Sunday, March 27, 2005

old man is snoring

What a perfect day for eating blueberry pancakes and reading smut in bed. It is POURING. I'm so glad Architecture Stud and I got out in the boat yesterday, because it is positively vile here now.

Yesterday morning, I did about a thousand errands and ran four miles with Alexandrialeigh and finally finished my book of clips (hooray), which has been incomplete since...um...forever. There are still some stories from the old job that I need to print from PDFs, but that's not very difficult. Also dragged everything out from under my bed and my closet and everywhere else and vacuumed up every last strand of Woo hair. How in the hell does one tiny dog shed four clones' worth of hair every stinking day? I'm not kidding. Naturally she had to come in and pee as soon as I finished mopping the floor....sigh. I guess I'll tinkle on the floor when I'm 133 years old too.

Then A.S. and went out to Rockville and launched the boat and went slipping through all these narrow, shallow tidal creeks, and saw deer and cormorants and pelicans and fiddler crabs. It was so peaceful, and the marsh and spartina smelled so fecund and glorious. We snuck onto Botany Bay and walked along the beach and looked for shark's teeth and found horseshoe crabs and conches and sanddollars. And we came across a crap pot, and I've been wanting one for forever, and it was bright yellow- the thrill! I said, "Look, A.S.! God has gifted me with this totally sweet yellow crabpot." Then we dug it out the rest of the way and it was a piece of junk, and I said, "Bear witness, A.S. of this sign of doom. I'm going to hell and this is the fith sign." Hah!

It was so romantic strolling on the beach with the wind rattling the palmetto trees and the box of Cheezits. Why are burnt Cheezits so irredeemably awful? Anyway, I never ask A.S. what he's thinking, because it's never never never the same thing I am. Boys are so dumb. The whole time we were walking hand in hand, he was looking out at the waves and thinking, "I'll bet when a nor'easter blows up, this will be a totally misto surf spot." (rolls eyes) But I didn't ask, he offered that little choice nugget of information all on his own.

So we went out for sushi and went back in to watch Hero. Anyone else seen it? It's awful. I know it's supposed to be the most incredible film ever made, etc, etc, but it was absolutely the most repetitive thing I've watched in a long time. There were all these flashbacks and flash forwards and flash sideways, blah, blah, blah, and exactly how many times did Snow stab Broken Sword? By the end when she did it for real, I just didn't give a good goddamn. And then the little Moon character... all she did was scream and run around getting in everyone's way. In her final scene of screaming and being futile, I looked over at A.S. and said, "Oh shit, here she comes AGAIN." And what in God's name was the director's obsession with a) water and b) the significance of the single tear? He/she overused those stinkin metaphors like somebody's two-bit whore.

So today is Easter and it was too nasty out to roll out of bed and go to my semi-annual church attendance. And I opted not to drive two hours to have dinner with my brother-in-law's family, including the two ADHD twin boys, one of whom kept up the world's longest scream during Chistmas dinner last year (three hours without pausing for breath). Parents don't beat their children enough these days, IMHO.

So I had blueberry pancakes instead, and am doing laundry and thinking of how much reading I need to do for this new job. For the past two nights, I've had these exhausting dreams about how the programmers at work have implanted a microchip in my brain so I can keep up to date with the software releases, and they can just upload all the information directly to my head. Then I wake up and race through these endless cycles of work lists. I hope this nervousness will pass once I get more accustomed to it. They're already sending my to Kansas, Texas and probably New York or DC in the next month...sheesh.

I also feel like I'm having to hold it together for a lot of people right now. A.S. isn't feeling very emotionally well, and another friend of mine is getting kicked in the teeth workwise. I wish I had more answers and less useless advice for people, you know? I also wish I was better at letting go of destructive thought patterns.............. such as the Italian moustache whore, Valentina, that A.S. was seeing. WHY can't I just give it up? I was seeing someone else too, and I've got no regrets about giving that guy the boot. So why do I think A.S.'s relationship was so much more meaningful? Why do I feel like he's wishing he was still with her? He doesn't act that way, so it must just be my own self-inflicted misery. It helps a little that my downstairs neighbor, The Sexy Attorney, has renamed her Evangelina Vagina. Somehow it makes me feel better. You can't help but feel superior to someone named Evangelina Vagina.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

stick a fork in me

Holy crap. This new job is TOUGH. I knew it would be, but the minutiae is killing me. I'd forgotten how with corporate jobs, you have templates for meeting schedules, everything has to be in one font, and that there are process manuals for EVERYTHING. This week is all orientation, and in between meetings (I had six meetings yesterday) and "classes," I'm supposed to actually be working, only there isn't any TIME! And I can't blog at work! DAMNIT!

But there is a really nice girl in finance who is in orientation with me, and she just put a lease down on an apartment three doors down from me on my street. [Incidentally, I'm having to blog at my parents' house right now, because I canceled my crappy internet service at home and can't do it at work... how juvenile do I feel? And my mother just walked in to the library and wants to know what I'm doing. Sheesh.] So I was dragging Woo to the lake and talking about the nice finance girl on the phone to one of my friends, and I looked up and there she was on the balcony of this building. She said it was so nice to see someone she knows. She's from Michigan, so doesn't have too many friends down here. So at least i'm making friends there.

I think the real trouble is that I'm still doing that medical study thing, and I am CONVINCED I'm on the placebo. I want my Ritalin back, people. I actually had to brutally pinch myself today during one meeting I was so bored. My head kept bobbing, and it was a freaking ONE-ON-ONE deal. I had to see the doctor today, because it was the appointment where they upped my dosage, and I fixed this guy with my gimlet eye and demanded to know when the halfway point for the study is, because I'm deeply aware that this little sugar pill isn't doing crap.

In other news, Alexandrialeigh and I ran six miles this morning. It made me supremely late for work, but it's so great to start the day feeling that accomplished. It's weird not seeing her every day... and the Bush hating Republican too. I miss my contact-testosterone dose. The Nerve... well... good riddance. The old job called and asked me to do an exit interview after all. I don't really see what good that will do, especially if Nerve sees it. I can forget about freelance writing for them if I say what I think.

Argh! She's back in. My mother is so @#$%^& nosy! Piss off, woman! I'm 28, I don't need your snoopery! As soon as I get paid, I'm getting cable internet. And I may never leave my apartment again.

Of course, who knows if the magazine I slaved my arse off for will ever fork out the bucks. They've begun to ignore my inquiries at this point, and they owe me about $2000 now. No wonder I'm bouncing checks. Well, they better pay me before May, because I'll have to pay off my surfboard. I'll post a picture of it when it comes in... it's so pretty. And it's going to be so much bigger than little Mini- heh.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Someone please shoot me

Oh we are so hungover today. My neighbors cooked a fabulous dinner in honor of my temporary joyful state of joblessness: bourbon marinated salmon. Yum! And then they fed me vodka and red bull to wake me up and took me out to this punk show at Cumbies. The bands were very loud, wore lots of black and had mass man boobs. Do all Goth men have to be either Gollumesque or have large breasts? Anyway, tons of mohawks and piercings and chain accessories; I was so scared one of them would mosh on my flipflop. And I found out the new look for Goth chicks is 50's: snub toed shoes, hair snoods, crinoline skirts, finger waves, etc. I wonder how THAT happened.

So A.S. showed up and bought me lots of bourbon and my neighbor, The Sexy Attorney, purchased me still more bourbon and a large vodka shot. I finally caught a buzz but never got over my cranky mood. I think I must be more nervous about this new job than I think. I've also had a issue with A.S. that I think may finally be resolved.

He's said and done a couple of things in the past few day/weeks that made me wonder if he was still talking with Valentina, the moustached Italian whore. Obviously I can't dictate who he talks to, but I really wanted to KNOW... you know? So I asked him two nights ago if he ever hears from her (you could have seen my heart pounding through my ribcage) and he said, "Yes, we e-mail from time to time." And I said, "But she knows about us, right? She knows that we got back together?" And he said, "No." (cue Jemima vomiting)

A.S. said that neither of them talk about who they're dating and just discuss architecture stuff. Well, I couldn't really think of anything nice to say, so I said nothing at all and went to sleep (tossed and turned and stewed and stressed and gnawed on my spleen over it all night). So all day yesterday I contemplated various horrible scenarios about him and Valentina (isn't that just a DISGUSTING name?) and why he hadn't told her. Did he not want to hurt her... which would mean he still very much felt something for her? Did he not want to tell her because he wanted to keep a door open to get back together with her in the future? WHAT THE HELL?

Well after we came home from the punk show, I was drunk enough to just blurt out that it reeeeaaally bothered me that he was communicating with someone he used to date while she didn't know he had a relationship with me. And he said, "Okay, I'll tell her."

Well shit ($28.50). I'd gotten myself all lathered up, and if I'd just ASKED him all this stuff without freaking out over it, I wouldn't have wasted so much energy.

So today, fortunately it was raining, and I was saved from having to run with Alexandrialeigh (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!) and throw up bourbon fumes in a ditch. And then I had my ADD driving simulator thingy. Well, the doctor doing the study has ADD too, and lost her keys and was an hour late--the comedy never ends. And the simulator is HORRIBLE. AWFUL! VILE! It makes your depth perception go all screwy and is unbelievably nauseating.

And I ran over a pedestrian.

To be fair, they have people cut you off and pull out in front of you and run you off the road, and occasionally some retard leaps out from behind a bus and hurls himself under your wheels. In my opinion, he deserved to die (grill monkey), but I feel certain it reflected poorly on my score. Somehow I managed to refrain from shouting, "M*****r F****r A*s H**e C**k S****r!!!!!" at any of the simulated maniac drivers, because they might have eliminated me from the study for excessive anger. But I thought it real real hard... I wonder if I have to pay the church for mental swearing?

And then I had to get an EKG and they said I am fabulously healthy and my resting pulse is about 55-60. Nice work. I have Little Miss Nobody to thank for that. So i am officially admitted to the study group (why does that make me feel so validated? Because it really just means I am certifiable...) and recieved my first bottle of Strattera/placebo. That will be something new to ask for from my cute Kevin Spacey lookalike pharmacist. The man knows me by name, which is humiliating as hell:

Hot Pharmacist: "Here ya go, Jemima, your Ritalin and birth controls pills. Now I know that you are a retarded slut. You have a nice day now."

Pans to Jemima snatching her bag and scuttling out of the store like her ass is on fire.

Well, I'm supposed to be writing freelance stuff, not blogging. So tata.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

empty desk

Wow, I just shot my last Whole Paycheck green rubber band at LMN and my desk is cleared out and I have a box full of papers and files and my red fu dog. Wait, wait... "My bags are packed, I'm ready to go... blah,blah, oh babe, I hate to see you go... (sound of violent wretching)"

Sorry, I'm feeling a little punchy since LMN and the Bush-hating Republican took me out to lunch and force fed me beer. It was awfully jolly- you should have been there.

Anyway, as soon as we got back, The Nerve called me in to our usual story budget meeting and then there was a cake and everyone shuffled in... and I was so scared I'd have to make a speech. I knew I'd get the giggles if I tried to be earnest, and I'd look like an ungrateful asswipe. So I've copied all my personal files and favorites, wiped my harddrive, cleaned out my cookies and temp files, uninstalled things I shouldn't have, defragged my computer, and now I guess my work is done here.

So long job that I loved even though it didn't pay. Goodbye LMN, I'll miss you... until our run tomorrow. Goodbye Bush-hating Republican. I'll still read your blog if you'll still read mine. I'm sure I'll see you next week sometime anyway. Goodbye Nerve, you are a boil on the buttock of humanity and never let anyone tell you different.

Tata.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Poor Mini

It was a good thing my car was so clean, because I had to take it to the collision center today. $874!!! Why in the HELL does it cost that much to fix a tiny dent and some paint scratching? The poor woman who caused the accident is probably going to have to quit eating to pay it off, and although it was definitely her fault, I feel AWFUL about it. We didn't file a police report after she turned left from the right lane right in front of me, and everyone at work kept telling me she was going to screw me and say I was at fault and her neck was starting to hurt. Well, she did the decent thing and claimed responsibility and restored my faith in humanity. And she was so unbelievably sad about it when we were standing there in the street that I almost felt like it really was my fault--I don't like making people sad. And the guy at the collision center kept asking me if I wanted to get this other little dent fixed while I was at it... he must have seen my look of horror. No, asswipe! I don't! I asked him repeatedly to try to keep the cost down, but he decided I needed to have the whole frickin car taken apart and repainted and some rivet-thingy put in and all that. I'm like, Christ, can't i just go get some silver fingernail polish and cover it up?

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Sunday

Congratulate me. My car is finally clean... for the first time since I bought it in April. Suprisingly, it took THREE hours to clean my Mini, mostly due to the layer of bristly Jack Russell fur woven into the carpet. And the spaniel had sponged up about four lbs of sandy mud in her giant grinch feet (she's a mean one...) and distributed it evenly throughout the interior. There was also cereal, wheat thins, petrified french fries, candy wrappers and other assorted debris that filled an entire garbage bag. Having a clean car is not a priority for me. A car is just a means of getthing from one place to another without having to carry all of your shit on your back ($26). I wouldn't have even bothered with it if A.S. hadn't said, "Damn, your car is nasty" this morning on our way to breakfast, which would have made me flare my nostrils at him if so doing would not have endangered my health. Anyway, the car is now so clean and slick that when I got in it this afternoon (late for my ADD appointment=irony) I accidentally slid into the passenger seat.

"Nice wax job, Rookie." Anyone know where that came from?

So the doctor's appointment was hilarious. It's some medical study they're doing on drivers with ADD, and I get Stroverra or whatever that new drug is for adults and have to drive a simulator. But they asked me all these questions, like "Do you have trouble paying attention or getting things done on time (stop laughing, Alexandrialeigh, or I'll beat your ass), etc." And then they try to weed out other things like OCD and bipolar. Some of their questions are so great, like "Do you ever hear things that no one else can." And I said, "Yes, but I have above average hearing, much like a dog." And "Do you ever think you can receive special messages from people or objects?" And I said, "What, you mean like the Pope?" And "Do you have any special powers?" And I snorted horribly because of LMN's questions about invisibility or the power to fly. It was so tempting, but I REALLY wanted to ride in the simulator...

And A.S. and I just came back from a run. He's signed me up for this 10K race here, which is really starting to scare me, because it's in two weeks and I'll probably vomit on someone and die of humiliation. The last time I tried a race the view of people running in front of me made me get motion sickness- all those heads bobbing at random. But A.S. nearly collapsed after two miles, which made me feel a little better. At least I won't die alone. But he's run three marathons before and we started talking about training for one in August. The idea fascinates me, but 20-something miles!?!?! That's just crazy talk! Of course, we were also discussing either a surf trip or possibly a climbing trip to Joshua Tree in the fall. I get all dreamy at the very idea... just me and little A.S... necking in the wilderness. Purrrrr...

Friday, March 11, 2005

Super Ego

I stole this from Little Miss Nobody and Pink Lemonade Diva

I Live: in fear of regret.
I Work: in fierce spurts under intense pressure.
I Talk: to my deaf dog.
I Wish: I could speak Italian.
I Enjoy: very expensive food.
I Look: exactly the same as I did in 10th grade.
I Must: get back to South Africa.
I Forget: to balance my checkbook.
I Find: small orange mushrooms and owl feathers and helpless bats and cool rocks.
I Smell: like Coco Chanel or rosemary-mint shampoo.
I Listen: to my sister's advice.
I Hide: the good snacks.
I Pray: for guidance and clarity.
I Walk: fast.
I Write: for work and because I am compelled to.
I See: spiders on the ceiling. It's like a superpower.
I Sing: in my car, but if anyone starts listening, I immediately become tone deaf.
I Laugh: at inappropriate things.
I Left: for Africa three years ago almost to the day.
I Won: a pair of mountaineering boots from The Gear Guy in Outside Mountain.
I Can: jump four feet on horseback.
I Watch: bonfires and the ocean.
I Yearn: for Architecture Student.
I Daydream: incessantly.
I Fall: over my shoes, my dog, my dirty laundry.
I Want: a new longboard.
I Cry: in church, when I am frustrated.
I Burn: rice.
I Read: For Better of For Worse every day.
I Love: reading the NYT in bed.
I Rode: a whale in a dream once.
I Touch: my dog in the middle of the night to make sure she's still there.
I Hurt: myself when I'm sad.
I Fear: change and long for it.
I Hope: Bush suffers a fatal hemorrhoid.
I Use: Colgate toothpaste.
I Break: (brake) for no one.
I Eat: my fingernails at the movies.
I Quit: my job.
I Bathe: with candles and romance novels.
I Still: want my mom when I'm sick.
I Drink: bourbon in winter and gin in summer.
I Stop: to help people who look lost.
I Save: earthworms when it rains.
I Lost: my high school ring.
I Take: the dirt road if it's an option.
I Trip-Out: about abuse of women's rights.
I Hug: my boyfriend and he says, "Ow."
I Play: with my baby niece and my parents' dog.
I Miss: boarding school.
I Hold: rock ledges with my fingertips.
I Forgive: other people more than myself.
I Drive: my eccentric godmother everywhere, because she's so scary behind a wheel.
I Learn: more about love every day.
I Have: a birthmark on my arm.
I Remember: my grandmother's phone number. She died in 1993.
I Don't: like green bell peppers.
I Like: warm bread and naps after fox hunting.
I Made: a crocheted blanket, but it's too small.
I Kiss: on the lips, which sometimes people don't expect.
I Wait: for my dog all the time.
I Need: to be more motivated.
I Owe: a lot of money to the bank right now.
I Hate: confrontation.
I Can't: do cartwheels or roll my tongue.
I Know: how to set a broken bone in the wilderness.
I Applaud: my friends' success.
I Am: extremely tired.
I Figure: I'll go home. It's five o'clock.

This is giving me a peculiar feeling of joy today. Maybe it's PMS. Maybe it's because I'm dwelling on something A.S. said that was unkind. Maybe I haven't had enough sleep. But this is the only thing (besides LMN's cute hairdo) that had made me laugh today.

Five questions for Jem: From Kelly Love

1. Now that you and AS are once again happy couple, how often do you bring up froggy headed Republican wench?
Actually, I brought her up on our recent vacation. He mentioned something about that crappy ball they went to and I FINALLY got to ask the question I'd been dying to ask: "So was it a date? Before we got back together, was it intended as a date?" And he practically yelled NO! He said he had no desire to ever date her, and her parents called and asked him to escort her. It helps that a friend of mine who was there described her as "extremely rude and very loud." Anyway, I'm still dying to see a picture of the girl he dated in Italy while we were broken up. I've never met her and I absolutely loathe her guts. I try not to envision her as Sophia Loren's voluptuous neice, with him lapping cappacino froth from her cleavage, but sometimes my imagination/masochism runs unfettered. Most days I prefer to think of her as having a moustache. Anyway, I haven't resorted to any snooping... much.

But you know, I always liked the froggy faced Republican, so I guess I'm not really allowed to hate her anymore. We weren't ever close, but she's been nothing but nice to me. So I have purged that little black spot from my soul.

2. When you did your "cleanse," what exactly were you trying to cleanse?
Mostly the urge to smoke and constantly eat processed sugar. I'm skinny, but I get embarassed by how I eat sometimes. Frat boys have better habits. I won't even LIKE something and yet, if it's there, I feel compelled to put it in my mouth (yeah, I know. Lucky A.S.) And the cleanse really did work for smoking. I bet I've smoked three since January 1. It's like you're so miserable and craving everything that you can't pinpoint any one thing that you're truly desperate for. And I'm doing better at eating at least one fruit and vegetable every day.

3. The Nerve: Bumbling Fool or Big Giant Wang?
Don't get me started. I guess bumbling fool. I don't think he intends to be an asshole or anything, but since he doesn't actually DO anything, he doesn't recognize how difficult his poor decision-making affects everyone else. And if he messes with LMN one more time, I'm sending Snoop G after his ass.

4. Do you inhale?
Used to. Did at New Years show, but I'm not really sure what it was I was inhaling. So it probably counts WORSE! Made my friend the Lacto Pescetarian pass out for the entire Wilco set. Awesome.... duuuuuuuuude!

5. What do you plan on naming your first child and would you consider naming her "Kelly Love?"
First child... hmmmm... how bout I just GIVE you my first child for a job at Skirt? ;) No? Well, I will consider Kelly Love, but I actually really like Emmaline for a girl. I like Jemima a lot too--it's actually what my dad wanted to name me, although he would have spelled it Gemina. I bet Mom vetoed it because of what it rhymes with.

Okay, now more for you, Kelly. 1. What's the meanest way you've ever broken up with a boy? 2. What's your favorite book? 3. What is your earliest memory?

SUCCESS

Thank Christ. It worked. Hooray! Now I can stop being so bitter.

I'm sorry Sorry SORRY about not posting my recurring nightmares about dodgeball for our re-formed Mason-Dixon competition. I tried, but my brilliant entry was consumed by the hungry, savage maw of the Internet. I love it so, and how does it repay my devotion?

I'm not going to rehash the whole thing, but the gist of it was about this poor kid in grade school who always got "saved for last" in dodgeball. His nickname was Moon Pie and I hope to God he has had some serious therapy, and I never did figure out why they called him that. But they'd wait till everyone was "out" and then spend ten minutes taunting him and feinting, while poor Moon Pie danced frantically in the middle of the square... like the sobbing, mewling gunfighter who's spent his last bullet while the mean tobacco spittin drunk guy fires a few rounds at his feet just for kicks before finishing him off. Then all the bullies would inundate him with red four-square balls, and all of us weaklings would be looking on in horror, our vestial tails tucked and desperately relieved that it wasn't us.

So how would Olympic Dodgeball be? Would the third world nation athletes without billion dollar trainers and access to equine pharmaceuticals have to be Moon Pie, while countries with stock exchanges get to pelt them with red balls and ridicule? Boy, any bets on whether President Bush decides to personally sponsor the American Dodge Ball Team? Perhaps their T-shirts could have a giant ass hole emblazoned on them. I think in this era of escalating hostility, nations should avoid any games where objects are lobbed with the intention of hitting someone.

And what's next? Olympic Four Square? Olympic Hopscotch? Olympic Smear The Queer? We should have drawn the line at Olympic Trampolining, people. Let's not make a bad thing worse.

Test

Okay, this is the umpteenth frickin time I have tried to post from my parents' stinkin computer and if it eats my post ONE MORE TIME, I'm going to freak. I keep tinkering with the security settings (bad since is a government PC, but desperate times...) and I think I've got it.

Friday, March 04, 2005

LMN's Questions

Here are my answers to Al's questions. I will answer any others and respond with five more for anyone who responds.

1. If you were a dog, what breed would you be, and why?
I hate them, but poodles have it pretty good. Eat foie gras all day. Sleep on some old lady's velvet cushions all day. Bitch at everyone...
It'd be pretty sweet to be a Lab too, although a lot of them seem kind of dumb (no offense to Lab owners. They're cool dogs.) Swim. Sleep. Have intimate relations with yourself on the hearth rug. Niiiice.

2. Describe your most awkward date ever.
Oh Christ. Ever had dates that you didn't know were dates? I've had a couple of those. Then I got asked out by this guy I had been seated next to at a really raucous dinner party. And after I went home with my inch-think wine goggles on, he called me and asked me out, and having just broken up with someone, I agreed. He showed up in his grandmother's car (he's about 29, mind you) heavily scented with cheap orange air freshener, looking NOTHING like I remembered. He took me out for dessert at the cheesiest tourist trap ever, and then wanted to walk on the waterfront. Yeah, very romantic. This guy looked like he had pubes for hair. Anyway, there was a big meteor shower and he kept missing all the shooting stars. And finally after the 15th one, I said, "Did you see THAT one?" And he whispered all smoky-like, "I'm too busy watching you." After I finished snorting, he took me home.

3. OK, this one is free association. Tell me the first word that comes to your mind when you read:--Balls--Haircut--Pink--Money--Feng--Fire
Monkey--Pat Benetar--Panty Pull Downs--Retail--Mirrors--Cigarattes

Oh, you mean a description?
Balls... my friend dates a guy who's had testicular cancer, so he has this implant, right? Well, behind his back, we awful horrible people call him "nerf nut" because that's it consistency. Personally, I think they should have a prosthetic testicle that squeaks. Although what if your dog got overwhelmed and bit it? Oooooooo....

Haircut... I've never really had that bad a haircut so this is not very interesting. I want short hair in a big way though. The main character's ex's haircut in Intimate Strangers had the BEST haircut ever. However, last time I got a short do, it made my face look like a basketball.

Pink... When I was in college, all the fraternities would have these parties for dumb freshmen girls with this extremely deadly yet tasty drink called Pink Panty Pulldowns. Poor little girls....

Money... I have a love/hate relationship with money. I love it and I hate that I don't have any. haha! I'm quitting writing fulltime because it's it doesn't pay enough, but I am determined not to go wholly over to the Dark Side and maintain my freelancing on the side.

Feng... shui... The amount of writing crap in my apartment is ruining my shui. I need more mirrors and plants and fewer piles of magazines and books and whatnot.

Fire... I hope to be in front of one with my boyfriend by tomorrow night.

4.If you could change one thing about your physical self, what would it be and why?
Mmmph, I don't know. I have no boobs, so that would be an obvious one. But I don't care THAT much except when I try on a dress I like that only works for people with real figures like LMN. My ass is huge too, but I could conceivably exercise that off.
You know, I think I'd just like perfect posture.

5. Describe your perfect vacation. Money is no object.
There's not enough room on this blog. But think distant exotic destinations, photography, horses, surfing, rock climbing, gourmet food, fine wine, nudity... a lot of sinning...

wax

They have new wax- no horrible strips, just burning hot wax applied and ripped off. Yeah! Once I came out of my full body spasm, I thought it was MUCH less painful. And the goth-chick hair-ripper told me (over my screams) that people prefer it over the old fashioned way. Right on.

My eyebrows look great, if I do say so myself. I'd take a picture and post it if Nerve wasn't hovering over the camera. Maybe I do need my own digital camera.

In bad news, I made a number of DVD purchases on Amazon and damned if they didn't all process separately, resulting in EIGHT separate overdrawn notices from the bank at $27.50 a pop. I nearly died. If my freelance check would come in (one month late at this point), all my worries would be over. Although I freely admit to not keepintg track of my finances, I never bounce anything. This is a new trauma for me. SUCKS! Can't wait to start new job.

At least I get paid today for the real job (11 days and counting) and am on vacation as of tomorrow! Hooray!

Thursday, March 03, 2005

with pesto please

Man, I am so limp and noodly. I want a massage every day.

There are two nasty crows divebombing a redtail hawk outside my office window. Hawks are our friends. They eat foul pigeons that poop disproportionately to their size and coo irritatingly in my kitchen wall whenever I turn on my stove (don't ask me why, there isn't a vent or anything). They also eat squirrels, which are really just some sort of bait-- for what I haven't figured out yet. But they're nasty too. Woo used to bite them ARRRR! and shake em WHAP! WHAP! and all the tourists would shriek. Ahhh, those were the days.

Does someone hear purring?

Jemima can't hear you, Nerve. Jemima has gone to her happy place. La la la la....

liar, liar, pants on fire

Weeell... okay I lied, but only a little. I have a TV. But it doesn't have any channels, so it doesn't count.

The unattractive black box is only for watching DVDs (love movies so passionately) and is tucked behind my living room door under a giant wildebeest head where it doesn't interrupt my shui.

It's always seemed very strange to me that the American household is always arranged for the best vantage to this inanimate box. It's like the new altar.

"Oh greatest of the mass media, thank you for elevating emotion, reducing thought and stifling imagination. Thank you for artificiality of quick solutions and for the insidious manipulation of human desires for commercial purposes. This bowl of lukewarm tapioca represents my brain. I offer it in humble sacrifice. Bestow thy flickering light forever." --Calvin and Hobbes.

Anyway, (steps down from soapbox) about the Internet. Are you allowed to comment on corporate cretindom and name names? I'm not sure about the legal implications on that one, so I'll give you a hint: "ding dong" and "not north, but ___." Don't use them, they suck ass.

I was on the phone with those incompetent mother scratchers every day for two weeks, with this big vein standing out in my forehead and blood singing in my ears. At one point, I CRIED and hurled my cell phone across the room and dented my headboard... and I am neither weepy nor prone to hysterics. Oh, and you just try having a frustration meltdown without swearing.

But why do you have to get cable AND internet? Why can't you just have internet without selling your soul to ABC and Fox? Now I will have no use for family, love or cameraderie. It's just me and Agent Vaughn and some pissant Bachelor. FYI, If I ever come in blabbing about reality TV, DO NOT RESUSCITATE! (wrings hands) I see it all happening, and I am powerless to stop it.

I got some ice cream

And you ain't got none
Cuz you on welfare
And your mom's an alcoholic

Anyone know where that came from?

I'm feeling a little smug today, because I'm getting a MASSAGE. Sweet Jesus, it's going to be great too, (mental purring) after the craptacular week I've had. Bah, down with work! All it does is rain on my parade. I should be sponsored to tan and drink fruity beverages!

Of course, as soon as I my body is all relaxed and complacent, I intend to make it pay. Hello, Waxing?

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

I doubt it

I have a blog fan! I'm so excited at drawing random people to my site, and Elysia is like my new therapist. (thanks! You need to have a blog so I can respond to you too!) In her last comment she said her office tracks everything she does on her computer, and I have a nasty feeling my new job is going to be like that too. The people here aren't very tech-smart, so I'm not worried. But the CEO of my new company could probably hack into my blog in 2.2 nano-seconds and post a naked picture of my grandmother with the caption, "JEMIMA, GET BACK TO WORK!"

Fortunately I am getting internet at home again. Now I know I posted two weeks ago that I had finally entered the 21st century, but as it turns out the company that offered me the service is grievously incompetent and I had to hunt down and kill every member of their tech staff in a slow and excruciating fashion.

So now I'm going to have to break down and get cable. For a person who doesn't have a TV, this is going to be life changing. I'll have internet AND all those channels. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate TV. Quite the oppsoite. I'm a TV junky. I'll watch whatever crap is on without blinking or swallowing for days, with my eyeballs just whirling around in my head. My dad could have a stroke, Brad Pitt could nuzzle me, my boyfriend could bonk my best friend on the couch next to me, and I wouldn't notice.

my conscience has a hyper thyroid

(Blogger just ate this post, and I'm sure this will not be as good as the original)

I had to take a drug test for this new job-- standard procedure, right? And since I don't actually do drugs, and being a complete wino is still legal, why the heck am I feeling so guilty? It's like I'm afraid I caught heroine addiction by standing next to one on the subway.

And when Miss Nobody and I run, we see this man walking his dog and his little girl every morning. This is the cutest little tyke in the world, but I feel like if I grin back at her, her dad's going to think I'm some freak child molester.

When I read about bio-terrorists, pyschotic vigilantes, racism, rampant obesity and child abusers, I don't think, "Whew, thank God that's not me!" I think, "MY GOD, WHAT IF I AM?!"

Now I am right to clench the old butt cheeks whenever I see highway patrol, because those guys have written me about 16 speeding tickets. Don't even ASK what my insurance is. But other than that, why Why WHY am I so guilty all the time?

And why oh why did I just put obesity in there next to child abusers? See, I feel guilty for that too. I'm prejudiced about weight. I am a bad person.

weird

I did it! I resigned! Nerve took it better than I expected, and my little southern nice-ness did me right. I didn't tap dance on his prostrate body, and I didn't tell him the whole world hates him. I just said I got a better offer and how much I've enjoyed working here. Which is true for the most part.

So he sent a letter announcing my resignation to everyone in the company BUT me. It was so creepy, like I have leprosy or something. And it's bizarre that I don't have to come up with new story ideas for next issue and stuff. Miss Nobody said it sounded like I had died... "She will be missed." Shyeah!

Miss Nobody and I went to a sweet champagne and chocolate party last night at our local art museum. The Gaston Callum photographs were incredible-- all these dilapidated houses in black and white. They looked so dramatic and haunted, and a few were of interior shots of sagging old bookshelves or walls that had collapsed on desiccated pianofortes. Wow. I wanted to take them all home.

What was really strange in a horrifying trainwreck sort of way is the glaring breach of blog-etiquette that happened while we were there. An advertising person whom I like very much but don't know very well said she liked my blog. How the hell did she know I have a blog? That makes the museum staff, a local law firm and now this person too.

I may be new to Bloggerdom, but aren't you supposed to avoid "outing" people? Isn't that the point of assumed names? So I've taken my picture off, and edited out a few rants. Although it doesn't really matter, self-censorship is kind of a bitch. I'm not so worried about getting Dooced from this job (since my last day is the 15th- tralala!), but I'll have to be more careful at my next place.

In other gnus, thank God I get paid today, because I am overdrawn. Architecture Stud is feeling better, although was feeling lonesome and feeling sorry for himself and came over for some sympathy. I truly do feel bad for him, but he kept asking me if I was having as much trouble sleeping as he was last night... and I wasn't. I was sleeping just fine, thank you very little. So when Miss Nobody text messaged me at 6:15 to run, my reply was "grumble." We did four miles this morning, and Friday we're going to run for speed.

A.S. and I are taking a little vacay this weekend and Monday and Tuesday. Sweeeeeet. Some friends of ours have a barrier island about an hour south of here, with a cabin and lots of trails and a dock for fishing and beer drinking. I cannot WAIT. And since my parents are out of the country, I'll have Belle AND Woo. So I'm getting mentally and physically prepared for our romantic getaway (please, God, don't let me get the barfing flu) with a massage, wax and a mani/pedi. I'll be so chill and hairless, he won't know what to do with me. "Where is my stressed out Sasquatch?" he will say. Sadly, thanks to Bathroom Reading and his crack Toblerone shipment, I will not be svelte for vacay. Moo!

A more serious issue: The GD red state that I live in is currently voting to make gay marriage even more illegal than it already is. Explain to me why this is a state issue? Why are my taxes going towards something that is a) pointless and b) redundant? Why do the House members (who I didn't vote for) not understand issues of church and state. I'll argue with the church all day about why they think they get to cast stones, but it makes me so irrational to hear some puffed up politician (who's probably banging his intern and battling through his fourth divorce) wax poetic on the sanctity of marriage. Repeat after me. Not. A. State. Issue.

Pigs.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

yum

Mmmm, Toblerone. So de-leeeeee-cious. How I love thee. Mmmm... (sound of furtive candy snarfing)

BR,
You may have saved my sanity this morning. Miss Nobody and I got to work today to find a tremendous shipment of Toblerone from our favorite blogger!

Thanks, Assclown

The Nerve has sent me out to take pictures of county council members 40 minutes away in BF, South Cackilacky. Thanks very much, Assclown. It's five clock, so I'll be sitting in traffic for an hour and a half. Cheers.

5:30 p.m. Wow, I'm making good time. Traffic's not too bad.

5:31 p.m. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!

[Note to readers: Mini has run out of gas and died going 80 mph in front of an 18-wheeler who is now sniffing my tailpipe and honking wildly. Bad Mini! BAD!]

5:32 p.m. [avoiding middle finger of the 1500 motorists I have just cut off to get into the emergency lane]

Me: Highway Patrol? Hi, yes, I just ran out of gas. I'm at exit blah blah...]

Highway Patrol: What make car is it, Mamn?

Me: Um, a Mini...?

Highway Patrol: A mini what? A minivan?

Me: [not good] No, a Mini COOPER.

Highway Patrol: [snickers] Right, we'll get right on that.

5:33 p.m. Get frantic plea out to Miss Nobody before cell phone dies.

5:34 p.m. This is fine. I'll still make the council meeting. While I'm waiting, I'll just clean out the candy wrappers and crap from the front seat and tidy up a little.

5:45 p.m. Shit ($15.75)

6:45 p.m. Shit ($16)

7:30 p.m. FUCK THE HIGHWAY PATROL!!!!! WHAT A USELESS GODDAMN MOTHER FUCKING SHOWER OF BASTARDS!!!!!!!!!!!! ROT IN HELL!!!!! ($16.50)

7:40 p.m. Thank you to the nice off-duty sheriff from three counties away who stopped on her way to have drinks with friends and helped me fill up my car. May the winds of Karma fill your sails with the gentle breezes of joy and prosperity. Highway Patrol, you can still rot in hell.

8:15 p.m. Jemima enters county council meeting and tells 200 people to stop everything, because she needs some pictures and is not staying in this God-forsaken podunk town one millisecond longer than she needs to.

9:00 p.m. See Jemima getting soaked by her mother for being two hours late for dinner and for being an ungrateful child who should have been thrown to the wolves at birth. They should have stopped at Jemima's older sister. The older sister would have cooked dinner and had it ready by six. Oh, Jemima was on the side of the road? Here, Jemima, have some wine.

10:00 p.m. Architecture Student: Hi, [BAAAARF!]....

10:30 p.m. Lacto-Pescetarian Neighbor: I think your shower is backed up again. Mine is full of black pipe tar and oily black clay. And the sink is overflowing.

8:30 a.m. this morning: See Woo get the biggest dingleberry known to man and have an ear shattering squawkfest while I hose her butt off so that all the neighbors think I am killing her. Damned dog. Damned dingleberry. Damned Nerve. Damned Mini. Damn it all.