“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid.

Because I’m not myself, you see.”

“Oh, my fur and whiskers!”

It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul.

— Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland.

At some point following the ecstatic professional news of Friday that I received (see below) and the depression I felt immediately following any Kentucky Derby after which a horse (particularly a talented filly) is euthanized (also, see below), I was in somewhere of the middle of finally archiving all of my legacy files onto my new laptop yesterday afternoon (still again, see below) when I realized that I had not been updating my blog with actual, true, real-life events. I had really only been focusing on self-imposed writing projects about ghosts and random vehicular accidents throughout the month of April, and not allowing the seven people who (may…who knows, at this point?) still read this thing glimpses into what is occurring in my real life. (I was depressed throughout most of the month of April, which is either deeply humorous or deeply ironic or both, considering that my newly-discovered natal chart is just filthy with the baby of the zodiac, i.e., Aries, who rules April. Consequently I kept most of my life updates confined to daily [hourly?] Tweets, since that rather concise context generally forces me to be more upbeat and positive regarding what I am writing about my life.) Anyway, apologies to any who just happened to stumble upon this via a Google search for “Small Dicks” or “Sideways Vaginas” (thank you so much, WordPress and Google, for maintaining that as my absolute and consistently number-one post, along with the anal rape post, which actually has nothing to do with anal rape); this is not a titillating entry, but instead, one with actual real (and potentially boring, if you do not know me) content.

To put all of this in a far more succinct way: consider this a random update.

So. Yet another horse wins the Kentucky Derby who was given a rather unfortunate name by his owner. Does the name “Big Brown” not convey unfortunate visual images of bowel movements to everyone who hears it, or is it just me? I mean, seriously, people, that is as bad of a name for a horse as “Rock Hard Ten” was way back in 2004. Can the owners at least try to preserve some of their horses’ integrity with their names while said horses are beating themselves up to win the race under tiny South American / Irish jockeys so that said owners can win the purse? I liked the ring of “Adriano,” myself, for my pick. (I also fancied his pedigree, obviously.) I also rather fancied the lilt of “Eight Belles” (Hillary Clinton’s official pick, by the way), and was sorry to see her (Eight Belles, not Hillary Clinton) shot down with two broken front ankles at the end of the race. It would have been nice to see the fourth filly win the Derby. However, as usual, I pick based on name, on pedigree, and on…emotion. And, as usual, it did not work out. But hey, Big Brown Bowel Movement, also as usual I am stepping up to your gate for The Preakness Stakes in two weeks and I will be demanding of you, shitty name or not, to give me a Triple Crown Winner. Actually not stepping up to the gate directly behind you, due to your namesake and an irrational fear of potentially being splashed with something, but still, I will be with you anyway, in spirit, as I am with all Derby winners, defecating name or not, in hopes that you will be our next Secretariat. As The Triple Crown Of Horse Racing is really now one of my few remaining pleasures in life (in addition to Marlboro Reds, cocktail hour, and my weekly tai chi chuan class, and doesn’t that all read particularly incongruously?!), you have certainly got to give me that.

Wow but there were a lot of excrement references and run-on sentences in that passage. I apologize ever so much.

I acquired a new laptop! I am still getting used to using the “pointing device” (hey, isn’t that usually called a “finger?!”), but I will learn because it is a beautiful thing with lots of memory that I will probably need in about fourteen days after I have finished archiving all of my legacy files and it has a built-in web cam. (Yes, I recently popped my web cam cherry. So odd that I waited until 2008 to do it, n’est-ce pas?) Also, I have returned to paying attention to my online presence because of this acquisition, for your information. This may or may not mean that I update, in some online area, on a daily basis. It also may or may not mean that I do this consistently. In either case, it is a beautiful piece of Pacific Blue hardware, and I am digging it rather appropriately. In my studio, at my local Starbucks, at the beach, et al.

(Did I mention that I defected from Mac to PC? *hangs head in abject shame* I felt super horrible about it when I met my Pseudo Big Sister for drinks and pupus earlier this week and we both pulled out our laptops to play. They were both sexy, of course, but they were both definitely what they were: an Apple and a PC. “Why did you defect to Apple, Darling?!” I inquired, scandalized. “Because of you!” she replied, mildly chastising, gesturing with a glance toward my own laptop. “Hmmm,” I replied, smiling crookedly, “funny how that happens, isn’t it? I defect to PC, and you and several other people in my life finally defect to Apple. Oh, well. What are we ordering?” As you can see, this really is not a big deal for me, someone who has worked on both forever, even though I have never personally owned anything but an Apple since my very first Apple IIe when I was a babe, but this is a story for another entry. Yes, I have a PC. Deal with it.)

I acquired a new mobile, as well (obviously it matches the new laptop in color). If you have been trying to get in touch with me and not reaching me, this is probably why. Get me your number in some fashion and that will be resolved, if you should like.

Attending, officially, The Third Annual Seed Conference in Chicago on 06 June 2008, so anyone who happens to be there should hit me up for a tour around my old hometown. As I am only there for, like, a day, really, subtracting the five thousand hours that it takes to fly from HNL to, well, anywhere, really, if you want to hang it had better be a good suggestion. I already have personal items such as “those cinnamon rolls for breakfast at the Belmont Ann Sather’s that make me ejaculate” and “that sausage pizza pie at Gino’s East that makes me ejaculate” and “finally see if I die on virgin voyage on that ferris wheel thing at Navy Pier” and “visit your Winnetka beach at sunset and try to remember exactly how you felt the first time you saw it while growing up” on my list for the day and a half that I am there, so you had best be quick and creative with your suggestions. Of course, I am most excited about the conference; it sounds like a wonderful experience.

And, yes, archiving legacy files. The Painter, when he heard of this endeavor three days ago, and heard what I was uncovering, remarked warily, “Oh dear! Is this going to mean another Camille-esque period of weeping and isolation?” Much to my surprise, I replied, “No. Actually. I am smiling a lot.”

I was even able to help out my Pseudo Big Sister with a writing project with which she had been tasked by her latest romantic interest. I loved writing it because I know her like the back of my hand and because from what she told me of the gentleman I knew I could pull out all stops, writing like I used to write, to all of my own previous lovers, and (because it was for her lover, and not mine) be completely uninhibited. I recycled a lot of words, from a lot of different sources. But if they were once irresponsibly used on one (or more) man (men?) in my life, who is to say that they might not be, this time, used responsibly on another man, in someone else’s life?

And I rather fancied that possibility.

I want us to both become confident of our connection to each other, to become intimately trusting of one another. I want us to spend our lives together, to share each other’s experiences, dreams, families. I want to fall asleep with you late at night, with your arms around me, holding me close, and keeping me safe, and wake up with you in the morning in the same pose, so that the safety of your strong arms sends me on through my day and gives me confidence that I could never stand taller in the world but with you beside me. I want to be the woman who greets you when you arrive home at the end of the day, with a kiss and an embrace and all of the adoration that I can give you, to show you how much you mean to me. I want to be that woman who is there for you, no matter what. I want you to be that man who is there for me, no matter what. I want to grow old with you. I want to sit with you on a lanai in the light of the setting sun twenty years from now, caress your hand, and whisper, “Stay with me forever?” And hear you whisper in reply, “Babe. I think we’re already there.” I want to be in love. With you. Stand still. With you. Jump into the abyss. With you. Forever.

Feeling so free to write these words (again, heavily borrowed from my own archives and from those of writers far more talented than myself), allowed me to step out of my current cynical, jaded world of love and romanticism, and to just…feel the…object…of the affection. Of course it also prompted me to send an e-Greeting to her from my new favorite e-Card site.

(As I am rather sure that she and I would both be doing that, even for her own, or “my own,” wedding.)

I smiled when she called me the morning after she read it to him, to tell me how much he loved it. I smiled while on the way to my tai chi chuan class later that morning. And I smiled, most definitely, when I received the next call on my mobile that announced that I had (FINALLY, right?!) been offered The Perfect Job: as a Marketing Designer for one of the largest financial institutions in The Islands.

And that, my friends, is how one navigates the heights of The Twin Spires, the depths of The Abyss, and back again, over the space of four days.

For as much as I am a naturally pessimistic crab, I am still, I realize, so much the optimist in terms of life, career, and…love.

And, only sometimes, in whatever way (vicarious or not), they all work out.

And make me smile a lot, unprompted, while walking through the sunlit streets of Downtown Honolulu, like a mindless, lunar idiot.

Post Script: Also, discovered that one of my favorite editors (and highly-respected writers) of my past is publishing yet another fantastic novel this year. Read it. It promises to be…infinite. (His mastery of syntax is epic.) I’ll leave you with a short teaser visual of the words. They remind me rather a lot of how I feel about this blog.