Letter to the President

Dear President Bush,

I need your help understanding something, and as you are currently the Commander-In-Chief, I wanted to go to the top. It's just one question.


Why Sir, can I not go to the Doctor's to make sure I get a refill for medication I need everyday?


I am a 23 year-old member of the workforce. I've been working since I was 16, but right now I'm without a job. I understand the job market is a murky place, and that I have to work to find a job. I quit my job because it was, simply, a bad job. However, now I am without medical insurance, as the only likely way for an average adult to have medical insurance is through the workplace.


I have asthma, a fairly severe case. I take my Albuterol everyday, and I still try new medications when I can. I have problems sleeping because of my breathing, I wake up unable to breathe. I promise you Sir, it's a scary thing. I hope you never experience it.


I am an adult, with my own expenses, and I do my absolute best to pay them. My debt is low compared to some of my peers, and I have a good credit history. I am a good person that pays attention to the news, writes to my congressmen, pays taxes and votes. I am also too old for my Mother to pay for me to go to the doctor. And seeing as how I have that decent credit history, I'd rather not put a doctor's visit on my credit card. Perhaps you don't understand the credit system. The card companies rely on failure to survive. The interest rates make big money. Especially with young people who are still relatively inexperienced with it. They rely on other people's debts. I'd rather not do damage to my future with added, and unnecessary, charges. Any program my credit card has for job loss does not cover me, as I wasn't fired or laid off and left of my own accord.


I know, you must be thinking I'm cheap. That of course a person should find the money for their own health. That Sir, hinges on whether I have it. I have roughly 300 dollars to my name. I also have regular bills. The only reason I'm not homeless and hungry is because my Mother is letting me live rent-free. I'm lucky. I have a home, shelter and support in my life. I like living with her, but my body is my responsibility. I pay for my medications, so I should be the one worried about getting to see my Doctor. By the way, I only need a check-up, and likely a personal exam (I'll be vague on that, men are a bit squeamish.) I have a history of cancer in my family, check-ups are vital to me not going through what trauma other women in my family have.


Sir, I know I said I only had one question, but it seems now that I have two. Should not the national government have an interest in the health of it's citizens? All of them, not just the people with a decent credit card history. All of them, not just children, but especially children. All of them, no matter what race, age or sex. All of them, not just those that can afford it.

Actually, just one more question. How much damage would it do to the coffers of our great nation to have one check-up a year for every American? I know it would be expensive, but aren't our elected officials at least a bit concerned about the health of the people? If the nation pays no attention to the health of the average American that just needs a little help, it can't bode well for the future. With so many diseases and conditions that need to be caught early, it could do nothing but good to help your citizens.


President Bush, thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
W.B.

Pitchforks and Nailguns and Piercings...Oh my.

Ok...I'm watching some random tv on at 1 am on TLC. It's "101 Things Removed From The Human Body" although they ought to call it "Fucking Disgusting Impalement Pictures." Dude, boat anchors in the back of the head, a swordfish in the eye, a frog-gigging stick in the face (it's like a mini pitchfork,) a piece of rebar in the face, a giant piece of flying metal from the neck, as well as a ton of nails removed from someone's stomach, and other scary things. Thankfully, the tv is on in the other room...while my laptop is here. I can avoid the grosser things.

I have a fear of injuries like that-- as I assume, most people do. I would hate little more than to slip on an icy sidewalk and fall on a fence post or something. No way. I wouldn't look good in a "jaunty eye patch" (thank you Lewis Black, for one of the best phrases in stand up.)

I'm such a freakin pansy when it comes to pain. I had to hold the Claire's teddy bear when I got my ears pierced at the mall when I was 17. I'm not big on needles or having injuries of any kind. I can't even begin to imagine just riding along on a boat, and WHAM, getting an anchor jabbed into my skull, and then having to hold it still while I stayed conscious, waiting for help. No thanks. Or working with a nail gun and shooting a 4 inch nail into my head-- I know piercings are all the rage-- but I don't think that's the way to go but I can see it now:

MTV-- TRUE LIFE-- I'M INTO EXTREME PIERCING

"Hey man! Check this sweet frontal lobe piercing I got! My memory is kinda fucked up...and I can't really control myself anymore...and I black out sometimes...but isn't it totally awesome? The chicks are gonna love this!"

"That's nothing. I got my kidneys pierced with a 2 x 2 strip of pine floorboard. I want to gage it up to a 2 x 4 in a couple weeks. It's a bitch to get my pants on and my skin is a little yellow-- but my girlfriend loves it, she can hang her purse off it when we go out."

"Whatever. We should totally go get our corneas pierced next saturday when we're getting our tongues split. It's not like you ever wear your contacts anyway, the pain is just part of the fun man! I met a guy who'll do it for like, no money. We just gotta bring a package into Mexico for him. He seems cool-- he has his corneas pierced, got his done at Rikers by a carjacker from Long Island."

"Sweet. Can I bring my girlfriend? She wants to get her nipples pierced for the 5th time, maybe string a chain from the piercings to her nose ring. Last week she got a tribal symbol branded on her ass, it's kind of a mystical thing...very deep. She still can't really sit down or wipe herself, but it's totally hot."


Admit it. MTV would do it.

My hands smell like packing tape.

It looks like our issues with the move have been ironed out, at least to the point where we know we can move to the house. Hopefully we can still have the closing by the end of next week-- considering we move on the 30th. I just want to get in and get rid of the cowboy print border on my bedroom wall.

I have a week to pack all this up. How the fuck did I ever get to own so much stuff? Why exactly did we need 7 different versions of Trivial Pursuit? All I want to do is watch a baseball game or a movie and relax, but I suppose I'll just do that after the move. I packed 11 boxes today and I have at least that many to do tomorrow. I'm just feeling like a housewife, which, rated on my list of life's dreams ranks somewhere around being a garbage collector. I'm just not cut out for the June Cleaver life.

On a different note, I tried on the shirt I bought on impulse from Wal-Mart yesterday. Nice print, cute cut, way too small in the bust. Shit. Of course, if I were going for the pancake look, I'd have hit the jackpot-- except for the fact that I could get the same look by duct taping my breasts down unevenly. Oh well, 8 dollars gone and a shirt for the goodwill, worse things have happened.

"Extreme Shark Diving"

It's Shark Week again, reaffirming my distrust of the ocean.

I'm not a big fan of being submerged in the ocean. I got caught in a riptide in NC when I was 14 when I was boogie boarding with a friend. It's like swimming on a treadmill. I have no idea how long it took us to get back to the beach. An older man pulled us in, and to this day I have no idea who he was. Wherever you are Sir, thanks, I owe you one. It's still easily the scariest moment of my life. The beach police came and took a statement, and later when we were back inside we saw tv reports of shark sightings in the area.

We were from upstate NY, and had no earthly clue we were supposed to swim parallel to the shore. Where we're from the greatest aquatic dangers are swimming through someone else's pee in the lake, stepping on some jerk's littered broken beer bottle, tripping over a submerged tree stump or being mauled by mosquitos(or worse yet, losing your cooler over the side of the boat when you're going full speed.) Needless to say, it left me with a dislike of being in deep water. Actually, I didn't completely go in the ocean again til last October when I went snorkling in St. Thomas (which is, by the way, The Most Beautiful Place Ever.)

I'm watching a show about Extreme Shark Feeding...err, diving. As in, shark photographers are getting out of the cage and swimming alongside great white sharks. That gave me a moment of pause. Excuse me? As I'm aware, the cage is only for a bit of protection anyway. The sharks could get in if they wanted to, but why test fate? 12-foot sharks with enough bite force to keep most normal people away.There was one diver, a former Cosmo model-turned wild animal photographer that was diving with a broken arm and she was whining about not being able to grab on the dorsal fin and ride along with the shark like the other divers had. It was like watching a bad faux-documentary and I was waiting for someone to get chewed on. Sharks may be beautiful creatures, but this is clearly a case of "Better you than me."

I have my reasons for not wanting to dive with sharks. In the case of me versus the sharks, let's think about it.

Who's bigger? SHARK.

Who's faster? SHARK.

Who eats things that are still breathing? SHARK.

Who is constantly underestimated? ME.

Who's scarier? LIZA MINELLI...oops, I mean SHARK.

Who has an entire week of Discovery Channel programming devoted to them? SHARK.

In the most basic of comparisons-- it's 5-1, in the shark's favor. I'm also lacking the nerve to allow sharks to "test" me. Fuck that noise. A bite is a bite, and once I'm below the water, they're higher on the food chain. I understand that I have a better chance of being hit by a car, butI have no urge to dangle myself in the water like bait, and no chain mail suit is going to change my mind. They may not be mindless killers, and they are smarter than people may think-- but that's it right there. If it can decide to kill me because it feels like it, I don't need spider sense to tell me to avoid the situation. Down in the ocean, I am the equivalent of a 3-day old still-blind kitten facing a pack of methamphetamine-crazed bikers. No thanks. I'll be the one at the water's edge with the sunburnt nose, avoiding the washed up jellyfish.

So more power to you, crazy shark divers. Go ahead, swim around with chum-filled suits and cattle prods if you want, get the pictures, and I'll watch the shows. It's like watching the Crocodile Baby Dangler-- there's always the knowledge that he could lose a hand. So, don't act all shocked and angry if they bite you. Do, however, try and get it on camera-- you know, for next year's Shark Week.

I can't lie, I'm waiting for Potter...

I had a shitty day today and I don't really want to get into it too much, but there's a problem with our plans to move. Hopefully it'll work out and we'll find out how this will work out on Monday. I'm just trying to keep myself upbeat.

What I want right now is a bear hug from a hot man, a long movie that makes me laugh and a warm brownie, or a cold beer. Where are all my gay boys when I need them?

what exactly is in fake fish?

"PETA Calls For Town Of Fishkill To Change Name
Last Update: 7/14/2005 10:23:44 AM(Fishkill, NY)
AP 07/14/05 --

The animal rights group People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is calling for the town of Fishkill to change its name.

The Poughkeepsie Journal reports that PETA wants the town to be known as FishingHurts.com, which just happens to be the Internet address for a PETA Web site dedicated to the group's "Fish Empathy Project."

Fishkill officials weren't biting Wednesday. The name Fishkill is actually derived from two Dutch words: Vis, for fish, and Kill, for stream or creek. PETA acknowledges the true meaning of the name, but said most who see Fishkill on a map wouldn't know that.

PETA also offered to donate $15,000 worth of a soy-based, faux-fish product for school students in the town if the name is changed."


I literally hurt from laughing at PETA. First Edward Furlong frees grocery store lobsters in the name of PETA, now this. I agree that it's not ok for baby chicks to have their beaks ripped off for chicken nuggets and that veal isn't so great that we should force-feed calves to get it...but this, this just negates everything PETA does that's remotely logical. I'd say it was a joke if I couldn't see them do this, it's just a amazingly stupid stupid stunt that just screams "publicity." I just got an image of a prospective college student telling an interviewer "I'm from fishinghurts.com. No really. Shut up. Everyone always laughs at my town! I hate PETA!"

I support the people that want to be vegetarians and those so into self-torture that they follow a vegan diet-- more steak for me. I couldn't do it. I tried to be a vegetarian in college, because for some reason I thought the crunchy hippie people had the right idea. I took vitamins like they said, and gave up red meat and fish, and all meat products, nothing with beef broth, nada. After a month or so I'd been living on chicken (I couldn't give that up) and salad and I wanted a sausage pizza like a crackhead wants rock. I've tried some of that pseudo-meat junk, and it's just like masturbation-- kinda like the real thing, but not really. But hey, maybe that "soy-based faux-fish product" would be better. I call Not It on trying it.

One thing does worry me about meat products, though. "mechanically separated chicken" being one of the first ingredients in Slim-Jims. That concerns me. Bad images.

Ron White said it best with "We didn't climb to the top of the food chain to eat carrots."

Yeah, I'm bored.

Name: No point, I always end up with crazy nicknames anyway.

Birthday: 10/28/81

Birthplace: Just look for the herds of cows and hordes of bored teenagers

Current Location: I'm above NYC, so they say I'm upstate...but I'm below Plattsburgh and they say I'm downstate. It gives me a headache.

Eye Color: hazel

Hair Color: the box says "Brilliant Bordeaux"

Height: 5'5"...just short enough to look stubby in capris. I can't quite pull them off like K-Fed can. Thank god.

Right Handed or Left Handed: Right-handed. I tried writing with my left and it looked like a confused 4 year-old played finger paint with ink.

Your Heritage: Mutt I suppose...English, Dutch, Mohawk, German and Arabic. I'm caucasian with a permanent tan.

The Shoes You Wore Today: no shoes!

Your Weakness: sappy shows about baby animals and dark chocolate .

Your Fears: falling into the abyss between the bed and the wall in the middle of the night, being in a closed space with a man wearing too much cologne, spontaneous human combustion and spiders.

Your Perfect Pizza: Hawaiian, with extra pineapple. If it were perfect, it'd be here now.

Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Having a job where I don't hate life.

Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger: "wtf," "who is this again?"

Thoughts First Waking Up: "When can I go back to bed?"

Your Best Physical Feature: My hair, when I'm feeling emo I can put in front of my face, or let it air dry and I look like an extra from an 80's hair band video.

Your Bedtime: Lately? When the sun comes up.

Your Most Missed Memory: Doesn't that imply that I can't remember it? But I suppose it would be watching the Evil Dead movies with my friends for the first time.

Pepsi or Coke: Cherry Pepsi

MacDonalds or Burger King: BK, when they get my order right-- I don't eat ketchup, they don't get that.

Single or Group Dates: Single... less chance of being distracted (either by shiny things or someone more interesting and/or better looking...)

Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: snapple. But I refuse to say anything nice about it.

Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate. Do they have a rehab for that yet? Or do I have to be injecting between my toes first?

Cappuccino or Coffee: Coffee, and lots of it.

Do you Swear: Far too much, but oh well.

Do you Sing: All the time. The birds are jealous.

Do you Shower Daily: Yes, I'm neurotic like that.

Have you Been in Love: Not yet. Maybe my glasses were smudged when he walked by.

Do you want to go to College: Been there, and have many free and useless t-shirts to prove it.

Do you want to get Married: Not anytime soon. I can't afford the trip to Vegas.

Do you belive in yourself: I do what I can.

Do you get Motion Sickness: Not really. Only if I read on a rollercoaster on an empty stomach.

Do you think you are Attractive: My face doesn't scare small children and I'm in no danger of destroying Tokyo...so sure.

Are you a Health Freak: ...sorry....I can't type well when laughing.

Do you get along with your Parents: Somehow.

Do you like Thunderstorms: Yes, from inside behind a window.

Do you play an Instrument: I had a brief tenure with a clarinet before I realized I was talentless and could better exploit my geekiness in choir for the next 8 years.

In the past month have you Drank Alcohol: Yes.

In the past month have you Smoked: No.

In the past month have you been on Drugs: No, but the thought crossed my mind.

In the past month have you gone on a Date: HA.

In the past month have you gone to a Mall: Yes. I cemented my family black sheep title by running into a couple members of my family in a nice awkward situation involving a male friend of mine and a Victoria's Secret bag.

In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos: No... I can't eat more than 4, then the filling starts to taste like library paste to me(not that I know what that tastes like...)

In the past month have you eaten Sushi: Yes haha.

In the past month have you been on Stage: No, haven't been for a long, long time.

In the past month have you been Dumped: No (an upside to being single?)

In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping: Only in my shower.

In the past month have you Stolen Anything: A few moments of sanity in the midst of chaos.

Ever been Drunk: As far as I can remember.

Ever been called a Tease: Yes, but he was a jerk, so he doesn't count.

Ever been Beaten up: No, I can usually talk my way out of things.

How do you want to Die: Old, happy and medicated.

What do you want to be when you Grow Up: Professional museum geek.

What country would you most like to Visit: Most of Europe, but particularly Spain and England.

In a Boy...

Favourite Eye Color: Both the same color, pointing in the same direction.

Favourite Hair Color: Anything in the natural end of the color spectrum.

Short or Long Hair: I don't care but I don't go for guys that spend longer on their hair than I do.

Height: As long as they won't land in the Guiness Book of records for any crazy extremes, it's cool.

Weight: I don't care, as long as they have enough self-confidence either way.

Best Clothing Style: Clean.

Number of Drugs I have taken: 1

Number of CDs I own: Too many that I don't listen to anymore.

Number of Piercings: Just my ears.

Number of Tattoos: None yet.

Number of things in my Past I Regret: There's neither enough time nor space.

"I'm experiencing a shift in my career path..."

It smelled more like pesticides and fried chicken today when I went for a walk. Easily explained by the small yellow pesticide warning flags all over marking where they put down the chemicals to kill whatever the apartment association deems too nasty to keep in the lawns. Consequently, we have to stay off them for a couple days. It's ok for me, but stinks royal for all the little kids around here.

We still don't have cold water in the kitchen. Mom blew up egg yolks in the microwave.

A couple nights ago I heard about a sort of reunion next month down on Long Island. One of my friends wants me to go, enough so to pick me up and let me stay at his place. I want to go, but I just wonder what it'll be like. There are definitely people I'd like to see, and haven't seen in over a year and a half... but there's also a lot of people that I don't care to ever see again, if only because I don't want to have to do the small talk "gee it's been a long time" thing. I graduated and got away from the drama, I don't miss it. I miss my friends being nearby and being able to just get out for a night, eat cold cheese pizza and go to happy hour every Friday at the same bar-- or just order in pizza and watch cheesy horror movies . I miss the trivia games, the free concerts and my ability to survive on coffee, cup 'o noodles and hot pockets-- and the utter lack of real responsibility. I do NOT miss the inane drama and annoying people (for example-- my old neighbors that used to get hammered and come stomping back down the hall like wasted water buffalo. I didn't mind the comments that got left on my white board when they were drunk, once in a while they managed to spell "bitch" right or thought up something inventive-- if a little physically impossible. I have to appreciate creativity. I didn't appreciate their friends that put the new toilet paper roll in the toilet or left used tampons on the shower floor. Come to think of it, I'd still like to yell at whomever took a dump in the girls shower during the summer session of '03.)

We can't recapture the past, but I'd like to celebrate it. I just wonder how time went so fast. I remember when I was a socially retarded young freshman with a low tolerance for embarrassment and no idea how to effectively argue with my roommate (I'll never forget the one that used to wash her underwear in the shower with lysol and then hang them up to dry in our room. We were like gunpowder and a flamethrower but I couldn't really express myself, so I let her yell at me and then after I got pissed about it. I accept my blame for being a doormat, but then again, I never waxed my eyebrows in the room and let the little wax bits go everywhere.) Thankfully now I'm only mildly socially retarded, but with a degree and the ability to argue with grass til it dies-- if the pesticides don't kill it first.

Do you feel lucky...punk?

I had a seriously fucked up dream last night, or given my sleep schedule-- early this morning. I dreamt I was working at some little Kiwk-E-Mart kind of place and saw a bunch of people I went to high school with (I haven't even thought of them in years.) I sold them cigarrettes but it was awkward. Next bit I was at a bus stop-- made out of chain link fence, bizarre. I was talking to some middle aged woman and with no notice one of the chicks that I had seen in the store ran up with a gun and shot me in the stomach. I hit the ground, and all I could really feel was the cold chain link of the fence.

Someone called 911, and they couldn't figure out how to move me for some reason. I remember that I was in the ambulance, crying because I didn't know why she shot me, that I heard her and all I saw was the gun-- it looked huge. But the hospital was one I'd never seen before, back through the woods. I had to sign my name on a chalk board, and had to wait in the waiting room. It was freaky, I never saw any blood, but the people around me were flipping out and letting me go ahead of them in line. I was conscious and talking the whole time. It wasn't as scary as I would have thought, just very, very strange. Dude. No more Eminem and hotpockets before bedtime.

I've always had really detailed dreams, and they interest me, if only to get a glimpse of what's going on inside my head when I'm out. Best class I ever took in college was Psychology of Sleep and Dreams. I asked my professor a ton of questions (he was blind, he needed to hear our voices to get to know us.) It was interesting to learn the psychological basis for dreaming, but it was definitely col that he'd spend the first ten minutes of each class reviewing our dreams. We had to hand in dream diaries at every class and he'd help us understand them. More often than not dreams are just a mixed up jumble of things in the mind, but sometimes they're indicators of stress in life. To dream of death and danger is an indication of a major change in life, positive or negative-- but chances are this is just about survival. This crazy dream could be a reflection of my anxiety, or it could just mean that I watched too much violent tv. Who knows?

Couch change can buy groceries...

There was another huge thunderstorm here today, around 4. I kind of wish it had happened later (read: now) so it would give me something to listen to. The rain helps me relax. Seems like I'm going have to invest in one of those weird white-noise sleep machines. As long as there's no birds chirping...that drives me insane when I'm trying to sleep.

CoinStar is an awesome thing. Little did I know that we had almost a hundred bucks laying around the apartment in nickles, dimes and pennies. We ended up with $98.49, works for me. Free money almost. I look forward to being able to save my spare quarters, too...when I won't have to spend 8 of them to do a load of laundry in machines that work only when they feel like it. It was all a nice flashback to me paying my phone bill in small change and one fun afternoon of rolling dimes in the Key Bank lobby so I could cash them in (I had a coffee habit that would drop a yuppie.)

3 days til Harry Potter. Yeah... I'm a Potter freak.

I was thinking about my old job today. Yep, still feel the same-- Fuck 'em. I hope it sucks there now as much as it did when I was there, only now they get to do my job.

A study in middle-class overaccumulation...

http://toothpastefordinner.com/032703/a-stupid-job.gif

The closing on our house was set for next Tuesday, so we finally have a date to look forward to. We get the keys at that meeting, and then we're off to Sears to go into hock for appliances and bathroom decor. Mom's really excited, and for good reason-- if the place we bought that house looks anymore like Wisteria Lane, I'd expect my neighbor to be Mike the hot plumber. She's going to live there way longer than me, so her opinion of it carries more weight than mine. But I pay rent, so mine matters some, I think. Either way, my new room is huge and I get finally have wireless internet (the geek in me fucking hates dial-up.) The only issue is the cowboy-pattered wall border in the room-- so I get to spend a day or two steaming it off and repainting. Oh well, who doesn't look thier best covered in paint flecks, sweat and dust? (that would be me, but it's worth it.)

I finished excavating that closet, it held more useless shit than a neighborhood yard sale. Is this why I got an anthro degree and took classes in archaeology? I feel like I should have drawn a map and hired undergrads to do the dirty work for free.

Sad, sad aging supermodel...

Damn it I'm bored.

Life hasn't been this fun since some hotel clerk in NC overcharged my credit card 3340 dollars. At least then I was busy getting my credit fixed.

Wow. I think I'd punch Janice Dickinson in the face. The attention-whore-ness is really annoying. Then again, I'd get mad if Bronson Pinchot groped me too-- he reminds me of that old guy that's in every bar that tries to hit on the younger women, and seems awkward and socially stunted.

Holy shit. Tofu and octopus.

I actually did something besides pack, clean, bitch and watch tv today!

I went to the mall with my mom for a while, just to wander around and window shop mostly. I did end up getting some earrings, though. Nothing drastic. I found something great in FYE-- an entire season of Garfield & Friends, it's my old favorite morning cartoon. Whatever, I know I'm a geek. It was only strange because I almost got the Poison's Greatest Hits to go with it. I ended up picking up Eminem's latest cd instead (Poison joins Motley Crue on my christmas list.)

Dinner was surreal. Mom and I met up with a group of women she works with, I know them all and they're cool. It's strange, I'm the only one out of the group that doesn't have a mortgage payment. One of the women turned 30 today, so we met up to celebrate the end of her 20's. The thing is, my mom feels a little awkward during these nights out because I've never heard women talk more about sex, vibrators, binge drinking and various other things before in my life. It's crazy, in a really funny way. Seems like that's going to be me and my friends in 10 years. I had my 3 rum & cokes with dinner... I think my obliterated nights are done... especially when I'm out with my mom and her friends.

We went to the best japanese restaurant in the area. It's a hibatchi-type place, and the guy cooking our food was amazing. If I ever tried that shit I'd end up looking like I'd played Uncle with Freddy. They cook everything with saki, and the guy was shooting free shots for people at the table (I passed, saki tastes like rubbing alcohol to me.) Vegetable fried rice, miso soup (yeah, tofu's not bad in that,) shrimp, filet mignon and chicken...and I tried sushi for the first time-- tuna and then octopus-- the tuna was good... I'll pass on eating octopus again-- it was like chewing on rubber bands. The food was unbelievable, but I won't end up eating there again for a really long time. It was damned expensive, it must have been close to 300 bucks for the 7 of us. They did give the birthday girl a free ice cream cake for the whole table-- there was another party of people sitting with us. Sang her Happy Birthday complete with a gong.

Damn, I almost felt smart for a minute.

I suppose subconsciously I was just feeling a little too smart, so instead of buying replacement razors, I decided to try that bladeless shaving system crap that's out. Yeah, I know. Basically, it's Nair with a small rubber squeegee. How dignifying. But hell, shaving sucks. Stings like crazy every time I cut myself, so why not try something new?

NO. AVOID. AVOID. AVOID.

It's hell. Burns like a bastard and now my bathroom smells like I gave someone a perm. I could have gotten the same result by shaving with a spoon over sunburnt skin.

On a brighter note...I caught the 40 Most Awesomely Bad Breakup Songs Ever countdown...I think I must know the words to over 95% of them. I think that either makes me a huge loser, or a huge music geek (most likely, both. No one who knows all the words of Mr. Mister's "Take These Broken Wings" and Britney Spears' "From The Bottom of my Broken Heart" can lay claim to much credibility. Let's not mention Michael Bolton being sung at work.)

Damn. The problem with so many of those songs is that they're either stalker anthems, or they're just whiny, wussy sobfests. That's what makes them so awesomely bad. They've got some classics on that list, but some of them are just too much, even for me. Eamonn had the right idea with his song. Who hasn't wanted to just let loose once? But then again, I never really had to tell a guy he's a ho-- now douchebag or pointless scum, that's more likely. One of my favorites was Motley Crue's "Don't Go Away Mad, Just Go Away." Now that's awesome. One of the songs in the first hour was so bad I'd never even heard it but it had a line about how he'd subtract 20 years of his life for her. Whoa. Red Flag to the Mayor of Crazytown.

I forgot how hard it is to get some of these songs out of my head, and if I walk around tomorrow singing a Winger song, I'll have to do something drastic-- like put on my Bangles Greatest Hits cd on to empty my head. I'm still looking for a Martika album to do the job...

The most insane thing is, one of the people that did those little comic bit things during the countdown went to my high school, and I graduated with his sister. Sounds stupid, but my hometown is crazy small-- it's like a farm with a school on it. Bizarre.

No rhyme or reason...

I was up til 4 last night, per usual...but at least I was on the phone for the last hour of unable to sleep. One of my friends is having the same issues, we made random conversation about the downhill direction of today's children and I told him a story from my trip down south.

(It was the day after my friend's wedding and she picked me up at my hotel to go meet her new husband and everyone else from the wedding party for lunch. She picked me up in the Newlywed car-- there were beads and TP all over it, and show polish over the windows saying things like "Honk! We just got married!" With 2 chicks in the car, with no men, the people going by just goggled and we could see the thought bubbles "But...but...that's not legal here." So we made a joke out of it and made a quick sign that said "Have you seen my husband?" and we took turns holding it in the windows. Everyone got a nice laugh out of that.)

But speaking of her wedding, she said there are a few pictures coming my way of the wedding party. I'd like to see them, we all looked so pretty (and it'll get my mom off my ass, she never got to see me in the bridesmaid dress.) I want her to see a shot of my hair, it took over an hour and had 88 pins in it, and so much hairspray that the stylist told me to "Avoid open flames" but hell, it looked good and I hadn't ever been that dressed up (the shoes just about crippled me though.)

I have to give my brother a call today, and congratulate him on his grades. He's a solid B student, and I think he'll end up doing better as he gets more used to junior high. I can't believe my monster brother is going to be 14 in a couple months (partly because I'll turn 24 a month after his birthday.) He'll always be my little anklebiter, that punched me in the face the first time I ever held him. See? He started it.

Attack of the underfed diet zombies...

I had the tv on for background noise today (laundry is so not fun and folding is just so tedious), Vh1...not a real shock. I did watch the show they had "How Thin is Too Thin?" Good question. The starlets are starting to look like toothpicks with golf balls balanced on top. What exactly is sexy about a woman that has the body of a 14 year-old girl? The camera may add 10 pounds, so apparently it's necessary to lose 15 or 20 just in case. Some of them, it looks like the only way they can lose more weight is to cut off a limb (I'm not looking farward to that fad.) They mentioned Nicole Kidman, who I used to think was gorgeous...she now looks like a ghost, pale, underfed and like she could slip through a hole in the floorboards. She's 5'11, and about 115 pounds. Yikes.

I'd be the first to say I could stand to lose a few, but I'm happy the way I am. Where's the role models for me? Little girls are growing up and looking at Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan as role models-- great, they look like they do more coke than I eat food. There's some actresses that are giving the finger to the standards, but the standards are strangling everyone else. What's wrong with the system in Hollywood that the women need to be so small? Is it a power issue? What happened to the "don't eat the whole cake and get some exercise" diet? Now it's Atkin's (no beer? Hell no.) or South Beach, or the "play with your food and not eat it" diet. Now way they all just have those miraculous superfast metabolisms of toddlers, not a chance. There's the exercise bulimia deal-- go ahead and eat that bad-bad pizza, but then go run for 3 hours. Now that's a smart one, even I know that that hurts your body in the end more than helps it. Go ahead, break down your joints and tendons. Destroy your muscles and mental abilities-- it'll be worth it, right?

It's downright scary to think of the young girls now-- I worked with some that were about 10. They worried that they were getting fat, and used to ask how many calories were in the food we gave out for snack. Is no one seeing this red flag? Yes, it's bad that America in general is getting fatter-- but part of it is the shame that is part of eating now. Having the temerity to enjoy some Ben and Jerry's is now expected to have "Oh well, I've been so good lately, I can just splurge a little. I'll just do an extra hour of yoga later" attached to it. It's getting worse for men now too. I've never found that uber-buff look attractive at all. But then again, there's more leeway for men.

The problem is that people seem to expect more than they want to give, or at least that's what I've seen. Guys shouldn't expect a princess if they're not Prince Charming. But who wants Prince Charming? How boring. It seems so stupid to me to hear women talking about changing their men. Why date them if you just want to change them? It's obnoxious for anyone to think that they should impose their images of perfection on someone else. I wonder what other people think, especially men. Maybe I'm just having a moment, I don't know.

In a completely unrelated subject, Polo looks painful, and although the possibility of me ever playing polo is right up there with me ever walking on the moon...that made me sure to avoid it. I like horses...on tv. They're bigger than me, and smarter than people give them credit for. Like the teenage boys I worked with-- 3 times my size and not totally in control of their bodies.

Curses! Burnt again...

Nothing reminds me so much that I live in a shitty apartment than when I burn my hand YET AGAIN with the water in the kitchen. For the past year and a half, it's been impossible to get cold water out of our kitchen sink, it always comes out scalding hot. I was just trying to rinse some dishes, and the bowl got too hot to hold, and it slipped out of my hand, which splashed my arms and chest (it hit my shirt, and still burnt me. That's too hot.) I can't wait to live somewhere the sink isn't a weapon.

I should have been more careful what I wished for in college. For the last year I lived there, I had to take lukewarm to cold showers everyday because my dorm had horrible water problems (it was COLD.) No one likes to take unnecessary cold showers. I wished for unlimited hot water back then...and now I have it. brb, I have to go to the bathroom and fill up my Brita pitcher.

As I do the "shitshitshit" dance around my kitchen holding my hand, I notice my credit card bill lying on the counter. Nothing reminds me how close to broke I am like my credit card bill. Either I need to start selling my belongings on ebay, or someone needs to hire me somewhere. Glad to see my degree is so useful...

CSI is less depressing...

I watched the local news tonight and the top 3 stories are all just crazy. The top story was about a 9 year-old kid that allegedly touched young girls in his class inappropriately for 3 years. It's pretty serious stuff he's been accused of. The uproar's over the fact that he's likely to be let back into the school next September. He's gotten some therapy...but that's really scary.

Next up was a postal worker in a nearby suburb accused of being caught in a police sting-- he thought he was talking to a minor on the net when he said things like, "you want to have sex with me?" He denies it, and said that he knew it was an adult the whole time.

After that theres a story from the city I used to work in. Neglectful city planning has caused debris left in a vacant lot to slide slowly down the hill behind a citizen's home and has caused it to be unlivable. The mayor (a complete moron, I've seen him in action) promised them help in housing, but he dragged his feet for 2 weeks and the family had to go to the town council. They did the reporting from a place I used to walk by everyday when I got off my bus.

Oh wait, make that 4 awesome upbeat news stories-- there were 2 unrelated shootings nearby. A teenage boy was killed in the first one-- he was "having words" with an unidentified person in a car when they shot him multiple times. No one was hurt in the second. A couple months ago there was a home invasion just a mile or two from here. Crazy. It's enough to make me almost miss that boring hellhole that I left when I graduated. At least there the biggest issues and dangers are drunken people on snowmobiles and dirtbikes, or the huge drug problem in the high school.

I guess on the upside, Lil Kim got sentenced to a year and a day for perjury and whatever else she did to piss off the court. And in really good news, I'm finally proud of something to come from so close to my hometown-- a local church chose to endorse same-sex marriages. The good news helps to not be so cranky about all the negative news that piles up in that "if it bleeds, it leads" kind of way. I think Don Henley had it right when he wrote Dirty Laundry...

"I make my living off the evening news

Just give me something-something I can use

People love it when you lose,

They love dirty laundry

Well, I coulda been an actor,

but I wound up here

I just have to look good,

I don’t have to be clear

Come and whisper in my ear

Give us dirty laundry"

It's not irrational...

Ok, I need to vent. I was on myspace, and one of my bulletins was from a guy I knew from school. The summer of '01, I was his orientation leader for freshman orientation. He was so shy and freaked out that I kind of took him under my wing. I talked to him online right up til the fall semester started, and didn't laugh at him too hard when he came running into my room wasted for the first time.

Obviously, he was fine. Got new friends...made some serious mistakes (don't we all?) He's back downstate now that he's done. We met back up online a couple weeks ago, and it was nice to talk to him, and now for the first time in 4 years, I got irritated with him. He posted this:

"So, 3 weeks into having my car, BOOM, I get into a MVA, JESUS CHRIST! Fucking bitch in front of me stops short and gives me no room to brake! I have come to the conclusion that women can't drive!"

I understand anyone would be pissed about getting into an accident, especially with a new car. But this is one of my most extreme pet peeves. This is the kind of sexism that's the most dangerous. The casual shit that no one seems to concerned about. It's a stereotype, and it's wrong. Men get into more accidents than women. Why break it down by gender-- some People just drive badly (hard to drive when you have your head up your ass.) What makes me even madder is when people tell me to not worry about it, because it's not serious. It is. It makes it harder to work for equality in the workplace, and even for reproductive rights when there's this insane stereotype that women are inherently too emotional (that's the basis for the bad driver assumption, that women are too emotional and impetuous.) I can handle being called a bitch, because I am, but I think it's rediculous to assume that a uterus and estrogen can negatively impact a skill like driving.


I almost got mowed down in a parking lot last week by some sideways hat-wearing, neon-driving twit...but I recognize that HE is a bad driver, not the entire male half of the species. Is that so hard? And yes, I did email him to say that he's too smart to say something like that.

I won't ever vaccuum in heels and pearls.

Help! I'm turning into June Cleaver with a swearing habit. Or Martha Stewart without the prison record.

Thanks to being unemployed, the majority of this moving BS is my responsibility. I don't mind that, it keeps me busy. What's starting to be strange is that I cook, I clean and when I take a break I work on my afghan. What's happening? I love to cook, in fact, if I could find someone who'd pay me to cook for them I'd do it in a heartbeat. I hate cleaning, though...and I always will. It never ends, once I settle down for hardcore cleaning, it always snowballs into more cleaning. Yesterday was my bathroom, today is the hall closet (otherwise known as the Elephant Graveyard.) As for the afghan, it's pretty, and I want it done by winter, because despite how the fact that I've lived here all my life I am still shocked at how cold it gets here. Life's just getting a little too house-wifey. Phew, good thing I'm single.

I lost my earring sometime this morning. It was annoying, and I managed to find the actual earring...but I still couldn't find the back. About 20 minutes later, I felt something peculiar--and after a quick search found the earring back inside my bra. So maybe I should say I'm turning into Peggy Bundy. I hope I don't lose my cell today...

Hurry, hurry lover come to me...

Thanks to my habit now of watching Vh1 more often than any other channel (those countdowns are addicting) I just got another dose of Paula Abdul. For all her dysfunction, fighting with that delightful dream-smashing Simon, sleeping with the sleazy-looking Idol guy with the afro and crusading for safer nail salons...I hold a place in my memories for her music.

It's 1991, 3 young friends decide to enter the elementary school talent show. There really was only one option for the ambitious trio...to choreograph a dance routine (and showcase thier vocal powers) to a song by their idol, Paula Abdul. They argued over what song to choose, with the final choice being "Rush Rush." Obviously it was the perfect song for two 5th graders and a 4th grader to sing. They created the dance routine, but put more effort into their costumes-- shiny black and gold tank tops, black dance tights and black slippers. Put together with their boy-cut hairdos and the 1 microphone-- they were destined for success. One father, deciding to preserve the moment for posterity (and hilarity) taped the performance. It recieved rave reviews from grandmothers and younger siblings alike.

14 years later...

My dad, after cementing my future embarassment by taping my first taste of fame, converted it to dvd. Out of the 3 of us, the oldest is now married, the youngest is engaged, and I...well, I aim to have a puppy within the next couple months. In May I went down south for my friend's wedding, and I brought the dvd. The day after the wedding we watched it and her new husband summed it up best by saying, "If I'd seen this yesterday, there'd been no wedding." We laughed about it, but damn, I looked like I was made out of toothpicks (clearly the look that Nicole Ritchie is going for) because it was years before puberty ran me down like a 94 year-old woman behind the wheel of a Lincoln. My favorite part is where I'm the one who wore leggings with 2 inches of skinny ankle showing (I can't remember why I didn't have tights) and then we were all off cue and doing the same bizarre dance-- but forgetting to look out at the audience.

Another one of my friends watched the video and all he could say was, "What the...are you guys picking up change off the floor or something? Being electrocuted?"

Whatever. Clearly he was jealous of the shiny gold flowered tank tops. But I do live in fear of any of us becoming famous. My love of Vh1 would doubtless bite me in the ass when that tape became the newest episode of Before They Were Famous. I still wish we'd sang "Cold-Hearted Snake"...

Baseball geek...

To celebrate the nation's birthday, I'm watching baseball and cleaning my toilet. Life, so grand. The baseball game's worth it, though. Orioles at Yankees, it's a good game but the pitchers are all having a off day or something. Bruce Chen started for Baltimore and let 6 go by, and Tanyon Sturtz started for the Yankees because of the Pavano's injury, and he's so much more reliable in the bullpen than as a starter. His arm just started to go and he ended up walking the bases full and forcing Sosa home by a walk. I feel bad in a way, I've missed a lot of games this season, but I'm sure my boys will pull up soon. They're in third, but only behind by 5 games.

It's 4-6 Yankees in the 4th, and there's a been a spectacular display of the one of the few things that irritates me about the game (besides celebrity cameos in the stands getting more air time than the players) and that's intentional or unintentional hitting, and it all gets blown way crazy. The home ump warned both teams after Sturtz accidentally hit someone, and then Gary Sheffield got hit on the hand by Baltimore. Both managers were "discussing" it with the ump, and now it seems like they've all been warned...and the pitchers can't mess with inside pitches too much. They're grown men, it bugs me when it looks like retaliation... my brother's old t-ball games were like that. 42 kids in the outfield and scuffles over the ball all the time.

Ok, ok...I'll shut up about the game. But I'd rather talk about that than the bleach fumes emanating from my toilet in the bathroom.

Pauly Shore is... Gross

Whatever is in Simply Sleep, it works. Knocked me out faster than watching a Lifetime movie with Tori Spelling.

Today I did get to the pool with my mom...but we only made it for about 45 minutes before the neighborhood kids took over. Hell, a pool on a hot day is exactly where I would have wanted to be if I were 6 or 7, but their parents just let them run wild. One kid kept spashing water on the side of the pool and all over us, had to be around 9 times. His mom just sat there, while I shook the water off of my book and contemplated throwing her in. I know what my mom would have done if I had done that when I was little-- I would have heard my whole name and my stuff would be packed up before I had a chance to splash again. The lifeguards appear to have completed puberty this year, but I think I saw them stand up once and they totally ignored the small children doing cannonballs on each other's heads in the deep end. I must be getting old or something.

I took a walk earlier tonight, and discovered that bees love my shampoo. Actually, it was a sample of Herbal Essences left over from the gift basket from my cruise earlier this year. I figured I may as well use it before I move, besides, it's likely the closest I'm going to get to an "organic experience" anytime soon. I could really only laugh when I got dive bombed and buzzed by the same bee for about 10 minutes. My hair smelled way better than the air around this city, and thanks to the KFC down the road, it smells roughly like someone was cooking fried chicken in Satan's armpit.

I think I'll rent a movie off demand tonight, the last one I got was Lemony Snicket (nice grown-up flick. cute, though.) By the way, don't waste any time ever watching Pauly Shore is Dead. I thought that since I loved his movies (except Jury Duty) that it would be funny. I didn't make it too far, it wasn't long before my eyes burned at the sight of him whacking off in bed under the covers and almost hitting Verne Troyer with his car. It wasn't really what I had in mind. I wish I'd found it funnier, maybe I was just in a bad mood when I watched it. Go Pauly, get your comeback, but please don't ever do anymore masturbation scenes. I hear he has a new sitcom coming...

Fake tan must kill brain cells

I think I like this blog much more than my old one. The anonymity is nice. I may let a couple friends know about it, but probably not. I'd rather have the space to vent to people that don't know me (or more likely, that no one will ever read and I'll be venting to myself.) Who knows.

I need to meet some people. The last people I hung out all the time with turned out to be so immature that they'd make the teenaged boys I worked with look like dignified citizens. As for dating, I'm on hiatus, indefinitely.

The guys around here are unbelievable. It's a college town, so the imports from downstate NY and Long Island are in vast numbers. The stereotypes of the LI kids aren't all true...but for some reason Gotti Boy syndrome has invaded the area here. Slick, gelled up hair (with the headbands that I wore in the 80's) button-down shirts or t-shirts small enough for a five year-old, and enough fake tans to collectively make this city glow orange. I understand that I don't think I should judge them by what they wear... but I do by what comes out of their mouths. I went out a few months ago and in the long line at the front of the club (3 floors of the drunken 20-something mating dance) I overheard the conversation from the three guys behind me. It was something like this:

Tool #1: *runs his hands through his hair and shakes it into place* "Those bitches we came with already got in. They'd better be waiting, they know better."

Tool #2: *buttons and rebuttons his shirt to show off the designer label* "Yeah, they're waiting. They better have the beers ready. Is it always so fuckin' hard to get in here?"

(NOTE: it is not at all hard to get in there, they just ID tight. The trio behind me just felt that their shiny gorgeousness should allow them a shorter wait.)

Tool #3: "The key is..." *stops to put on chapstick and adjust his pants over his Lugz, to try and make his package look bigger* "...to try and look as GAY as possible. Button your shirts up and laugh like a F**. The bouncers are all gay anyway, so they let all them in easier. So act as gay as you can."

When I *accidentally* stepped on his Lugz, he whined about "stupid bitches." I figured they were underage, but thankfully once I was inside I was spared from sharing air with them. I was irritated with the girls they were with, who had faithfully waited with beers by the doors.

This is what's out there? Homophobe misogynists? I should stick to the parks and museums like usual. I know not all men are like that, I'm not demented...but it seems like it sometimes. And it's not limited to the guys, I spoke to one of my male friends and he was saying how he's tired of going out now because it seems like all the girls have extensions, fake tans, fake boobs and stilettos that they forget they're wearing when they get drunk and step on his feet with. Scary, the idea of the death of the normal person.

I don't think it's too much to ask for, to only date a guy who can hold a decent conversation and keep his eyes off my breasts for at least half of it. But more importantly, I can't take the prospect of dating an idiot with no sense of humor. If it's not possible to find a guy who makes me laugh and laughs at my jokes when they're actually funny... I'll just resign myself to a life of dogs, chocolate and Dr. Phil reruns. Soon or later, ther'll come a man, with more than 4 brain cells dancing around inside his head, raving with tiny little glowsticks, telling each other they love them and staring vacantly at the shiny lightshows coming from behind his eyelids.

Blueberry-scented hangover

Last night was day 4 in the battle of insomnia. By 2 am I fully intended to fall asleep, or to at least *try.* I wish the thunderstorm we had had lasted longer. It was awesome, I sat by the balcony window and just watched the lightning. Cliched, I know, but it was relaxing. Everytime the lightning flashed, I got a flashbulb glimpse of everything out in the darkness, even the raindrops on the way down.

But enough waxing poetic about nature. Although I may again if I manage to get out to the apartment complex's pool tomorrow (nothing like sharing a pool with a couple hundred other people, but it's usually pretty quiet there.) Last summer it seemed like every time I went something funny happened. Once I had to play toy lifeguard when a little boy threw his action figure (my brother would yell at me if I said "doll") in to the pool and the Actual lifeguard was too busy filing her nails. Another time I was relaxing with a book and overheard the two teenage girl lifeguards talking about how they "So totally should open a salon/pool. Where you could like get your hair done and go swimming." There's only a couple *giant* problems there:

1) Electricity + Bodies of water= Dead Bodies. Bad for business.
2) Most women, after paying anywhere from 20 to 200 dollars to get their hair done, are not going to immediately want to dive in a pool.

Was I like that at 16 or 17? I don't think so, but I do know I was a champion eye-roller and I could keep the silent treatment going like a pissed off married woman. Speaking of being 16, however... I got a call today from my dad (in the midst of a very big series of July 4th weekend farm parties) and he tossed the phone off to someone who wanted to talk to me. Turned out it was one of my old best friends. We hadn't spoken in about a year or so. She moved and I had no number to contact her.

When we were 16, her parents went away for a weekend and told her she could have me over. I brought my bag to her house , and then we decided to do what any good 16 year-old with no adult supervision would do-- call other people and try to have a party. We ended up getting another good friend of hers over, with her boyfriend. To shorten a story that undoubtedly only I find really amusing-- that night I had my first beer, first cigarette, tried weed (only felt foolish,) played my first drinking game and watched my first porno (felt VERY foolish.) We crashed out after I ate a giant bag of doritos, and couldn't figure out why I was so hungry, at about 3 am. I had to leave just before 7, because she had to be somewhere. I walked back home, feeling like I'd been pulled through a knothole backwards and probably smelling like the inside of a Brooklyn trashcan. My house was full of visiting family, so the only place I could sleep was over the arms of a recliner. I looked at the clock before I passed out and it was 7:06, at 7:14...8 minutes later...my dad woke me up (my first thought was "Crap! I should have brushed my teeth!") He brightly told me that he was awake and that we should go Blueberry Picking. He dragged me around that blueberry patch for an hour, carrying 5 pound flats of berries. My foot slipped out of my sandal once and my poor bare toes smushed in a mound of rotten blueberries, and I think short of a few nights in college...I've never felt so strong an urge to puke.

To this day, I think my dad did it on purpose.

Spaztic

In the interest of national news, Sandra Day O'Connor has announced her retirement from the Supreme Court. She was appointed in '81, and she's reached her retirement age (I estimate I'll need to work until I'm about 89 to be able to retire and survive.) I hold a small hope close to my heart that Bush will think with Someone's brain and listen, and appoint someone more moderate (liberal? Never. That would be like appointing an alien, right?) But I have a feeling the suggested appointee is going to be some old, white man with views so conservative it'll make Moses look like a long-haired, pot-smoking hippie.

In the interest of news that my generation will likely care more about-- Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner had their shotgun wedding in Turks and Caicos. The world waits with baited breath to see if Katie Holmes will break away from the Scientology tornado-weirdo that is Tom Cruise. I personally think they look happy...but he seems almost freakishly hyper-spastic (want some Ritalin Tom? hehe, ask Matt Lauer) I could probably buy some from someone around here, though.

Letter to my fellow riders

I was just thinking about my old commute. I don't miss it, but believe it or not, I miss my bus drivers. They take more crap than I ever have. I still take the bus around here, it wasn't so bad once I got used to it, but sometimes...it was almost more than I could take. Here's what I wished I could say. I'm a small-town girl, and this was my first year using a public city bus everyday.


Dear Crazy People at my Bus Stop,

Stop talking to me. I don't care if you hate the police, whether it be bike cops, horse cops or meter maids, please don't talk to me about it. You say you were wrongfully accused and now you're on probation or parole, I don't want to know. Enjoy your beer in a paper bag, it's 1:00 in the afternoon, lots of alcoholics do that. Drink your Miller Ice and avoid talking to me.

Do not tell me your political opinions and expect me to converse with you about mine. If I told you I was a liberal feminist, you'd probably stab me and I do not have medical insurance yet.

Turn the cover of your hardcore bondage gay porn magazine the other way. It's only to be polite. I'd ask the same if it were Hustler or Playboy. I know it's only 7 AM and that you have your techno on in your headphones and are in your own little world-- but I'm asking politely not to see whips and chains when I'm waiting for my bus.

Keep your little bundles of joy on a leash, and your dogs too. I love kids, but when they're next to me licking the bus stop bench, it frightens me. Many, many asses sit on that bench, and I hesitate to think about what else, keep her in the stroller so she doesn't get herpes before Kindergarten.

Do not mumble at me about the DMV. Everyone hates going there, even, I assume, the people who work there. As much as you may hate the DMV, please avoid overusing the phrase "stupid fuckers, I'll tell them, stupid fuckers."

Take your anti-psychotic medications. There is no stigma to it, lots of people use them. But you *must* use them, and not talk about how you do not always take your Haldol and expect me to want to sit next to you and make small talk.

Don't be a jerk to the homeless people. I'm sure it doesn't make their day to ask you for your spare change.

Never, under any circumstances, threaten to spank me or call me a bad girl. You are old enough to be my grandfather and it makes me want to shower for hours.

Thank you, Have a good day.

Boxed Up

Due to my recent unemployment (I'll end up venting about how that went down sooner or later) I now have time to think. When working with kids, thinking is a luxury, like getting to use the bathroom and blinking.

Things that irritate me:
1)Anyone who calls themselves a "fitness celebrity" (I'm including Kirstie Alley here.)

2)When a phone on tv has the same ringer as mine and confuses me (self-explanatory.)

3)People who take reality shows far too seriously (I play devil's advocate once, implying that the people on reality tv are just people too, and I get lectured about being cynical. That's just me, though.)

4)The word "crunk" (Damn you Justin Timberlake.)

5)Spam that implies I'm going to hell or am a bad person for not believing in Jesus (It's like when I get stopped at a bus stop and told that reading a Stephen King book is sinful.)

6)Michael Ian Black, Martha Stewart and Billy Mays (instant MUTE)

7)The fact that extensive cleaning starts a huge cycle of more, neverending cleaning (packing sucks.)

8)When I accidentally burn my hotpocket because my new microwave is 3X as strong as my old one (food is expensive, I don't like to waste it. It makes me have flashbacks to my mother telling me about starving children during dinner.)

9)The pain that lasts for hours after I stub my toe (it's amazing how many curse words I can fit into a minute of hopping around on one foot.)

10)Couture clothing for dogs that costs more than my clothes (Damn you small celebrity mini-dogs that fit in a purse.)

11)The chick at Mobil that told my mom that "ladies don't drink beer." (How odd, I was always taught that ladies minded their own business. It made me want to walk down there and buy a couple 40's of Old English and a porno magazine, just to see what she'd say.)

12)People that ask when I plan to use my degree (apparently telling them that my anthropology degree is best used for sounding pompous at family parties is rude.)

13)How there's a creepy little kid in almost every horror movie lately (kids are kind of scary sometimes.)

14)When I do something stupid (I do something foolish with regularity, but I really don't like it when I do something REALLY stupid (like writing down the wrong week my friend was coming to visit and being totally ready a week early. Or forgetting a pan is hot when it comes out of the oven and grabbing it barehanded.)

15)Public transportation (A nightmare.)


I have to allow for the fact that I'm bored out of my mind. I can only pack so much every day before I start to feel like I'm living in a land of boxes. I spent so much time pitching stuff out and organzing my own belongings, now I have to start on everything else. 29 days. I am really looking forward to moving, it's been a long time coming.

Why the hell not?

It's nearly 1 in the afternoon, and I've managed to accomplish *zip.* I've been having issues sleeping, as in, I haven't been. Ok, that's not quite true, I fall asleep around 4:30 AM and am by turns cranky or groggy for the rest of the day. Oh well, I'll try again tonight.

It's not even that I have some raging caffeine habit, I haven't had a cup in days. Two years ago was the time when I should have been concerned about diluting my blood with caffeine. I drank it like my fellow college students drank beer-- warm and copiously.

I'd go for a nice long walk before bedtime, but I can't do that here because I have this thing about being mugged. The nearest gas station to me got robbed and ripped off so much that now it's pay before you pump, and for a while, they were buzzing people in at night. Even when I walk around during the day, it seems like I get catcalled as though I'm skipping naked through a construction site, and I know some women aren't bothered by it-- but I'm hardly flattered. I don't want to take NyQuil for the sake of passing out, that stuff is like liquid braindeath for me. Someone suggested I drink warm milk, and once I'd stopped retching at the suggestion... I decided to tough it out.

I'm not sure why I've decided I need a new blog...I'm just kind of tired of LiveJournal, and I'd like one with a little more privacy. I suppose I could keep a real journal, with paper and pen...but it's not the same for me. Besides, I type faster than I can write.