What the Dojo Did

This is the Dojo:

 

This is what the Dojo did:

The Dojo is not a killer.  The guy at the fish store pinched this goldfish really hard when he took it from the net.  He gave me lots of attitude when I said the fish didn't look okay to me - it was swimming upside down in the baggie, bobbling all around.  It had been fine until he pinched it.  But this guy at the fish store snorted at me and gave me a dirty look, mumbling something about exotics, rolling his eyes, like I was some - what?  He snorted at me like I was a Wal-Mart patron, riding my motorized scooter into his fancy-schmancy restaurant where they use table crumbers and sell goose livers.

I should have mailed him the head, with this note:

Pinchey,

You're next.

--  The Dojo

 

The Dojo is very hungry all the time.

The Dojo is my favorite.

ps - there is a picture of me getting Chuck P's signature at The Cult

Great Potential for Major Seismic Activity

People of Planet Earth:

I am very late to acting class, but I had to tell you that Mister Handsome will not come out from under the bed.  In fact, he's even gotten his sister, The Prettiest Ninn, to go under there too.

Somewhere soon on Planet Earth there will be some major seismic activity.  Mark Mister Handsome's...being under the bed.

Okay - outtie.  Hope I don't get shot in the head on the freeway.

One Down

Yes, it's one down, two to go.  I've already told myself that it's inevitable.  I've already planned the next fishes - guppies, I think - should these not make it.  Guppies will have sex, and I can buy plastic grass for the babies to hide in.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  These goldfish have a real chance.  They have a filter, and sufficient space.  I suppose I should get them some sort of decor, so they are not bored to death.  This morning, as I avoided getting out of bed, I contemplated various scapes to place behind the tank.  My list of possible scapes included:

One of those moving waterfalls they sell on street corners, the kind used to advertise beer in the 1980's.

Mars, or outer space.

A coral reef.  I know it's standard, but it would be more attractive than Mars.

The Grim Reaper, since he's obviously been hanging around the tank.

Colored tin-foil, sculpted into a pleasant, three-dimensional faux rock wall.

A mural of underwater creatures, all staring straight ahead, and including octopuses, giant squids, those fish that have the lures coming off of their heads, and maybe lobsters having sex.

Did you know that lobsters urinate all over each other when they have sex?  They do.  I've ordered a book on it.  I will keep you posted.

Did you know that my friend's fetus is now urinating inside of her?  She is at week 14, and has received an e-mail telling her about the urinating.  What is most disturbing is that the e-mail describes the baby as being the size of a jumbo shrimp.

Last week, they told her it was a slice of lime.  We both agree that slice of lime is a far better image than jumbo shrimp. 

Jumbo shrimp does this to me:  I picture a tough, boiled shrimp, sans tail, ready for cocktail sauce.  Then, I picture it somehow imbedded in my abdomen, like a transporter experiment gone horribly wrong, like a scene from The Fly 3.  When I imagine an overcooked jumbo prawn inside of me, I imagine I'd do anything to get it out.

Things I am feel okay about when I picture them inside my abdomen:

A slice of lime

A snapdragon

Bubblegum

Maraschino cherries

Klonopin

Things I am not okay with, when I imagine them being on the inside of me:

Pens and/or pencils

Jumbo shrimp

S.O.S. scouring pad

Nickels

Peanut shells

Paper clip

Bezoar

Fiberglass

Thorazine

Spider and/or spider eggs

Surprisingly, I'm not terribly disturbed by the idea of a tapeworm inside of me.  I mean, that is where they go.  I do not like the idea of a tapeworm gone awry, ending up in my brain or muscle or something.  But, a tapeworm in the guts is far better than a jumbo shrimp.

Pregnant ladies - please tell me the sorts of things your zygote/embryo/fetus has been compared to, and how it makes you feel.

Mister Handsome and the Earthquakes

Dear blog,

Mister Handsome has been hiding under the bed on and off all week.  The last time he hid like this was when the earthquake hit in December.  There was an earthquake in the ocean the other day, and he came out after it was done.  Then, he went back in, and didn't come out until there was an earthquake in Alaska.

He was in all this morning.  He's out right now, but I don't think he will be for long.  I think he's just getting some water.

Other animals are doing it too.  Like, Lucy the dog has been hiding under a table all week, and she doesn't ever even talk to Mister Handsome.

Maybe everyone should grab a flashlight.  Just in case.

29 and holding

Will someone please buy me a t-shirt that says "29 and holding" for my birthday?  My birthday is next Friday.  A cute baby-tee, maybe blue, would be nice.  Thanks.

I found out yesterday that one of my short stories, Disposal, is going to be published by The Madison Review this December.  I would like to express gratitude to a) The Madison Review, and b) the one who inspired the story.  I would send flowers, except I don't talk to that person anymore.  It is for the best - even so, I am thankful, so I will tell the blog about that.  The blog can take it.  Can't you blog?

I found out yesterday that another of my stories is going to be published in Vortical Magazine, but I do not yet have the details.

I found out yesterday that I will live in a white house in the hills when I move from my apartment.  A psychic said so.

Why is it still cold out?  Where is the earthquake?

Soon, I get to go to the neurologist.  Again.  If they do another brain scan, I'll request some pics for you, dear blog.  I have an MRI from a few years ago, but it's really quite boring.  Just veins like lightning bolts in some dull cloud.  Is that all I am?

 

I want one of those multi-colored brain pictures that you see on the Discovery Channel when they talk about drugs or sex.  Do you think, if I talked about drugs and/or sex before and/or during my brain scan, they would give me a special, colored print?

When I got the first MRI, I felt odd and confused afterwards, and I hugged the technician.  I almost kissed him.  I felt like making out with him.  Why do you think that happened?  He gave me prints of my brain afterwards.  Maybe I need to do things like that more often.  Or, maybe I would be a more loving person if I had some oscillating magnets to accompany me through my days.  And nights.  That'd be an even better effect at night, don't you think?

ps - this really is my brain, maybe plotting a make-out session with the guy running the machine.

pps - do you think my brain is cute?

Pregnant Ladies of the World Are Awesome

A fun trick:  do a yahoo search for "symptoms of having a girl" and see what you get.  Guess what comes up second?  This blog and, by extension, you, who are at this very moment reading my blog.  We are awesome and famous, and totally connected to pregnant ladies.  To propel us further into pregnant lady stardom, I must mention something about having baby girls.  I think that was good enough.  Baby girl.  Maybe...wait - what are the symptoms of having a baby girl?  I'm gonna do some research for the pregnant ladies, as a thank you for coming to my site.

1.  Bigger right breast.

2.  Seek the opinion of a five-year old.  They know what sex it is.

3.  If you are sort of being an asshole, you probably have a girl inside of you.

4.  If God comes to you and tells you you are going to have a girl, he's right!  Just wait and see!

I'm not making this stuff up.  If I made it up, it'd be things like:

1.  Watermelon makes you vomit.

2.  You want to touch baby grand pianos, badly.

3.  Knives seem like a good thing to carry around.  For protection.

4.  The idea of painting anything - a wall, a nail - reminds you of being smothered to death, and you find a need to nap for several hours after thinking such things.

5.  The baby boy-who-is-not-to-be comes to you in a dream, telling you all of the things he would have done with his life if he had ever existed.  You never dream of a baby girl, though.  She's busy with other things.

6.  You feel like someone doesn't like your outfit, even though you're alone in your house watching TV.

7.  Your hair starts falling out like crazy.  You keen and wail while stuck in traffic.  You miss your period - emotionally, you miss it.

I guess I shouldn't be so proud about my vicarious position within the world of pregnancy superstition.  Non-pregnancy runners up include emotional incest and body dysmorphic disorder.  I'd say that's about right.  O my, and the first page to come up is really a page about that lady who kept dried out dead babies up in her attic.  God, can't anyone say anything nice about having a baby girl?

On the "symptoms" boards for pregnant ladies, 50% of the posts are titled "help," or "please help me somebody please!!!!" or "need help!!!!!!!"  Would somebody please help these pregnant ladies?

Finally, I'd like to give a shout-out to the amnion-dwelling creatures inside my friends Amy and Kristen, even if they are not girls.  But, if they are, they can so totally wear cute little denim skirts and floppy sun hats together.

Pregnant ladies - if you like my ideas for the symptoms of having a baby girl, let me know, and I'll cook one up for the symptoms of having a boy.

No-ways

I just watched Sideways.  It is horrible.  Why didn't anyone stop me, warn me, tell me?  I want my hours back.  I am offended and I would like an apology.

Latchkey blog

Poor blog.  I've left you alone for all of this time.  I get ideas of things to feed to you, bring to you, but I just don't have the heart to really give something to you, to give and let go.  Maybe, once I start yoga.  Maybe, twice I start singing lessons.  Maybe the third time will be the charm, when I go to Disneyland.

I will be going to Disneyland in eight days.  Maybe that perverted Tigger will grope me.  One can dream, can't one?  One can wish upon a star?

It is Disneyland's birthday.  The TV told me so.  It is almost my birthday.  Disneyland and I are both coming up on a big "o" birthday.  Is Disneyland a Taurus?  I bet it's a Gemini.  I don't think a Taurus would have a secret underground labyrinth of workers.  I think the food would be better if Disneyland were a Taurus.  I'd like to go to the Scorpio Disneyland.  I think, at the Scorpio Disneyland, you'd get electric shocks when you touched anything metal, like the iron fence outside the castle, or the bars that hold you into your ride.  Scorpio Disneyland wouldn't shock you every time you touched metal, just sometimes.  Other times, you'd get cotton candy and fireworks.

Did you know that my favorite CD is still Boys for Pele?

Look at this, blog - us bonding in this way.  Me telling you my secret thoughts.  Did you know I made out with a parrot today?  I think he wanted my eye.  I would have regurgitated something for him, if I had had anything worth regurgitating.  He was asking for it.

I guess he's like you, then.  But I do have a few scraps for you, blog.  O, blog, I have whole slabs of meat for you, but they're immediately going into the curing room these days.  My inner butcher does not want to expose fresh meat so much these days.  My inner butcher is sharing his duties with my inner gravedigger.  I must get the inner body snatcher to start digging, and then I will bring you a bounty, sweet blog.

If my mind were a backyard, the ground would be covered in those little mounds that cartoon dogs leave after they bury their bones.  Who is the dog, though?  Am I the dog, blog?

I think I am the girl watching from the window, getting a sick feeling in her stomach, watching the dog do those things.  I think, watching the dog, the girl gets a burning feeling in her arms like she's been awake for days, holding up the walls.