Judging by Covers.

I really have no desire to get into details tonight. 

I've been really judgmental lately.  I can't appreciate much at all; fatal flaws.  I don't like when people's fingers look like cocktail wieners.  I do not like douchebags. 

People that act like they are God's gift to women, uninformed, braggers about coke use, thinking everyone in America should have an eating disorder, should be thrown into a sauna with a dead body, while their 2nd grade teacher rips out all their teeth with a wrench, collecting the teeths and blood in a high powered blender, have the mixture all blended up, and forced to drink it, while watching all their deceased pets come back to life, only to be brutally murdered in front of them. And if that doesn't mess them up, have Jeffrey Dahmer resurrected and have him hang out with them in a small room.  

I also really hate Johnny Depp. 

I am currently ailing over an allergic reaction to a boy cat that showed up on our patio, hitting on Spencer.  I told him she doesn't put out.  That and a monumentally hopeless crush. 

"I have an exoskeleton and big red claws"

If I am a lobster, then you are allergic to shellfish.  And I want you to cook me anyways, but your reaction will come about through dermal or systemic contact.  Even if you breathe too close.   Just wanted to be a pet.  Some facts about my arthropod friends:

we make 31.8 billion dollars in trade annually

we have 10 legs and front claws

we only are cannibalistic in captivity

it is not unusual for us to live 100 years

though many believe that we have no pain receptors, we do in fact experience pain and suffering

the most common way of killing us is by boiling us alive, or cutting us in half, lengthwise

chapter 10 of alice in wonderland is called "the lobster quadrille" 

when you band our claws shut, they atrophy

we have blue blood

Summer Uncomfortable.

The crack of thunder woke me early this morning with the notion that my house had probably exploded.  My cat, having thought the same thing, decided to attack anything that moved.  This was uncomfortable.

It has been so humid lately; it's been hard to breathe or keep your eyes open all the way.  Mosquitos have also made their presence known.  

The other night I crawled into bed, itching like hell from my poisonous little bits covering the skin that had been exposed to air, and the air, moreover, was so thick and damp that my sheets seemed to be moist as well.  How uncomfortable it was to lay still and not scratch my bites while the steamy air bloated me! 

And until the thunder, and eventual landscapers, a silence filled every gap the humidity had left.  A silence of unrequisition, of other's slumber, of your own meaningless to the multiverse.  

And you check all that is real.  A face, sometimes yours.  Hands, dirty and ready to scratch.  But not much else because you suffer from an intoxication of Canadian beer, vodka, and pleasantries that were once your own.  And the internet lends it's faithful ear, while it publicly betrays you on social networking sites, displaying budding relationships, while you type alone. 

Once you finally fall to sleep, and REM hits, a crack of thunder alarms you awake.  It is restless. And lonesome. And Uncomfortable.  

I have never liked summertime much.  

Are You There, Reader(s)? It's Me, ali...

Just felt like being dramatic.

There is nothing quite like when a pet is happy to see you.  I guess it's like an itty-bitty glimpse of parenthood. But when they come up to you with their big old eyes, just waiting by your bedroom door, oh man.  It's an unconditional love that I cannot comprehend.  One no one should take for granted. Moreover, I do not at all understand how people can abuse animals.  I hate yelling at Spencer when she does something wrong, because she simply does not know better.  I would much rather explain to her the dangers of, for example, going behind the television in the living room.  As my parents, while I was at school, mind you, simply gave away my childhood pets because they were too "destructive." If only Spencer knew more words than: treat, turkey, toy, and bedtime.  

I think surprises are entirely overrated.  Like weather.  Yesterday the weather was detrimental.  But it was also perfect.  Now I am going to remember yesterday, because I got hailed on, hailed a cab, loved our crazy cab driver, and wore completely drenched clothes all night. The art and ice cream were pretty memorable too. As for the service at Golden Nugget? I'd say try somewhere else.  

I wonder.

Do you think it's possible to care about someone that doesn't really exist in one's life?  I am not talking about thinking Ash Ketchem or Captain Planet is dreamy. It's more like this.

You exist.  Somewhere on this planet, someone else exists. And you love them relentlessly, though you have never officially met and intended on being in love.  I guess it's another way of saying that soul mates might exist.  However I think soul mates have one another, where I am implying that this is a one sided love.  

Perhaps this is the formula for a crush.  This person exists who you have never officially intended on loving, or perhaps even met. 

What a concept. 

I am suddenly realizing that friendships are hard to come by. Many of my relationships are not real, and it has saddened me greatly over the last few days. I struggle to see the point in maintaining relationships that are one-sided, superficial, sexually-based, need-based, or prolonging something that has never existed.  I was never a very good girl scout. 

I really don't think anyone reads this, so I might as well post a link to my website, without fear that anyone will spam me. 

aliuraskyart.com

Yeah Kinda.

I think dreams are probably the most important decision maker for me.  If I dream about something, I will do everything in my power to make sure that it happens, or does not happen. Depending. It's both good and bad, and most of all it leads to the comment that has surrounded my life.

"Why can't you be realistic"

I can't. I don't want to.  When I am, it hurts or kills me a little.  I like living vicariously through dreams of all kinds.  Ordinary, lucid, telepathic, premonitory, nightmares, wet. I love them all. 

Info-

http://www.enotalone.com/article/3836.html

Sometimes lobsters get their chance. 

Cutting. Lobsters.

Misleading title. I don't "cut" anymore. But I did get a haircut, and I am cutting ties. 

I think I am seriously done sleeping with anyone who will. I know I say that all the time, but I think I might have a crush on someone and I want to relish in that. 

If I were an animal I'd be a lobster. And I'd be imprisoned in an Asian restaurant tank.  I'd want you to choose me.  Maybe you would, and maybe you'd eat me.  That'd be all okay.  Or maybe you would buy me and cook me for yourself.  Or your girlfriend. Or your boyfriend.  That'd be painful, and I'd turn bright bright red and scream real loud.  Or maybe you'd adopt me as a pet and name me and cuddle.  That'd be ideal.  But maybe you're a vegetarian and you don't eat lobster.  Or maybe you hate Chinese food so you will never find or meet me. That is probably the case.  Just in case, I'll wait. 

-Ali. The lobster.