Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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or Search by State

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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Tuesday, April 25, 2006  
There are lots of milestones in life, big ones, small ones, ones that you anticipate for a long time, eagerly, and others you shove to the cellar of your brain leaving them to lurk there in the dark, denying and repressing them as best as possible, but, you know if you continue to live those not so eagerly anticipated milestones are going to present themselves in your life. Ready or not, here they come.

A milestone was recently hit by a family member. It was an eagerly anticipated and happy milestone. My goodness they grow up so fast...

My parents have been helping this particular family member reach the milestone. Not just my parents - most of my family has liberally doled out support of all types over the past years in pursuit of this milestone. So. You know, A Big Deal.

My family's been in milestone limbo for a few years. Which is my fault. My milestones were next on the anticipated milestone timeline. Marriage. Children. My turn. But. Since we are all (except my mother) now no longer holding out any real or serious hope or plans for either of those milestones, my turn on the timeline has been skipped and passed onto the next stop on the family milestone timeline.

Ouch. That hurts. But. Well. I tried. I failed.

I forfeited my turns on the timeline.

Right. So. We've been in eager anticipated limbo for a few years, mainly due to my failure to get married and have children. My failures at these milestones caused a big gap in the eagerly anticipated milestone timeline. Consequently my family has had to endure the not so eagerly anticipated milestones without the usual buffer of a reprieve from sorrow and struggle offset by a happy or eagerly anticipated milestone.

My mother's illnesses. My aunt's death. My mother's months on life support. My father's, um, "situation." The unpleasant milestones. They've been flung at my family for the past 18 months without warning, hint or buffer or break. Well. I mean. You know. We all know people get older and with age often comes illness and decline.

Milestones.

But. They blindsided my family and I. I suppose they always do. That's their nature.

But.

Still.

It's all seemed so unlikely and sudden. And besides, we were still stalled at my place on the timeline. My mother shouldn't have been able to get sick, and then sicker, my aunt should not have been able to die until I took my turns on the milestone timeline. They looked forward to my wedding and children from the time I was young. It's what mothers and aunts do. No. They weren't feverishly planning my wedding from my point of entry out of the womb, but, you know, they're normal things to expect and anticipate. My cousins all did it. My sister did it. My brother did it. It was my turn.

And I mean, you know, swut knows people all gave me enough time and elbow room to hit those milestones. People waited. And waited. And hoped. And had a false hope dashed.

And well. Yeah. I mean, time goes on, the timeline continues, albeit with a huge gap where I should have had a few highs marked. I let everyone down with my failure to achieve the normal milestones of life. People, friends, neighbors, church people...distant relatives have stopped wondering "what's wrong with her" and have moved onto the assumption there's something really wrong with me. The kind of hushed tone something really wrong with her. The not so subtle but "fun cajoling" "isn't it time you thought about settling down" remarks have given way to hushed whispers, long suspicious looks and every now and then a pointed finger or dismissive sweep of the hand. "Oh, Trillian. Something really wrong with her. Avoid her. Such a shame. Her poor parents. Such good people. You'd think she'd get herself together at least for their sake."

If you're not from a small town and/or a certain type of family you probably don't believe that sort of process actually takes place. Trust me. It does. Those timelines are public knowledge, calculators and calendars of the passing of time and generations. And when something doesn't happen on the anticipated timeline, people wonder. And talk. We haven't actually come a long way, baby. And woe to any of us who actually really do want marriage and children and can't have either. We search ourselves trying to figure out how to achieve those milestones for our sake and for our family timeline. Every day we fail is an empty day and a larger gap on the milestone timeline. We're very aware all on our own, but add the milestone timeline and social jabbing of expectations and it's not only a lot of pressure, it's embarrassing and most of all, adding to the sad and lonely feelings of emptiness and heartache. I'm not saying everyone needs to be coupled up and reproducing - spare me the email - I know lots of people do not want these things and have to deal with a different sort of set of issues with their families and friends. Oh sure, I'm busy with work and friends and family and all that. I have an okay life, you know, for someone who doesn't actually long for a good relationship and children and a home and all the convention that goes with it. The only reason I'm sad and lonely is because relationships, or rather, one really good relationship, and family, and love and all that, is really important to me. Work, volunteering and hobbies cannot fill those voids. They pass the time, maybe add a little cranial fulfillment, and warm the heart a bit, but it's not the same as a loving relationship and family. But. I have a job and I volunteer and I have hobbies and I'm generally pretty busy, or at least occupied. So I play up that angle, try to act like it's all okay, that I'm on my timeline, that everything's okay. We all know it's not but the best I figure I can do for my parents is to try to pretend I accept and sometimes even want the life I have. I keep thinking maybe I'll actually believe it one of these days. Lonely nights and that big empty place in my heart should be getting more insignificant any day now, right?!

Right. So. Huge gap on the family eager anticipated milestone-o-meter because of me. Lots of really low lows and no real highs to speak of for the past few years.

And along comes the next stop on the milestone timeline. Which is, you know, really cool. Good. People are starting to focus on the next up on the timeline. Eventually they'll forget about me altogether. I can't wait to be shoved into oblivion by the rest of the milestone timeline.

So that's all the stuff brewing in the cellar of my mind. Mainly on those long lonely nights. The rest of the time is consumed with work and my mother. Which is cool. Fine. A husband and children would get in the way of me helping with my mother. As it is I am feeling like I am doing far, far, far from enough for her. I want and need to do more. I try. I have limitations. I'd like to think I do the best I can. I do more than my siblings. But it's not a contest. They have significant others, children, jobs and lives. I have a cat and a job. It makes sense for me to do more. But it's not enough.

How do I know this?

Because someone said something, one phrase, one sentence uttered somewhat offhand, which stung me hard. More than a slap on the face. More like a dagger in the heart and spine.

My mother's in a nursing home. I hate that. I can scarcely bear the thought of it. I'm trying to deal with it. I'm trying to make it okay for her. I'm trying to be positive and up! about it. I'm trying to convince everyone, mainly my parents and myself, that this is temporary. This milestone which should have come a long, long time from now, or better still, not at all, isn't a milestone. It's just a small setback, a minor issue, not an event. Certainly not a milestone event. Just a minor issue which will be resolved because my mother will get better. She will get better. She's getting better. She will get better. It's going to be okay. She will get better.

But.

Then.

Someone said, "Oh, how nice, they let her out for the weekend."

"Let her out."

Let. Her. Out.

A weekend pass.

Let. Her. Out.

Like she's being held in captivity against her will. Imprisoned. Letting her out for the weekend.

That sentence struck me so hard I barely made it to the ladies room in time to hide the hyperventilation and tears which followed that verbal assault.

She is being held. She's not happy about being in a nursing home but, in my mother's usual way, she's making the best of it. The problem is that there isn't really a best of it. It's a nursing home. Nursing homes suck. She's surrounded by people in advanced states of decline and decay. People die there almost every day. She's in the "transient" wing, which is to say at this point they do not consider her a permanent resident waiting to die. Her time there is spent in hopes of rehabilitating her enough to go home. Home home. But they're watching her. Keeping an eye on her. If she doesn't reach her personal milestones there's a room in the permanent resident waiting to die wing waiting for her. Well. That's metaphoric. There's a room in the permanent resident waiting to die wing waiting for all of us. But. She's way too close for my comfort or hers.

So the concept of "letting her out for the weekend" hit hard.

Hearing someone say it reinforced all the brain dark cellar thoughts I've been trying to ignore. It's not that none of us aren't facing the facts, but, well, we're trying to be positive! up! look on the bright side! smiling like we mean it!

And then someone innocently says, "Oh, how nice, they're letting her out for the weekend."

Allowing her to leave because of a huge family milestone.

But she must be returned by Sunday night. The "or else" heavily implied.

It was exciting for my mother.

She hasn't breathed outside air since January.

Because she's been held in captivity.

She was excited but nervous. Her first outing without the aid and relative safety of trained health care professionals and equipment. A wheelchair. A walker. Braces on her leg. Portable oxygen tank. And somewhere in there my mother.

My stylish, buoyant, with it, energetic, independent, always on the go mother trapped in captivity even when she's "let out for the weekend." She wanted to look nice for the event. She's lost so much weight her already small clothes literally fall off her. I've had to purchase all new clothes for her. I try to find stylish but comfy, easy to manage outfits. But infirmary clothes are not my mother's usual style. She's the type who's always put together nicely. She'd never dream of owning (much less wearing) sweats. Casual, yes, but always casually smart, even around the house and out in the garden. But. Now. There she is in her micro sized workout suit and orthopedic shoes. You don't know my mother so you can't comprehend how incongruous this is to how she is. If the circumstances weren't so awful it would be comical. Like she was dressing up for Halloween.

She wanted something nice to wear for the weekend event. I took her magazines and catalogs and department store ads. We came up with a few ideas and eventually I found her an outfit and matching orthopedic shoes. Which she liked, I mean, you know, she was enthused by the relative "properness" of the outfit compared to the stuff she's been wearing. But. Still. I know she would have rather been wearing something very, very different. It was a concession. Her big weekend out and she was stuck wearing what a year ago she would have called an "old lady outfit." It's the shoes, mainly, which really seal the deal. Old lady orthopedic shoes.

It sucks.

It sucks for her and it sucks for everyone who knows and loves her.

It's a milestone.

An unpleasant one.

Fortunately balanced by an eagerly anticipated milestone. One which my mother has contributed heavily for many years. She wouldn't have missed it for anything. It's been her goal for the past weeks. What she was wearing was of no real consequence. The fact that she's even alive is all that matters to any of us. The fact that she was able to be "let out" for the weekend was a huge, huge deal. No one cares what she's wearing, nor, really, does she. But. You know. This is a far cry from what she ever anticipated wearing to this event.

But.

Big picture.

She made it. She saw it happen. Live. In person. On her weekend pass from The Home.

Which is, you know, good. It's all positive and encouraging and all that.

Really. It is. She will get better. She will. (See? Positive! Up! Think no negative, see positive! It is going to be okay! Smile like you mean it and eventually you will!)

But. The fact remains: My mother had to be "let out for the weekend."

We had her on loan.

A milestone within a milestone because of a milestone.

And then we had to return her.

I'm the youngest child. My parents' baby. By a lot of years and a very, very long shot. It's no secret my, um, DNA creation was a surprise. My mother always covers the obvious age gap between my brother and I with, "We had to wait until he was settled nicely into a routine and activities at school...he was such a demanding child we couldn't consider having another baby until he was older..." Which has some basis in fact, some of my brother's pre-8 year old antics are the stuff of legends and Simpson's episodes. Still. We all know the stork knocking on the door with me came as a surprise.

But. My parents were cool with the whole thing. After what they'd been enduring with my brother I'm sure there were concerns of the "oh no, what if she's like him" type. Fortunately for all of us I wasn't like him in the bad ways. Right. So. Just setting the scene there.

My parents got a baby girl who was basically a well behaved, if a bit shy, breath of fresh child rearing air, a last gasp, last chance baby.

And. Well. Sometimes, my mother especially, behaved the way mothers do with what they know is their last baby. She didn't coddle me. Too much. But. There was (and is) no mistaking that I am her baby, her youngest, her last gasp, last baby. We joke about it. We're cool with it. It's okay. I was never that aware of it when I was a kid, it's only as an adult, looking back, that I realize what she was going through.

Once, though, one time, when I was starting kindergarten, a milestone, I remember being very aware that my mother was upset. She normally gently pushed me into new experiences, particularly social experiences (that shy thing was already a big problem) but on my first day of kindergarten, a day which I had been looking forward to for a very long time, my first day of school, off like the big kids to learn all sorts of things, embarking on my educational career (yes. I was a dork) I was eager and ready to trot off on my own, to let go of my mother's hand and boldly (well, for me) face experiences on my own. But. My mother, who usually gently but firmly prodded me into leaving the safety of her hand, pulled me back and hugged me really tightly for a really long time. The difference this time was that I wanted to go, I wanted to let go of her hand and run off on my own to walk into a new room full of kids I didn't know. I was so eager the shyness was secondary, I'd deal with that later. But. There was my mother oddly, after all that prodding the coaxing for me to let go of her, now holding me back and not letting me go. What I remember thinking at the time was, "She's sad. She's going to be alone when I'm at school." So I told her to get my best doll to play with while I was at school. Oh be quiet. I was trying to help. She laughed. We talked about what we'd do when I got home. I left.

And thus began a lifetime of milestone good-byes with consolation efforts and looking forward instead of backwards in an effort to make the good-byes okay. A difficult and uncomfortable hospital stay. I didn't want her to leave me. She had to. Every night she'd pull away and leave me with that best doll and a new book and talk about the next day's steps closer to home. My first slumber party, I couldn't wait to go, she had concerns, I stacked up a bunch of books for her to read just as if I was there and much anticipation of a trip to the library when I got home the next day. Summer camp. I didn't want to go. She pushed. I went. And found a teddy bear sewn into my sleeping bag, low enough so the other girls wouldn't know it was there, but within easy reach at night when things got scary in the tent on the first night, and plans for a family vacation shortly after I got home from camp. A Summer job away for three months. I pulled away and left behind hidden notes and drawings for her to find all over the house while I was gone, and plans for back to school shopping trips upon my return home. College, well, we both struggled with that one...it never ends.

This was going through my mind when we took my mother back to The Home. A weird mix of role reversal and history repeating. I couldn't let go of her. I just could not make my arms let go of her. They can't have you. I'm not giving you to them. They let you out, we managed, and they can't have you back because you don't belong here. You belong at home home, not The Home. My now frail, tiny mother hugged me and with her gentle, but firm, but, very, very weak hands, pushed me away and patted me like all those times she used to do when I was little - "Go on and play with those girls, Trillian, it will be fun!" "Go on, now, Trillian, it's okay, they're nice, you like hopscotch, go on and play with them, they want you to play with them." "I'll be right here waiting for you, go on, it's okay." - "It's okay Trillian, we made it through the weekend, I'm tired, they're taking good care of me, it's okay, they're waiting for me. Maybe next time we'll go home for good." Another milestone which should never have a place on our family timeline.

Yeah, go call your mother and tell her you love her.

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7:52 PM

 
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