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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Contact The Media
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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

 
Monday, September 26, 2011  
a) Blogger is annoying the crap out of me by requesting my phone number every time I log in. Blogger, I have been logging in and using you for a very, very long time. Because you have the cache of posts organized by date, you know this. Unless I have some sort of extreme memory wiping ailment in my gray matter, my account is not in danger due to my cognitive recall ability to login. (And in the event I do suffer some sort of extreme memory wiping ailment that alters my cognitive recall ability I really should not be blogging. So please stop bugging me for my phone number.) Blogger, you're behaving like some needy, desperate, self-unaware jerk at a bar who keeps pestering a girl who is clearly not interested in you for her phone number or email. And like that needy, desperate, self-unaware jerk at the bar, you already bugged me about friending you on Facebook and that nice, polite girl quietly evaded your request leaving your dignity intact. I am that nice, polite girl at the bar who's there to socialize with a friend over drinks and is not interested in hooking up or being friends with benefits and is trying to help you maintain a shred of your dignity by politely ignoring your phone number requests. But it's becoming more clear that you're not going to stop pestering her and so, pushed to her limits, she's about to go off on you in a "leave me alone you moronic creep, I'm not interested and I will never, ever give you my phone number" tirade that may or may not include profanity and loud character assassination.

b) Hi, how are you?


So, I got really hammered a couple nights ago. I haven't done that for ages. Years. The thing I kinda forgot about getting hammered beyond cognizance is that sometimes you do things you would not normally do and worse, you only vaguely recall doing those things when you sober up.

Yes. I desperately needed to let off a lot of steam. This pot is combusting to the point of boiling over, heading toward core meltdown. Releasing some condensation might be the only way to save the core.

But. Alcohol never solves anything. It temporarily alters reality and numbs pain. But it never solves anything. I know this.

And. I didn't mean to get hammered. But that toxic combination of very little food ingested and a friend with a "Plus One" invite to an open bar party snagged me in its net.

Because you're reading this blog it's probably safe to assume you have "been there" at least once. I know, I know, assume makes an ass of u and me. I know. But. If you're reading this blog it's probably safe to assume that at least once in your life you've been accidentally or intentionally hammered.

So, yeah. That happened. Cripes.

I spent the next day remembering why I don't drink to oblivion. Man, those hangovers get more painful as you get older.

Although. From what I recall I had a pretty darned good time letting off that steam. My core reactor may be in eminent danger of meltdown, and the panic sirens are blaring, but, that doesn't diminish all the good things I'm capable of when things are running efficiently.

Over the past few years, especially since I was laid off, due mainly to budgetary constraints, I have not "done" much of anything. Friends have been great at getting me out - free concert tickets, a few classes, a dinner and movie out, occasional drinks - and that has been greatly, greatly appreciated. But. There's an omnipresent entity that envelopes me all the time. It has me shackled and even though it let's some slack on the lease now and then, I'm still tethered. I'm not free to be me. Try as I might, as optimistic as I have forced myself to remain, being unemployed and not finding a source of steady income and facing homelessness and the huge hurdles I will have to jump to get back on my feet if I do ever find a job, colors every thought, every movement, everything I do or think. I force myself to counter every negative or scary thought/aspect with at least one that is equally positive. But. It's not easy.

A few weeks ago I saw a friend I have not seen in over a year. She's the kind of friend who is honest. Tactfully honest, offering solutions instead of empty criticism, but very, very honest.

I smiled my "please don't worry about me, I'll be okay, really, I'm fine" smile. The one I was pretty sure I had practiced to perfection. I rarely get compliments on my looks. However. The one constant thing people, friends and strangers alike, compliment me on is my smile. Friends, family, people who know me, remark that I'm one of those people who has a sincerely warm smile that puts everyone at ease. And I think that's true to certain extent. I don't go around grinning all the time. I'm not really sure what my natural expression is or conveys, but it's not smiley gal. However. If I meet someone, or thank someone, I do it with a smile and that is a sincere smile. "Hi," "Nice to meet you," "Hi, how are you?" "Thank you!" elicit a smile from me. I'm sincere, genuine, as is the smile, I am truly happy or pleased or content to be interacting. So yeah, I guess my smile is generally warm, inviting, or at least genuine. Strangers - cashiers, bus drivers, bartenders - who otherwise dismiss me in passing will sometimes pause for a second and say, "You have a beautiful/nice smile." I think perhaps they are picking up on what my friends and family say - there's a warm sincerity in my smile, a safe place.

I have been resting on my smile laurel for the past two years, counting on that smile to cover for me, create the illusion, the façade that I'm okay. If I can smile, that warm, sincere smile, then maybe no one will worry about me.

Because that's the worst part about unemployment for me. I don't want to be a source of concern. I don't want to add another facet of worry in my family and friend's already stressed lives.

So I smile through a lot of conversations. My family and friends know I'm struggling. They know I'm in a very, very bad situation. They know I'm hurting. They know the financial aspects are only the tip of a huge iceberg of anguish.* No one has to discuss any of it, it's so obvious it goes without saying. So I don't say much of anything about it.

My honest friend, though, she didn't buy it. "Don't you dare sit there and smile at me as if nothing's wrong. I know you. I know your smile. There's barely a drop of sincerity in that smile you're trying to pass off as normal so don't bother trying to fake it with me."

At this point I had to give her far higher marks for perception than I have in the past. I've always thought she was a tad too self-involved, okay a lot too self-involved, to pick up on non-verbal cues. She's also led a very charmed life and lacks the depth of understanding one acquires through struggle, loneliness and hard work. That doesn't mean she doesn't have the capacity to care, she's not apathetic, but, she has absolutely zero experience in worrying about being alone, homeless, penniless and directionless.

If she notices something "off" in my smile, of all things, then I'm in far worse shape than I realized.

Complete, utter, soul and gut wrenching breakdown in 3-2-1.












Yeah. That was pretty bad.

Definitely the worst one yet. Because if I can't fool anyone with my smile then I can no longer fool myself that staying positive will make it bearable. Not okay, but bearable.

But now I'm pretty sure I've reached the point that it's not bearable. I'm struggling too much, drowning, really, and there's no one there to see, so there's no one there to help, or even call for help. For a while I've been pondering this take on the "If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to see or hear, did it really fall?" philosophy. If a single, childless woman loses her job and home, and there's no one there to notice or care, does she really matter?

I can't come up with reasons why she would matter.

The God people will jump all over this. "Of course she matters, everyone matters, God cares, Jesus cares." Save it for Sunday, God people. Facts and practical reality are what matter on this mortal coil.**

I have no husband or life-partner to help share the emotional burden. I have no children to find joy in, or the need to survive and conquer for their sake.

When I realized men, dating, marriage, and children were not in my cards and I turned off that part of my brain and put myself on the shelf, the plan was to focus on deriving passion, support and self-worth from my career and building a home and financial assets that would allow me to adopt or foster parent some children who, like me, drew the short stick in finding a loving family and home of their own.

And lots of people derive passion, support and self-worth from their careers. And my career has always been important to me, with or without a husband and/or children my plans always included a career, doing something or somethings beyond being a wife and mother. So for me letting go of the hope of a committed relationship was probably "easier" than it is for people who haven't always had career desires and ambitions.

Right. Long way to say that without my career I don't have an emotional outlet in which to channel my passion. Without a job I don't have money to pay my mortgage, let alone save the required financial security adoption agencies and social workers require of single would-be parents. And at this point it will take me years to dig out and re-establish myself, my credit...it's not starting over. Starting over would mean having no credit and no foreclosure. I triple dog dare you to try to get: A credit card, car loan, apartment lease, utilities, cell phone... with bad credit due to an extended job loss. And a mortgage? Please. Not in what remains of my lifetime.

So my Plans B, C and D are gone.

When the smile can no longer fool anyone, it's time to admit defeat.


I admitted defeat.

And got completely, utterly, obliteratedly hammered. I'd like to say I woke up in a stranger's bed but, come on, this is me. That would require someone equally drunk enough to have sex with me, and if a guy is drunk enough to have sex with me, he's not going to be able to, um, perform. And that's okay. I'm okay with that. I've made peace with asexuality. Or, well, I've accepted it. Working toward peace.

I'd like to say at the height of my intoxication I had some moment of insight and enlightenment. Unless there's something deeper in the act of stumbling into concert hall where an '80s band is playing and dancing with a bunch of middle-aged gay men than I realize, well, not so much. (Although there is a poignant "et tu, Trillian, et tu?" aspect to that.) However, apparently I did impress some people at a bar post-concert. My friends told me I had a bunch of people in tears laughing over my confession to being bad at the '80s. ("I didn't own a Swatch watch, never watched Dallas or Dynasty, hated Duran Duran, never wore acid-washed or designer anything and didn't make a crapload of money.") So, you know, at least I'm a happy drunk. And for a few moments, there, I let go of Now Me and let Old Me have some fun and I remembered that I am capable of having fun, that there's more to me than unemployment and homelessness...and failure. So, you know, that was good. Not insightful, but good.

I'd like to say I met some other people drinking to forget. I did meet some people, and from what I recall they were nice. But I don't recall their names and couldn't pick them out of a lineup. The friends I was drinking with were also quite drunk, but less drunk enough that we got home safely. And less drunk enough that they remember some of what we did, where we went and how we got home. So. You know, there's something to be said for that. I have friends I can trust to take care of me should I get hammered beyond cognizance. That's no small thing. I am grateful for them.

And I'd like to say that in my hungover reverie I vowed that this is the low point and from here on out it's all up, up, up! But truly, unless someone hires me this week there's nowhere to go but down. I've worked all the angles, tried everything I (and a pretty darned savvy team of family and friends) can brainstorm. The pain of the hangover only served to make me feel as bad physically as I do emotionally. A form of cutting, perhaps? Trying to salve the emotional pain with physical pain? Well, that wasn't the intended plan. And the pain of the hangover didn't really overshadow the emotional pain. So, intentionally or otherwise, we can rule out deep psychological compensation techniques.



I'm out of options.

So, that whole getting hammered beyond cognizance was a last hurrah, a few hours of relief from the past two years of all-consuming anxiety. I'm not proud of diving into the bottle, or several bottles. It's not a healthy coping technique. But let me be very clear: I am not crutching on alcohol. In fact, in the past two years I've consumed very little alcohol, almost none. Which was probably a factor in how drunk I got, and how quickly I got that way.

I'm sharing all of this for one reason: You can gain insight from me. Judge me, that's okay, I can take it. Really. There's nothing you can say to or about me that I haven't already thought or said about myself. I am very, very self-aware. However. Before you judge someone else, remember that there may be a lot you don't understand or realize about them. Their smile may be warm and sincere, but it may be a front, hiding a lot of anxiety and pain. They may be drunk to the point of obnoxious stupidity, but they may also be in desperate need of a few hours of emotional relief, venting some steam before the core melts down.



*Iceberg of Anguish = fantastic emo band name.
**This Mortal Coil - fantastic band name...oh wait...4AD beat me to that, speaking of the '80s.

3:38 PM

 
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