The good thing about feeling bad

I've dated a few chubby girls. Guilty confession, during a few heated arguments I thought to myself, shut up Porky, yet I never actually said it.

Here's the thing, never - ever tell a woman she looks fat, even if you really hate her. Weight has been a major issue in the lives of most of the woman I've dated. I might think it- yet would never, and at this point I do mean never, say it.

I seems too mean.

For whatever reason being chubby doesn't bother me, and I don't really care if someone calls me fat, yet what I lack in sensitivity about my weight I make up for in my sensitively about my clothes.

Gioconda does this thing, typically in the morning if she sees me before I leave, she raises her eyebrows, moves her head to the right to look at me from the side, takes a deep disapproving breath, and smiles without showing her teeth.

She gives me the "look" and I know but I always say, "what?"

"Are you leaving in that?"

Today it was my shirt. My criteria for clothes these days is, fits, no obvious staining or holes, and clean.

I worked in my office all day so I really didn't care. Things have been sort of difficult in every way for me lately, so in light of the rest of my problems her assessment of my wardrobe didn't even blip my radar.

Don't get me wrong, when I'm going to court it really works my head.

I have accidentally gained back all the weight I accidentally lost so now the pants that were swimming on me last year, are sausage casing this year. The up side, no one asks me if I have cancer.

Most days I look in the mirror and think I look like Chaz Bono which is not the look I'm going for ever...so I begin the day with a significant degree of insecurity about my appearance.

The one good thing about feeling really shitty is once you are at a certain level nothing piled on matters.

Today getting the "look" was water off my back.

It's a hard thing for me, finding clothes I am both comfortable and confident.

I have often thought I should have chosen a vocation with a uniform. Not like the Hot Dog on a Stick uniform, something cool- like a UPS driver, a golfer or surgeon.

My vocation would work for me if I lived in England, the barristers wear black robes, and those funny wigs.

What I want to wear, and what I have to wear are in direct conflict with each other, so its something Im sensitive about.

Yet today it just didn't matter...the one good thing about feeling really bad, you can only go as low as the floor.

Dead Bunnies

Out of the last three litters of bunnies only one bunny remains. Last week I saw several new ones, and then earlier this week, I noticed some really small babies- my guess there are two new litters. For a while I was in a panic the yard would become over run with rabbits, but somehow about 99% are eventually killed.

Last week one of the Calious (pronounced KAI-U) brought a little white bunny with gray spots into the house, although I thought I felt a faint heart beat, it died very soon after I found it- in the jaws of the dog...

Rabbits make this really horrible sound when they are being attacked, a very distinctive high pitched death scream.

I thought I heard it last night, and unfortunately I was right.

I think the dogs find the bodies when they are very close to or actually dead - what I can't figure out is who is killing them. I think its the cat, but still can't figure out if the bunnies get out and then are murdered, or if the cat somehow catches them inside the enclosure.

I suspect there is a poison involved- or the cat is volunteering to "babysit", and rabbits have very short memories, so the parents may fall for it every time.

Clearly, unless I want to have my house collapse under its own weight, the untimely death of these little guys is actually necessary. Yet it always bums me out, although I have gotten used to handling of the little corpse(s)- not in a good way- more like I can tolerate it way.

Whats my point? I'm not exactly sure, but I think it has something to do with the fact that if you do something enough times-- even the disposal of the body of a still warm limp little defenseless bunny becomes commonplace.

Guilty confession- last night I just threw the little guy in the dumpster- not even a cheap shopping bag coffin. It made me feel callus and oddly empty.

So its just a lot all the time. The girls, my job, the re hydrating from my severe to really severe night sweats....

And so tonight I hope there is no bunny death, I'm standing of the edge of the cliff and although I wont purposely take a step backward hearing that death scream coupled with the full moon...

It may just be enough to knock me over....

Just because I have gotten used to handling dead bunnies doesn't mean I want to keep doing it....

The Fucking Outdoors

I'm just not interested in doing any real physical activity anymore.

Since I'm not that person today doesn't mean I wasn't that person-or a version of that person. When I lived in Long Beach I went kayaking almost every weekend. I rode my bike all the the time. I worked out three days a week- so now- I'm just over it. My dads a big backpacker/ camper, my whole life I participated in that shit.

My dad wants me to spread his ashes at a place called Vernal Falls in Yosemite- so I will be making that hike at some point - that is if he predeceases me- other than that I have no other hiking plans. I gave my bike to my dad last year, I hadn't ridden it in a while and it is a really good bike- I did the ride with it ( BOSTON TO NEW YORK)-I have all the equipment the butt shorts the stupid colorful nylon shirts- somewhere in my basement...and I did have a subscription to Outside Magazine...so my inactivity is rather recent- but I do think it is permanent.

Guilty confession- I fell a lot on my bike. Once I ran into a sign when my tire went over a rock- once I dog attacked my peddle, on the last day of the ride it was raining and I slid down a hill somewhere in New York....and those are just the ones I can think of without really thinking about it.

I would like to start golfing again. Its outside- so theres that- you can walk (or ride comfortably in a cart while sipping on a beer and smoking a stogie).

I love everything about golfing but the people who do it- they are typically uptight white dudes- but other than the participants- I'm all in for golf.

I guess any form of gambling isn't a real sport.