Entries tagged with “Fuckery”.



1. irritated; annoyed: vexed at the slow salesclerks.

2. much discussed or disputed: a vexed question.

3. tossed about, as waves.


I am it.

I think, in all variations of the term, at present. I’ve been having a rather trying time of late, and though I think with satisfaction about all the things that are going very well indeed there are still those things that undermine my ability to feel any overriding contentment. My vantage of progress seems to do little to comfort me when I turn to behold the journey yet ahead.

No prospect of relief in sight. Perhaps I’ll tell myself a little tale about how it is merely obscured by preoccupations and, in truth, respite is extremely fucking nigh.

If only I were a better liar…

I bet you think this song is about you, don’t you

  [pri-zuhmp-shuh n]  Show IPA


1. the act of presuming.
2. assumption of something as true.
3. something that is presumed; an assumption.
Once, I was watching television with my cousin and a commercial for the Bedazzler came on. He chuckled a little and said 
“I could totally see that being something your mom would love.”
I turned to him with deep incredulity and marveled at his complete and utter misapprehension of my mother as a human person. This is a woman who shines, indeed, but with a beauty entirely made in nature. She does not wear makeup, she leaves her hair gyspy wild, she utterly lacks the trappings of vanity; she does not bling. Ever.
As I was growing up I noticed this tendency to misunderstand my mother all the time. People would meet her, and her open and candid nature seemed to create this sense in people that they saw the entirety of her. That because she would readily reveal things about herself that other people would only imagine disclosing at the most extreme depths of intimacy, that there couldn’t possibly be anything about her that they did not know. They would arrive at absurd and erroneous conclusions utterly convinced of their accuracy.
And though I am profoundly different from my mother in many many ways, I have inherited both her candor and the concomitant tendency to attract faulty surmise.
It is tempting, sometimes irresistible, to decide we have answers when in fact, we have none. The provocation to assume increases as what we reckon ought to be so drifts further from what occurs in fact. Yet it is unfailingly so that like a warped looking glass, these spurious inferences cast reflection only on the conjurer and never upon their object. 
To anyone with the arrogance to believe you have understood me; be assured you could not possibly. You have neither the capacity nor the data. If it is reassuring to think me wrong, well, far be it for me to deprive you of your comforts.

i’m generally pretty tolerant of hodie’s wardrobe choices; clothes need to be clean, free from rips or holes, and fit properly. the only issue on which i am a stickler is an appropriate amount of exposed flesh. i’m not raising a prostitot, thanks much.

as a result of this, i sometimes don’t immediately register what she’s wearing. like the day she ended up going to school in what i thought was a white dress which, in reality, was an underslip. whoops.

yesterday when i got home however, something seemed awry. she was wearing a black garment which didn’t as far as i could tell, resemble anything i had ever seen before. it was almost tunic length, but ragged about the edges, with one sleeve longer than the other, and a neckline that extended past her breastbone. she dressed herself after i left for work, so i hadn’t seen her outfit all day, but the longer i looked, the more obvious it became that i knew that neckline from somewhere…

because it belonged to my favorite shirt. sonofabitch.

turns out, she found it in a box of things she thought belonged to someone else, and decided to alter the shirt to her very particular, if bizarre, specifications. what i object to most (apart from the fact i have no hope of replacing this profoundly soft, exquisitely cut & clinging top) is that she decided to execute her design vision without permission. with scissors. normally, if the garment is hers, and she asks, i’m actually happy to let her have at it, or if not, offer something else she can alter. this time, without consulting me, she laid waste to one of my favorites. this did not equal happiness. also a source of consternation, her father’s total lack of attention to the fact that she was wearing this ragged, ill-fitting thing that left her exposed almost to the navel. his response when i asked him about it: we didn’t leave the house, i didn’t think it mattered what she was wearing.

oh, how i recall why he is my former spouse.

so. this little outcome made for a cranky me. the top is irreplaceable. i got it over a year ago and banana republic isn’t exactly archiving their work. frustrated, i abandoned my plans to take the child swimming and instead ditched her to go shopping to salve my wounded wardrobe.

my initial plan was to try and find something similar, but hodie wrecked my shirt out of season. it was a spring weight sheer long sleeve t, and we are full on summer stock at this point. setting the task of replacing this sad lost friend for the moment, i returned to another long standing search: finding the heirs of my lamented steve madden heeled sandals. i misplaced them after a trip to chicago almost two years ago, and haven’t been able to find anything to rival them. i had very particular elements i was looking for in the shoe: narrow heel, open toe, buckle at the ankle, and a degree of strappyness that isn’t quantifiable per se, but like obscenity: i know it when i see it.

but lo, in the mythical land of beautiful shoes (ie, Nordstrom) there they were…

and now, i am smiling again. if wobbling a little. we have a very high heel on our lovely new shoes. and the sucessful end to this search has given me hope that maybe someday, two or three years from now, i’ll find a new t shirt too.

klaus and i have been violated. again. 

got a phone call this morning from my landlady. one of the other residents at my complex called her to say my car was broken into. argh. no one else’s car was burgled. just mine. this is not the first time this has happened either. last march i had someone smash and grab when i was out at a show. they even broke the same goddamn window.

on the plus side: i usually tend to be totally moronic and not lock my doors and/or leave all manner of important stuff in my car. last night, for whatever reason i brought all my stuff inside, apart from a bag with my camera in it. which sucks, cause that camera was cute as hell. also, i was so caught up in running out to look at the car i failed to notice if my trek was still sitting on the patio. that’ll torment me til i get home… they busted my window, but did not get my wallet, ipod, or blackberry. so. there’s that.

renters insurance is a good thing. shopping for a new camera (and possibly bike) might be fun. small comfort overall.

i must have been a really evil bitch in a past life.