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By Tina
Posted 09/20/99 05:13:22

My name isnít Luca and I donít live on the 2nd floor. But youíll soon know what my name is and frankly Iíll never tell you where I live. Then youíd probably start dropping by and shit and I donít appreciate uninvited company because frankly, Iím no Martha Stewart in the house-cleaning department. Iíd rather live in my house than slave to it. Hate me for it if you want, but I wouldnít drink out of that cup.

I am pleased to have feature rights on this site though. ĎĎNever step away from a free forumíí is my oldest philosophy. You should have seen me as a kid; I milked the whole Ďwhat a cute little thingí stage to death.

Precocious was an understatement.

I loved shocking the grownups and even now enjoy pushing peopleís buttons. Letís face it, Iím not as interested in comforting the disturbed as I am in disturbing the comfortable. And before you go lumping me in with plagiarizing journalists , et al, I read that one on a bumper sticker and just adopted it as true. (I wish Iíd thought of it first, though.)

I have a few things in mind for you, but the old brainpan is still brewing the stew. I want it to beÖjust right. So in the interim, because Iím a podium hogger from way back, I thought Iíd take a few minutes to introduce myself to everyone and give you a little idea of what youíll be in for (besides more merciless Bitchslapping than you can snap a whip at).

Hereís a look at the things caught in the filter that I view the world through and then write about it through. Extrapolate what you will.

First thing you should know about me:

Iím notoriously impatient.

I prefer to watch the commercials rather than most of whatís on TV. Some of them are very good, from a cinematic point of view. They have a beginning, a middle and an end, theyíre concise and to the point, some make me laugh out loud, and theyíre through presenting in about two minutes so you can have another one.

Quantity or quality? This was never a dilemma for me.

I want I want a little bit of everything thatís good.

I operate on impulse a majority of the time, but hey. It keeps me honest. Even if it does sometimes get me in trouble. Like an excited dog on a finite length of twine, I habitually bolt to the end of my rope and come to a screeching halt, jerked back by the neckó-->erghp<

The feeling that ensues resembles epiphany perverted into Rude Awakening; it sinks like a stone in my gut and sends my fickle brain smashing against the back of my skull, which if you have to ask, yes, is still a little soft in places.

Not fun. I buy a lot of Ibuprofen.

For the dog, this was easy to rectify; I took down the run and put up a fence and now he can run freely, albeit contained, and never have to experience that neck-jerking sense of reality intruding to so rudely to remind him of his limitations in this world.

Blair Witch had the same effect on me, so I know. Itís a bitch of a way to feel even for a second, never mind over and over again.

Fuck anthropomorphic fallacy, nobody should have to live under that kind of psychological torture, not even a dog. So I fixed it for him because like I said, it was easy and also because his little three pound brain is incapable of not making the same mistake over and over again whenever some remiss organism wanders into his territory.

I, on the other, have no excuse, but I do it anyway (Proof: The Haunting); I am smart enough to at least know better yet I continue to leap horns-first everywhere and get snapped back right on my ass, landing with a thud! Fully cognizant that I have once again achieved idiocy, and right quickly, too.

Then I pick myself up, brush myself off, (the sun sparkles off my horns dramatically for a momentÖ) óand damn it, there I go again, rushing off towards my next great mistake. I tend to not go gently anywhere.

Dogs, horns, I know Iím skirting the issue, projecting and all that BS. Iíll cut it out. All analogies aside; I have a big mouth and small qualms about using it. Sometimes it gets me into trouble (especially at parties) and sometimes Iím the life of those very same parties.

Iíve employed the Zen-silence thing a time or two and quite frankly, found it boring. Sue me.

But hey, I am not entirely without self-restraint (unless Iím drunk), judgement (ditto for this) or timing (my timingís notoriously bad no matter what, but bad timingís still timing).

I refer only to my predilection to speak my mind without watering down my version of things to make them more easily digestible for the general public. Some people find it rude but Iím never trying to be. Iím just loud.

Rude, loud. I can see the confusion. I donít hold a grudge.

I have been known to stir things up a little, however, to recklessly drop a few matches just to see what will burn. Egos are highly flammable, and with enough of them in one place, the rate of combustion can be dramatic. Try it at your next party.

What can I say? Iím an Aries, a fire sign. I like to mix it up. I prefer to be the catalyst. Itís that whole horns-first mentality manifesting again.

I live for the moment and rarely consider ramifications until it's generally too late. I talk too much and tend to say the wrong things to the wrong people. But I donít like people who apologize conversationally and so refuse to do it. If I say it, I mean it. At least at that moment and that goes for apologies, too.

Besides, Iím never sure what Iím supposed to apologize for; what Iíve just said? Or that fact that someone took offense to it. Since I didnít say it to be mean and canít control how other people feel, I donít see what there is to rectify. Further, Iíd rather have a solution than an apology any day.

A solution I can work with, but I never know what to do with apologies. Do you collect them in a drawer like birthday cards? Do you have to read the inside, too? Even if thereís no money in it? Or is acknowledgement enough? I donít wait around for apologies, as a rule. I honestly believe people are who they are and do what they do because theyíre as much a slave to their own human nature as I am to mine. How can I be offended by something as quirky and hard-to-see as human nature?

I have a streak of empathy in me that youíll see from time to time. Itís embarrassing sometimes, like when I cried during ĎBeachesí, but itís also part of me. I canít deny it any more than I can deny liking animals more than most of the people I know, simply because they never lie, they wear their hearts on their faces, and they never tell you to be quiet, will you? Iím trying to watch this.

Okay. What else? Um, well, I drink too much coffee and donít eat enough fruit. Ditto on the veggies. (I'm a pasta freak.)I listen to heavy metal and classical music. Not at the same time, but with the same satisfaction. I love to cook, can cook like hell and like making things up as I go, but my favorite foods on earth are still Hamburger Helper (almost any flavor, just a little-bit doctored), chocolate Pop Tarts (hot or cold, true Zen either way) and pink lemonade (with Vodka is good, too).

Not all together, that would be gross.

This is who I am.

I can be aware of it, I can try and compensate for it, but I canít change this about myself any more than I could rearrange my DNA into someone a little taller, maybe. But hey, I donít mind being short, I never have. If you hear me complaining about my lack of height, itís just me complaining as usual because thatís how Iím made; to pick things apart and analyze every piece.

Besides, there are more important things for you to worry about.

Like, who is this girl? Can I trust what she says?

Take her at her word?

And why should I listen to her anyway?

Hell. Who knows why do you half the things you do. Iíve never even met you, and I havenít worked out my own karma yet, so I wonít hazard a guess about yours. If youíve come this far, itís a good shot youíll probably read the next one, too, maybe even go back and check out the other stuff. Maybe I made you laugh, maybe you hate my guts. Compulsions are like fingerprints. Everyoneís are different but theyíre hard not to have.

So entertain yours and drop in again. Weíll rap a little, Iíll throw a few Bitchslaps around (probably more than a few) (just for good measure, you understand) and maybe weíll laugh. Maybe one of us will learn something.

Maybe (and this is more likely) weíll log-off and come-to, look at the clock and go; wow - 3:00 a.m.? Shit, I have to get up for work in a couple hours. Damn it - and perhaps we'll marvel in unison, each in our own little corners of this big, blue earth, at the human beingís capacity to waste time reading about movies when he/she could be wasting time watching them.

Later, ĎGators.

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