my new best friend
so i breed thicker skin and let my lustrous coat fill in and i'll never admit that i loved you...

my problem

in life is that i take everyone on their word. it's not that i'm naive, or inherently honest myself. it's that i no longer have the energy required to doubt every word that is said to me. so i take it at surface value, fuck the consequences.

i get warning twinges--oh yes. but i blame them on the paranoid 16-year-old still living inside me and brush them aside.

guts are another matter. twinges are one thing, but when my gut speaks, i listen. as a much better writer once said, "my guts have shit for brains." i listen nonetheless.

by listening, i certainly don't mean to imply that i abide. if my guts have shit for brains, my brains have half-decomposed runny baby poo at the helm. and i haven't the foggiest what my heart's got for brains.

but me and my heart, we like it that way. it keeps the mystery alive. don't get me wrong, we respect each other, and occasionally can even work together on a project. but that doesn't mean we have to engage in polite chit-chat everytime we pass in the hall.

the cheesiest email chain letter i've ever received

and that's saying a lot, 'cause this chick sends a LOT of them.

I love you
I got your back
You got mine,
I'll help you out
To see you hurt
To see you cry,
Makes me weep
And wanna die.
And if you agree
To never fight,
It wouldn't matter
Who's wrong or right.
If a broken heart
Needs a mend,
I'll be right there
To the end.
If your cheeks are wet
From drops of tears,
Don't you worry,
Let go of your fears.
Hand in hand
Love is sent,
We'll be friends
Till the end

*Send this to whoever you consider a friend.
*You are now loved by this chain letter!
*You have to send this to 5 people in the next 5 minutes... or you will
have bad luck in love for 5 years.
If YoU sEnD ThIs To:
*5 people- You will find the man/lady of your dreams!
*10 people- The man/lady of your dreams will ask u out!
*15 people- You will date him/her for a long long time!
*20 people- You will marry him/her


p.s. who ever thought that numbers for words was a good idea? besides prince, that is. or britney. or anyone else actively contributing to the pop culture machine.

things i learned during my self-imposed hibernation this past weekend:


1) raking sucks.

2) showering does sure seem pointless when you know no one will see you.

3) masturbation does not.

4) even with nothing remotely better to do, it's still hard to force myself to wash the dishes.

5) my cats are cool.

6) the summer barrage of reality programming must signify the end of the world. because if it doesn't, then that means that it means nothing, and that scares me. especially those creepy dating shows. how many strangers have to meet/move-in/marry each other before america will finally be sated? it's madness!

7) i'm fun.

8) cramps are stupid.

a post about poo


one of the things that i don't like about my office is that it is located near the reception area. so it can be distracting. another thing i don't like about my office is the my office door faces the bathroom door.

there is something sick about being witness to everyone's comings and literal goings.

these are the things i've learned:

the boss pees with the water running. his son does it, too. maybe it's genetic.

the boss also poos with the water running. but when he's done pooing, he makes sure to lift the seat before he exits, so that the next person in there will only think he went pee.

which is such a fucking crock, because he shuts the door behind him when he leaves, and he uses neither the poo-spray nor the matches. so it's a veritable poo-trap, waiting in secret stench for the unfortunate person who has to go next.

the office manager doesn't seem to mind that her poo is loud. it's more of a natural-loud than an embarrassing-loud, but still. perhaps it's an age thing. maybe once you reach a certain age, you just really have to go poo and you don't give a shit who hears you.

the warehouse manager takes a VERY long time. she's usually in there for about 20 or 30 minutes. i think she uses it as an excuse to have some alone time, and to take a break. either that or she's smoking meth. i'm not sure yet.

i don't think the receptionist goes poo.

the graphic designer can't poo in the office. he abstains from eating most of the time, because that makes him have to poo, and he's uncomfortable doing it here. he leaves early every day, just so he can beat traffic and have a nice afternoon poo. on days when he comes over to my house to watch 'angel', he has to stop by my office and pick up my key. he does his poo at my house before i get home. i guess i should be touched.

the warehouse guy, sometimes he forgets to lock the door. i know this because i walked in on him once.

i'm not sharing my poo secrets. it's bad enough i know everyone else's. what's worse is that i'm not really allowed to close my office door. the boss assumes that a closed door means that the little mouse inside must not be doing any work. kind of like how my folks thought that if they made me leave my bedroom door open when a boy was over, i wouldn't be tempted to do anything naughty.


i miss you. come back to me.

at least tell me what i did. what you're thinking. talk to me one last time.

let me look at those big eyes again and finally decide whether they were worth all the trouble to begin with.



...don't ducks' feet get cold?

....is american football called FOOTball at all? the foot hardly ever comes in contact with the ball.

...can't it be 1700 yet?

is it wrong

to call your ex just because you need to either borrow tools or talk him into doing the actual job himself?

we keep in touch. a couple times a month. and he told me to not hesitate to call him if i ever needed anything.

is it my fault if he taught me how to do all this stuff to my car, but then took all the tools in the split?

i know, i know. i could just break down and buy a fucking socket set. but i'd have to get the extra special one that includes a spark plug socket.

besides, he said he'd do it.

but then he called me back later, and the only day he wants to do it is the day i have shit going on.

doesn't he understand that i need to get my bitch car to pass smog before the week is out?

so i should call him tomorrow, after buying my own damn tools, and tell him not to sweat it. i'll do my own spark plug job.

these are the sorts of things i need to get used to now that i'm living alone. the best part is that all the other guys i know are total bitches. not only would they not own a spark plug socket, they wouldn't even know what the fuck it was if they DID own one.

and suck it, i would totally do my own brake job if i had a torque wrench. because if there is one mechanical aspect of your car that you want torqued correctly, it would definitely be your brakes.

jesus christ, what the fuck is going on around here? who's the chick talking about wrenches all of the sudden?

i don't


claim to know a whole lot about anything, but this i know...

i randomly bought "at dawn" by My Morning Jacket,

and if you can listen to that (okay, after you get past the first 1:30 of noise) at a background level while you're putzing around your house and not fall in complete love with everything around you

then you're simply not human.


spinning again

standing still and spinning spinning spinning

not even drunk

what a fucking shame

i'm no pilot

but i think i know exactly what a tailspin must feel like


so i'm at work and i cruise by the communal printer to pick up some shit. there's a deep stack. i grab the whole thing and start sifting through it in search for my sheet. i come across a letter that a coworker has written to a customer.

"the box we sent to you was returned to us for having an incomplete address. the only address we have on file for you is this address. please provide us with your full address on the lines below and we will ensure that this package gets to you."

i'm taking bets on whether she'll even figure out what happened when the letter gets returned as well.

i'm not sure whether this is a good thing...

Take the What
animal best portrays your sexual appetite??


what is it with the phenomenon of the disappearing male? and why do i keep having run-ins with them?

who the fuck are these people? is no one honest anymore? why even go through the trouble in the beginning?

is it possible to write an entire post in questions?

eh. most of this is about fez. but i also had a great date on thursday night and haven't heard from him since. maybe it's the 'swingers' three-day rule. i'll wait out another day or two before i give up forever.

grey area


My whole life, all I’ve wanted is to fall into someone. Completely and wholly. Just fall. Be consumed by arms and eyes and be grabbed and kissed as if the world was coming to an end. Very romantic, I know.

It’s the daddy complex. I’m not sure what shrinks are calling it these days, but I’m a classic case. I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to find a way to fill the hole that was left when my father walked away from his daddy’s girl. If I can find a person willing to go rink-rollerskating and play with garter snakes without being begged and blackmailed, I will have found the plug for the leak. That’s it. That’s all it would take. I’d like to end this paragraph by proclaiming that it’s that easy…

There’s all the complicated crap in between. The ones who have let me fall, who have seen the mess inside me and not run—I’ve pushed them away. Usually to make room for someone who I, early on, subconsciously understood will only disappoint me. The early red flags mean nothing to me. I’m either being my dad or chasing people exactly like him.

Maybe my mom is right. Maybe she does really know better. She told me recently that the key is to find someone that will let you be yourself, put up with your crap, and love you more than you love them. Someone who will guarantee you the control. She had a plan after the divorce. Only men without any children, so that they would have time for hers. Only men with a future. Only professionals whose potential financial stability would ensure a nice home for the family.

Her friends, she said, questioned her strategy. “That’s all well and good, but what if you fall for someone who doesn’t fit your plan?” “That’s easy,” she told them. “I’ll stop falling.”

I doubt it was that easy, despite what she still claims to this day. But she had a plan, and she stuck to it. I imagine some heavy walls were involved. Walls she still won’t admit are there.

Shit. It just occurred to me that I am her. I am my mother. Not my mother of now. Not the mother with the master plan. The mother who dated three or four men seriously enough to bring them around her kids in the space of one year. I’ve never confronted her with this information, but I’ve done the math. I even remember some of their names, and I was only eight.

She may have had her plan, but being alone was never an option. Once a man revealed his flaws, the parts of him that didn’t mesh with the strategy, my mother did not hesitate to get rid of him. But neither did she take any time to get over him. I don’t care what she says; there has to be some emotional fallout. Not that she would have felt it. The walls helped. And the next guy helped, too.

My mother was 29 when she married the man I now call Dad. I will be 29 this year. With a divorce behind me—same as her, minus the children.

What can this mean? Must I construct walls to keep myself from chasing my biological father for the rest of my life? It worked for her. And she loves my dad. They have a good marriage. But I can see it sometimes. The slight lack of luster in her eyes. The desire for world-ending kisses. The way she pushes me and my sister towards the idea of a man with a financial future, no matter what working-class, stand-up man we may be in love with at the time.

My mortar skills have atrophied. I still don’t understand or accept the reasons why I should suddenly be guarded and cynical. But the examples before me tell me that I either have to choose a specific strategy, silence my deep-down wants, or face a life of unhappiness and unmet expectations. Is there a grey area? I’m usually adept at finding the grey in any black-and-white situation. With this one, I’m at a loss.

I fear that if I don’t mimic my mother, I will forever be chasing the disappearing man. I still have faith that I will stumble upon the grey. But I don’t know how much longer that particular faith will hold out.


i realized today that i do the exact same thing during a day off from work as i do when i'm actually at work.

surf the internet all day long and try to come up with better things to do.