To the wine, glad you're already gone.
note the beauty of the intact orange peel. i left it on my moniter, but no one noticed it. i quietly threw it away a few hours later, all but biting my tongue at my success and the tasty orange. behind the magic is the pilotware program. this is what i spend my time in a lot, with the trusty moniter to the left. i've remembered that if under heavy monitering from the fuzz, compose emails in here. they'll think you're doing actual work. i don't do that, bcs i'm a conscientious worker, but i thought you'd want to know. 
behind me sits the story assistant. i am covetous of her job. she's an actor and just wants it so she can go on auditions. she does not want to grow up to be a story producer. she is not working her way to the top. i however want to work in story. and i want to one day be mad with power. she, and people like her, everywhere, are interfering with this. still she's nice, and says that i deserve an ottoman, i think she meant chaise lounge for all the squirming, folding, and kicking up the feet i do in my chair. 
this is the hallway where the sensor was so they could track me, no one is in that office, but if there were someone, i'd totally be friends with them.
here's the right side of the room. ah the quiet people. i think hopefully they'll have more to say soon... 
i glance up here in wonder if the ac is or is not working well on any given day. i also like to look up here and look at the arch of the warehouse when i've kicked up my feet and am shelling sunflower seeds. i'd share my seeds but no one seems interested.
here's me. i'm trying to think of other things i can bring in, to liven up my work space.
and of course here's the breakroom in all it's glory. very very rarely i find people sitting in here. it is perhaps bcs of the orange chairs, although they don't know anybetter. 
he looks sort of sad. this other picture was the very last one that came up in a group of stamped concrete pools and random stone designs- just makes me reaffirm how sad i am that i've never gotten to have a pool. it looks delicious and inviting doesn't it. why don't i get to have a pool? will i ever have one. i really really want one. ah, pools. limpid, dark, delicious, refreshing pools. 
And I so respect that. 
You know how people get Seasonal Affective Disorder in the months when there's less light? I feel like I have that beginning in JUNE, because of the light. Or the heat. Or maybe it's just the moon. Maybe it's just a mood, and it'll be over in a few days or a week. I hope so. I seriously needed some more wine this evening, to go with my whine:
I despise the wall of heat that swallows you when you open the door. I like the sun, but I love a good rain. I hate seeing the plants all withered and crispy. I feel antisocial, and suddenly I hate shopping. The sheer plentitude of products in Barnes & Noble depresses me, mainly because they are all so fucking nice. And I'll read in my lifetime, what .02%? Maybe. And all the memoirs, blah, the memoirs! Like the stories these people tell that are so monumental and written in such an engaging way that (miracle of miracles) they were actually published, and now here they are, lost in the Barnes & Noble amongst so much other stuff. Just like people, the stories are lost in the crowd. Why is someone going to pick this person's memoir off the shelf instead of, say, a bargain cookie recipe book. Or a grow your own shamrock kit. It's depressing. I wish I could buy and read every one of them, even if more than half were crap. It's someone's life story we're talking about here.
And there's a sign up in the front of Barnes & Noble, too, advertising the reading of a fellow MFAer, a really nice person, and a good writer, and I hope people go to that reading, and I hope people read her book, and I hope they like it. But I won't be there, that I can all but guarantee. Socializing, ugh. MFA degrees, ugh. Now wine, wine is nice.
And fucking Verizon. I always feel like once a whole year passes, you're rid of an icky situation for good. (Although some situations take much longer, particularly for those who tend to obsess, consciously or subconsciously-who, me? And particularly, I will say, with situations that involve lots of guilt. Ah, guilt.) And I'm in a drastically, wonderfully different space than I was last year at this time, but still, there's a few months left before I'm completely out of the woods and rid of those abhorrent fucking customers from Paramus, New Jersey, and all their cellular problems. Oh, and the Vermont people, too. Their minute overages and equipment failures and lack of coverage and the incompetence of the company tabulating their bills. I've spoken with a few different cell phone companies over the years, not to mention the cable company, the landline company, and the insurance company. And the banks. And I have a sneaking suspicion they're all about the same, so, you know. There's really not too much I can say about Verizon Wireless in specific that wouldn't apply to any major corporation, being either their customer or under their employ. But I still hate those damn commercials, I hate the store that just recently opened next to Dunkin' Donuts, and the next time Alltel comes on TV, if that guy could go ahead and pop off Verizon Man's head for a round of bowling instead of the Cingular cartoon's, that would be great, thanks. (Actually, what would really make my day is if he could pop off Catherine Zeta Jones' head. Hee hee.)
And speaking of time passing. It's not been a year, but geez my head is spinning lately with how fast it all goes. It's downright stomach-churning, throat-tightening, how quickly the days and months and years tick away. I want to pin down each second and make it stay longer, make the people I care about stay longer, and--well, you know. Et cetera. It's an icky downward spiral.
Anyway, hurry up, September. Or even the end of August will do. But oh wait, you'll be here before I know it, won't you, and the summer that a year from now I'll be nostalgic for will be too quickly over and done.
In the market for a man with two "big guns" wielding two big guns and a grenade? How about a sexy, impassioned rescue worker/construction guy/crossing guard? Or a thoughtful pipe smoker. A crazed MD with a penchant for severed fingers. Or a...guy, um, holding a skull and rosary...a patriotic priest possibly performing an exorcism on an inanimate object, or...an angry archaeologist, or... one of the Hamlet gravediggers pondering Yorick's skull. Okay, we don't exactly know what he was going for in that last shot--but one cannot deny, this man can act. Many times with his eyebrows alone.
Look out, Academy, as FUBTM will soon be invading theaters near YOU.
That is the nature and beast: desire. Where is that delicate balance btw wanting things and going after them and engaging in the hapless quest to attain, strive- abase yourself with your own inadequcies, failed timelines, quelched possibilities, until dissatisfaction is all you see. Rumblings, disquiet- your mind won't quite shut up. Shh. I say. Shh. Shut the fuck up mind. And just live. Set yourself a path and go. But don't drag yourself down by degrees while you try to get there. 
How many funerals have people actually been to, and are they more memorable than weddings. I always thought that compared to some people I hadn't been to any funerals at all- 2 actually (although a lot of people on my momside have died). And a few when I was young I refused to go to- the only impression I have is a very strong opposition to the entire affair- like either I didn't feel I needed it or maybe I was secretly unwilling for my last memory of them to be of that. I don't know- it was the memory of me, arms crossed, sunken in the seat and just immovable and as my mom remembers- not talking. 
Our DVR is virtually empty, save for a long-ago unwatched episode of "The Apprentice" and several "Band of Brothers" that I can't even be in the same room for when Scott watches them (I'm sure they're "fantastic," just--ugh, way too intense for me). There are a measly few new shows still recorded every day, namely the MTV set: Real World, RW/RR Challenge (Fresh Meat being suprisingly, um, dare I say hilarious? this time around), The Hills, Laguna marathons, etc. But they're consumed in this house quicker than chocolate. Like lightning, man.
And I know, there's books, and Netflix. There's tomatoes growing outside, and a higher frequency of backyard bbq's. I'm so there, on all counts. But the blazing heat, the air conditioning bills, this tragic lack of good TV--I have to say, summer is my LEAST favorite season of the year. Don't even get me started on the issue of jeans vs. shorts.
Brief Reminder, though: "The Office" repeat marathon tonight on NBC. Good chance to catch up on lost eps (mendacious), or to hop on board (Kim). Wahoo!
