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...

if i have

to hear that lameass jessica simpson song one more time... for someone who doesn't sell all that many albums, that shit is EVERYwhere. someone should set trogdor after her.

so...i'm boz. that's okay, right?


Which Real World ... Blogger Style cast member are you!

check out the the real world, blogger style. you can take the test, too. plus, you can read a bunch of fun stuff.

(sidenote to the real world bloggers: who is it that is afraid of toasters? i almost picked that just 'cause it made me laugh.)

in other news, i got official word back from the fine people at the orange county courthouse. they've finally accepted ALL the months of paperwork i've sent in, sans lawyer, and given me a date. 3/13/04. i will officially be unmarried. even if i have to do it alone, there will be drinks had that night.

and in the comments, please tell me your favorite album of 2003. it doesn't necessarily have to be an album produced in 2003. just tell me what you were feelin' the most last year.

on the road


i just realized i will be out of town for the next three consecutive weekends. last year, my may was like this. i don't think i was home for a single weekend day in may. there's going to be a lot of laundry, packing, and unpacking. i'm bound and determined to not overpack this time.

i like weekend trips like these. i don't like visiting anybody for more than 4 days or so. a long weekend is just enough time to totally catch up, and usually saves you from the inevitable irritation of spending 24 hours a day with someone.

i also like going. going going go. i think i figured out why i like to travel. it's not for traveling's sake. it's not the journey (thought that's part of it). it's that you have to get lost in the action of what you're doing if you want to keep your sanity.

you can't calculate what time you'll have to leave for the airport AND be worried about your career future at the same time. you can't yell at the asshole in front of you on the freeway AND miss your best friend. you can't wonder if you've made a serious life mistake AND carefully line up your personal belongings on gray trays, in preparation to send them down assembly line wheelies into the x-ray cave.

traveling is very present tense. very now. very zen. schedules, packing, renting cars, seeing familiar faces at baggage claim. it's a relief. it's different from day-to-day.

but, it does seem an awful lot like running, too. hiding.

either way, i'm looking forward to my busy february. my house will be a wreck, and i will be too busy to feel bad about it. i will miss my cats, but i will be too busy concentrating on navigating unfamiliar highways in the middle of midwest winter. i could miss this blog, but i'll be trying very hard to stay awake after northwesting a redeye.

and happy monday.

another saturday


i'm late to the show, but i recently acquired through illegal means (normally, i'd want to show my monetary support for such things, but i simply don't have the monetary right now). and, so far, everything they've said is true. it's incredible. INCREDIBLE. i think i die a little every time i listen to the entire album. or live a little more. i can't be certain yet.

i can't stop thinking about fire.

i hung out with my ex-husband last night. it was our first official attempt at being friends. i think it worked out well. for the first time, i may be able to keep someone in my life after a romance didn't work out. granted, we have 6 or so years of history behind us. he brought tears to my eyes when he said, "i hope we can keep doing this. it's been hard...things happen...and i want to call you and tell you about them... you were my best friend for a long time. i don't see why that has to stop."

and i'm glad. even if he is going to steal my end table and my grill when he moves in with his girlfriend next week. and even if he keeps asking for the engagement ring back everytime we have a substantial conversation.

but i must admit that weirdness finally entered the building when he answered his cell phone from my couch and said, "hey, baby." i should be clear: jealousy didn't enter the building. it's just that when you've been with someone, these pet names become an identity to you. to hear him say "baby" not in reference to me...odd. like putting a shoe on the wrong foot. but these are the things we deal with when we say goodbye and then hello again.

seriously, though. check out postal service, if you can. it's well worth it.

p.s. i hope you get some quality sleep soon.



a few nights ago, i had a dream that i died. i've had the dreams where i'm falling, or being chased, or get into a car accident. but usually they either end there, or the dream continues with me feeling whatever pain is appropriate. i got shot in the gut once in a dream, and it hurt like hell.

this dream, though. i completed the act of dying.

the beginning is fuzzy, but i'm either in a house/building with some people, or we're all outside approaching it. something happens, like a small plane crashes into the building, or a fuel truck. there's simply fire at first. we're trying to find everyone and get the hell out/further away. then an explosion.

i turn and see the wave of fire approaching me. and i run. it overcomes me, and i'm knocked to the ground.

everything goes orange, red, then black. i'm breathing fire, and my chest feels exactly like that. my eardrums are fire. my lungs are fire. my mouth is fire. it happens very quickly, but long enough for me to consciously think how dying by fire isn't nearly as bad as i would've assumed.

the roar in my ears is almost unbearable, but very soon i don't really have ears anymore and everything goes silent.

the pain was unreal, but not exactly painful. my brain was registering that every part of my body was fire, but it was so painful that it didn't actually hurt.

and then i'm dead. it's not black and quiet. it's nothing. absolute nothing. unlike other near-death dreams, i didn't immediately wake up, either. from what i can tell, i woke up calmly a few hours later. i remember feeling confused for a moment why i was waking up at all.

i can't stop thinking about this dream. it makes me wonder if, in some way, fire will be involved when i eventually do die.

enough of that. it makes my lungs hurt to even think about it anymore.

happy friday.

to the drivers of the fine state of california:


if you are driving in the left lane. if the speed limit is 70. if you are going 71. you are definitely going to piss me off. especially if you refuse to get out of my way for 20 fucking miles.




am i an awful person for wanting to watch 'tank girl' on wgn instead of the state of the union address? i'm watching it now and these are the only questions i've come up with:
is dan rather canadian? i swear he just said 'aboot' a couple times.
is this somehow related to a catholic mass? there's been a lot of standing/sitting/standing/sitting.
how old IS ted kennedy, anyway?

i'm leaving for reno in a few hours. there was a trade show emergency, and i'm saving the day by delivering a dozen boxes of books. i'll be driving all night. but i will be out of the office for two days, and expected to sleep all day tomorrow. and the only car the rental place had was a brand-spanking new altima (new car smell and all!). it's not incredibly impressive, but when you drive an 8-year-old, 75-horse civic hatchback, it feels like a porsche. (please don't tell my car i said that.) wish me luck with the weather. it's been years since i've driven in snow.

i finally submitted the application package i've been dragging my feet about. i feel good about it. good that i finished it early, good that it's in so i don't have to sweat it while i'm in reno. and good about it because the fax confirmation number kinko's gave me was 888. 8 is my favorite number. i'm so gonna get this job.

103.1 103.1 103.1 103.1 103.1

i've been coming across an awful lot of buzz about 103.1, especially on other LA-area blogs. and even though standard_riff pointed out to me that Indie 103.1 is owned and operated by no one other than Clear Channel (fuckers!), i still must swear my undying devotion for this radio station as it stands now.

i say "as it stands now" because it will change. for example:

they will eventually have to hire DJs. chances are these DJs will suck.

right now, they broadcast on the web. this will most likely come to an end. i don't know all the ins and outs of it, but i can't think of a mainstream radio station that broadcasts via web anymore. copyright bullshit and all.

they are already being a bit sneaky. yesterday, they kept trumpeting "no-ad mondays". we hate mondays as much as you do. so we're keeping 'em ad-free. but every hour or so, i heard this: "ad-free mondays. proudly sponsored by blahblah car dealership located in convenient blahblah. blah blah blah blah blah no interest blah blah blah no credit no problem blah." sneaky fuckers!

but last night, when i was having trouble sleeping, i turned on my clock radio. i heard an old buffalo tom song followed by some old g love. i felt like i was driving across the newport bridge circa 1996, blasting WBRU.

so, no matter what this station manages to fuck up in the near future (which it will, mark my words--they even played third eye blind this morning), today i swear my undying love. it's about time someone took a kroq format and a college rock format and smushed 'em together. even if that someone had to be Clear Channel.

resumes suck ass


they do. i have newfound respect for the people who take money for preparing such things. i used to think they charged a ridiculous amount. i have since come to the conclusion that it's a bargain, people. a BARGAIN. not that i have that kind of scratch to blow, but if i did i wouldn't be procrastinating working on mine by writing this crap.

there are scary military people trying out on american idol right now. i think i'm gonna have to find the energy to move to the remote control and change the freaking channel. it's this stuff that is making america rot. ROT. did you ever see "josie and the pussycats"? it wasn't the best movie ever, but it swung a mighty big hammer at the idea of shit like this. it wouldn't surprise me in the least to find out that a big subliminal computer and parker posey are behind the travesty that is american idol. it makes me want to defect.

(god, i wonder if that happens. you occasionally hear about people defecting to america from other places. there's got to be someone who's tried to defect from here. someone rollin' up to a canadian navy vessel: "please, i demand immunity. take me in. let me defect. you've seen the drivel they make us watch, right?")

(sidenote. re: canadian navy. the only canadian naval vessel i've ever seen close up, and it was years ago. but did you know that it didn't have a single right angle on it? messes with radar and sonar trying to ping off 'em and shit. most techie stuff like that, it's set to report back right angles, which usually indicate a manmade object. no right angles? mass confusion and possible ignoring. isn't that rad? i'm most likely talking out of my ass with all the time that has passed... but it reminds me how i've yet to get a speeding ticket in california. a lot of people are amazed by this. perhaps, though, it's because i had a fender bender before i moved here. when they put the new bumper on, the holes on the plastic outer and frame inner don't match up anymore. so i've not put my front license plate on. but i hear (urban myth?) that the front license plate is usually where they aim the radar gun at. because of the flat surface, seeing how most modern cars have no other steel flat surfaces. maybe my unfortunate accident has saved me a plethora of california speeding tickets. it's all about the right angles.)

i changed the channel. "i love the 80s strikes back" is much better.

this particular entry is so fucking rad:


girls are pretty

everything must go!

i'm purging my closets. i know it's a little too analog for anyone with a blog, but if you're interested in any of the following items, i will ship them free of cost. i hate to just toss 'em... remember, they're all VHS (VHS):

g.i. jane
indecent proposal
wild things
yoga for beginners
three kings
say anything
forrest gump
harley davidson and the marlboro man
south park (bigger! longer! uncut!)
glory daze (if you haven't seen this, you should. look it up on the net and revel in its awesomeness)
american pie

and the greats:
buffy the vampire slayer: the buffy & angel chronicles (3 tape set)
buffy the vampire slayer: the slayer chronicles (3 tape set)

send me an email with your address if you're interested in owning your very own old nasty VHS from my vault.

real dad


some people call it soul searching. i think, in my case, it's more of a staunch refusal to stop living in the past. regardless, another long tale, courtesy of something flingus got me thinking about.

first, the background: i was a daddy's girl. i don't know if it's a genetic trait of firstborn daughters, but it was true. i was in love with him. he was like a big kid. he brought home tiny snakes that he found in the grass. he had a parrot. he taught me to rollerskate. (it's funny. i remember moments of my young childhood with shocking clarity; my sister has forgotten her entire life before the age of six. she, clearly, is not a living-in-the-past sort of gal.) he was tall and hairy and made me feel safe.

i wish wish wish i had had a better idea of what was going on at the time, but i've since forgiven my seven (?) year old self. things were bad at home. having a dad who acts like a kid is great when you're a kid. not so great when you're his wife. add to that cheatings and beatings, and i can't imagine how my mother survived.

more than anything else, i remember the fire hydrant outside of our house. i think he must've walked past it as he left for the last time. or maybe we had a game that involved it's bulky yellowness (though it may have been red). what i remember is that hydrant, and being sad, and crying, and looking out the door wishing that i had been a better daughter.

the weekend visits were wonderful. me and sis would hang out with dad all day long. there were visits to toy stores. there was hanging out at his new place with his girlfriend. there was playing with their dogs. there was going to see a movie with him and noticing a poster for "the last unicorn" as we left, which is probably why that movie is so ingrained in my being.

my mother married again. he's absolutely wonderful. things were rough at first, as his job required some moving around. but i remember the first time i called him dad and i remember my mother asking if it would be alright if he adopted us. he stayed the course. he stayed true. my mother's a smart woman for choosing him.

once we moved, the weekend visits with real dad stopped of course. it was confusing to me. i had a great new dad. but there's a hole left, and when you're eight and can't give a name to the hole, it kind of chews away at you. there were a few phone calls, i think. i can't remember. once we were in louisiana, i remember getting a card for my birthday.

you know how it feels when you're absolutely convinced that someone will totally come through once they have the opportunity? that you're willing to wait, because you know it will be worth all the previous pain and longing? i opened that card with all those feelings. i knew the dirt with which to fill up my hole would be in that card. needless to say...

we had stayed in touch with real dad's family. they lived, after all, in the same metropolitan area as my mom's family. so, when i was fourteen, there was a visit to the homeland. my real grandmother had been bugging for a visit for years, so it was the least we could do to visit her and to make arrangements to see real dad.

the visit with grandma was good. normal. ate lots of cookies and drank lots of iced tea. i was increasingly nervous as the appointment to visit him came closer. a park. the afternoon. my sister, confused about a man she barely remembered. me, hoping upon hope that somehow this visit would unbreak my heart and kick some dirt in the hole.

it was fun. but weird. at fourteen, i was old enough to feel uncomfortable around adults that spoke the same language as me. he wasn't dadlike. i'm sure he was nervous, too, but he didn't have youth as an excuse. whether he regretted his past mistakes and was truly glad to set eyes on us again, i don't know. he acted like a child.

still. still. still. it wasn't enough. even my mother, on the front porch of her father's house, turned to me and said, "you're going to have to forget about this. you're going to have to say goodbye and stop thinking he'll change." i was fourteen. i pretended that he still had it in him to save me.

my adolescence proved difficult. for a myriad of reasons, but partially, i believe, because i had been endowed with traits of real dad's personality. my mom one day told me that she used to think personality was nurture, not nature. but that seeing my sister compared to me, she had changed her reasoning. it was obvious that my sister had strong traits of my mother's family's personality, whereas i exhibited an awful lot of real dad.

i clung to this idea. that if i could reconnect with the only person who could understand such a personality, that i might finally feel at home. i was still on the cusp of nine, halfway through ripping open that birthday card. i had chosen to ignore the feeling i had once i finished reading it.

when i was twenty-two or twenty-three, i got word that my real dad's father had passed away. they had a memorial on the homefront, but he was to be buried in arlington national cemetary. there would be a second funeral. his sister lived in that area, as did some distant cousins. and my family. i made preparations to attend.

i was a wreck. i'd never been to a funeral before. and though the years that led to his death scared me and made me less than the best granddaughter, grandpa mac was the king daddy of grandpas. he drove a cool car. he wore overalls. his recliner commanded center stage in the living room. where he would find something in his nose, roll the resultant matter in a ball between thumb and forefinger, and drop it to the carpet. i didn't know this as a child, when i would sit on the floor by his feet, or crawl over his lap.

so we're in the entryway of the cemetary building. i'm stressed out, and ask my sister to come outside with me. we stood outside in the cold. she scrunched her nose at the smell of my cigarette. i regaled her with words about my stress level.

i was wearing dress blues. an old man in dress green approached. he was jovial, and we eventually realized that he was family. of some kind. distant--the sort who hadn't seen me since i was before speech. he said, "so i guess we're just waiting for _______ to show up."

my sister and i exchanged a look. "you know," he said, "he came in from colorado for this. but i guess they're lost."

we were not expecting this. it'd been so long. real dad. dress blues. a funeral.

they were late. arlington national cemetary waits for no one. the director led us to the burial plot. he told me that since i was the closest blood relative, they would fold the flag after taps and hand it to me. he told me that there was no need to stand.

i was glad for that direction. until taps started. they play taps at the end of every day on every base. it normally cues feelings of "lights out" in me. sitting in a cemetary, watching marines fold a flag for my grandfather--i had never been so grateful for sunglasses.

suddenly, i was on my feet. saluting. and crying like i hadn't in years. out of the corner of my eye, i noticed people walking close. i knew who it must be without turning my head.

taps ended. the flag was given to me. milling about began. i got myself together and approached my grandpa's sister. i gave her the flag, as she was its original intendant. for the time being, i kept real dad only in my peripheral.

it was only seconds: what do i do? do i play it cool? i could pretend i don't recognize him... i could ignore him... i could wait for him to make a move... i could stop being like him and just go for it...

without looking, i threw my arms around his neck.

his arms stayed firmly at his sides.

there's more, but this was the moment. this was the moment when i stopped thinking about the hole. this was the moment when it was finally too late. this was saying goodbye to a piece of my past.

freaks and geeks

it seems i'm becoming a dvd-release herald. but, it's true. one of the raddest television shows to ever air in primetime is finally slated for a dvd release in april.

and i won't tolerate anyone saying the show wasn't all that good, so don't even try.

found quote:

once bread becomes toast, it can never go back to being bread again.

a lot of people

are going to be very disappointed when they see this site after searching for:
Kutcher, meanwhile, isn't straying far from the MTV fold. Demi's younger, prettier half, who last month announced he was retiring his hit "Punk'd" series, is developing another "Candid Camera"-style comedy for the cable channel, says the Hollywood Reporter. In "My New Best Friend," based on the British series of the same name," a contestant tries to win cash by convincing friends and family that they have an obnoxious new pal (it's really an actor).
in other news, (yes, i know, enough already with the spam) i came across the following spam subject:
no one will love u if u are fat
not only is that possibly the most depressing marketing ploy i've ever seen, but i wonder if they took into consideration the amount of people who won't love you if you spell "you" with only a "u".

i'm a conscientious objector to the war that's in my mind
--green day

success is obedience to a structured way of life
--operation ivy

Rape, -isms, and The Real World


Last night, on The Real World: San Diego, one of the female castmembers got into an altercation with a stranger outside of a club.

Him: Bitch!
Her: Don't call me a bitch, nigga!
He's black, she's white. Her black roommate overheard the exchange.
Him: What did you say to him?
Her: I called him a nigga.
Him: No you DIDn't. What the hell?
Her: What? He called me a bitch. I called him a nigga.
Him: Oh god. Look, please don't say that word around me.
Her: What, it's cuz I'm white, isn't it? What IS that all about?
Him: YES is cuz you're white. Of course it's because you're white.
Her: But you say it around your friends--
Him: That's different.
Her: And I say it around my friends--
Him: Look, just don't say it. I'm asking you. I'm not angry, I'm not judging. I just don't stand for that word. Alright?
Her: [starting to cry] But... But... I said "a" and not "er"...
The roommate left to go home, visibly upset by the turn of events and needing time to himself. One of the other roommates (male and white) approached the girl.
Him: You know, you probably shouldn't have said that.
Her: [a little hysterical] I don't get it. I use that word all the time at home.
Him: Well, I don't stand for that word, either. And you should've been careful around all these new people.
Her: [completely hysterical] YEAH? Well. You don't know my HISTORY!
It took MTV a good twenty minutes to arrive at the destination, but I already knew exactly where they were taking me. As soon as it was confirmed, I had to turn the TV off.

She was raped by a black man. Apparently, this gives her credence to throw the n-word around inoffensively. I have a problem with this. This is why:

I was raped. I won't go into details, but it was shortly after I joined the Coast Guard. He was a Coastie, too. I don't mean to draw a straight comparison to the loss of innocence experienced by children who are sexually abused, but it was a slightly similar feeling. The comraderie and fraternal feel of any military branch had led me to believe that these sorts of things didn't happen between shipmates. I could trust these guys. They were my brothers.

It turns out brothers are still members of the general population. These things still happen. I won't say I got over the experience rapidly, but I did make a decision right away: I wasn't going to let that one guy ruin my worklife. If I let myself run on the assumption that 90% of the people I worked and lived with were like him, I don't think I would've ever left the house again.

A few years after the incident, I transferred to what had been an all-male unit. In preparation for my arrival, the big dogs had decided to submit the crew to an entire week of sexual harassment awareness training. You can imagine the eggshells they were all walking on as soon as I walked in the door. The awkwardness was palpable. My direct supervisor confused the shit out of me. He'd first ask if he could gallantly carry something for me. Then the training would wash over him and he'd suddenly drop whatever I was handing him, or throw it back at me like a hot potato. I didn't know chilvalry was on the table. I thought maybe he was clumsy.

Within a year, I was privy to the following words from some of my male superiors:
I don't think girls should be in the Coast Guard. They're only here for one reason, to spread their legs, get pregnant, and scream sexual harassment.

I wish all the girls in the Coast Guard were more like you. I haven't even talked to any in years, including the ones I work directly with, because of this one girl who I mistakenly dated and when she dumped on me, I decided all military girls are evil.
These things I let slide. They sat with me, and angered me, but I let them go. It was easier, I told myself, for them to feel that way when only 10% of their coworkers were female. 90% of mycoworkers were male. I was not in a position to let one asshole ruin my opinion of all of them.

So, when someone uses the fact that they were raped by a black man as an excuse to throw the n-word around, if feels like exactly that. An excuse. And a weak one. I understand that if you've been victimized, you would tend to be wary of anyone who looks like the victimizer. In this girl's case, she might avoid crowds of young black men. She may have trouble befriending black males. There would be a lot of understandable trust issues with men in general.

It doesn't excuse hurling racial slurs at strangers after a few drinks. If you've dug yourself a hole, and you're looking up from the bottom of it and realizing you've made a mistake, simply apologize. Say you fucked up. Don't start making excuses that may seem on the surface to have a lot to do with the present problem, but that actually only serve to make everyone feel sorry for you. Because some of it is bound to be the bad kind of pity.

impish glycerin evolution


there's a new wave in junk email. it used to be popular to misspell words like p3nis and c0ckk. i don't know what's up with the new subject lines, but they rock my world. i'm so intrigued that i almost click on the email, but i know better.

it's like they've given up on appealing to the men insecure about their dick size and the women who believe it matters, and have started marketing their wares to people fascinated by random words.

my second favorite today: "borealis brendan bullfrog illustrate".

it now occurs to me that i have no idea what these spammers are even selling. but that's besides the point, i suppose.



a few strangers have been walking this blog. welcome welcome welcome. now, who the hell are you?

you're coming from:


if you have a site, leave a link in the comments. i'm looking for new sites to lurk around on myself.

again, welcome.

red bull


i got a surprise email from amazon today.

see, i put myself on a list to be notified when a certain movie would be available on dvd. i expected it would take forever to hear anything, if ever.

and, now, a mere month later...

yes, it's true. the greatest animated movie (with the kickassingest soundtrack) is finally slated for release on dvd:

sometimes, it's the little things that get you through the day...

"it's not you. it's me."


it is bullshit, that statement. it explains nothing. and tim was right in calling me out on it (i love arin.net).

i hate it that i have nothing to explain. that it makes as much sense to me as it does to him.

i would like to make him hate me. i would like to be horrible. i would like it if i could give him some excuse to write me off.

but it would be a lie.

he deserves nothing but the truth. as convoluted as that truth is, i can't lie to him.

should i tell him it meant nothing? that i don't love him? that there's someone else?

if it would make it easier, i would say such things. maybe i should have.

but i can't lie. not to him.

it kills me that he's hurting. not because of some selfish i-don't-want-to-be-a-bad-person reason. because it wasn't a lie. none of it.

i am bad, though. because he's golden.


he is the epitome of every girl-talk-why-can't-guys-just-be-(fill in the blanks).

still i feel this way. i can't stand breaking his heart. but i can stand dragging him along while i'm dealing with my own shit even less.

i shouldn't even post this...

feel free to call me out on my bullshit in the comments. it's deserved.

last night, i broke two hearts.

you think that these last months meant nothing to me.

the truth is that they meant the world to me, and that's why i had to do what i did.

i would have given up experiencing these wonderful months if i could have foreseen hurting you at the end of them.

i still can't explain it properly.

i could feel myself starting to take you for granted. i started to feel not ready for you, for this.

and you need, you deserve, someone who is willing to meet you halfway. or at least is willing to try.

i'm not that person yet.

i'm sorry i had to waste five months of your life to figure that out. it's not fair. and i can't stand that i did this to you.

you're wonderful.

and i'm sorry.

why america is fat


i sit here in my office, quietly eating leftover chicken-fried steak--complete with congealed country gravy--from the tool's going-away luncheon. it's starting to make me feel ill. but it made me feel ill the first go-around, so i don't know why i was expecting two days in the fridge to improve matters.

i reread my lazy attempt at a novel last night. i still can't tell if it's good, but it's definitely not as bad as i remembered. i'm still pissed at myself for not getting more written. and knowing myself, i know the chances of me diving back in are slim. poor thomas sinclair.

this new year is sitting strangely with me. my emotions are amuck and causing me to think about things and do things that i would've thought ridiculous a mere month ago. i'm feeling the strong need to move out of california again. holding hands with this urge to move is the driving desire to get a new job. and i still have loose ends to tie up with the divorce.

i was convinced a year ago that 2003 would be the year for such feelings, but they never arrived. now that i'm not prepared for them, here they are.

but timing has always been a superbitch. that's nothing new.

this is my fault.

i don't know what to do about it.

i don't know exactly what i'm feeling, only that i'm feeling it.

this is the worst sort of situation in which to be vague with a loved one, but i simply don't have the words. i know how much it hurts to hear uncertainties.

i'm sorry, baby.


well, now the gray cargo pant game has come to an unfortunate end.

the tool got laid off yesterday. am i feeling bad for him? am i hoping beyond hope that he finds a new job soon? am i scared that i might be next, and stressed about how woefully unprepared i am for such a financial tragedy?

no. i just can't believe the pants question will never be answered. and today, his last day, he's wearing a flippin' suit.

the whole world's out to get me, i swear to god.

new cargo pants game


i was saddened by the end of the black cargo pants game. but i noticed today that the tool is wearing the same GRAY cargo pants as the day that the black cargo pants game officially ended.

i think we may have a new game. yee-haw.

(i still have my suspicions, though, that these gray cargo pants are the same pants as the black pants, only they met with some laundry tragedy.)

103.1 103.1 103.1 103.1 103.1


if you live in or near ellay, do yourself a favor and tune it to 103.1. now. seriously. this station needs heavy support before it goes away like every other cool station has that has tried to compete with lameass kroq. if for no other reason, check it out because it's brand new, so it doesn't have a lot of advertising support yet. thus, very few commercial breaks.

i don't want to go to work tomorrow.

i will address the things i wanted to address in my last post in my next post. ya'll.

happy new year, ya'll


i spent the last week in virginia, and then in new york with people who live in texas, so "ya'll" it is.

i don't have time right now, so some memos to myself for my next post: why trainrides rock, why new york kinda blows, and why my mom should hire herself out professionally to write resumes for people.

and for ya'll, give me your new year's resolution in the comments. yippee-kai-yay.