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...

happy halloween!


hah! look! hello kitty, a WHITE kitty, is dressed up as a BLACK kitty for halloween! how fucking clever! and, well...a tad bit racist, if you ask me. eh...

anyway, happy halloween! i just talked to a coworker who said he stocked up on top ramen to give out to the trick-or-treaters.

our boss just said we could leave early. bye. party hard. drink lots. don't get any face paint in your eye.

i think i'm gonna cry:



motherfucker. november 1st is only two days away.


i think they're boycotting grammar as well


i've been thinking about the grocery store cashier strike going on here in southern california. i know, i know, there are fires and people are losing their homes and their lives and sometimes their wee little kittens. while i feel horrible about the whole thing, i live a few short miles from the cool cool ocean and all i know is that i'm pissed about the ashes all over my car. plus, albertson's is right across the street. the fires are like, fifty miles away or something.

anyway, the grocery stores are taking a pretty big hit. i'm not sure what the facts are, because i don't watch the news very much, but i know that the two stores i've visited were pretty empty.

what i'm not completely clear on is why people are boycotting the stores in support of the strikers. i mean, by boycotting all general grocery stores, you're not only boycotting store management, but chef boyardee and wonderbread as well. yeah, you can go to trader joe's, but they don't carry many mainstream brands anyway. at costco and other warehouse shoppies, you may be able to still get your wonderbread, but only in giant bags full of giant slices that probably won't fit in your toaster. though, people who toast wonderbread are crazy people, 'cause damn that shit is fluffy and soft and sticks just right to the roof of your mouth, and why would you want to ruin that?

i don't WANT 200 ounce containers of olives. i don't WANT to drive 15 miles to the nearest stater brothers (one of the few local chains who don't hire union). but i digress...i've probably already made it clear that i've crossed the picket line the few times.

so what i'm really wondering is why grocery store cashiers? why sympathize with their strike to the point of going OUT OF YOUR WAY to buy stomach supplies at other totally inconvenient locales? do you know? 'cause i don't freaking know.

when pilots strike, no one cares. yeah, it's in the news. and yeah, they might have to cancel some flights. but not because you people aren't flying. because there ain't enough pilots to fill the planes if most of 'em are holding up picket signs. is it because they get paid more? is it because traveling is more important than food?

and how do you support a transit strike? by boycotting transitting? i mean, you can't boycott public transportation, because it's already not running. so maybe, when there is a bus strike (or whatever they call it out here), we should all just refuse to travel ANYwhere by any means.

what if (and i don't think they're union, so it wouldn't happen and who gives a shit anyway) gas station workers of the world went on strike? how do we support them? boycott gas? well, that doesn't make sense, because most gas station workers have more to do with selling you gum and cigarettes than pumping your gas. so, what? boycott little containers of tiny, but whoppingly strong, mints? boycott the very act of pumping gas? that wouldn't happen anyway, because the entire world knows about this area's obsession with cars.

so, seriously, change my mind. make me understand why i should boycott my grocery store because the cashiers are on strike. i actually even am a little sympathetic to the whole thing. you gotta union--that's your right. and when you gotta union, it's your right to strike.

but why the fuck is the whole southern california community showing their sympathy by buying organic sheep's milk from trader joe's and 20 pound bottles of mayonnaise from costco? i LIKE my grocery store. it's close by and friendly and small enough that i don't get lost in there.

and i'm hella pissed that apparently the fruit slicers are striking, too, because i can't even get my plastic bowlful of diced up watermelon, honeydew, and cantaloupe.

cantaloupe's a funny word.



and for all those who probably won't give a shit as much as i do, i present some quotes i like from some books i've read because i forgot i left my quote book at work for the last year until i moved offices last week and found it again:
We were having dinner. I asked Gene if that was his friend John R. who just walked in. He said yes. "Aren't you going to speak to him?" "No," he said. "I never speak to anyone in public. All that happens is you ask oily, nimble-footed questions about each other's imaginary lives. And you know the most you're going to get is a weather report. It tires me out because I'm no good at social skills. I've told everyone I'm nearsighted."
--Hugh Prather

People don't pick people, they pick solace. That's the real opiate of the masses, the insane agenda of the middle class.
--Carrie Fisher

How the world does dearly love a cage.
--Ruth Gordon (Maude), "Harold and Maude"

I fear she had been taken from me before I could win her, before I could make her believe that what is between us is ever so much closer to the core of things, to her true nature, and that a summer spent temping...or learning German will, in the end, bring little to her life, but a summer swapping trickery with me would change her forever. As one day turns to two, panic takes over and I curse myself, damn, damn, and damn. I will never answer a letter again. I will not allow myself to be put in this position, this begging pose. They have no idea of how important they are to us, they do not feel the pwere we allow them, do not recognize that with so small a gesture they are in our lives. No one realizes how little there is.
--A. M. Homes

"I used to think that bravery involved action. It took courage, I figured, to move forward, to pursue a dream, to get ahead in the world. Just to get to where you were supposed to. I thought having desire took courage. Now I realize that none of that requires bravery. The only thing you really need bravery for is standing still. For standing by."
--Jane Hamilton

"That's the trouble with survival of the fittest, isn't it? The corpse at your feet. That little inconvenience."
--Wally Lamb

Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception. If you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment. The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.
--Janet Fitch

...that's really something I can't stand--when people refer to themselves as crazy. The truly crazy are labeled so on the grounds that they see nothing wrong with their behavior. The forge ahead, lighting fires in public buildings and defecating in frying pans without the slightest notion that they are out of step with the rest of society. That, to me, is crazy. Calling yourself crazy is not crazy, only obnoxious.
--David Schickler

happy halloween!

i know it's not quite halloween yet, but it feels like halloween happened last saturday night because i went to a kickass halloween party.

i was a tiger and hard was roy. he had a big open fake bloody gash on his neck, and i had big fake teeth in my mouth and fake blood running down my chin. we kicked ass. we tied for first in the costume contest. we scored lindt and gheridelli chocolate.

we got a little drunk. and then we got a little lost on the way home. when we finally got back to my place, i forgot i was a tiger for a moment and gave hard a hug instead of finishing off the throat ripping. oh well.

that is all.

sleeptalking III


i woke up in the middle of the night to pull the covers up. i was cold. in doing so, i woke up my boyfriend:

bf: wha? who's there?

me: it's me.

bf: WHO?

me: it's just me. calm down.

bf: [patting the top of the covers] then where's your tail?

me: i don't have a tail.

bf: if it's you, then where's your tail, huh? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR TAIL?!?

then he rolled over and started snoring.

the charts are rigged!


i noticed a blurb on msn that seems to indicate that clay aiken is number one on the charts this week.

i should preface this by saying that i'm familiar with the face and the show, but didn't watch that season and have never heard him sing. he still scares me.

anyway, last saturday morning, me and my friend damian were wandering through a target in northern virginia. we needed to pick up cold medicine for caroline, who was back in the hotel room in the deep grips of a fever. i also wanted to drop off film to be developed, so that i could finally show off photos of my new beau. (jesus. i just said "beau".)

there was a lot of hysterical laughter taking place. for some reason, target is funny at 9am. also, damian had been up all night because he's weird. so he was punchy. to say the least.

we passed a bold display of cds, 8 rows of clay aiken peering out at us through plastic shrink wrap. damian stopped to pick up a cd. "there is seriously something wrong with this country if this cd does well," he said. "i don't get it... who likes this shit?"

a middle-aged couple approached. the woman leaned over, grinning like a crazy person, and said, "oooh, clay aiken is the BEST. there's definitely a reason he's so popular." she was beaming. her husband didn't even appear to be embarrassed.

damian put the cd back on its shelf. "seriously?"

"oh, yes. i LOVE him." she moved closer to her husband and smiled again.

damian paused, looked her in the eye, and said with the utmost sincerity and seriousness: "i'm worried for you." i busted up laughing and we walked away. a moment later, the couple giggled a little, too.

we thought it was funny at the time, but now i'm wondering if they were giggling because in their world we are complete morons for not digging clay aiken... they might have been making fun of us while we thought we were untouchably making fun of them.

regardless, we found something else to laugh about soon enough. those scanning machines that are placed throughout target in an attempt to keep the customers from bothering the staff with silly questions are kinda fun.

i had a bad dream last night


i was hanging out at my boyfriend's house. a nameless good girl friend of his came downstairs (in the dream, he had a big two-level house). they started joking around, and i said hello to her.

she made some comment that made it clear to me in the dream that she played for both teams. my boyfriend, who really wasn't acting like my boyfriend at all, told her it was too bad they hadn't rented trois.

strangeness entered the room like the smell of low tide. i became increasingly uncomfortable with the emotional atmosphere.

they both kept looking at me, sending suggestive looks. silently making fun of me for being some kind of square. exchanging knowing looks with each other. i finally looked at him and said, "look, baby, it's not because i'm some kind of prude. it's because i can't imagine embarking on such an encounter wouldn't ultimately destroy our relationship." (i'm very well spoken in my dreams.)

the friend said, "yeah, well... still a prude. i'm going upstairs." she went upstairs, where there was someone waiting for her, judging from the subsequent noises.

things downstairs remained awkward. my boyfriend kept snickering and shaking his head at me. wasn't interested in talking about it. "would it be worth it to you? knowing that whatever fun and excitement could be had this afternoon might mean you and i couldn't be together in the future?" i asked him.

"i wouldn't care," he said. "don't you feel like taking some chances? aren't you getting tired of just being with me? come on...let's call _____ back down here."

he was giving me that look. it's a look i've never been fond of. my subconscious seems to know this, and likes to torture me by having every male dream-character utilize it at some point in every bad dream. it's the begging/i'm better than you/you're dumb if you don't fuck me/but it doesn't really matter, cuz, really, look at me--i could get whoever i want and i certainly won't lose sleep over you look.

the girl who was waiting upstairs for _______ comes downstairs. her clothes are skewed and her hair is mussed. she gives me the same sort of pitying look i've already gotten from the other two and says: "god, i don't know what your problem is... but you have NO idea what you're missing out on." she puts her shoes on and leaves.

i become so distraught i start packing up my shit and giving all the last ditch warnings. he doesn't respond to a one of them. keeps kind of wandering about the house, semi-ignoring me. i finally burst out the front door, but break down in a pile in the middle of the walkway before making it to my car (which, in the dream, was a big ol' funky white van--strange). i can't seem to get up, strong-heaving dry tears and whatnot.

he finally comes outside. i think, for a moment, that he's come to his senses. that a threesome is not, in fact, the only thing important to him. he sits down on the ground next to me. he puts his hand on the back of my head. he smiles. he says:

"you know, it's probably for the best. we had fun, but... i mean... in the beginning, i thought maybe there was something there. but now--now it's like i feel something for you, but whatever that thing is, it's a hop, skip, and a pair of jumper cables away from actually touching my heart. there's simply nothing here. no hard feelings, right?"

with that, he gets up and goes back into the house, shutting the door behind him.

i wait for a beat, convinced he'll rush back out into my arms. then i finally get to my big ol' funky white van and drive away.

at this point, the dream gets really hazy. i think some other unfortunate events happen to me on my sad drive home, but i can't remember what.

anyway, it's not a nightmare in the classic sense. and it's actually sort of silly. but the feelings in the dream felt pretty serious and real and like a punch in the face. i've been reeling from them all day. fucking subconscious.

p.s. it's a dream. prompted by NOTHING that my boyfriend actually did. i also have recurring dreams about giant bears wearing pink tutus, riding around on unicycles and peeing on houses. my subconscious does not have a very good grip on reality.

how's the weather in california?


i was catching up on my blog reading, and came across a recent entry at fat free milk. kevynn was discussing the gross amounts of time and brain energy that are wasted on fakey conversation.

in preparing for my high school reunion, my friends and i sat around a macaroni grill table, creating a crayon-fueled list of questions. it had occurred to us that we didn't in fact care what any of our former classmates were doing, whether they had children, or where they were living. we decided to focus our energy on asking questions about stuff that we liked to talk about. "kansas or wisconsin?" "nick or jessica?" "how do you feel about the recent recall election in california?" "if you had to sing a karaoke song right now at gunpoint, what song would you choose?"

my one friend, who is very adept at mingling, reported phenomenal success at avoiding lame questions by firing off from the list. my other friend, when placed in the situation, discovered she couldn't bring herself to be that bullshitty.

me? i realized after my first few killian's that i didn't care about anyone's answer to ANY questions.

"so what are you doing these days?" they'd ask.

i'd take a sip of my beer, look them in the eye for a solid beat, then say, "does it really matter?"

some would laughingly say, "no, i guess not."

a few would reply, "well, don't you want to know what i'm doing?"

i'd repeat the sip 'n stare, and firmly say, "no."

it is becoming more and more clear to me that i don't like people in general.

10 years later. later.


it was worth the ticket price for the ego boost alone. apparently, all this time and energy i've spent worrying about how i'm aging and what i look like was a complete waste. because half the people at that reunion obviously hold no such worries while they clutch their klondike bars at night, eyes peeled at the CSI on the television.

a lot of homesteaders, too. i'm not sure if i'm using that word right. fuck it. but, yes, an awful lot of people who never left the area. not even for college. if they finished college at all. not that college necessarily makes one a better person...

so, yeah, all in all it was worth it to go to the high school reunion. nobody wanted to dance, though. i thought that was weird. why plunk 85 mr. washingtons down on an event where you're going to drink way too many way overpriced drinks and not at least cut loose a little?

but me and my friends danced. it was fun. felt a little like high school again. but then they played "let's get it on", and i had to leave the dance floor because it felt like cheating. when your boyfriend sets a marvin gaye ringtone on his phone for when you call in, you don't go around taking it lightly.

i've gotten off topic.

10 years later


i'm heading to the homeland for my high school reunion. back east, as they say. unfortunately, the foliage is pre-peak. but at least i'll get to see some color and smell that smell.

surprisingly, i feel neither here nor there about the reunion itself. i'm more excited to have an excuse to hang out with my best friends and gossip.

it just occurred to me that this place finally feels like home. i'm already looking forward to the feeling of flying back.

i haven't packed yet. i should do that. jet blue rules.

the hard artist reviews two SUPERBLOGS






(trust me, it's rad.)

sleeptalking II


boyfriend: we need to get you a dmftct tape.

me: duct tape?

bf: NO. a dialect tape.

me: uh, why do i need a dialect tape?

bf: because you need to learn another dialect.

me: alright then. we should get you one, too.

bf: i don't need one. i already know ALL the dialects.

(on a side note, if my boss keeps expecting me to actually work for a solid eight a day, i think i better find another job.)

what in the goddamn hell

is the world coming to?

it's 4:58pm and i am only NOW finding time to play around on the internet.

there may be an apocalypse coming. have a good weekend and watch your back.



my boyfriend talks in his sleep. mostly, it sounds like garbled babytalk--if that baby was 5'10" and had really bad allergies. sometimes, though, a nugget of nonsense gets out:

boyfriend: are you divorced yet?

me: uh...not technically, no.

bf: when you are, you should put it on the mbrferfrmp.

me: uh, what?

bf: the MBRFERFRMP! [he gets really frustrated when i can't understand his unconscious warblings. i'm surprised he doesn't throw shit around and storm out of the room sleepwalking.]

me: seriously, put my divorce on the what?

bf: when you finally get divorced, you should put it on the ROADSIDE.

me: the roadside?

bf: yeah, the ROADSIGN.

me: okay, baby. i'll do that. i'll put my divorce on the ROADSIGN.

bf: (long pause) yeah. OH yeah. snoozin' and divorcin'.

if anyone can make heads or tails of any of that, please fill me in. it makes absolutely no sense, but it's fucking hilarious.


this is getting out of hand. ouzo caught wind of my plans to neglect him, and NOW look at him. it's like he's a freaking mind reader. as long as he cuts down on the boingy-boingy, i might be able to tolerate him for a while longer. goddamn is he cute.

p.s. i think there is something wrong with me.

little ron

my friend ben teaches middle school. one day, he was riffing on how funny some of the kids' names are.

he had one student whose father's name was ron. ron and his wife had some trouble coming up with a name. they wanted to name him after ron, but didn't necessarily want a ron, jr.

"they decided on 'lilron'," said ben.

"what? what are you even saying? 'lo-ron'? what the hell are you talking about?" i asked.

"it's short for 'little ron'. you know, 'li'l' and 'ron'." ben explained this with a straight face. i have no earthly idea how.




i got a neopet. he's a bloomaroo and his name is ouzo:

i don't really know what i'm gonna do with him. he's already starting to bug me. he does shit like this all the time:

i think i may stop feeding him and see what happens. he is sorta cute, though.



i just got an email blast from a good friend of mine. she and her husband are happily expecting.

it feels like the end of an era. yeah, both of us moving away from hawaii was probably a decent signifier of that, but it didn't hit home until just now. that people have these other full lives that happen even when i'm not around.

i can't help feeling a little concerned, though. last few times i talked to her, she said she hoped she'd find a job soon, or else she might be tempted to pop out a little one out of sheer boredom. a baby as entertainment--who knew?

it's not just concern, though. it's sadness. she was the best beer buddy a girl could have. we all know what happens to the party couple as soon as a kid enters the household. they get all parenty and their priorities shift and they're no longer interested in sitting on their front porch with you, chugging cans of silver bullet light and smoking until your lungs hurt. or if they are still interested in those things, you lose a whole bunch of respect for them and feel bad for the baby.

either scenario is potentially devastating to a friendship.

and she lives in NEW ORLEANS, for god's sake. come fat tuesday 2004, she'll be just a few months shy of bursting. eh... knowing her, maybe she'll still want to flash her new, improved, milk-laden boobies for cheap plastic beads. plus, i'll have a designated driver so i can get all shitty guilt-free.

crap. but i won't be able to smoke around her. man, babies SUCK.

the happiest effin' place on earth

i went to disneyland yesterday. actually, we went to BOTH parks in one day, if you want the entire truth. it was so fun that work sucks doubly today.

but i'm exhausted. 13 hours of straight disney enjoyment tuckers a girl out. but god bless the fastpass! the line for the haunted mansion/nightmare before christmas shenanigans was two hours long otherwise.

i like using words wrongly.

go to disneyland. or -world, depending on your locale.

i can't believe it's not even 10am yet. fuck this day.



though i'm still miserable, i picked a great day to be tired and cranky and late into work. none (that's right, NONE) of the big dogs are in today. middle management won't be arriving until around 3pm, and nothing much is going on.

i'm getting old. i didn't even get drunk last night, but i was up late, and then when i finally got home, 2 became 3, and 3 became 3:15... and now here i am. tired and old.

i did get to hear my man sing karaoke again, though. sometimes i think i'm just biased, but even casual observers were swaying to his vocal stylings. he's good. trust me on this.

in honor of my extreme tiredness, i've decided to devote my worktime today to playing around on the internet. i've successfully avoided all responsibility for 2.5 hours now. the record for me is all day, so unless i want to earn some non-existent overtime, i don't see the record falling today.

i've also spent some quality time mulling over halloween costume ideas. i've always wanted to wear something like this--> but i've never gone ahead and rented one. i think i'd make a good tiger. for five minutes, anyway, until i couldn't bear the lack of oxygen flow and stow the head-part in my trunk for the remainder of the evening. <--that costume makes me laugh, because i imagine it's rather hard to pull off. i mean, unless you're actually invisible, you'd most likely be mistaken for a flasher.

in other news, i've checked out a new blog site. i went ahead and registered. it's strange, using the different interface. there are some definite pluses, like the fact that comments are already included. and they will host a few photos for free. anyway, i encourage anyone completely addicted to blogger and blogspot to check it out. if nothing else, it's interesting to get a handle on what else is out there.

if you're not into porn, or boobs, don't check out tony's site. i'm not the hugest internet porn fan myself, but it's the first blog i've come across that someone is using as a forum in which to promote their new adult website. and he occasionally writes short political rants as well. the types of breasts he's into can be a little scary, but i'm all for supporting the small businessman. so go visit. unless you're under 18. or you're at work. (wait, i'm at work. eh.) or you're morally opposed to knockers.

until i get bored of doing nothing again...



thanks to a link from the bored housewife, i'm all registered for national novel writing month. which is november, if you didn't know. i didn't.

you should read the guidelines and sign up yourself. it's an interesting challenge. i've never written more than around 3,500 words for any one project. 50,000. fuck.

i was asked for a working title when i registered. i'm calling it south on 95 for now. i have no idea what it's going to be about. i'll know more on november 1st, when i'm allowed to start writing. or on november 29th, which is when i'll probably actually start. there's a picture-link on the left over there. anyone interested in keeping tabs on my progress would be well advised to avoid that link at all costs. it's going to be horribly boring and badly written--i can tell already.

but it's the practice that counts. i've got to jump back into this thing. stop writing short little blurbs about the pie in my life and write something whole. something unfamiliar. something not about me.

we'll see how it goes.


i've hit the wall at work. right now. this very moment.

i thought the mini-hits i felt before were the final straw, but i was wrong.

so i'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon working on my resume.

pie, part two


as it turns out, the recipe i used for my fucking pie was faulty.

it neglected to inform me that the black bottom needed gelatin. without the gelatin, the black bottom ran all over all the other layers as soon as i cut into the pie, refusing to stay at the bottom where it belonged.

but now i've learned my lesson. the next pie will be better. the next pie will be the best.

thanks to this pie experiment, i'm grateful to have learned that cream of tartar is, in fact, a powder and not a cream at all. and an expensive powder at that.

the faulty pie did taste good, though. if one could withstand its errant black bottom.