so i breed thicker skin and let my lustrous coat fill in and i'll never admit that i loved you...
so it's over
though i scored impressively in the gift department. people must really like me. though i don't know why, when they read stuff like this.
i have one more xmas in my near future. back to the east for a late celebration at the homestead. no tree, though. so there's that.
happy post-holiday depression!
breaking news, folks
the black cargo pants record stands officially at 41 days. the tool broke down, in honor of the holiday season, and is wearing GREY pants today. they are no less gross than the black ones, but at least now i know he owns more than one pair of pants.
well, unless there was some laundry tragedy last night and these ARE the same pants.
some thoughts on xmas
this morning, on my drive to work, i realized why i can never muster up any true excitement over the holidays.
i'm too fucking lazy.
across the board, if it requires a mass amount of effort, i am absolutely not interested. i won't be completely miserable doing it, but if i had the choice, i'd be sitting on my couch pretending there are no bones in my body.
picnics and the like make me feel the same way. i remember once, my bosses were all happy to plan a picnic on a workday instead of having to work. everyone else was excited as well. the catch was that the picnic was to take place at boston light. yes, lighthouses are pretty rad. but when they sit on a giant rock in the middle of boston harbor, it requires a moderate amount of effort and planning to get a friggin' picnic going. besides, who cares that we're not actually working? i still have to get up early, put on work clothes, and deal with rush hour. it'd have been much more energy efficient for everyone if i could've just stayed in bed.
so we load up all my coworkers, their families, and every last utensil required to enjoy a picnic on a rock (including a giant grill) in a boat that is slower than molasses and head out to boston light. fun! we land, and it's low tide. so we have to haul all the shit up via pulleys and ladders. fun! there are wee little children who need super help getting up the 30 feet of rusty steel ladder. fun! we lug everything up the rock to the light. fun! we cook and play frisbee. fun!
the entire time, all i can think is how much shit we've got to cart back to the boat. and that people's families are around, so i have to smile a lot.
this is very close to the way i feel about xmas. i enjoy the idea of xmas. i like giving and getting presents. but the fucking set up. the forced good cheer. the money that i never had in the first place that i spend on gifts. any store parking lot in december. and the clean up after. ALL of it. throwing pretty paper away that was carefully picked out and paid for only weeks before. the thanksgiving-style dishes that pile up, when thanksgiving was a only a few weeks prior. putting ornaments away. taking down lights. the fucking tree.
someone should really think about separating thanksgiving and xmas. there's no need for them to play so close. maybe if i had a solid six months to prepare for each, i'd be better able to get some excitement going.
mele kalikimaka, mother fuckers!
i believe in a thing called love
i sit here amazed that i am not more tired than i thought i would be when i couldn't get back to sleep at 4am.
i saw hard
perform a humorous monologue in stages'
annual adult xmas thingy. a humorous monologue in which he licked the first two fingers of his right hand and mimed "stuffing" a turkey, while play-masturbating rapidly with his left hand. his character had a fetish for stuffing the larger game birds, see. it was a fucking riot.
yesterday was kevynn
's girlfriend's birthday. happy happy birthday!
i still have a bit of xmas shopping to do. i'm picking up celtics paraphernalia for a die-hard lakers fan. it should go over well.
two of my officemates have been vigorously discussing iraq news. they are canadian and amateur conspiracy theorists. they are convinced that american news and the american government is out to get us my misreporting the actual events. i say that as long as we finish up over there as soon as possible and get our gals and guys home, i don't care how it's reported. though living in the los angeles area, it's easy to see how someone could be jaded towards the news. if it's not an earthquake, a movie premiere, or a high-speed car chase, we're not much interested. at least, that's what the local networks assume.
i was watching mtv as i got ready for work this morning. did you know that they play music videos? in the very early morning? with no vj? and no COUNTDOWN? it's a strange thing indeed. but the raddest thing ever was when they played clay aiken's lameass video but put the wrong credit at the end. they labeled it as the darkness video. RAD.
so i've decided that everyone really must go pick up ryan adams' "rock and roll" album. it's not incredibly ground-breaking, but goddamn is it sweet catchy goodness. go.
recently ranted about tattoos on girls. while i don't agree with him 100%, he makes some good points. i myself have a few tattoos. but even though i think i got them as some sort of suburban angsty rebellion against nothing (i don't really remember what i was actually thinking, because once i enter a tattoo parlor, i get stars in my eyes and start saying things like "ooh, that's a shiny pretty thing"), i was careful to put them in places where i could cover them when circumstances dictate. and i agree to some extent when paul says that tattoos on chicks look kind of trashy. i think in my case, though, due to my staunch refusal to wear chicky party clothes, they make me look kind of truckerish. possibly dykish. which was not what i was necessarily aiming for when i got them. but. you know. whatever.
i got an email from my mom yesterday. a friend of hers wants to help siphon me into a government job. a job for which i am barely qualified, but i might possibly taste nepotism for the first time. it pays a lot more than what i make now. after a one-year probationary period, it pays 10K more than that. and it's for the GOVernment. those folks are second only to bankers and apartment managers in the cake-ass hours they work. and the BENEFITS. and EVERY red letter day off. PAID.
but it's in washington, d.c., a city i've long wanted to live in, since i grew up in its suburbs. except the FOLKS are still in the area. there's a reason i have no problem living 3,000 miles away from my family. i don't know if a 20K pay raise is worth moving back.
who am i kidding? of COURSE it is. i hate this place. there's a fucking walrus in the bathroom for chrissake.
merry xmas. i love you.
thank you for making sure that my stocking stuffers made it in the mail on time. i was worried that stupid.com had screwed up my order. and now that i think about it, i shouldn't have just written that, because now some people will have an idea what might be in store for them.
thank you for letting me be with two different families on two different days this xmas. it'll be TWO gift extravaganzas instead of one.
thank you for sending my boss to vail for the week. though we're in the middle of a work emergency right now, and i'm not quite authorized enough to solve it. but i'm pretending just fine, thank you.
i hope the reindeer are ready for wednesday night.
you don't need to bother stopping by my place; you've given me enough this year already.
i broke down and got one of those ergonomic memory foam weird shaped pillows. it was on sale at target and i've been long intrigued, so i just bought the damn thing.
here's me when i lay down at night: this feels kind of weird. i don't think i like it. i should really give it a chance, but it feels sorta wrong. there's money i'll nevzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
and then i sleep like a rock. i don't even think i toss. or turn.
but waking up is an absolute bitch. evil memory foam. damn you, target.
name your favorite movie in the comments:
sir, what are we looking for again?
just keep looking. someone big.
i thought we already got most of the big guys.
just keep looking, son.
sir, this place is weird.
i just tripped over a carpet. on the dirt.
stay focused, son. stay focused. inside. someone big.
there's no one in here.
focus, son. look every
there's nothing here, sir.
alright...another failed hide 'n seek.
i tripped again.
on what, son?
that fuckin' carpet, sir. the one that's covering a piece of styrofoam. on the dirt.
styrofoam? what the--
there's a hole underneath, sir.
what's in the hole?
yeah, a guy. with a pistol in his lap.
does he look important?
no, sir. he looks dirty.
well, drag him out, son.
i think this may be someone big, sir.
good job, son!
is it someone big?
well of course it is! it's what we were here looking for the whole time.
the whole time, sir?
yeah, i was just foolin' you about ignoring the carpet.
so we did good, sir?
yeah. we did good, son.
black cargo pants
it just occurred to me that maybe these are his nicer, workplace pants.
i shudder to think what he wears in his spare time.
luckily, though, he wisely traded in his beatdown grey tennies for some brand spanking new white ones! they look fab with his black cargo pants, yes they do.
everytime anyone comes over to my house, the trash is full. it's not always full. it only fills up for guests.
and then, inevitably, i bitch about my job and how i should be making more money for what i do.
in my head, the guest then thinks well, shit girl, you got enough money to make all that trash. maybe you should attend to your trash problem and everything else would fall into place.
i do make a lot of trash. just now i added two empty boddington cans. to the tippy top. they will fall to the floor if i stumble.
it's nice having windows media player on my computer at work.
now i can spend my friday watching things like this swirl around and around on the screen instead of hacking away at a spread sheet or some other such nonsense.
right now, the pretty colors are dancing to ryan adams. i think this shape danced especially well. it looked much cooler in its original colors. my computer crashed a few weeks back, and photoshop was killed instantly. now i have to use PAINT to capture images on the screen... something was definitely lost in translation.
speaking of, anyone seen that movie yet?
it is officially black cargo pants
we should all stop and appreciate the wonderment that is the tool and his thirty-day pants.
i think i may be losing my mind.
i feel all stirred up and crazed inside lately.
or, maybe, too much of myself.
probably, it's hormones.
i've had it
with southern california. for right now, anyway. yay, i live in california. yay, the weather is nice. yay, there's all sorts of things to do.
but to what end? so i can pay double the car insurance on my beater? be miserable everytime i have to sign a rent check? and it's great that there are so many amusement parks and museums and cultural crappy around here...
except that i never go. i've gone to disneyland since i've lived here just as many times as i've gone when i lived thousands of miles away. i have yet to step foot in a museum. it's like this comfort blanket: "yes, i live in the wonderful land of southern cali, where we have much better things than the rest of you lesser lot do." well, so what?
i grew up ten minutes from washington, d.c. now ask me how many times i've been to the top of the washington monument. or how many times i even ventured into d.c.
these are the things i like to do: read. write. surf the internet. go to the movies. rent movies. eat out. visit dive bars.
NEWSFLASH: you can do that shit ANYwhere.
i'm tired of paying out the nose for the privilege of living in glorious socal. fuck socal. it's treated me fairly well, but if i'm gonna pay a thousand for a one bedroom, i'd just as soon do it in boston or milwaukee than in the middle of whitebread suburbia. and shut up, you locals. you know it's true. except for hollywood and l.a. proper (and maybe long beach), this area is a big vast suburb. dotted with slight variations of the same strip mall on every corner.
cost of living, my ass. it shouldn't cost this much to live.
whoa. i pissed off weather.com.
just look at it!
oh grow up
go to cranky dog:
in the what?
me and my friend jerry, after a season-two-buffy-marathon night, were watching mtv.
[you are watching music television. thank you.]
we were lucky, because britney's new video, "in the zone", came on.
after about ninety seconds, i said, "dude, something's gonna happen, right? i'm waiting for something good to happen."
jerry, leaning forward, said, "has the song started yet? i'm waiting for the song to start."
[in other news, i watched "rich girls" mere hours after watching "the simple life". i fear that, very soon, my brain is going to explode.]
i heard a rumor that it snowed in new york very recently.
or maybe it's snowing right now.
either way, i'm hella jealous.
i kinda forgot about my neopet for a while.
this is what he looks like now.
december always makes me yearn for this. the feeling of downtown boston right before it snows, when it warms a few degrees to let you know it's coming. coldly walking from the north end to quincy market, because the only thing you can think about is clam chowder in a bread bowl. and yes, san francisco has beantown beat on the sourdough, but it's the soup that matters. walking on cobblestone. getting lost on sidestreets. remembering when it was warm enough to sit outside under a patio umbrella. soaking your shoes in slush and not caring. proudly displaying a static-y hathead (it doesn't matter, we're all wearing lame knitted caps). cold beer foam on your numb nose. stumbling home with a buzz. trying in vain to pack snowballs from dry soft powder. giggling in the snowy silence, your voice bouncing off the silent city brick.
the time i forgot my glasses
i met him at the theatre. i had worked there up until i had left two months earlier. i was back for a two week visit before moving to connecticut. his name was scott and he was the college roommate of a friend of a friend. he was visiting with this friend of a friend. the friend worked at the theatre. it only took a few days of hanging out for some chemistry to happen.
and then i moved. i was lonely. i didn't know many people except the people i worked with, and i hadn't made it in good with them yet. columbus day was rolling closer. three-day weekend. i asked scott if i could visit. he excitedly said yes. i left in the early afternoon, hardly prepared for the twelve hour drive before me. (it would've been a mere ten, but i calculated wrong and ended up hitting the beltway at rush hour. it wouldn't be the first time i failed myself that weekend.)
i arrived at the dorm pretty late. we caught up, made out, and went to bed. he had spent considerable breath during the time we had known each other explaining to me how he liked to consider himself a virgin. he had only had one sexual relationship, and it was with an older woman. he felt she'd taken advantage of him, and was determined to save the next time for a serious relationship. i never pushed the issue. it was new. he was fun. sex could wait.
but only until later that night, apparently. that's when boys toss their lofty plans as soon as a warm body is next to them in bed. i had my doubts, but certainly didn't mind the turn of events. i was lonely. any port in a storm.
the next night, we went to a giant kegger house party. he couldn't drink, due to an allergy and a heart problem that i can't specifically remember. i, on the other hand, was just fine with the refillable red plastic party cup. i was outside smoking when i started talking to a girl. she had a ferret on her shoulder. she was nice. the ferret was cute. we talked for a while. she went inside. i couldn't find scott for a while.
i went inside, and there he was, talking to the girl with the ferret. it was obvious there was some flirting going on. i was initially glad. we certainly weren't going to happen as a couple, what with him in southern virginia and me in connecticut. how nice for him. until i realized that hey, he came to this party with ME. i said hi to them, then went back outside to smoke. the keg was dry. so i started drinking half-empty party cups, left all alone on the front porch. bolstered by tainted beer, i confronted him. i don't remember what i said. nothing horrible. enough for him to walk me back to the dorm.
the friend of a friend and his girlfriend were there. they were on their way to a frat party. they got most of the story from scott before he bailed to "take care of some stuff." i was decent friends with them, and they invited me along. i ranted most of the way there. and most of the way back when we found the kegs at the party dry. i was understanding in my rant, but still a bit hurt. sometimes, having sex with someone for the first time can do that to a girl.
we got back to the dorm room around the same time as scott did. turns out he was taking a walk with ferret girl. we talked. well, i just told him i was going to leave. he seemed moderately concerned about me leaving for a ten-hour drive at three in the morning. not concerned enough for me to think it'd be a good idea to stay. i was angry at his lack of verbage at the time, but looking back, i imagine he plainly didn't know what to say. i got fifteen miles out of town when i realized i had left my glasses. and i can't drive at night without my glasses. and it was bad enough i had hit the road buzzed. buzzed and blind wasn't gonna cut it. fuck.so i turned around.
i knocked on his window, and he woke up to let me in. i explained the glasses situation. he invited me to spend the night. that, yes, things were incredibly weird, but it was too late and i was in no condition to drive. the only place to sleep was next to him, so i hugged the wall and hoped for the best. the best was him getting very hand-y again. he resorted to the ol' roll and poke before i made it clear we were done. though it was tempting: maybe he likes me again. maybe he likes me better than HER. boys, beds, and lonely girls, i swear to god.
things were awkward but tolerable the next day. i showered and left. leaving the parking lot, i thought i heard a clacking noise coming from my tire. i figured it was nothing. i neared the highway, passing through town. a clunk. a hiss. a very flat tire. i pulled into a gas station. i called scott. "well," he said. "what do you want me to do about it?" nice.
this is where i taught myself to change a tire. three repair stations laughed at me (it was sunday, and the day before a holiday) when i asked if they could fix it. i finally found a tire shop open. eight bucks. thank god.
traffic was light heading up i-95 north. plenty of time to reflect on the weekend. i don't think i've ever been so happy to cross into connecticut before.
i never heard from scott again. a few years later, some friends of friends told me this: "man, people were pissed at you back then. couldn't believe what you did to poor scott."
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