Saturday, May 03, 2003
freud would have gotten his rocks off

there's something very sexual about going to the dentist. all this talk of drilling and filling holes, that sterile little room with inexplicable instruments hanging everywhere, the supine position you're placed in, the fact that you've got your mouth wide open and several people have distinct advantage over you...

or maybe it's just that yesterday, i found my head nestled against my dentist's generous cleavage as she manuvered the inside of my mouth with a hand and a metal object.

but maybe it's not all dentists. maybe it's just my dentist. i'm not sure about her. the whole being-pressed-to-her-bosom thing was a bit much. i mean, photos of that situation could be sold to dental fetishists.

love, krissa .... 5:16 PM ... link!

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Friday, May 02, 2003

if anyone has any earthly clue as to why my webpage refuses to show up on my computer, even though it's currently showing up on yours, send me an email:

because i'm at a complete loss. i'm getting this "Under Construction" page instead and its driving me bananas.

and of course, blogger is never any help.

love, krissa .... 9:13 PM ... link!

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Thursday, May 01, 2003
lightning strikes

it was one of those summer afternoons that makes you want to peel your skin off, hang it on the nearest branch and go throw yourself into the east river. i had gotten too little sleep the night before, because the bed had trapped the heat from my bedroom window and was using its stored humidity to slowly suffocate me. all day at work, i had tottered around on my heels, pushing my brain through the fog.

as i walked home at six, the fading day's heat was a wet towel i struggled to get out from underneath. i trudged up my apartment stairs, knowing he'd be hanging out, as he'd been all day. when i got to the top landing, the door swung open. he was standing there, grinning a little at my exhaustion. seeing him there was like being greeted an affectionate cat who's been home alone all day. he handed me the phone. it was a friend of mine, who'd just called.

he led me to my favorite arm chair, near the window. he lit me a cigarette, and padding into the kitchen, returned with a glass of chilled white wine. then he sat down on the couch, quietly reading until i finished my phone conversation. when i hung up the phone, he came and sat closer, asking me how my exhausting day had been. we didn't talk much. dinner plans were half-heartedly made. it was a friday night, we were young, friends, and we couldn't think of anything better to do than just sit on the couch. we were exhausted.

out of nowhere, a breeze started to lift the curtains. night was falling, and a storm was rolling in from the west. as we sat in the window chairs, the sky shifted lazily from somber purple to a glowing green, with streaks of wild pink. he wandered over to the stereo, and surprised me by putting on a nat king cole record. the storm was starting to bare its teeth on our neighborhood, and all the lights in the living room were out except for one candle. i sat on the window ledge, watching the storm. he sat on the couch, watching me and the storm, waiting for rain.

unforgettable ... that's what you are.
unforgettable ... though near or far.
like a song of love that clings to me
how the thought of you does things to me...

i don't remember what we spoke about. or if we spoke at all. i know we watched the lightning. at some point, he came over and sat nearer to me, and looked out the window. the electricity i felt at his nearness felt like it would attract a bolt of zeus's errant flame and we'd both just explode into hot dust. we stared at the candle, at the kaleidescope of the stormy summer sky, at almost anything but each other. the lightning streaked through the colorful palette and thunder shook the ground enough to set off car alarms, but still no rain.

that's why darling, it's incredible
that someone so unforgettable
thinks that i'm unforgettable too.

the moment passed. the skies let loose their swaying, pendulous clouds and torrential rains smacked the hot new york streets. plants sucked it up. children ran outside to feel the pelting raindrops sizzle on sunbaked skin. the record ended. we decided on a dinner cafe and blew out the candle, only stopping in the middle of the dark room to smile at each other, perhaps to acknowledge the unspoken heaviness. then we went to dinner, and left our storm for another day.

that's why, darling, it's incredible ...

love, krissa .... 10:49 PM ... link!

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and there will be much gnashing of teeth

it seems my nay-sayers will be pleased. according to an online quiz, i belong in the
maleboge ... the eighth circle of hell. a sunny little place, reserved for the likes of, oh, the malicious, the fraudulent, and the panderers.

seems like i'd be in good company - hell, the entire mafia would be there and we know those boys are always a good time.

love, krissa .... 9:16 PM ... link!

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Wednesday, April 30, 2003
begin harmless innocuous post guaranteed to illicit elicit pity and cease quarrelling... NOW.

i'm sick. i never get sick. i don't like getting sick.

at present: my nose is stuffed up, my head hurts, my eyeballs hurt, my neck hurts, my throat hurts and my soul is in torture. this last one has nothing to do with my sinus infection.

things i want: a backrub. my mommy. ginger lemon tea. a clean room. someone to give me a bathtub bath. a nice fluffy clean white robe. some warm soup. someone to read a book to me. altogether less snot.

instead, i'm talking online to two of my
favorite people. and because i am Independent Woman of Substance, i will not wait for someone to give me a bath, make me soup, and put to bed, and get my act together, drag self to grocery store, and buy miracle tea ingredients like this sweetie is commanding me to do.

but not before i sniffle a little and bemoan my loneliness.


love, krissa .... 8:42 PM ... link!

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Tuesday, April 29, 2003
right next to "gullible" in the dictionary

someone explain to me the point of "joke" blogs. i don't get this. like
this blog? and its corresponding blog, written by her "adoring model boyfriend"? i mean, i get that it's fake. i do. but that doesn't make it interesting to read. so she's mocking a style of human being, right, the self-absorbed ditz? by writing a blog just like a self-absorbed ditz? i don't understand how this is really any kind of humor: wit, satire, commentary, or irony ... it's a one-trick joke.

and then you'll come across the blogs, like this one, that almost seem too have to much material invested in them to be fake. i mean, why would anyone go through so much trouble to write an entire fake blog, and a fake 100 things, to mock the classic southern redneck who's got a dixie flag on his 'vette and who says things like 'squirrel covers' for underwear and wants women to 'ride my 'stache'? i don't think that character would be all that funny in real life. much less on a blog.

the question becomes, where does the revealing journal-style of the blog end, and the fantasy world of blog-creation begin? is it a joke if the author never reveals the punchline - namely, 'ha ha, i'm kidding!'? is it a joke if you're cariacaturing real-life personalities that perhaps aren't as one-sided as 'vette-driving, 'stache-wearin' southern boys or self-absorbed princesses?

i don't know. i don't mean to insult these bloggers, or imply that they don't deserve to have weblogs. by all means, create as many fake blogs as you want. but for my two cents, the joke only lasts until you get it. and then it gets old.

love, krissa .... 9:44 PM ... link!

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Lighting a cigarette from the Easter candle?!?!? How dare you! Show some respect, literally, for Heaven's sake! Who do you think you are? An ignorant, immature little girl it sounds like, who wasn't reprimanded nearly enough growing up. Had I been there I would have plucked that cigarette right out of your mouth and thrown out the door. Who the hell smokes at Church?!? If you find Mass so bloody amusing, stop going before you offend other parishioners. Church is not a game- it's a place for those who are adamant and serious about practicing their faith. If you're there to just screw around without any intention to worship The Lord, leave His house until you can be mature enough to attend Church.

no email address was noted, or this editorial reply would have gone directly to our fire-and-brimstone righteously indignant reader.

editorial reply: a little appalled myself

appalled, there are many sins in the book of sins, but not having a sense of humor is certainly among the worst. let me tell you a little something about me, appalled -

i'm not religious. i don't believe one sees god in a church any more than one sees god in the faces of loved ones, in the heroism of humanity, in the curl of a leaf, in the swirl of a galaxy. i believe, too, that we see god in sin - we see god in the betrayal of trust, we see god in greed and vice, we see god in negligence and abuse. if there is a god, my friend, it has created everything around you.

including me. just. as. i. am.

i go to church, you self-important wanker, because i pay my respects to the deities i cherish - love and friendship and respect. the greek church means a lot to my father. he has lost most of his family and the greek orthodox church is his last connection to his childhood and his country. i go, every year, at easter. my father does not pretend that i go to seek salvation from god. he himself does not go to seek salvation. he goes to pay tribute to his ancestry, to say a silent 'i miss you' to his mother, and his father, and his brother. he goes to honor tradition. and he knows that i go with him, to honor him.

and his judgement, his understanding, is what matters to me. the judgement of those who matter to me is the only judgement that has an effect on me. not the church. not a thousand-year-old holy book written by gifted men who had an agenda, albeit an honorable one, of bringing morals and principles into the world through the tenets of religion. not even jesus, whom i regard as a right stand-up bloke with a good head on his shoulders and some very good principles.... and certainly not your judgement, my cowardly stranger friend.

so, yes, i lit a cigarette with an easter candle. in truth, i wasn't paying attention and automatically did it, only realizing later with a laugh what i'd done. but you know what, you sodding windbag? it's a candle. it's not my Light of God. and it's not your place to judge, or chastise, or despise me for my actions.

but you know what? we'll all hold hands and forgive you, my appalled close-minded reader, because you know not what you do. how's that for blasphemy?

love, krissa .... 5:35 PM ... link!

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Monday, April 28, 2003
spot the cardinal sins:

1. scoping the chapel for hotties.

2. realizing the priest looks a lot like sir ian mackellan and the pretending he's gandalf and you're an elven princess.

3. reading the liturgy book and marking your place when you stand up, because it was at the juicy bit about virgins.

4. telling your dad you need to use the bathroom, then popping outside for a quick smoke.

5. making faces at the chubby little greek girl in front of you because she keeps turning around to gape.

6. taking two pieces of communion bread because it's two in the morning and you're hungry.

7. once outside, lighting your cigarette from the ceremonial candle you're supposed to carry all the way home, and then blowing it out, forgetting it's not a match.

what can i say. there's something about the void of irony in all religious ceremonies that brings out the snarky heretic in me.

love, krissa .... 8:09 PM ... link!

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