CVS, suck my cooter

today i went to buy cat food.

this drunk fuck inhead fra us were staggering, weaving in the dusk. oh. i was gettin angry la, he walk past a black man an say some dren. fucking nigger. oh. drunken honky with merikkkan flag hat. my roomie she have nervous body language, speak fast an not like this man inhead of us. an i want to beat him with a red brick fra the sidewalk we all walk on.

fuck him. i start singing, loud, theme song from team america: world police. roomie join in; now two dykes walkin behind drunk merikkkan whitey thug screamin, 'it has a hefty fuckinnn price! freedom isn't free! cos' a dollar-oh-faaav!'

we split off at the corner, cross the street. now drunk fuck, he spend the last block while we sing trynna lite his damn cig cos he are a real man a. but two female ass pass, he double back, subtle as drunk shambling stagger like him can, and my roomie don't notice.

i watch him follow us direct to the store. i haul her aside, tell her to look at the magazines. he stop, confused, then she turn and go into the store. seein her walk direct at him, he stumble. don't know what to do - stalked one approach him now. he ask for a dime.

i glare at him onna way in - no beggar ask for ten cents. they ask for help. caught in my headlites he bolts.

laughin i enter the store.

c.v.s.

fuckin hate this place. smell like a hospital, rude fuckin cashiers, long lines. an when we get up to the cashier, the manager look at me, turn to his female coworkers an i hear:

mira, mira este chica e, say important manager. es un hombre.

no mood for this, me. i give him stare i used on drunk marine who want to bash me; this stare stop him in his tracks. now i use this stare on the manager.

que dices? i axe him. but this self-important fuck don't see me. he full up with himself. this third-world fuck never heard the king's spanish, only ghetto-bitch inbred dominican redneck shit. he don't understand i speak spanish to him.

he repeat. women ignore him. he repeat.

then he see my eyes. lo sabi, he say. lo sabi, lo sabi, lo sabi.

i raise the volume. habl'español, motherfucker!, say i in sweetest whiplash iberian accent i can muster. creamy accent. like native. easy to do in phrase.

now he are outraged. what did you say? - in english, of course.

without breaking eye contact, i hook round to the door.

HABLO ESPAÑOL, MOTHERFUCKER!

bitchass motherfucker. guess i learnt more things back in san diego than i knew.

like i take my bizness elsewhere now, fucker.

an fuck you, asshole.

why bother?

i don't bother updating online journals. i just can't be arsed. but today i shall.

i rolled around harvard square, shopping here and there. i went to the gap and got clothing because all my stuff is trashed and needs to be updated - bin livin' in san diego, where they don't have cold weather - and then off to the hardware store to get a silverware holder for the dish drainer, some accoutrements of destruction for the bathroom and kitchen, and a glass spice-holder for the all-important additive to our espresso grinds, cardamom.

then i ate an obscenely excellent burger at obscene price at mr. bartley's.

then i went home and cleaned some of the house. this last part is a daily routine - i do a large amount of cleaning on a daily basis, particularly washing dishes. my roomies are all very, very busy and i am anal retentive (and bored) and spend a lot of time as housemom. not that i relish the self-descriptor 'mom', but someone has to do gruntwork all the time and i owe it to my roomies to help out given all the help they're giving me.

now it's evening. in the evening, i watch television. not all evening, nor every evening, but generally i spend too much time watching it. i like all the csi programs and the law & order spin-offs (but not so much the original show, though i don't rule it out), and there are movies on later at night. i'm a bit of a night owl; i tend to read crazy books from the harvard library while watching tv and discussing politics with my roomies.

i get on the computer when i can. my laptop died about three weeks ago and i am saving up to get a new one; until then, it's the linux box in the kitchen what my roomie is addicted to like i am to my tv, so it's always a question as to who gets to use it. as in, 'will i ever?' because she owns it and i don't step up on other people's computer time, partic'ly when that person wants to spend what little free time she has online.

i want to socialise. i'm going to hit the harvard caucus (homo org) party this weekend and shake my tail. actually, i'll just be watching the hot CH1XX0R roll on by sadly since no one seems to ever want to break off a piece of this lonely girl (comes of being a new-in-town homebody, i guess). *sigh* anyway, at least then i'll be networking.

man, i need to get my job on. can you say that? anyway.

that's all. sorry to disappoint. i'm a boring person.

one more thing: my current reading list.

1. KRISHNAMURTI Bhadriraju 2003: The Dravidian Languages
2. KRISHNAMURTI Bhadriraju 2003: Comparative Dravidian Linguistics
3. RICHMAN Paul 1988: Women, branch stories, and religious rhetoric in a Tamil Buddhist text
(Foreign & Comparative Studies: South Asian Series #12)
4. PARTHASARATHY R 1993: The Cilappatikaram of Ilanko Atikal: An Epic of South India (Translations from the Asian Classics)
5. WILTSHIRE Martin 1990: Ascetic Figures Before and in Early Buddhism: The Emergence of Gautama as the Buddha (Religion & Reason)

i sick le.

yaa, sick i le. sooo sick what i didn't know what were happ'ning. i was shouty, incoherent, foul-tempered. i b'lieve i did even shove my cat when the poor beast tried to comfort me the last few; s'okay, as the roomie notes, was just two pussies changing roles for once. (my cat abusive, a.)

sooo.

saw iron jawed angels, renewed my fiery spirit. bin so tired by this season of politix, everything is which white man has a bigger cox. ('shoulda joined skull & bones when i hadda chance.' - damn that nakashima-brown, that is one fine story: prisoners of uqbaristan; note to self: investigate possible connexions to encyclopedia brown).

but i digress. i.j.a. made me squirm in ecstatic delight (shuddup, weren't just ms. swank wanking inna bathtub nor were it nasty prison fetish. [subliminal message OZ]). i mean, damn. those are some brave women. those are some brave women i gotta remember the names of, read the stories of. we didn't learn that in school.

i remember what we learnt. some were useful: gerry unger has my undying thanks for grilling us mercilessly with his ex-catholic priest democratic socialist politix and his beautiful logical mind on the political process. i remember alumnae telling me he was the finest teacher they ever had in their pre-college days and thinking they were mad as he was, but now all of us agree...

but mostly i remember the facts i hadda correct. i remember catholic school: fighting with the teacher i had a serious crush on during class over the textbook on the americas. what a little hellion i must have seemed. i remember crying in rage over our fourth-grade textbook calling native people - me! - in the past tense, by the wrong names, by the wrong word. eskimos inhabited the far north. i said, "inuit inhabit the northern polar region," and would have screamed "capitalist running dog" if i knew the phrase. blank stares were the norm when i angrily countered the book's claims about the genocidal policies of andrew jackson, the arch-traitor whose own life had been saved in battle multiple times by a special unit sent by the tsalagi nation (cherokee) and who authorised against congress' explicit law both removal of the tsalagi and the other 'civilied tribes' and the use of germ warfare - smallpox-infested blankets - and other horrors. general slack-jawed drooling when i pointed out the narragansett tribe had members in our class and that we indians didn't appreciate being described as lackeys, willing slaves, peacefully ceding land to the invaders.

my parents' home is less than a mile from the great swamp fight. all around us, i said, are markers of mass murders of human beings and our textbook makes it sound like we disappeared into the mists. naw, we were murdered, tortured, raped.

those that survived influenced society, too: american democracy, and american feminism - both are inspired too by native practices, by the iroquoian and algonkian peoples' social and religious practices. don't fuck with a narragansett woman, that's one lesson you learn growing up southern rhode island. and where did those early feminists live? in the middle of the league of peace.

anyway. i am reborn from fire. i am an iron jawed angel and i shall prevail. i am informed by english and european desires and ideals and by native practice. both are present and screw those who think ignorance is okay.