what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

righteous indignation
n.
1. retribution, retributive justice, anger, and contempt combined with a feeling that it is one's right to feel that way
2. anger without guilt

enraged
adj.
1. marked by extreme anger

heartbroken
adj.
1. crushed with sorrow or grief

speechless
adj.
1. temporarily deprived of speech by strong emotion, etc.

all of them, dammit. there simply are no words.

man is a sick, cruel son of a bitch.

i hate people. this is well known. anyone that listens to me talk --or reads my blogs-- about customer service and working in that particular midden heap knows how i feel about the raging droves of ignorant and self-centered humanity. humans can be disgusting creatures.

*cc* just got a phone call from her friend that his wife was driving on the road and saw a bag of something tossed out the car window. it was then run over by a semi.

a kitten was thrown from the sack.

she pulled over and rescued the poor little orphan. the rest of his brothers and sisters were killed when the semi ran over them. his teeth are barely growing in, so he's probably not even fully weaned yet, and someone had the fan-fucking-tastic idea to bag 'em all up and toss them into traffic from a moving vehicle!

no thought about the animal shelter. no thought about neighbors who might want an adorable, playful little kitten. noooo, let's just throw them under the wheel of an eighteen wheeler, get rid of the whole problem!

she was so concerned about saving the survivor that she couldn't get a good look at the license plate of the cat killer and animal hater. gods-damned son of a syphillis-ridden whore. i hope he contracts a historical case of incurable anal seepage! i hope he goes home to find his wife in bed with his redneck best friend, his son's a crack-addict taking it up the ass for money, his daughter's doing it with the neighbor's dog on film, and someone's stolen his identity online and racked up $4000 in phone sex calls and two first class tickets from JFK to london-heathrow. i wish people could experience the exact same pain and cruelty they inflict on animals. then they'd know how it feels and how horrible it is!

i wish i could say that i instantly pray for the murderous assholes for their crimes against Life, but i'm not exactly fully immersed in pronoia just yet. my sense of helplessness, dismay, and frustration oftentimes get the better of me and i just want them to burn.

sick motherfucker. i hate humans!

i hate their cruelty and manifest destiny. i hate their prejudice and god complex, their top-of-the-foodchain ego and blind adherence to sexist dogma over practical reason. i hate their "me first" attitude and "now" generation that's really not a "new" thing at all. i hate their primitive religious wars and barbaric might-makes-right mentality. i hate corporate takeovers and political upheavals. i hate a race that produces environments that makes it totally acceptable for someone to toss a bag of brand new, innocent lives under the wheels of a semi truck.

it's murder, cruelty, and abomination of the highest order.

is there anyone in the portland-salem-vancouver area that can and would like to adopt a very young kitten tragically orphaned? email me (my email is available through my profile, the link's to the right), or leave a comment with your email address and i'll get back to you.

just shoot me

y'know, if i were a horse, they'd have shot me by now. it's so unfair, being all nice to horses and making humans live through the pain.

egads. after six fingers of rum, a hard cider, two niaproxin (sp?), and two ibuprofen, i'm finally starting to feel as if i might possibly be able to walk a few steps upright.

actually upright.

today was so tough on the back i actually came home unable to unbend past a 45 degree angle, and i plopped down on the futon and actually cried. i haven't cried from pain in seven years, not since li'l *c* was b--

wait, not even then. i cried from relief, actually, when they finally tore him out of me because the nine-month hell was finally over, but not from pain. not even from all those gallbladder attacks, or even the megillah gallbladder attack of doom. i didn't even cry then. i didn't cry when i dislocated my shouder, i didn't cry when i broke all those toes of mine. i didn't cry when *jd* popped my elbow out of joint for talking back, and i don't think i cried all those times i was hit.

the last, the absolute last time i remember crying from actual pain was the baseball bat incident. imagine that. in twenty years. it hurt that much, and i was that tired. too tired to fight the tears off and swallow them down because crying is stupid.

i want to be drunk. just smashed off my ass, but i'm clear-as-a-bell sober, and i'm fucking exhausted, but i can't get to sleep. no matter how much i want to.

this is one of those nights where i hate my body even more than usual, and i pray for a bullet in the head. at least i'd get to fucking sleep.

hehe, wow...

i just gotta say that this was my best thursday thirteen. i keep coming back just to admire it and watch the YouTube vids i posted. 'specially the blues brothers.

they so fucking rocked.

gods, this TT rocked... i think i'm gonna make my platform shoe collage a poster. *nod*

thursday thirteen #6

Thirteen Reasons Retro ROCKS!! 1. the bohemian way of life! 2. bellbottoms!!! 3. IN-A-GADDA-DA-VIDA!!! 4. albums were REAL ALBUMS and told STORIES! 5. SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE!!! 6. The Blues Brothers ...a moment of silence for Belushi... 7. the colorful vocabulary! it was so far out back then. fuckin' A! 8. say it with me now: GO-GO BOOTS!!! 9. SLUG BUG!!! 10. Civil Rights 11. the Sexual Revolution 12. Motown! ...whew! this TT was a lot of work this week! almost done! 13. PLATFORM SHOES!!!

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): In *The Book of Thoth,* Aleister Crowley says that for Capricorns, the impulse to create can be so strong that it transcends logic, ignores tradition, and eschews foresight. It might even be "divinely unscrupulous, sublimely careless of result." Why is this urge so wild? The formula for Capricorn, he writes, is "the complete appreciation of all existing things . . . rejoicing in the rugged and barren no less than in the smooth and fertile." While his assessment might be a bit extreme, it does contain far more than a few grains of truth—especially as it applies to you in the coming weeks. Given the current astrological omens, I believe your will to create will be relentless, majestic, and primordial.


i kinda know where he's going with this. on author hopeful, i mentioned that the contest i entered recently finally got my hook critiqued. the response was not favorable. in fact, it right pissed me off. i think the judge was an idiot, but i also know that my hook didn't raise the curiosity and questions, nor the sense of "something larger looming" that i wanted to convey.

then again, the judge coulda just been a freakin' idiot, and i like to lean toward that opinion, personally...

but anyway, i even emailed randy ingermanson about it, the man i call the writing guru. one technique of his --one technique!-- and it improved my quality of writing, speed, and organization a thousandfold. imagine what i'll be able to do when i'm able to download his other writing courses. he's friggin' amazing.

anyway, he emailed me back only hours later:

I have never got used to rejections. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. I got three last week and it didn't feel good.

That's part of the game. There really isn't anything to do, other than to keep going. If you give up, you lose by default. It is the editor's job to reject you. If you quit, then you are rejecting yourself, which is doing the editor's job.

So keep writing and honing your craft.

of course, there wasn't much i was expecting other than "keep trying." i really fucking hate the "buck up, camper" reply. but i know the source --mr. ingermanson-- and i know his genuine care for writers and his idealism to see all writers succeed is genuine. he absolutely blows me away with how successful he is in his idealism. i have to admire that.

oh yeah, and i printed out his response and it's taped up by my computer.

so i knew any response from him would be genuine, too, and i could take it to the bank. it was a helluva lot better than what the idiot judge said. i got a whopping one useful sentence out of their critique. i was expecting, from the definition "critique," to receive a "this is what didn't appeal to me, and this is how you can improve. that over there isn't cohesive, here's a way to bring it back into the whole." y'know, actual critique! but noooo... i got my insides ripped out through my asshole.

idiot judge. what a waste of time and waiting, agony and anxiety and frustration. total waste of my energy.

and in a rebellious, "fuck you, idiot judge!" kinda way, i decided not to drop my story for a new one, not to question whether i'm worthy of being published, and not to go back and revamp (and ruin) my wonderful, heartbreaking work of staggering genius into something that wouldn't be "such a hard sell."

fuck you, idiot judge. i'm a high fantasy writer, and i WILL be published. i don't want you reading my damn books if you have no taste, anyway.

grooming: not for the vain of heart

until this past week, i never knew that socks could generate the overworked-foot-and-wet-dog combo smell. it's a new experience...

and for the love of dog, HOW THE HELL do i get dog fur wrapped around piercings that never see the light of day?!!?!

no, seriously. the other day, i had dog fur of five different hues clinging desperately to the belly-button ring. wtf?

what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

dog tired
adj.

1. utterly exhausted
2. worn out
3. that feeling delena gets coming home after an unexpected day at work


i got called in to work today, from 3pm until closing. i worked really hard today, actually, and i loved every minute of it. the pointer finger on my left hand is throbbing like hell because i gashed it deeply right at the second knuckle, my lower back is screaming, and my arms from my hands up to my elbows are agonizingly dry. you know that sting, when it feels like a thousand little paper cuts with lemon juice rubbed in?

yeah, they feel like that. after constantly being soaked and scrubbing with soaps --from oatmeal to almond to medicated to flea-treated-- they're drier than the sahara in summer. already they look like laundress' hands, red at the knuckles, swollen, wrinkled, and dry.

i love my job!!!!

no, seriously, that wasn't sarcasm. i really do. for every single pitfall in the grooming world, i have a remedy that fixes it right up. like, after friday when my entire body was screaming with a thousand varieties of pain, all i had to take were a few anti-inflammatories, some ibuprofen, melatonin to get me to sleep, and a shot of jeagermeister. that was the treatment all weekend, and it worked like a charm. i'll prolly do something similar tonight (she says as she nurses a hard cider while blogging...).

of course, i get to open up shop tomorrow, after closing the night before. yayfunjoy!

another good thing, though. as i was passing the office and waved good-night to the general manager, he called out, "i've been hearing you're doing a really good job!"

me: (stunned) "really? you hear about me?"
GM: "yup. i think the Union's gonna be calling us about you, saying that you need to slow down. making everyone else here look bad."
one of the closing groomers: "oh, she's terrible. just terrible." deadpan expression. "she had the entire shop cleaned up and was finished before we were done with our last dogs."
me: *devilish grin*
GM: "oh yes, been hearing many wonderful things about you."

i. LOVE. my. job!

gotta love the dog days of grooming.

roots

i haven't been participating in the sunday scribblings lately because i've felt that i never had anything to contribute, i couldn't think of anything interesting to write. honestly, i started participating in memes to see if i could get more people reading iGoddess, to see if i could get people to think and imagine and grow to like my voice. i've since discovered that, unless you have tons of communities you belong to or you blog about a cat, the only way to get people to read what you write and actually respond to it is to leave comments on tons of blogs. well, i just don't have the time or energy.

here's where i would say, "well, then it's time i just get back to the roots of this blog." but...the focus has changed. and i've been true to that, i think. but sometimes i wonder at my reader response, my few and very loved and valued faithful readers, and how it reflects my life now with my few, but very loved and faithful family. perhaps the blog hordes just don't appreciate a rootless wonder gypsy wanderer?

most sunday scribblers have chosen to write about their own roots, where they come from, and where they are today. and as i sit and think about it, i have to wonder...

what do you do when you've mutated into a completely different plant than what your roots originally designed?

once upon a time i used to think that if i ever had to leave the house where i grew up (aka the house of oppression), i'd never go more than a few miles from the epicenter of my childhood. not that i liked my childhood, mind you, but in my case my roots had made it impossible for me to embrace the possibility of change. instead what happened was i was dragged, pretty much kicking and screaming, to the pacific northwest with a new baby and my white knight.

the knight error errant.


the memory makes me die laughing now, thank the Supreme Funk. now you'd have to drag me, kicking and screaming, away from portland. but it's not because of a panic at the thought of being dragged into the unknown. now the reluctance to leave stems from a deep and abiding love of having truly found my ideal climate.

my own eagerness to escape my abusive home made a cutting of me, clipped and taken far away from the mother plant. in my case, this was a Good Thing. five generations previous, my roots had taken a serious disease and it had spread throughout the root system to infect the entire plant as a whole, even though no one spoke of it and simply passed the sickness on to their budding little sprouts.

well, i was diseased, too. the cutting had the disease of the mother plant, after all. and while, for a while, i got worse, i've since discovered that my ideal climate doesn't foster such a disease, and it's being purged from my root system even as we speak.


i've put down my own roots now, i think. they're not going to ever be a fantastic root system, like some of the mightiest trees with their spreading roots to stabilize it and help it stand in the earth. nor am i like the amazing big-rooted springbeauty which is only a few inches tall but possesses a taproot that commonly reaches ten feet or more in length.


honestly, i think i'm more like salvia divinorum, the sage of the diviners. her roots are thin and spindly, spreading over just enough area to keep her stable, but the only way to propogate her is through cuttings. i flourished after i was cut from my mother plant. i've been uprooted a baker's dozen times in the span of only a few years, nine of which were in the last three years. yet i always sprout roots immediately and flourish as best i can. and if i don't, i uproot and transplant myself elsewhere. somewhere where the soil is rich and the sun warm, where love rains down upon me and i am sheltered from the worst of storms.

and even after the worst of storms, when the sun comes out, there are rainbows. how many people can say they grow in their ideal climate, whether possessed of enduring root structures or transplanted cuttings?

working girl

i swear, i've been in texas downpours and stayed dryer than i did today at work! it was a hit-the-ground-running kind of day, in which i didn't have to work but was called in to save the day.

i love saving the day...

actually, for a part-timer, i pulled a full shift today, and have made some gorgeous hours in the past week. i was called in, and less than an hour goes by before i'm clocking in (which means nothing unless you count the fact it takes a half hour to get to work when not by tri-met), and it was:

me: "good morning, ladies!"
the manager lady: "hey, delena! can you bathe the dog in the first kennel? he needs to be out in an hour."
me, barely in the door: "okay!"

after doggie no.1 was rinsed, the manager lady took him to blow dry him, and i got to dry a husky that needed to be out in about the same amount of time. now, the thing about huskies is, if you don't know, they have, like, a million coat layers. drying them is a bitch. drying nervous, i-hate-it-here huskies is even more "fun." after blow drying and blow shedding, i got to shed the dog. i spent full half hour doing nothing but drying and shedding that dog.

and i was singing all the while.

after that, it was one after another. i grabbed a fifteen minute break, but then we were so slammed at one point i glanced at the clock on my way into the back. it was somewhere in the vicinity of after 3:30pm. i thought to myself, "at around 4:15 i'll take my lunch." well, what actually happened was the manager lady came in to wrap up and say good-bye for the night.

the manager lady: "did you take a break yet?"
me: "yeah, i took a fifteen somewhere around after 1:30."
the manager lady: "you shoulda had a lunch in there somewhere."
me, in shock: "i was planning on it in a little bit. why, what time is it?"
the manager lady: "five-thirty."
me: "no shit!" my shift ended at six.

so yeah. no lunch for me, but i was goingoingoing and didn't realize time was flying by. don't you love it when time just flies like that? i left work tired, still sopping from the knees down, but singing. i only sing when i'm really happy. dare i say it? life is perfect.

in the first five minutes of my shift, i was soaked to my knees. after the beagle, doggie no.3, i was soaked to my shoulders. my pants are water-"proof," but more like just water dry-out-really-fast. the mesh on the inside clung to my legs and remained there. my feet still feel soggy and squishing, i walked around with that sensation for so long today. it's kinda weird.

i need to get me some good, solid, no-slip, black work galoshes, lady's side 8. the girls at work swear by the ones over at g.i. joe's sporting goods store. i was hesitant to buy any before starting my job simply because of how much i know they'll cost over at g.i. joe's. so i went with some good no-slip, water resistant working shoes that would have been just fine at, say, a restaurant or any of my other grooming galleries i've worked in.

apparently, not this one! the floor in the bathing room is concrete, with drains and grates in the middle of the floor and along the corners. this isn't grooming lite, ladies and gentledogs. we don't play over there. so i underestimated the vast oceans i'd have to ford over there, and my feet are wet from clock-in until after clock-out. hell, my work pants are still hanging on my shower curtain rod, drying the rest of the way out.

but have i mentioned i love my job?

thursday thirteen #5

Thirteen Blogs I Read Addictively 1. Author-Hopeful okay, okay, shameless plug. see previous post about wanting to dedicate something a little more, well, dedicated to my writing. 2. Words of a Bohemian Mom okay, aside from the fact that this funkalicious woman totally and utterly ROCKS, she's also a kindred spirit of Funk. *nod* 3. Dragonheart i don't think i've ever met a cuter kitty. and i've met some cute ones! he's just so adorable i wanna take him home for my very own! 4. Jenny Up the Hill this woman is hilarious, and amazing, and her dedication to her kids is phenominal 5. Agent X rachel vater is a literary agent, aka someone i want to be submitting awesome mss to one of these days here soon. she even represents the genre i write, which is a bonus. it's a great reference. "mystical objects that save the day, bad. original characters and new spins, check." 6. Paperback Writer she's someone i hope to be someday soon. 7. Pub Rants again, another literary agent who kinda represents the genre i write, but she's more a chick lit rep. however, her point of view is indespensable, and her writing makes me feel like she's someone i could actually talk to. that's hard to do. 8. Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels prepare. to die. laughing. their book cover snark sessions are priceless. 9. Miss Snark she may not represent my genre, but here's a woman who really cares about her little snarklings. she puts on her infamous Crapometer, and the snarklings only cry, "Thank you, oh Stilletto-Heeled Snarkalicious One! please, may i have another?" one of these days i'll actually muster up the courage to jump into one of her crapometers. 10. Randy Ingermanson my writing guru. no more need be said. 11. Penelope Twist she's absolutely adorable, and it's amazing that she can keep her sweet, childlike nature with all the crap she's been through. 12. Misplaced in the Midwest this guy's absolutely priceless. i've been reading his sunday scribblings for a while, and he just amazes me. not to mention the brass pair he and his wife have to have, to move to paris and live for a year like they're preparing to do... 13. A Life Less Normal she's incredible, and i never get tired of reading about her life. she used to actually read my blog once upon a time, and she even gave me the most incredible compliment. she said, "well that depends on what kind of knowledge we are talking about. but i think delena is someone i learn alot about the human spirit." she linked my old blog, but this was back in '04 anyway. that kind of compliment stays with me.

author-hopeful

okay, so considering i've been getting a little more active in the writing/quest-to-be-published world, i decided to start a blog entirely dedicated to the heartbreaking work of staggering genius. you can read it here.

unfortunately, iGoddess is just outside the scope of such a specific blog. i could just see other wannabe writers author-hopefuls trying to sift through all this pronoiac and funkalicious stuff just going, "what the f--?" and while i think that anyone who doesn't have the capacity to grasp iGoddess and the quest to find the Funk is simply to be pitied, i also don't want to scare the natives.

so i place my foot upon this rock, plant my flag and sell beads to the natives, and claim this land for iGoddess and all that is Funky! we'll let the writers go over there.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "Dear Rob: Has the Goddess placed a global embargo on new love? While it doesn't sound like something she'd normally do, I'm wondering if she cast a curse of which I'm unaware? I'm not a cynic; it's just that no one in my acquaintance has experienced new love in a long time. In other words, is Cupid on strike? Has romance boycotted our planet? -Out-in-the-Cold Capricorn." To the best of my knowledge, there are no embargos, strikes, or boycotts like the ones you propose. I've noticed, though, that some of my Capricorn cohorts have experienced dry spells recently. But according to my astrological reckoning, a deluge will soon change all that.

*dies laughing!*

i'd already noticed the deluge, mr. brezsny, many hours before your horoscope hit my emailbox. it's raining frogs out there.

how's this for funny? two weeks ago, only a day or two before my li'l sister *t* flew up for her visit, notdate guy emailed me out of the frickin' blue. now, first you have to understand: we went out that one time, just takeout and a few movies at home. no biggie. then he didn't call me for a week. he emailed me after two instead. then another week went by, and an email. then another week, and another email with a promise to call. two weeks, no phone call. i write him off. that very evening, there's an email. i figure it's just bad timing, and maybe work's as busy as he says. a week goes by, i write him off again after yet another promise to call me goes unfulfilled. another email that very night, i shit you not! fine. then nothing for a week and a half or so, then a "hi!" phone call out of the blue. then nothing until almost two weeks later, where i get an email and a promise of a phone call.

"yeah right," i say. sure as anything, guess who calls! notdate guy, saying we should totally get together, and he's just got bad time management, and work's been busy as hell, and his parents came from puerto rico to visit. yeah, a puerto rican visit i can understand, especially since i was preparing to enjoy my own southern californian visit.

but we go from his invitations and hopeful possibilities of a weekend evening out, to phone call promises that go unfulfilled, to nothing for two weeks (more than once). apparently, he just doesn't find me spectacular enough to make the friggin' time. then...oh then! i get demoted to weekday nights in his email!

oh hell no. weekends are prime equity stock in the dating world. if you want to take me out on a weekday, then you're only telling me you're saving your prime realty for someone better, and there is no one better! so i said, "yeah, sure. my weekdays are busy, but when you want to clear a weekend night and go somewhere, lemme know!" i haven't heard back from him.

good riddance. don't shine me on.

but then, the day i went to pick up *t* at the airport, some guy emailed me on myspace. he was very polite. he'd actually taken the time to look at my beautiful profile (i worked really hard on it, actually) and complimented me on it. he mentioned a few things we had in common. okay, so far so good. so i go to view his profile, but it's set to private. okay, fine. i accept his friend invite so i can view his page.

problemo city. his stats say "divorced" but his page is chock full of pictures and mentions of this beautiful wife of his. so i email back, "i'm more comfortable getting to know someone a bit more before having coffee with them. enlighten me. your prof says you're divorced, but you have all these pics of a beautiful wife. i'm confused."

the reply? they're separated. the divorce is in progress. oh, yeah, uh-huh. like i'm gonna be your rebound, mister "hey wanna be my rebound." i decline, politely, and he actually writes back to express how impressed he is with how respectful i am. well, someone in this email exchange has to be...

and then today...i get an email in myspace from a guy i dated before *j*. we actually really liked each other. he put forth effort to get to know me. i should have paid attention to that, instead of falling for the wimpy guy who "needed" me. *rolls eyes at self* so he emails me with a "hey, what's happening!" email. we pretty much played catch-up all day over email, but at one point he said he was "getting his shit together and playing in the process."

E-fucking-GADS!!! is everyone fucking playing around here?!!?! naturally, i had to email him back with the, "hey, you wanna hang as friends, that's cool. but i don't fucking play" email, and he was actually very cool with that. his reply sounded respectful of that. now, how he really feels and how he worded his email can be two entirely different things, but whatever. either it's shown him that i'm not a plaything and to look elsewhere for playmates, or it's shown him to give me a second look and decide if his shit is getting together, or already gotten.

either way, i'm not even really looking for anyone. i don't really even know that i want someone in my life in that capacity. it's like i told greggo, who's only my best friend and knows more about me than anyone on the planet: "...but then again, greggo honey, i don't know that i'll ever want that with anyone ever again. i know right now i don't, and i know i don't want it next year, or five years from now."

i severely respect codependence now. i respect it the way i'd respect a live culture of anthrax, y'know? it's not something to play around with. i look at relationships the way someone from AA would look at an innocuous glass of wine with someone saying, "after all this time, just one won't hurt." will it? will it really?

so while a romance deluge might be in my forecast, i think i'll stay inside and only go out with galoshes, a rain slicker, and a really huge umbrella.

what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

pleased
adj.

1. experiencing or manifesting pleasure
2. feeling pleasurable satisfaction over something by which one measures their self-worth
3. what delena finally is when it comes to her life

i guess this is where i say the words i've been waiting a very long time to say: i have arrived! now, before you get your knickers in a twist, lemme finish.

when i say "i have arrived!" i don't mean that this is it, there's no more growth for me, no siree, i'm done, estoy listo! uh-uh. what i mean is that i have arrived at the place where i've been trying to get to for the past year. the place where i can look at myself in the mirror and know that i have it in me. i have It in ME. that certain something that says, "i'll always get up one more time than i'm knocked down," and which says it with that absolute, sparkle-in-its-eye confidence that's unshakable.

no more simply "surviving," like a flimsy tree in a storm, flapping this way and that, at the mercy of the storm. i've been a survivor, yes, but i've been so only because what doesn't kill you only delays the inevitable. i can't die from sadness, and believe me, i've tried. but now, i've established my place in the world, and it's a place i've chosen, and with which i'm ecstatically happy. for the first time in my life i feel like i know who i am, and it's not an identity dependant upon my relationship to anyone else. i am delena, and i stand alone as delena. i'm not delena-and-so-and-so.

i am delena, and complete unto myself. and i fucking kick ass.

three different times in the past ten years, i've worked at pet grooming salons. at my first job, the shop owner hated me and i was apprenticed to a groomer behind her back. i desperately wanted to learn, because even at 18 i knew that i couldn't be stuck in back-end, entry-level jobs forever. today at work, my manager and i were talking about the different aspects of the shop.

"see?" she said. "you're gonna be so easy, i can tell. i'm so excited!"

inside, i glowed. finally, all that shit i put up with at all three shops was finally putting up flowers. while the other new girl was figuring out how to blow dry a bichon frisé, the mgr and i were talking about different shampoos/rinses and how they, and grooming technology, have changed in the past ten years.

totally. i've so arrived. now i just need to keep going, hehe.

do the hustle!

OH MY GODS, guess who just learned how to Do The Hustle!!!

thursday thirteen #4

Thirteen Songs Stuck in my Head 1. Build Me Up, Buttercup by The Foundations 2. Wild Kitty by Marc Gunn 3. Dancing Queen by ABBA 4. Nightfall by Blind Guardian 5. Do the Hustle! (i so wanna learn...) by Van McCoy 6. Secret of the Crossroads Devil by Gaia Consort 7. Coconut by Harry Nilsson 8. Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright 9. Legend of Zelda Theme by System of a Down 10. Cornflake Girl by Tori Amos 11. White and Nerdy by Weird Al 12. Bootylicious by Destiny's Child 13. We Need the Funk by The Parliaments

what speaks louder...

*ds* and *ks*, two of the three people that adopted me into their family last year when i changed my name, are very fucked up people. i already knew this, way back when i first got to know them. i'm fucked up, too. i never let how fucked up a person is get in the way of my opinion of them. after all, if i did that, i'd be guilty of hypocrisy, now wouldn't i?

in spite of their fucked-upness, i actually grew to love and trust them very much. so much so, actually, that i took their last name. i take family very seriously, actually, especially after Delena's Summer of Funky Kali Love, when people undoubtedly proved if they were my family, or if they were pretenders.

i'm a fucking hero when it comes to family, and i know it.

well, my chosen family has decided to live with their hangups, act upon them, and then blame me when shit hits the fan. we had a huge fight yesterday, and it all began because i wrote a calm, reasonable email stating my anger at a certain event, and pointing out the hypocrisy, double-standard, and inconsiderate behavior. i was so consistent, actually, that i felt like a broken record.

my fucked up adopted brother, *ks*, decided to get massively defensive and hostile. well, i have changed so much that i do not back down from someone growling at me. however, i've also changed so much that i won't go fucking homicidal (figuratively speaking, of course!) on them, either. i will meet force with equal force. i'm smarter, i'm older, i'm meaner. i have the truth on my side.

i will win. i might not always have, but i always will.

of course, by the end of the fight, *ds* was doing her "oh, i'm losing my mind, i can't handle this, oh poor me, poor me" routine. i can understand anxiety attacks. i really can. i lived like that for years. they're overwhelming.

...but i also know when it's time to stop using them as a convenient crutch and playing the victim.

they're both in love with their victim/martyr roles. they're both in love with the "us against the world" mentality they've had for years. they're in love with the "you don't know what i've been through, you don't know what's going on, so back the fuck off because you don't know shit" line. and all of us are standing back, watching this, and wondering when they're going to stop being fucktards.

i know i used to do that, too. it stemmed from the fear i have, where i'm ten years old again, cornered in the kitchen, sobbing my eyes out while my father stands over me, hitting me and shouting and scaring the absolute crap out of me. every time he did that, i thought he was going to kill me. any time anyone exerted even the smallest bit of authority over me, i subconsciously gave them that power to put me in that corner again. that fear, that panic, i felt at the smallest possibility that someone was angry with me, or there was a problem that might be my fault, or anything like that, and that fear would come back. that this time they would beat me and yell at me until i died.

one year the fear was so bad, i would unplug my phone for weeks at a time, and a friend later told me i didn't set foot outside my apartment with big *c* for a full six months.

so believe me when i say i understand those sorts of hysterical panic attacks. but there comes a time when it becomes an excuse, a crutch, and a destructive force in one's life. instead of being a true disability, it's a symptom of the larger picture, which i have tried to impart to them, but i was told that i don't know shit, and that i'm the destructive force. that i throw bitch fits and wreak havoc on their peaceful little lives.

i've demonstrated my changes. i've made very clear my desire to change and willingness to do the work. with willow and richard finally out of my life and not telling me what to do and how to think, i can now discover god for myself --what i call by a myriad of names-- and become the pronoiac, revolutionary freedom fighter for beauty, truth, and finding the funk that i know i am inside.

through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, i've funked my way here. i know who my friends are, who my family is, and who is nothing but an obstacle to conquer with kindness. the obstacle IS the path, and the only way to kill the apocalypse is with love. funky, groovy kali love. that's why i have this blog, why iGoddess even exists.

iGoddess is how i keep myself accountable. all of you, my lovely and funkalicious readers, help to keep me accountable to my path to pronoia, to growth and the funky jive. if i get lazy, or slip back into old habits, i know dizzy, and greggo, and maybe even a few others, will remind me that i'm better than that. when i avoid iGoddess, i receive wonderful comments and emails about how they can't wait until i return to iGoddess, and they hope iGoddess is not gone forever.

if nothing else, it reminds me that it's a process, a path, ongoing and ever-adventurous. it's not a project to complete and put away. and changes are not only visible to those with whom you live. true changes are apparent to the world, and made manifest by the changes that happen in your quality of life as a result. they're obvious to anyone who looks at you. and to those who knew you before, when you were still in your funky-larva stage, it will be as obvious as the brightest bonfire lit atop the highest hill on the clearest night of the year.

i know my bonfire's roaring. i hope they can light a match. otherwise, it'll be kind of sad if i end up the only real member of the family they began, living by the tenets they themselves can't come close to demonstrating. on the other hand, it's fine with me. i know who i am. and i'm also still the daughter of a wonderful set of parents only forty minutes away from my wonderful home.

dang. sometimes my bonfire's so bright, it blinds even me.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): In addition to analyzing the heavenly portents, I sometimes use divination to arrive at your horoscope, including Tarot cards, the I Ching, and walkomancy. In the latter method, I take a stroll and regard any interesting quirks that catch my eye as clues to your destiny. That's what I did this week. After spending an hour in my office meditating on your astrological omens, I headed out to a neighborhood where I'd never been. The first meaningful thing I saw was a sign hanging on a cactus. It read "Caution: Armadillo Crossing." Here's my interpretation of this clue: You should urge your "inner armadillo" to go out exploring, while at the same time making sure it's well protected and cared for. And what is your "inner armadillo"? Maybe it's the burrowing mammal with the heavy armor. What do you think?


armadillos rock. they're the roly-polies of the animal kingdom. i've always wanted an armadillo. sometimes i joke that the platypus is Nature's hot dog: She just took all the leftovers after creating the world, giggled, and threw them all together just for shits and giggles. and voila! the platypus: an animal guaranteed to fuck up evolutionists and creationists, scientists, and avid watchers of Animal Planet alike.

just WTF is a platypus anyway, except for Nature's hot dog?

and if the platypus is Nature's hot dog, the armadillo is Nature's armored ATV.

lately i've been saying that i've been keeping to myself, even to my own detriment, i realize. i just got a new job, after months of looking but at the same time hoping to the Divine Wow i find nothing. the thought of returning to the world terrified me. what if i couldn't handle it? what if i fell apart again? what if no one liked me where i worked and it became yet another dysfunctional, cripplingly unhealthy environment for me to be in and i fucked up again?

i'm also getting kind of lonely. a significant other might be nice to be with, just to sit on the futon and watch movies, or go driving through the gorge now that the weather's getting nicer, or to show me some new way to have fun and experience life that i haven't tried yet. but...i don't trust myself yet. my judgement of men hasn't exactly been healthy. what if i get all stupid and codependent again? i'm too tired for more drama, more crap. i'm afraid to come out of myself again because i'm afraid it'll go bad. i'm afraid i'll only realize i haven't changed a bit, no matter how much i've learned and thought i've grown.

and yet...it's time to go out exploring a bit. just...i need to always be mindful that i'm in recovery. coming out of all the myriad pitfalls and programming of codependence is a process. so i go out and get elbow-deep in the world again, shine and do my best at work, and not close myself to the possibility of friendship and affection. and, at the same time, put on my WWII figher pilot helmet of doom, strap on my six shooter and bandolier...and make sure i don't do something stupid.

what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

accomplished
adj.

1. completed, done; effected
2. to succeed in doing; to bring to pass
3. something delena hasn't felt about herself in a @#*!-ing long time


well. y'know how i mentioned in the previous entry here that i had an interview last week? well, that same manager with whom i interviewed called me today, said that i passed my pee test with flying colors, and she would like me to come in tomorrow to fill out paperwork.

so it sounds like i got the job. *insert smiley here*

i'm actually a lot happier and excited than i let on. i want to get up and jump around, call everyone, and be really stupidhappy about it, but i'm just doing my silly little understated, "yay, i'm a groomer again!" where i clap my hands and it's so mild you'd really wonder if i were happy at all. if you didn't know me, anyway. i'm actually happy about a lot of things, i just don't express it, really. it's that whole "don't be happy, because it'll just fuck up on you later" hesitation. comes from having so much blow up in my face that i really don't celebrate a lot.

but this time, godsdammit. it's been over a year since i've been in the workforce. last year i was just in too many little mental and emotional ittybitty pieces, but i've been ready for a few months now to actually stand up and get over it. or at least work on getting over it, anyway. it's a process. it'll always be a process.

but hey, i'll be working at petsmart, with animals and not with people!!! i hate people. really, the only jobs i've had (except for grooming 10, 8, and 7 years ago) were customer service since i was 15 1/2. now i just hate people. it's funny, but when i was little, i wanted to be a police officer. for reals! i so wanted to wear that awesome uniform and drive around in a placentia police dept. vehicle and catch bad guys. but after working with simple customer service --where people see you as a menial slave and treat you like shit because they know you can't fight back-- i swear, i've seen some of the bad crap that humans are capable of just being petty fucktards, and i realized i could never handle the absolute dregs of society. of course, that was a disappointment, but better to find out sooner, rather than too late, right?

gimme animals. animals love people. animals are the best side of human nature, and most people's pets actually behave better in public than most people's children. (intelligent and highly evolved parents who actually discipline their children and teach good manners and consideration excluded, of course.) so let me get wet from head to toe, and smell like wet dog and shampoo, with my face covered in dried doggie kisses, with stray fur in my ears and up my nose, and i'm a happy camper. it is SO much more preferable to grouchy, inconsiderate, selfish, little people with nothing better to do than break my spirit. i had enough of that growing up, thanks.

after all, there is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.
-ben williams

grr, arg...

my level of inspiration lately astounds me.

i've been realizing, 1-2 days later, that i missed a particular blog day. i can't remember the last "what's the word?" monday i remembered, and it'll be friday or saturday before i realize that i missed the latest "thursday 13." i'm just so freakin' wow lately. part of me thinks that, after the past few months, i've just wrung myself out. another part of me thinks that i've spent so much intensive time with brutal honesty that i need to take my heart to the hospital and have it put in traction.

my books on codependence are sitting in my room with stuff on them so i don't even have to look at the titles. i've been spending a lot of time with the heartbreaking work of staggering genius, though... i got over the boring-ass scene and ended up writing two more scenes which sounds impressive, but really isn't. i should be writing 500 words a day, which isn't much. when i'm on a roll, i can write 1000 in a couple hours, and 3000 with a lunch break and a couple episodes of buffy the vampire slayer or hand maid may stuck in somewhere.

this week has been totally pathetic for writing, though, i'm sorry to say. monday i spent most of my day busing back from downtown; tuesday i had an interview in friggin' milwaukie (which means the only way i can justify working this job if i get it is that i'll be re-trained to my first profession ever: pet grooming, which i love); wednesday i was incapacitated by the migraine from hell, wherein i asked *cc* if she had any real painkillers like, y'know, vicodin or a shotgun; thursday i picked up my li'l sis, *t* from the airport and SHE'S HERE FOR A WEEK!!!!

*cc* and *mj* finally got to see firsthand what i've been telling them all this time: the dee they know is a very tame and pale version of the real dee. my true and blossoming colors don't really come out for anyone who's not my younger siblings. i dunno. the three of us have always just had this thing. *a*'s best friend *mh* and now his girlfriend mimi have been added to the group to make us a rowdy five. i'd have to say that only for them am i really my pure self, and with *t* up here it just feels so abso-fucking-lutely GREAT to relax and really be ME me. i don't have to tone me down for anybody.

plus, there's just something in me that relaxed the minute i saw *t* at the terminal. someone gets it, someone else has been there. she won't look at me strangely when i come out with my one-liners or quirkyfunky mannerisms that crack me up: she was there when those things were invented. i'm not alone in a personality-type strangeness that makes me feel like a perpetual freak outsider, where people are thinking, "yeah, you're eccentric and hilarious, but keep it over there and be normal when you're around us, 'kay?" because she's that way, too. i don't have to explain myself. she knows exactly where i'm coming from, how i think, and that i'm not exaggerating. hell, out of all us girls in the family, she got the worst from the bio-dad. on the other hand, her teenage years have been the best of all us girls, too. the bio-parents finally realize that freedom actually does wonders for individuals.

what a goddamn concept.

but yeah. having my li'l sis up is like coming home, where you can wash off your makeup and stop sucking it in. i mean, you're still you, sucking it in and wearing makeup, but not as you. y'know?

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "When you argue with reality, you lose 100 percent of the time," says teacher Byron Katie. So how do you cure yourself of the bad habit of arguing with reality? Love what is, she advises. Gladly and gracefully accept who you are and the life you've been given. But more than that: Ask yourself whether the beliefs you have about who you are and the life you've been given are actually true. Let's say, for example, you've been infected with the belief that you'll never get the love you want. Is that an objective, rock-solid fact about reality, or is it a fearful fantasy? If it's the latter, then you don't even have to argue with it. Just drop it.


um, yeah...okay...but what if it's true?

...for this jelly

last night i couldn't sleep (big surprise) and found an article which was supremely interesting. now, i'm sure everyone here knows about theme songs and affirmations, things of that nature. motivational speakers, self-help books, even high school councilors and youth ministers are always talking about writing affirmations and saying them every day and how it's sooo good for your self-esteem, blah blah, 'cetra, 'cetra.

anyway, so i was reading about beyonce and how she got tired of all those magazines (etc) being snide about the junk in her trunk. personally, i think she has an enviable ass, which is prolly why i hate looking at her. but! apparently gorgeous women with impossibly perfect bodies are human too! she felt insecure about all that slamming the paparazzi did about her voluptuousness, so she made up an affirmation for herself to say in her head whenever she felt insecure.

it was "i don't think you're ready for this jelly." now, i'm not exactly up on the whole hip hop/R&B/whatever lingo, but even i get this. the whole line is "i don't think you're ready for this jelly...'cause my body's too bootylicious for ya, babe."

hence was the song "bootylicious" by destiny's child born. and while i really don't like hip hop, i have to like this song. it's not about "i'm too good for you, look at me i'm so hot and i'm just a stuck-up bitch," like i thought most female hip hop was. it's about confidence, self-respect, and a good self-image. it's "prove how you're worth my time, because i'm intelligent, beautiful, and wonderful and i don't need your approval."

i like it. and i need things like that right now. so i've got a new theme song. i mean, "give up the funk" by the parliaments (WOOT! 70's funkadelic!!!) will always be the song that just embodies so many things delena, don't get me wrong. but bootylicious can sit right next to funkalicious any time.