Best Title Ever Date Friday, April 26, 2024 - 02:23 AM PST Topic Beauty Good night, good night everybody. It's truly lovely to be writing for you all again. And again, I'm going to write about beauty. After reading the garbage that was submitted to the lovely Ickgirl (thank you for posting "this may be love'" this one has been spell checked), I decided to take yet another crack at entertaining myself. I hope this entry will be a lovely one. After all, I do have an erection.... I am grateful to be a sane person. I honestly do thank the forces unknown for blessing me with two arms, the appropriate orifices, and a complete mind. But I, just as anyone, do have moods to surpass. Though I may be one whose emotions stay no the warm colors section of the color wheel, I do not want you to hold anything against me for it. I have rarely been one to find myself with a tear. In fact, the only movie that has ever put me in llorando was " a bug's life" and that was out of gigglyness for seeing all of the bugs working together to build the giant tweet tweet. Now wasn't that a wonderful moment in movie history? But I digress... Desperation may lead to incoherent thoughts. Here in Miami I remember having to listen to a few Goths complain that their clubs were being overrun by preps. Many of them would cry out that they are not going to a club as long as it supports preps. Honestly now, if a Goth will not go to a Goth club because it has preps, then how will that solve the problem of having a lack of Goths in the aforementioned club? If different aspects of your social life bring you down, you might want to try to redeem yourself. When you’ve lost faith in people, expand your knowledge of them. Get a job in the accounts payable department of a corporation. No, really. I do accounts payable for <name removed> and I love it. I get to talk to women and men with the most beautiful accents from places such as Savannah, Albany, and Nashville... we chat about weather, colleges, and ideal jobs. All this from a single statement such as "hi, my name is <x> and I'm returning a message you left on 7/26 about invoice number 12345". Of course, there are a few nasty people Such as Elian from <removed> who calls every single day, sometimes twice a day about a $50 invoice which makes you just want to scream. But most of them are sweethearts who are avidly ready to teach you about the summers they spend in the fields of Missouri with their children. It’s worth it just to make someone smile. I love people and I can't live alone. When I grow bored with my life and feel that I haven't lived as much as I should, I go for a walk. Across the street from my home is my neighborhood park. Everywhere I can find the things that keep most people in high spirits. I watch the dirty old Hispanic men who seem to have no respect for women, America, or the law, totally redeem themselves as they teach little Arturo jr. to play baseball. I grow weak at the knees at the site of old Maria kiss the knee of a girl who has just fallen of her K-Mart brand skateboard. Even when I turn around at the sound of a brother and a sister fighting for a chance at the swings fills me up with glee (like toothpaste). It's not just children that make me smile. It is hard to admit this, but I do go to malls to play with the little Genericons (to learn more about Genericons, read on towards the upcoming description). Now, I'm not here to insult the Genericons because eventually they will find themselves and no longer fit American teen profiles. I do enjoy the smiles, the constant leaps for attention, and the pointless and ruthlessly insane love for ska, emo, reaggae or the like that is evident in these girls and boys. Often I find myself walking alone in the mall, acting as beautiful and as proud as I can, much like an Animal Planet subject trying to attract the oncoming little high school freshmen girls (wearing rainbow suspenders, a walkman blazing Weezer, a defaced pair of Saucony shoes, and non prescription horn-rimmed glasses) who will ask me to sit with them. I love watching the pleasant surprise at my positive response. I enjoy being introduced to thier friends just as much as I enjoy ignoring them. At an unexpected moment, I would pull this person aside, kissing them more deeply and more passionately than they would have imagined from such a stranger. Then I enjoy walking away, without looking back, knowing that eventually, she will find my phone number written on a periwinkle blue post-it in her back pocket. I love callers who have dialed the wrong number. I have a second phone line in my house, and nobody knows the number to it. So, every time I hear that phone ring, my face lights up. I make up a company and introduce myself as its receptionist. While I hear their dismay force their disdain, I offer them a little chat nonetheless. Sure, no one yet has wanted to chat with a complete stranger, but I just like making them giggle over the suggestion of just becoming friends. I love beds. I sleep much more than I probably should, but I don‘t know exactly if there is a sleep limit I should recognize. I love the fact that the most comfortable beds will always be hotel beds. I love crawling into my own, slipping underneath those ice-cold sheets, swinging my legs fearlessly around, like running in place. I love sinking deep into the pillows, soft like the clouds above, just as John Koviak's song "Home" suggests. I love that after at least a decade my father and I have finally found a way to bond. We used to go climb trees together. But that was then- 10 years ago. Now, every other weekend he takes me to play pocket billiards with him at Sharp Shooters on Sunset and 117th. I love studying all the regulars in that pool hall, all those people who could have made it as champions. I wonder what prevented them from doing so. I watch the young ones. I watch Tony, the 20-year-old who looks like he's in the marines. I wonder why he comes here alone every week and never talks to anyone other than to ask to borrow his or her bridge. I like Tony, he has the kind of focus that tightrope walker might have. I absolutely love old people. I love watching 80-year-old Jewish couples complain about the weather. I love seeing old men in shorts and old women in enormous 40 lb sunglasses. I love kissing my grandmother and I love how everyone loves my grandfather. Never has he ever put himself before anyone. He would rather watch himself suffer in poverty than have a distant friend's air conditioner rise above 70. I loved my father's father. I love how he used to make me feel his muscles. I loved how he used to try to pick fights with me. I loved it until I discovered it was his Alzheimer's getting the best of him. I loved visiting him. I loved eating dinner over there. My grandma Yolanda made the world's best stuffed grape leaves, and even though I have never tried anyone else's, she was my world, and hers were enough to fill it. I loved running in fear of their dog licking me. I remember my sister and I dashing from room to room screaming "the licking machine am going to get us!" Even though his name was brandy, she and I only knew him as “the licking machine“. I loved living with my mother's mother. I remember my daddy walking my sister and I to school while I was in kindergarten. We used to pick up sticks and use them to destroy spider's webs. Each time we got one, we'd yell "hukka-hukka beanstalk" and then we'd get a point. I love lying down in bed and listening to the most emotional songs I can find. I love listening to the song "sulfur trails" by Sauce of the Future, just to discover more appreciation for the sounds of a city. Then I find myself, in my sadder and saddest moments sighing along side Bobby Vinton as he calls to himself "I'm mister lonely". Then I love dreaming of love while listening to Miranda Sex Garden's "Tonight". I sometimes just need to feel feminine, and Lily Hayden or The Damned will do that for me. I love how the variety of music can change along with mood. But despite all of this, I found how much I love writing. I love recording memories. I do this for I fear dying as a stranger. MY grandfather passed last February, and even though we all knew him, he was a stranger. On account of his Alzheimer's, He couldn't tell us any tales. He couldn’t even chew hid food. He died, and took all of those stories with him. That is why I love spending time with my father; to hear his stories, to imagine which stories I will have of my own. So he won’t die a stranger. It is finally becoming clear to me. The reason why men feel the need to pass on a seed is an attempt at immortality. Thinking about this subject is one that gives me the most joy. Stronger than that of hotel beds or kissing Genericons, no warmth could out-glow this one in my heart as I reflect on this. If you ever are looking for joy, you need to look no further than your house, your neighborhood, or your phone. You’d be surprised at how easily entertained you can become when something makes you smile. I just love all that I have been given, and I will love it all as much and as hard as I can, until I can love no more. But I still hate cows. This article comes from Shmeng http://www.shmeng.com/ The URL for this story is: http://www.shmeng.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=378