And so it begins (again).
I've always been pretty well a one-friend type person--likable to others (at least after they finally get to have a conversation with me), but by no means a social butterfly. Perhaps the social butterfly in my "circle of friends," ...which is ironic due to the last sentence.
Anyways, I'm a Cancer, and we're known to be recluses. Also, living in a "town" (it's not technically even a town) such as mine, where you and you alone know the true meaning of being in the middle of nowhere...you become somewhat of a forced recluse despite what your zodiac might say. Oftentimes that could mean your closest friend is twenty minutes away and you aren't nearly old enough to drive, or that your closest friend is the next door neighbor because of that reason, and they suck. Blessed are those with truly cool neighbors.
Therefore, when my Alzheimer's began kicking in (such a young age these days, no?) and I begin forgetting about my imagination and, well, the outdoors in general, I became quite attracted to what will soon become a part, or perhaps already is, of post-humanism: my computer. Obviously not the old Hewlett-Packard or Gateway big chunky white infested with bugs (by bugs I mean roaches) monitor, no. They won't literally become a post-human or anything.
My point is I became attracted for a few reasons: contact with other life, reading (I'd already read Harry Potter three times each, of course), and: music. I'd venture to say music became my BFF for a while. Perhaps my newest companions since are actually rather unsatisfying because they cannot compete with that which is song. It's a pity I was never a very gifted musician, c'est dommage.
(On a sidenote, I've since learned that random french words to non-french speakers without translation can be quite irritating to some, so in order to pacify my non-existent or incompetent audience, I repeated the beginning of that same sentence and won't say a word more because you are reading this from the internet and I trust you're familiar with Google Translate.)
But I always loved music, and it was my friend--it was more of a give and take relationship than many of my real ones. I don't know if I don't love it as much anymore or if I simply don't have time for it. I'm currently writing this, for instance, to nothing but the sound of a rigged fireplace blower and my mother talking rather loudly on the phone in a different room. Granted, I was never much for writing with distractions, and music certainly is a distraction pour moi. (Seriously, go watch the Muppets if you can't figure that one out.) Even to this day, nothing brings my mood to an equilibrium after just about any kind of incident than a drive with the music blaring and my lungs screaming the lyrics. That's how I told stories when I was young--by singing the words. I'll never understand why my parents bought me piano lessons over voice lessons--they're the ones who had to hear it, after all.
People, you know, they ask, "what's your favorite type of music?" And everyone, as if they're asking "how are you" - "fine" scripts, they give this answer, something like: "oh, everything," or perhaps more precisely "oh, everything except country and rap."
Though in all seriousness, I mean I have my preferences like anyone I suppose, but for me, I'll generally like any song if I have to listen to it enough times (with an open mind, that is, not forced, gagged by a pleading seven year old begging me for approval, wouldn't be a first). [Yes, you should imagine that quite like A Clockwork Orange, only with headphones instead of that eye contraption.]
(It's funny, once upon a time at a supervised visit, just from (finally) glancing at a couple of stories, my father could detect a running pattern in them that no one else had paid attention to: trouble with making decisions. A smart little BPD sociopath, isn't he?)
They say people are weak when they don't know what they want, don't have specific taste. Perhaps I am boring if I'm passionless. I'm working on that. But I'm not so sure I agree with that kind of attitude, that a strong person has to be capable of saying what exactly they want for dinner. And I'll even give you that it can be quite annoying when a person seems incapable of making any decisions.
But I'm definitely one of those people, fond of most things--I can find something to eat at any restaurant, and really don't have a craving for anything today, so if you have a preference you should decide. How'd you feel about the movie, oh I liked it just fine, just like any other. PC or Mac, well both have their pros and cons, you know. And what music do you prefer? Oh, I can listen and enjoy just about anything (when you've dated a metalhead and a skaphile, you can deal with all genres)--[though if you must know I really love 80's flicks and psychological thrillers and indie witfests (The Goonies - Everything Fincher/Nolan/Aronofsky - Little Miss Sunshine). I love eating Italian at home and Tex-Mex and seafood out. I own a Mac but I grew up with PCs...the whole not-catching-virus thing, unlike myself, is quite nice. And currently I'm infatuated with Gogol Bordello, the White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Amanda Palmer, and the Kooks, along with some classic rock and oldies as always. I'm a sucker for Shocktarts, homemade fudge, Ultimate Feast at Red Lobster, and clearance racks. I love when interesting people, I'm talking vagrants and elderly, walk up and start talking to me because I wouldn't ever be outgoing enough to do so to them. There's something about vaudeville and burlesque and pin ups and all things cirque. I love old shit--cameras and typewriters and vehicles and jewelry and shops. I'm drawn to caricature stands and cemeteries--and even "corny" paranormal things. Crows feet and smile lines--not just perfectly white, straight teeth--make me melt. Lux Aeterna is gorgeous.]
My point is I don't think that just because a woman knows exactly what she wants for dinner doesn't mean she's going to be a knockout in bed--maybe she's just going to be extremely fucking picky. "No, baby, I really just want you to bang me in this position for seventeen minutes, you to go wipe yourself off, and could you get me my toasty blue house socks on your way back to bed. Perhaps ped-egg my feet for a couple of minutes first before putting them on me because I'm a princess and I want things exactly as I want them." C'mon, don't you think the girl who's "up for anything" when you ask her to choose between Greek and Indian is a lot more likely to be up for anything when it comes time for dessert? I just think people need a different perspective sometimes, like here: where being passive may really just mean not being close-minded.
No, I didn't plan on writing a blog about sex, though if you're half-decent at shoulder massages and can whip out the solos in Ball & Biscuit, we can start talkin', because "solos" is a palindrome, it goes both ways. And God, if I just managed to make myself sound bisexual for the umpteenth time in my life, my apologies, I don't backspace these blogs (obviously). Although, actually, I mean, if you can d....never mind, we won't go there, and neither do I, pardon.
I guess what this has essentially evolved into is me saying I'm not demanding because I'm not a bitch (unless we're talking humor, [humor me here])--I'm "passive" because I'm open, at least that's what I'd like to tell myself. It doesn't mean I can't be assertive, and we aren't still (necessarily) talking about bed, this is just in life. Being open-minded is different from being a weak personality, even if it comes off that way when shyness prevails.
Now...if only I could trade asking you whether we prefer barbecue or mediterranean tonight, I could have you pick a life passion for me. I like writing, but am never inspired. I like travel, but it's so costly and I'm so tied to home. I like helping people, but I'm human and selfish. I like living, but really, I'm just so damn lazy. Whaddya say, doc?
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