. Please don't sue me.

You choose your own pain.

Throwing Copper

Last night I had the pleasure of watching Copper play at the Sound Factory in Charleston. After a few minor technical difficulties involving the lead singer's microphone, they turned it around and fucking rocked the hizzle!!!

I saw them for the first time at JaggerFest back at the beginning of June and bought their CD that night. I had them all sign it and then said, "Thanks boys. Now I can sell this on Ebay when you're famous." They sort of glared at me a little. But it turns out that the CD was so good that I didn't sell it. Instead, I've kept it in my CD player and became quite fond of a few tracks.

After the show last night, I talked with the band for a bit about the lack of promotion for this show and what not. I ragged the lead singer, Keith, about going to high school at Shady Spring High, which happened to be the high school sports arch enemy of my alma mater, Liberty High. He's a small man and during our conversation, he paused and said, "I just realized that I'm looking up at you!" He then put his arm around my waist and yelled over for the bass player to look, "Hey Brad! What's wrong with this picture?!" I agreed that I was a fucking huge woman and he was quite a little man. So little in fact that his head only came up to my shoulder. To make him feel better I made a comment about most famous rock n' rollers of the past being smallish people. Or maybe I just thought it. After five New Castle's and a shot of Jaggermeister, (courtesy of the lovely Rossiland Turk) I was a little tipsy.

After that I found myself talking to the drummer, another little guy named Brack. Of course, the obvious comment was, "Brack? Like the guy from Space Ghost?" I acknowledged the fact that I was probably not the first person to note his connection to the cartoon character. And I learned that he did not know the "I love beans" song. He never gets the watch the show, he said. I think it must come on past his bed time or something. :)

I also talked a bit with the bassist, Brad, & the guitarist, Shawn Lickliter. I remember Shawn's last name because he corrected my pronunciation of it (I thought it was Licklitter...like kitty litter) and then said, "Nope..Lickliter. You know...like lick lighter, not harder."

I think when I was saying goodbye to them I said something to the effect that I had enjoyed the show and meeting them, and that they were all very nice little men. Then someone made the comment, "You know what they say about little men..."

But I don't know what they say about little men. I really don't.

Tonight I'm heading out to catch Split Nixon and Bobaflex at the Monkey with my sis and her former coworkers. It's gonna be an excellent show! Rock n' Roll, baby!

Oh yeah...Wayne taught me how to play Dust in the Wind today. I'm slow, but one day even Eddie VanHalen will bow down to me. Um...right. :)

a communion of flesh
in and out
the resounding of heavy breathing
impish fire on my tongue
lust writhing under red sheets
if I concentrate, I can almost still feel you
warm
but then again, nothing is as real as real
in and out
the tracing tendrils of ecstasy
indulge my addiction
partake of this holy sacrament
a communion of flesh


See! This is what happens to me if I don't get deep dicking! I start writing crappy un-poetry about passionate encounters.

*Sigh*

Neil Gaiman was right, man. Desire really is a fucking fickle, tricksy little bitch!!!!!

This morning I revisited all of the little nooks and crannys of my parent's backyard with my notebook in hand recording my thoughts. It's funny how every flower, every tree, every bush invokes memory and emotion.

I had forgotten the magic of this place.

I sit here now on a soft patch of green clover and grass looking up through the brown, skinny branches of my mother's bean tree. The sky is mostly grey with clouds, only patches of summer blue peeking through. The leaves of every tree and bush click together softly in the breeze.

A burst of sunlight filters down through the tree branches backlighting the leaves, illuminating them to every vibrant shade of green. I lean back on one elbow, forgetting my notebook for a moment, and close my eyes. The air smells of earth and green, growing things. I open my eyes and watch the tops of the neighbor's poplar trees wave right to left and back again. They always reminded me of showgirls dancing when the wind blew.

My parent's home rests on the crest of a hill, overlooking a valley cut by a tiny ribbon of road lined with ancient, tattered coal camp houses. From my seat under the bean tree, I gaze to the west, across the valley at the writhing green sister of my hill. She's almost entirely covered with trees, wriggling in the breeze. All except for one large green clearing. It's always been there, that clearing. Inviting and green in the summer and spring, and barren and brown in the autumn and winter. And always empty. I used to want to go and lay right in the center of that field, so that, at least for a little while, it wouldn't look so terribly alone.

I leave my cushion of clover under the bean tree to stroll around and inspect the rest of the yard. Stopping where the steps to my grandmother's back porch used to be, I search the ground for the yellow bricks that once formed a path out to an outhouse that ceased to exist long before I was born. There just to the right of the apple tree stump I see an edge of yellow peeking out. Bending down, I pull at the moss and earth that covers the stones. The earth is rich, dark, and moist as it finds its way up under my finger nails. After a few moments and an earth worm, I've uncovered a yellow brick with the words "Olive Hill" carved into it's face. I was fascinated with this path as a little girl and with the carvings on the bricks. It always reminded me of a graveyard and of how my name will be carved on stone somewhere one day, and will eventually be covered and forgotten.

Leaving the buried yellow brick path, I walk around my grandmother's back porch to her side yard. Here are the cement-lined holes that once held the thick wooden posts of her clothes line. I recall Granny, blind and determined to be independent, counting her steps and feeling her way out to hang her "warsh" to dry in the sun. I often found her on her journey to the clothes line during my aimless childhood wanderings around the yard. I remember hanging clothes with those huge wooden clips and that fantastic huge wooden laundry basket that fascinated me so. Even still, nothing smells quite as clean and as simple to me as sun-dried laundry.

I walk toward the eastern fence to touch the little green bush whose leaves I used as money in my childish imaginings. My eyes travel to the lichen covered cherry and apple trees that line the side yard and then to the velvet, almost neon green moss stretched out on the ground between the money bush and a cherry tree. Bending down, I brush my fingers lightly over the surface of the moss.

Walking on around the front of the house, I find my grandmother's Rose of Sharon tree in full bloom. I pluck two flowers to give to my mother. I turn around to walk back into the side yard, my hand compulsively reaching out to the right to strip the leaves from a branch of the now unruly tree that once was a tame bush. Some habits die hard. I count twelve leaves in my hand and then throw them up into the air, watching them flitter down in the breeze.

I make my way back to the cherry tree that stands just to the right of the irreverently green, velveteen patch of mossy earth. My hand goes out, my callouses, newly acquired from fingering guitar chords, scrape across the brown bark and the seafoam colored lichen. I press my palm firmly against the tree surface and close my eyes. I hear the wind in the leaves, and smell the earth and grass. I feel the soothing caress of the breeze and the rough solidity of the living wood beneath my hand. I feel time and age in the tree...and something else. Something like a deep, smiling silence.

And I notice the contrast between the peaceful, silent, steady purpose of the tree and the chaotic, gnawing feeling in my breast.

I need peace. Silence. I need to cut away the noisy, bleating parts of my life. Become still. Let the rain and the night wash me clean, so that I may begin to grow. Unfettered in the sun.