Wednesday, March 30, 2005

warm and breezy


the list stuff is only half working. i realize as i swim through the various 7 things on my list i only intend to do one of them. really. like lunch or maybe watch Gilmore Girls at 2. but cleaning the house or exercising starts falling off the page into tomorrow. so i've now itemized the list. and we'll see what happens.

Sunday, March 27, 2005


I'd like to give a shout out to ma' boy Jes-us, who rose from the dead and triumphed over evil. Yah, boooy.

Friday, March 25, 2005

good morning,



I won't tell you what godmother had to say (sip- i think the rigatoni was salty)but it wasn't good or in any way pleasant. Today I was going to tell you tips for keeping busy but really it just requires you have projects and a enough scrap paper to write down your ideas, well and a pen. For instance I'm boring myself even as I write this so I might write down: do something besides blog, exercise, wash dishes, finish lifescraps-book (I'm on November), contemplate personal website. The trick is you have to make it doable. Examine really your power to resist Tv, and as always multi-task. Photobook and Tv are a perfect marriage. I don't feel indulgent, it's just "on" in the "background". Or for instance if I lay out today- I'll read my book- which is also on the list. You see I'm already ahead. Oh and don't forget to check the jobsites.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

DESMODUS or a story about vampire bats

I woke up and my boyfriend laughed at the pillow creases in my face.

I said, my face is always like this when i wake up. It never changes.

He smiled and held my face. Smush face, he said, and he pressed my cheeks toward my mouth.

I stared out the window. I blinked. I smoothed my face with my hands, contemplating what it would be like to have thin cheeks. I’d probably still wake up with creases. The thought sent me hurtling back toward the pillow. Yesterday I’d read about El Salvador. I’d learned Dios Mio! Dios Mio. I’d learned about their massacres. I’d been reminded what people do to one another besides the killing, small betrayals and deaths- like affairs and lies and bitterness. Vida. I didn’t want to dream about them so I told Alessandro to tell me about the good things in the world- to tell me about mangos, the juice running down your face and all over your fingers and how you want to-, and he could see that I was sad about life and wanted me to think of other things so he told me to close my eyes and in an instant I felt his lips on my big toe. I jerked my foot away and laughed as he jumped in bed beside me.

He said, Have I told you about vampire bats, Desmodus rotundus.

No, I said, It’s sexy when you speak latin.

Once, when I was working as an archeology student a professor of mine told me a story about a-

And then, I said, he got eaten by a swarm of bats and there was nothing left. A story of a story of a-

Do you want me to finish or not, he said.

I suppressed a laugh and nodded my head.

Well, one night the old man had become very ill and his fever was very high, and it didn’t seem as if he would survive the night. So they left him and as it turned out, his toes were left exposed. It’s said that a vampire bat came and-

Ate his toes?

I can’t tell you anything can I?


So a bat had come and fed on the mans toe and it had let enough blood and released the fever, he said.

So the man was cured, he said.

How much blood did the bat take?

He licked it up with his tongue. 2 tablespoons full, that’s all they need. Every two days, he said.

I shook my head and rolled away from him and when I ignore him he tells me more than i want to know.

So then he said, my professors friend woke up to a nick in his nose and it was still bleeding and he realized he’d been a meal for a vampire bat.

From his nose?

Yes, his nose, he said.

I wouldn’t let him tell me anymore.

I rubbed my nose. I dreamed about bats eating mangos. Small massacres of fruit and blood. But there was enough for everybody, and the fruit kept growing and falling from the trees. I was numbed by bat saliva so I couldn’t feel them feeding for their two tablespoons. And all at once the bats launched four feet into the air and i could see the mangos disappearing in the distance and the heat of life flowing in me, but only for a moment.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

what to do when you're,


come on you knew it was coming. i'm jobless. at long last. and no, there are no prospects-which reminds one of a girl who's slipping quickly to old maid status. that could be me too. I know 30 is but a year and 2 months away. i can hardly think of what to do to commemorate the occassion, except to have imaginary conversations with my imaginary god mother (who of course is severe, admonishing, and holding a large fortune over my head) and it goes something like this:

GM: Do you have any prospects?
M: No.
GM: Do you plan to be a spinster forever?
M: No, I just-
GM: Yes?
M: I haven't found, I mean if you know of anyone?
GM: I'm certain I don't, but I will keep you in mind.(aside) Such insolence.
(She fans herself and snaps her fingers for the tea to be taken away and then the final damning thought):
GM: What employment have you found?
M: I haven't any godmother.
GM: Humpf. And what do your parents have to say?
M: Well, Godmother, Mother is forever patient and father wishes I were married so I could be out of his hair.
GM: Ha! Indeed.

I'm dismissed. It begins to rain as the maid shuts the door in my face. In a monologue that is wistful, comic, and pathetic at the same time I begin to check off all the things I could do to find proper employment and the more discouraged I get the harder it rains. I finally take refuge in a coffee shop only for there to be no seats. I'm turned out and a block later I trip on a crack, spill my drink, and look to see if anyone has seen me. No one has. I am relieved. When I get home I light a meager fire and dry my things. I press my head against the window and the list making begins again:

Not Likely.
Find temporary employment.
Escape the country.
Not until September.
(We call that "going abroad".)
Find mail order husband.
Find someone to pose as husband.
Drown self in the Thames.
It's been done.
Make more lists.
Make it all about you.
Make it about the new you.
The you that's going to get the man and get the job.
Continue to stare out the window.
Contemplate walking in the rain.
Discuss the alternatives.
Remember to bring an umbrella next time.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Dear Midol,

Why is it that you include caffeine in your product? All logic says that a) caffeine gives one an energy boost, yes, but that b) the caffeine high lasts only so long and inevitably results in a crash. Pre-menstrual women do not need any further crashes to our system. Additionally, should one not be so used to the caffeine high, such a "medicine" will simply cause the jitters before the crash. And we do not need the jitters.

I spent the entire morning with the shakes. If someone were to ask me a question I didn't know the answer to, I might very well have burst into tears, just to release energy.

Furthermore, if an individual historically does experience positive effects from caffeine, why wouldn't they just drink coffee, tea, or Coca-Cola?

Have you considered, rather than caffeine, an additive of quaaludes? It might make the world a happier place. Just a thought.

Concerned Consumer

Thursday, March 17, 2005


currently my skin is crawling. and it can only be allergies i think. my arm joint is itching, the hair above my temples, which i'm driving my hands through... my socks keep slouching down, i pull them up and then my mouth seems to be itching and my gums aching- which i know concretely as symptomatic of allergies. which actually encourages flossing bcs you think it'll alleviate the throbbing, that- or my teeth will fall out. more hand running through hair, more brief glimpses of falling into pools of water and assuaging the massive unsettling in my, now currently, right ear.

also it doesn't (left ear) help that (left eye) that, i only have one more day left. and we currently have (left eyebrow to left ear) no tapes left. none, zilch- and all of those other words that stand for zero and nothingness or the absence. of. also my breakfast of yogurt and granola is unsettled and won't stop asserting it's presence. it's an entire litany of tumultuousness (both ears) (behind the ears hair) and i've taken all the appropriate pills. then one logger suggests i take something else to feel a whole lot better, and he can give it to me and i think, hmm, my head would be elsewhere but my (elbow) would still be itching as everything is like waves of little parasites burrowing into my flesh. a very very bad place to be.

i am now going to read my book, blatantly, and i guess i'll stop somewhere around leaving time or my exit interview or maybe the earliest moment i can think of escaping.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

So you want to be a member of MENSA?

yes, this a blatant vanity project. i hold no pretense. on this basis i wouldn’t have told anyone at all but this is just another notch in the line of getting to know me, which, as it is, is a life long project. as my parents failed to give me such tests growing up- i have to do it now as an after thought. plus i feel something has to make up for my abismal SAT scores. i got an 830- sure i laugh about it NOW, but part of me really wants to have qualified into some elitist academic institution. although i admit my extra curriculars were not at all well rounded and i doubt my essays were going to be as focused as they needed to be. (as my friend said, i can’t do it all- but i can certainly try)

so my prequalifying test gave me a “raw score” of 75. and I think, why do i have trouble doing my taxes? now apparently this means i’m in the top 2 precentile, I’m at the bottom of the top 99. and i wonder why i can’t spell. my IQ on this pre-qualifying test is 137. so i note here that I am on the bottom rung of high intelligence. just hanging on by a thread. a tenuous one at that, not unlike a deep dark wide abyss, putting me as i see it, in a no mans zone of being exceedingly smart but not qualifying as genius. i have a touch of pompus ass (clearly) and a dash of eccentricity but really i lack the drive to follow through on all my wunderkind potential- i blame my parents.

now to join MENSA i have to take another “real” test and see if i fall from grace or can improve my score, blaming perhaps my poor performance on a lack of protein, proper sleep or maybe the hum of the computer which i could’ve turned off but it was my clock, my clock. my precious marker of time.

i would feel a little more secure if i wasn’t so close to the bottom. and let’s be honest if we had a national MENSA gathering and someone asked me my IQ i might be a little insecure in acknowledging that it was 137- and not 141, bcs let’s face it that sounds way better. i’d have to skulk to the lower intelligence orders (the table by the kitchen)- and maybe there’d be a surly hot guy there who also joined MENSA because he was bored and jobless one day, and he said well what the fuck man, let’s see what i’m fucking made of... yah. mmm hot smart guys. i can’t wait. then the other downside is occupation. sure i can ask the other smart people if they know of any exceedingly smart jobs and i could say, well do you know of any? and then they would say, why don’t you have one? at which point i’d be stuffing an hor ‘dorouvs(can’t spell) in my mouth and waving them off saying, oh you, what a lark i was joking... not to mention that i can’t speak any other languages. i’m a fucking juggernaut of untapped potential. a wastrel of a human being , an unhappy resource of woe.

as it is i'll contemplate stepping off the precipice of unbridled vanity in the hopes of meeting said hot guy and flying off to his private island (fictional raft not needed). hey hot guy?! are you there?!

"to be genius is to be mad, to be anything else is mediocre."

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Tuesday is the new Monday

And I hate it. Last week, and even the week before I was having these amazing energy surges, and I was all like, wow, yeehaw, this is my True Personality, aren't I fancy? And now this week, I am all surly and snappish and fending off depressiveness even though MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW. And part of my is like, I'm old. But most of me is like, Birthdays! I love birthdays! I plan to take Friday off and watch Ferris Bueller, an old college tradition.

But the mood is dark. Despite all the lucky things happening and all the great mail (among other things: fuzzy plants, photo albums, mad money to spend at the Gap!). What does it take, then? Truly it must all be hormones.

But then that makes me annoyed, just thinking that it is one little thing throwing things off and there's nothing I can do about it.

On the other hand, considering that Life Circumstances are currently good, that means that it is not, as previously hypothesized in my little depressive brain, the materialistic things in life that found my happiness, because if that were so, then I would be happy in the most black-and-white sense.

On the other hand, this new conclusion may in fact throw more power back into the Hormone Court, which is most irksome.

I suppose all one can do is say screw it all, I'm going on a mental vacation no matter where I might physically be, check you later, my mind is in Tahiti. Or at home, wearing pajamas, and watching reality TV.

Monday, March 14, 2005

a story about tide pools

I was scared about going to the tide pools today because my brother Tommy told me there was killer snails in there and that a touch from one of them would kill you dead in a couple of hours. so better not touch any of the pretty looking spiral shells, he said.

And i ran out of the room and i called him a liar and then i went over to my neighbors- I’ll call her Fern because my dad just calls her the nice gardener lady and i know that’s not her name but I won’t ask. and i went over there and i asked her about killer snails and she said sure, sure there was but it’s illegal to have them here, as if she’d have them if she could. then she said she tried ducks once but that they ate her baby plants too, little tiny ones she said. she glanced on the ground to see if there were any evasive snails she could step on or maybe a duck to shoo.

But she just had me, so she smiled and said, why honey? do you like snails?

I shrugged and said i didn’t know. and then i thought real hard about snails all the way up the porch and all the while i was getting my school bag ready.

Dad said, hey kid, you ready?

And i said I didn’t know if i wanted to gamble with my immortal soul.

He laughed and said, kid, where do you get these things. there’s no need, he said, to worry about anything immortal.
And i asked what about the snails?

He just laughed and wouldn’t stop laughing except in btw sips of starbucks, and as he said, his flaky, flaky croissant, and did i want any? and i had my arms crossed and my brow knit- so i said no thank you.

He crossed over and opened the door for me and i hopped out without a last look until he called me back and handed me my permission note in full sight of the teacher.

Hey, kid, he said, tidepools are great.

What do you know i said, you've never taken me!

He gave me a sorry smile and said, we'll go this summer if you want.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, okay. i turned on my toes and went to class. and all the other kids were excited and i just watched on- wondering what people meant about nature being warm and fuzzy if snails can be killers- so i asked the teacher about it and she said she’d never heard of such a thing. so i couldn’t figure who was right.

My friend Meghan hit me on the head with her tissue box and my head whipped around so fast i almost fell out of the chair. and the teacher whipped her eyes over our way and gave us one of those looks she was always giving us, as if she'd just missed some sort of trouble but from now on she'd be watching. so i just glared at Meghan and she just snickered behind her tissue box.

What’s wrong?

Nothing i said.

Are you sure? she said.

She looked at me hard, like she always does when she wants to know the truth about something- so i told her the story and her eyes got real big- just then we were all getting up and being loaded onto the bus and we made sure we got a seat together toward the back. Maybe we can ask somebody? she said. and i shrugged bcs i already tried that but it felt good that she was going to help me find out.

We had the window open and slunked over on each other and fell asleep until the bus lurched forward and we were there. It seemed to take forever and just as I was leaning out the window the teacher and the ranger were talking and he pointed this way and that and then we were off the bus and heading for the tide pools. The ranger explained the rules about how to treat the animals that we found and i don’t know why anyone would want to touch them anyway but he was talking to george and billy and everybody knew they liked to be unkind along with a couple of other boys who Meghan said might throw a starfish on her head.

I kept my distance.

Meghan leaned far into the low tide pools--her long brown hair dipped into the water and i told her but she didn’t care. she waved me over and then grabbed my hand and showed me a crab and sea urchin which she said we could touch bcs it wasn’t poisonous. she said she used to collect sand crabs and watch them run in and out of the sand and make holes. i bent down with her but made sure my feet were a firm ways a way from any holes or water.

okay, okay she said and marched up to the ranger without another word. she didn’t like to ask questions- she said once- cuz she said, she’d rather find out on her own. but she drug the ranger over and he was sorta young and old at the same time and had blonde hair sticking out of his hat.

Rubbing the sand off her elbow and face she asked him about killer snails- and a wide smile broke out on his face and his brow raised and he said how do you know about killer snails? i rolled my eyes and Meghan dug her feet into the sand and put her hands on her hips.

Then he said, very seriously, hold on, i’ll be right back.

So he left and then Meghan said, Jolie! we can put our feet in the water!

And just like that Meghan made me forget about tidepools and killer snails.

Then after a while we went to sit down and the ranger was sitting on the rocks and the other kids weren’t asking him any more questions so we came back over to him and he said, well sit down and i’ll tell you about killer snails-

So we stood there and our teacher came over and she told us the ranger had to go and we squinted at her and said, killer snails exist and he told us so.

Just then he reached into his pocket and pulled out some shells and told us about nero-toxins and how they live far from here, like austrailia. And how they paralyze fish and humans only mostly get hurt when they try and touch the shells when they’re diving.

Jolie aren’t they pretty, Meghan said, and she took one right out of his hand.

So the snails here, he said, you won’t find in the water, but in the gardens. And it’s good to ask if you don’t know about something anyway so you don’t get hurt. then he showed us a few black and white pictures and told us about an African snail that grew as big as a foot.

I told him nuh, uh and shook my head.

He said, it’s true and wouldn’t i like to go to Africa to see a giant African snail and i said i would and Meghan elbowed me hard for being a liar bcs she knew. but then she said, me and jolie’ll go. And she believed it too, so I didn't elbow her for being a liar. the teacher, miss ferris grimaced, like she always did, and said it was almost time to go.

The ranger asked us if we wanted to hold a starfish and Meghan nudged me ahead and he placed it right in my hand. Some things you don’t need to be afraid of he said. and i didn’t like the way it felt, but i liked the color, i said. and he said that was as good a place to start as any.

Friday, March 11, 2005



okay while either have equally vile, addictive tendencies- they're cutting costs. how can there not be outrage. as i sit here musing over the pile of bagels in my breakroom, of assorted varieties, i can see how far your work has fallen. next it'll be plain donuts to donut holes than the worse of worse whatever it is- i can't think about it.

(penelope adds: and it is so true. and you know, too, that they are cutting costs because there wasn't near enough to feed everyone. first it was the cream cheese downgrade, and now this. honestly. i like donuts, but you're right. next it is going to be a handful of mints. )

Donut Day

That's right. It's Friday, and that's what it is. Allow a moment to absorb the shock of this information.

The concept is going over like a lead balloon.

However, I am a hard core fan of the Dunkin', and find myself rather swayed.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

and i feel fine.

Okay so there's a “quirky” guy at work... Who has some weird eating habits. One might say he’s not unlike the last survivor of a desperate race. Small, slightly gaunt, with large yet shifty eyes- and a shaved head. It really doesn’t help that he wears gray sweatshirts or fails to have a clean shave in the morning, let alone the trucker hats.

Today I saw him duck into Wendy's on our way to work and then he appears later with like a bag full of cans. Can drive for a local charity? um, no. It's all spinach. Canned spinach. He's stocking up for the week at work. Like if you glance in his desk let's say when he's not there, it's an entire drawer filled with spinach and tuna cans. Which he cooks and mashes with canned tuna for lunch and nothing else. The other day when I saw him preparing this um -feast- I said, well you're getting a lot of iron at least and he actually deemed to argue that in fact spinach had more, I don’t know vitamin C- which is only true bcs of the absorption rate but on the Can it says Iron. So you know, I won that one.

(Spinacia oleracea -- Family Chenopodiaceae)
Spinach is thought to be native to Southwest Asia and unknown to the Greeks and Romans. First cultivated by the Persians, it is now cultivated throughout the world, with the exception of the tropics. Although grown in China for centuries, it did not reach Europe until about 1100 AD after an introduction to Spain by the Moors.

Anyway his strange but nutritious eating habits don’t stop there. For breakfast he has a big bowl of oatmeal – 2 packets, which flavors vary. And then literally- no, literally drowns it in fake butter from a tube. I’m sorry ya’all he crossed the line. That’s just nastiness. As I whispered my elitist distaste for such delicacies it led to a discussion about cereal- if you don’t have milk you use- mocha mix, cool-aid, water, orange juice, yogurt, non-fat? What, then why not water. Why milk at all I ask you?

So the spinach guy watch continues- and today it's Chinese food for lunch. no spinach. (me not him= mmm hot garlic chicken) You know what strikes me about Spinach guy, is that it's canned, all of it or in packets. and i seem to start on this whole flash back to post-apocalyptic times (aka in the movies) where everything is mashed and gooey, barely seeping warmth, with no taste- like it's Rot meets Ration. Sure you could say it's healthy besides the fake butter which is in fact slowly preserving his body once he does run out of rations and can never bring himself to open the escape hatch... but at what cost really. He slumps his head down as he stirs his food, glancing left and right as we stare at his concoction, he mashes and mashes with his fork- slunk goes the spinach into the bowl. Slunk. Slunk. Drip. Drip. And the microwave waits, to make it all rise.

Tuesday, March 8, 2005

It's the End of the World: How we Know It

1) Crazy, random windstorm today. Everyone is up from their desks, hovering near the thin, rattly windows of our historic office building. They watch the rain and the lightning, the whipping tree branches. The power source groans, dies, and flickers to life again. Everyone gasps: A woman on the street below has been knocked from her feet.

2) It is Birthday Cake Day. Like Free Bagel Friday, Birthday Cake Day falls on the second Tuesday of every month, and involves two ginormous sheet cakes (varying flavors), singing, and the listing of names we are to celebrate. This month I am up. The C.E.O. manages not only to flub my new last name, but also incorrectly lists my department.

3) "Peace out," I think, in response to The Man and this Birthday Cake Day Debacle. And, "Poetry is just all around."

I've had an offer I couldn't refuse, so to speak. Pending one drug test, a background check, and some papers to sign, I am outee. Moving on, from one bad situation to another, it's true. However, the latter offers more dough and thusly I will not argue.

From the Manager

Here is the tip of the day:

Can your smile be heard?
- Smile before you answer the phone
- extend a pleasant greeting to make the customer feel welcome
- view every call as a welcome interruption instead of a distraction
- give your full attention to the customer
- Immediately make note of the customer's name, don't rely on your memory.

Monday, March 7, 2005

Here's the rope.


Day 1) so in order to stay for the recommended 2 wks we only have 10 tapes for 10 days. each tape is about an hour long if we’re lucky. so that’s one tape per day for 8 hours. if i don’t want to work myself out of a job which i don’t nor do my colleagues- i can only do less than the bare minimum and i have to make sure they don’t catch me using the internet.

POSSIBLE AMUSEMENTS1: I’ve figured out i can type into the Pilotware Program at work. I can compose entire emails, write the beginning of my novel or blog in this manner and won’t arise the immediate suspicion of anyone walking by. i’m doing it right now in fact. bcs it looks like i’m logging a tape. in addition I can listen to internet radio and plug my head phones into the CPU so it sounds like I’m listening to footage AND i just have to intermittently hit the PLAY button on the screen. this fucking rocks.

2. you know, 1 should really cover it but let’s say i want to take a break from typing. and i only have a big book to read- okay that’s not going to work. i’d have to prop it out of view and will only use this method as a last resort.

3) i already compulsively eat sunflower seeds and as a result get thirsty and as a result drink water which results in bathroom trips and chapstick applications. that actually kills time and! stretches your legs.

4) i may use scratch paper to draw. that could be fun,

5) start paper ball fights. this only works occassionally and in a limited capcity as my fellow coworkers fear reprisal. so you can understand if it’s only me assulting everyone else. they usually become resentful as they fear being retaliatory bcs of the possible reprisal. It’s perfect but becomes boring after a while as all perfect things must.

6) start up unnecessary conversation and interrupt people for the large part of the day. this works great and i have at least 4 people i interrupt with conversation- easy start ups: the weather, what i just read on CNN, the word of the day from M-Webster, and emails that piss me off that i’ve received from totally irksome people.

7) accidently hit peoples chairs as you walk by. this is good for a quick laugh. it’s more playful than malicious and people usually can’t figure out why you did it.

8) redecorate your desk- this could involve creative use of post it notes (which reminds me as a last resort you can always ask if people need something from the supply room. this is a great time killer.

9) keep going to the breakroom for tea, hot chocolate- ice cubes.

10) think about places to travel. fully justify your use of time with the phrase, well I’m getting paid for it. take plenty of breaks and keep watching for the snack tray. it always comes at 4.

Friday, March 4, 2005

One Thousand Site Visits and Counting


It's time for a change, baby. A whole new look of sorts.

Comments, questions? Anyone, anyone?

Mr. Smithee, I haven't heard from you in awhile.


The Rig to Hang on.

Hey everyone,

So I hate writing this, but we have gotten complaints from a couple high-up people (Vice President of Post Production and some Post Producers) that everytime they walk by ALL the loggers (S***** and Ch*****) always seem to have the internet, yahoo, google, email, etc. up on their monitors instead of work (Pilotware or Search documents like Word or Excel). We certainly do not want to say you can't use the internet, but it is a problem when it is noticed by our bosses, and so many of them.

Sooooo ... if you guys could please be more aware of who is around and walking by it would be much appreciated. For those of you who have especially visible screens (sorry S and S), it is especially important that you watch your internet use. Sucks because I know we are really far ahead and there aren't always searches to do, so you're trying to kill time, but I don't know what else to say.

Let me know if this makes sense or if you have any questions. Thanks .... and sorry.

bagel coma

it's all very funny until it happens to you.

i didn't ride my bike and i ate my free bagel as it is friday. so where is the sugar to go. bcs my tank isn't empty. there's no recharging necessary. i am simulatenously feeling like i have to get the fuck out of here or slumping over on my desk. i'm trying to do neither but the sugar-free hot chocolate and sunflower seeds really aren't doing much. consequently i'm cranky. I'm in a bagel induced haze. i've already sent out two surly emails and i add just enough of a comedic twist that people think i'm funny and amusing rather than really angry and pissed off- which in my opinion is a very fine line when employing sarcasm and of course, my sparkling wit. i feel quite apt currently to enter into a moliere comedy- head hanging, hand supporting the inclination to tip sideways from the table. perhaps if i passed out i might have misanthrope written across my forehead. that would be fun. (i'm learning a lot about latin roots and stuff for the word of the day. my dream is to have the complete OED one day. that would be cool. like mis meaning hate puts a new twist on mis-understanding.)

so i wake up and have misanthrope written across my forehead and well it's probably best i don't have a drinking problem bcs having been made an ass of and then realizing how disaffected with humanity you are all in one waking moment might be a bit much. it's not surprising why characters like these end up dead in the next act.

Day 4

This week is an interesting week in the Realm of Experimentation because I have been trying actively to turn off certain emotional responses to stress, particularly at work. It is Day 4, and though I'm not quite in the upbeat mood that was Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I don't feel so bad, either. There have been no more pins-and-needles-type headaches like I had been having for the past month or so. When I'm home I am chill and if I start to think about work I just tell myself, no, no, no. Don't do that. It is not worth it to worry about such-and-such client and whether or not they received their results in time like I promised. It is not worth it to dream about training on new programs just because the monotony has seeped into my consciousness. Who does that? If I sound stupid on the phone, what does it matter, for I am doing my job to the Best of my ability, and if I have no idea what the answer to the client's question, then it is the results of bad training, and not my own slackerness. Because I am not slack. I don't wish to be slack. However, I don't wish to be more tightly wound than a nerve-wracked spring over anything, much less a job that pays in Bagel Fridays.

So I am hoping that nerve-wracked springdom is not my default mode. We shall see. So far I'm feeling good and I have Stuff in the Works outside of here that's psyching me up. Projects, I've got Projects. Things that make me Me outside of here. Something to talk about other than the horror of being paid in Bagel Fridays. That's right. And I haven't even been thinking about Money, Evil Money, either, because that all comes out in the wash. Seriously. That is the new philosophy. Maybe I'm taking on too much at once. But guess what it's Thursday and that means SURVIVOR is on. And THE OC. And THE APPRENTICE. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Thursday, March 3, 2005

Unrelated Aside

So I’m at work and the cute boy has a girlfriend. Which I just assumed, later confirmed, when I suggested that he get a haircut and he said he didn’t want to pay supercut prices. Then I said that’s what girlfriends are for. He rather reluctantly admitted that in fact his girl or whatever it was he said, she didn’t have a name, was working up the nerve to cut his hair and would one day be styling it full time. She's worked her way to quarter an inch, he shows me with his hand, and next week he says perhaps an inch. I was left to ponder what a military haircut would look like and perhaps the fun of one of those electric shavers.

I learned about the hair cutting girlfriends from my two friends in high school who were dating. It seemed a natural experiment that she was being groomed to one day be a hair cutting wife when I saw them in my kitchen in barbershop position. I can only assume my mom came by it the same way since she cuts my dads hair and even mine. There were a few incidents in elementary where the cutting experiments went horribly awry but I can’t say that I was damaged beyond repair. And anyway I’m not a supercuts person either. Maybe my husband will be inclined to style my hair. I can’t quite picture it though. So my mom might be commissioned for a long time. Unless I myself become a hair cutting wife then it which case I’d have to wonder how I came by the role. I don’t particularly enjoy it. Otherwise there's always the salon.

Wednesday, March 2, 2005


dear penelope,

what is the ivy but a state of mind. we lived the pretense and it was a lark. it was a, we could do this if we wanted to and we found it funny. there's no need to live vicariously is there. i mean who wants to spend $6.50 for iced tea that's not even spiked. sure it's got a sprig of mint in it but, okay well the mint was nice. and the decor and even the fancy pasta. and the snobby waiter and the white picket fence... sigh.

anyway what was i saying, something about twisted little games? fictional rafts? i can't remember. and i have a creepy feeling that no one cares.

i was momentarily distracted by the snack tray which was an unusually fancy array of three different types of chips- regular corn, zesty, and wheat with 3 alternate dips- classic salsa, nacho sauce and a decent guacamole. we all stared at it, a-wonder at the variety.

but all this comes with a price. it's finite you know. not that that's bad but it's strange to look something in the face and know the day it's all going to end. it's like i'm on my raft and i've come to rest on a tropical island with fruits and occassional left over food, coffee, tea and snack trays. bagels grow once a week on strange fermica counters. gathered in baskets. i've been fighting the current and i know i'll be ripped away from it in a matter of weeks. i rest while i can. but the rest proves insolent.

why is everything a distraction. didn't i originally set out to tell you about nachos. nacho: Inflected Form(s): plural nachos Etymology: American Spanish, perhaps from Spanish nacho flat-nosed: a tortilla chip topped with melted cheese and often additional savory toppings (as hot peppers or refried beans)

or perhaps about well made rafts- they should be able to weather anything.

Tuesday, March 1, 2005

Return to The Ivy

oh my god we have to get back on this blog train. this scantness (is that even a word? is it being used in the right context?) has gone on too long. it's not even just a matter of WE'RE NOT BEING WRITERS and/or OUR JOBS ARE INTERFERING WITH OUR REAL LIVES but we are just being non-blogging slackers, let's just admit it here and now. what is it with this once-a-week trade-off stuff?
so i've been watching season one episodes of The OC, four every weekend to be exact, because i get the next DVD from Netflix, consume it rapidly, and then have to wait a few days for the next one. anyway, i was watching one where marissa hadn't yet figured oliver was crazy, and oliver was all like, let's go up to l.a.! we'll do The Ivy and The Getty! and i was all like, oh my gosh, yes! go! forget that he's crazy, marissa! because those are two things i did in california last year and it was way fun!
so basically i'm saying that for a moment i was trying to live vicariously through a fictional character from an outdated episode of a primetime soap opera.
actually, though, i love my life.
i have decided this week to seriously, rigorously practice Disassociation from All Stressful Things related to Customer Service. why? because i cannot continue to define myself and my life this way or else i am going to be sorely disappointed. severely depressed. and a bunch of other bad cliches.
it really is true though. here was my idea that hit me yesterday, and tell me what you think: could it be that i have chosen Customer Service as my post-graduate "trade" not because it's the only marketable skill i have and i "enjoy" it sometimes, but because i am really fulfilling some sort of childhood neuroses whereby what i really enjoy is not getting yelled at.
like, whenever i am interviewing for a Customer Service-type position, i always say, "I enjoy helping people." which i always thought was true. but maybe in addition to helping people, or maybe instead of helping people, i derive some sort of sad emotional reward from the customers who are not unhappy with me. because my main motivation for doing a good job in Customer Service, if you think about it, is not necessarily to make the client happy (which it is, sometimes) but more to avoid getting yelled at. and i am most depressed when they do yell. not just because they yelled, but because it leads to all these feelings of "i don't have worth, yadda yadda" because all i am doing is some menial job that a monkey could do and i can't even do that right.
when i was little, i was always sensitive to raised voices, even if they weren't yelling. and it would follow that i was equally sensitive to praising voices. maybe so much so that i based my self worth on them more so than the average little bird? ick, i just don't want to be doing the same now, too much. what if my psyche views my job as some twisted little game?
the horror, mendacious, the horror.