 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
One of my most unfavorite things (and something no one ever talks about, so I feel justified in complaining) is when people you don't know or have only known for a short period of time argue with you or try to pick a fight. I don't think it's socially acceptable to criticize someone's living arrangement, clothing, accent, car or religious or political beliefs when you don't know them.
Case in point: There's a copy editor I work with who, during my first week here, asked me what college I went to. Missouri isn't known for much, but it has a terrific journalism school and a cult-like alumni association (read: guaranteed to procure you a good journalism job upon graduation) to boot. Most professional journalists know this, and I think a lot of the people here at the Globe-News think Mizzou kids are a bunch of snobs. So I don't really like talking about it, which is sad--I should get to be proud of my school, I think.
So I tell her, "Missouri." She asks (in what I deemed to be a rude manner), "Why are you going there?" (emphasis on the last word. I can't italicize from this computer). I politely respond, "Because, from what I've heard, it has one of the best print programs in the country." I am not kidding--this girl replies, "Um, no it doesn't. I heard it sucks. Kansas State has a much better program."
Why in God's name would anyone say something like that? I didn't tell her K-State had a joke of a journalism program, which it probably does. Maybe there's a course in tact at at her far superior college that she forgot to take.
Is it okay if I become a hermit?
07-31-2002 5:19 PM - comments (0)
My mom left today (after mammoth omelettes and "healthy" grain and nut pancakes from IHOP and Clinique bonus-buying). I was really glad to see her. We have a lot of fun together, which is pleasantly surprising considering how much we fought when I was a teenager. Maybe I am growing up.
That said, it will be nice to have my tiny apartment back to myself again. I had to have whispered conversations with Michael, not because we were saying anything scandalous, but because it's hard to have a conversation with someone when your mom's right there hanging on to every word. I also noticed I really missed my morning "quiet time"--the hour or so I spend checking my e-mail and favorite weblogs right after I wake up. I just can't wake up and get to work right away any more; I need hours of half-awake sloth movement first.
Speaking of sloths, where the hell is Melissa? I'm getting worried. I think a dramatic phone call in the middle of the night is called for.
07-31-2002 3:12 PM - comments (0)
Effusive hellos and apologies to Matt and Nick, whom I suspect no longer consider me their friend and who probably want to beat me to a bloody pulp for always signing off in the middle of conversations. Excuses=AOL, my mother, etc. Really.
Matt, when are we going to draw until we go mad?
07-30-2002 5:10 PM - comments (0)
There's a boy here at work with shaggy blond hair and indecisive facial hair. I say "boy" because he can't be more than 19. He wears slim-fit t-shirts in dark blue that quietly advertise an indie band or skateboard brand. He's always here. It could be eight in the morning on a Monday, it could be midnight on a Friday night, and he's hunched over a keyboard, developing carpal tunnel syndrome one click of the mouse at a time.
He looks like a roadie for Radiohead--kind of rugged, but skinny and artsy at the same time. He would carry heavy equipment and wince, but never let the band see him in pain. Then at night he'd listen to the recording he made of that evening's concert, memorizing guitar chords and variations of verses. He'd toil on his plan, the one that would make him a member of Radiohead after Thom Yorke mysteriously vanished. He'd figure out how many rooms his mansion would have. He'd figure out which direction the band would take. He'd think of pithy things to say to reporters, and how he'd handle the gushing praise from the media and public in an offhand, disinterested way.
Maybe sometime before my internship is over, I should say hi to this guy.
07-30-2002 3:46 PM - comments (0)
Well, true to my word, we've done a lot of shopping. Nothing says mother-daughter bonding like the sound of a credit card being plopped on a department store counter. I've also gone a little CD crazy.
The Hives Veni Vidi Vicious
Music from the Motion Picture The Wedding Singer (Melissa--for our Saturday night '80s ritual)
The Best of Blondie
The Beatles 1
Spacehog The Hogyssey
No Doubt Rock Steady
Ash Free All Angels
Some electronica compilation
Approve? Also on the list is some more Rush (Gucci perfume) and a raincoat, two tank tops, t-shirt, long-sleeve Midnight Cowboy-sorta shirt and denim jacket (like one Kaity has that I've admired for a while) from Express (they were having an 80 percent off sale, really). But the VERY BEST THING: a sexy burgundy velour sweatsuit (think J.Lo) from Target of all places. I think I've spent enough of my (and my parents') money to last until at least September.
But if you still want to buy me things, here is my wishlist: a Polaroid camera, a record player, Allure (Chanel perfume), sexy black sunglasses, lots of Rolling Stones records, a jukebox and a Coke machine filled with Cherry Coke. Oh, and some movie theater popcorn. Actually from a movie theater, not that fraudulent Orville Reddenbacher stuff.her is coming today in an airplane!
(Dreams of pancakes and other food that doesn't come in a box. Dreams of shopping until our feet hurt. Dreams of figuring out inoffensive sleeping arrangement.)
listening to: "Padraic my Prince" - Bright Eyes
07-29-2002 1:52 PM - comments (0)
There's this one weblog I stumbled onto. The writer is fairly decent--she seems smart, confident, interesting. Enough so, at least, to keep me reading. Here's the thing that annoys the hell out of me: she gets a bunch of comments after each entry. More than ten, even on kind of meaningless ones. And they're ALL PEOPLE KISSING HER ASS! I'm not kidding. It's complete strangers telling her how much they wish they were her, or could meet her, or could IM her (if only she'd be so gracious at to distribute her screen name), or hug her. In her fans' minds, she's Sylvia Plath, Janis Joplin, Angelina Jolie and Eva fucking Peron all rolled in one (ghastly visual, isn't it?).
Okay, I sound completely resentful. I have nothing against this girl, really. It's not her fault people are so weird. I'm just really disturbed by what I consider to be mindless approval. The comments that are both nice and constructive are very cool. It's the form-letter "Oh my God! You are like, so deep!" It's better than hostility, but it's still frustrating. What if this girl really wanted feedback for a poem she wrote? She could copy entries from a telephone book and people would confess their undying love for her and her talent.
Maybe I'm still coping from self-deprecation disorder, but I would probably feel really uneasy (and freaked out) if every single thing I wrote on ouranophobe prompted dozens of people to swoon (blandly). I don't think anyone's self-esteem needs a boost like that. And to prove it, I'd love for everyone to send me the WORST thing I've said on this website. Something that was offensive, stupid, nerdy, mean, poorly-written, etc. I can take it! The best insult will receive an autographed picture of me dressed up in a devil costume.
(Um, about the criticism? I can take it, really. But nice people score points in my book too, and will thusly receive an autographed picture of Elliott.)
listening to: "A Thousand Julys" - Third Eye Blind
07-26-2002 9:08 PM - comments (0)
This site has singlehandedly forced me to decide to get another cat. I'm sorry, Melissa and Christie. I didn't want to become Crazy Cat Lady, but I have to.
I wonder if Elliott would like a little brother?
P.S. Why would anyone give those kittens anything less than a 10? It's all so...JonBenet.
07-26-2002 7:02 PM - comments (0)
I miss Michael. What can I say?
listening to: "Soaked in Cinammon" - Ultimate Fakebook
07-26-2002 1:06 PM - comments (0)
If there were a recipe for my summer day, it would be:
3 hours semi-watching of soap operas (half-hour counting number of cliches uttered per episode)
1 hour Super Mario World (15 minutes defeating bad guys, 45 minutes trying to get Yoshi to do cute things like eat berries and drown)
7 hours work (three hours obsessively reading weblogs, half-hour checking e-mail)
1 hour talking to Michael or various friends
10 hours sleep (last hour lucid dreaming)
07-26-2002 10:57 AM - comments (0)
i'll take the shamu combo meal
I had the misfortune of watching a Long John Silver's ad just now. Christie and I joke that it's surprising that company is still in business--whenever we drive by, the restaurant and drive-thru line is conspicuously empty. But Long John Silver's, though doing its best to promote fast food fish (which is no easy task) is now giving out Sea World coupons. I laughed until I almost fell off the couch. They were juxtaposing the pictures of dolphins jumping and fish swimming with baskets of fried (and quite dead) fish. It would be like McDonald's giving out coupons to visit a petting zoo. Oh, the horror.
07-26-2002 9:53 AM - comments (0)
i don't mind you talking in your sleep
The top five songs to play loudly and sing along with in car:
1. "Like a Feather" Nikka Costa
2. "Need You Tonight" INXS
3. "Seether" Veruca Salt
4. "Sluttering (May 4th)" Jawbreaker
5. "Just What I Needed" The Cars
07-25-2002 9:03 PM - comments (0)
After reading a gloriously well-written review of the new Austin Powers movie on salon.com, I decided I'd see the midnight showing tonight. I spun my chair around a couple of times and shrieked quietly (if such a thing is possible). I could use a goofy movie right now, especially one where the jokes are comfortably recycled and decidedly non-threatening.
The other Rachel at work seemed shocked when I told her I was going. "You're going to a movie by yourself?" she asked in what I could only guess was surprised disdain. I don't know why she was so shocked. I love seeing movies by myself. There's something very relaxing and sanative about being slumped in the perfect viewing seat and reacting the way you want to at a movie. I lose myself much more easily in a movie I'm viewing alone.
That said, I also like sneaking kisses with Michael during even the worst of movies (um, Blade II would have to top that list) or grabbing his hand in true helpless-female fashion during scary moments. And whispering about how hot Olivier Martinez is with Christie and Melissa is fun. And reciting ever line from Office Space is a Tiffany/Jen/Christie/Rachel must.
But tonight, there will be no popcorn-sharing. Now you get my point.
07-25-2002 8:28 PM - comments (0)
You ever have one of those moments where you just want to roll up your proverbial sleeves and kick someone's ass? Someone who's had it a long time coming?
Yeah, I'm having one of those moments. I've never been in a fight, but there's no time like the present to start.
07-25-2002 4:59 PM - comments (0)
I get all fluttery when I see that MTV VJ Quddus. He has the prettiest skin and most gorgeous smile. (I can be such an adolescent sometimes).
07-25-2002 11:08 AM - comments (0)
Every hour or so, the Associated Press wire moves (journalese for "updates an important story"). I rush, like a good copy editor, to see what big story has broken. Tonight it was the Traficant expulsion story (side note: is it just me, or is Congress just doing it to make an example of him? I mean, isn't it in elected officials' job descriptions to take bribes? It's not? Oh.).
There's just something deliciously geeky and thrilling to be the first one to know about big news. Well, technically not the first. But the first of anyone I know. So if you're bored some lonely summer evening, call me at the Globe-News, and I'll hook you up with some breaking news. Like a modern-day Newsies, except without the singing. Or army of ragged orphans and runaways. Or evil-doing, courtesy of William Randolph Hearst.
I really need to stop making analogies, don't I?
07-24-2002 8:07 PM - comments (0)
Wow, Jennifer Love Hewitt is immensely talentless.
07-24-2002 12:20 PM - comments (0)
Chase never fails to make me convulse in laughter. He was rudely awakened by a telemarketer, and proceeded to ask said telemarketer: "Why do you call so early?" I imagine it was more of a philosophical question than anything.
Note to Chase designed to make everyone else feel the burning shame of exclusion: "Allow myself to introduce....myself." If you've read the site I've just read, you'll understand.
07-24-2002 10:10 AM - comments (0)
Thanks to Blogger's bipolar disorder, there are now plenty of new entries below for you to read all at once. There's just no point in planning ahead, is there?
07-24-2002 9:34 AM - comments (0)
Happy 17 months, Michael.
07-24-2002 9:29 AM - comments (0)
The Trail of Dead are coming to Columbia Sept. 21. I am definitely going, as I've heard their shows are awesome. Other bands of interests hitting (sort of) nearby St. Louis: The Who, Paul McCartney and...Rockapella. Yes, of "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" and Folgers coffee commercial fame. The really funny thing is, last year I used to send Christie the Rockapella Folgers commercial over Instant Messenger, but would label it as some other song. Sometimes it was a Badly Drawn Boy rarity, other times a Bright Eyes/Son Ambulance song from a hip seven inch. But it was always really Rockapella, and she always shrieked in horror when she heard the opening notes.
I wonder why I had possession of a Rockapella song?
07-23-2002 8:09 PM - comments (0)
Eighty-six ounces of caffeinated bliss later...
I was:
*reading about Melissa's crazy adventures on myaimistrue
*reading e-mails from Lori and Sean, two of my favorite co-conspirators from my time in Austin
*being happy I was finished designing my pages for the evening
when it struck me: I miss my fellow Dow Jones campers more than anything. I miss the constant togetherness and drunken debauchery and intelligent discussions and courtyard serenades. I miss the gay bars and Irish bars and Sixth Street happenings and taxi rides. I miss the eight hours a day of learning. I miss the huge meals. I miss the feeling of rebellion (even though our professors knew we were breaking the rules, and probably were proud of us for doing so). I miss the odd way we (well, most of us. There are a few noteworthy exceptions) bonded instantly and fought over headlines and bickered about stupid things no one else would care about.
Sean said the same thing tonight in his e-mail. It's sad, but we will probably never see each other again as a group. We're all graduating (or already graduated) soon, and we'll be moving to new cities and growing up. In some ways, my two weeks in Austin was a way for me to get a second chance at being young and free. I'm going to try to enjoy my senior year as much as possible, though it will be different than in Austin. Austin changed me, and though I'm not as shocked about it now as I was right after I left, I'm pleasantly surprised that I let myself open up to something new. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll be able to recreate the experience back at school. For one, everyone there knows me, and it's hard to implement change when people expect the "old" you. For another, I will never be able to duplicate the conditions I was under at camp: I was with 12 people who wanted to be copy editors, for God's sake. We all loved grammar and journalism, yes, but we had a lot more in common than our neuroses. We wanted similar things from life. We had similar goals and principles. We were all at some form of crossroads in our lives. We had no problem drinking until 3 a.m. when we had class at 9. You get the drift.
I suppose it would be too much to ask for another period of time like I spent in Austin. I certainly had it my freshman year with Kaity, Bruce, Chris, Mark and the Wolpers boys, and I know I was lucky for that year. I know it's time to grow up, settle down, get a job, think about mortage payments and whatnot. But maybe I could sneak in a few months of youthful intimacy and debauchery before I succumb to adulthood.
07-23-2002 6:24 PM - comments (0)
where's freud when you need him?
It's so weird. My hair is in that stubborn stage where it doesn't know if it's supposed to be straight or curly, settling on soft waves. I know when my hair gets to the point where it dries wavy that it's time for a haircut. I think ideally my hair would be to the middle of my back and wavy, but I think I'm too short for all that hair. I'm just sort of antsy to get it cut. I'm sure I've said it before, but I hate stagnation, and as dumb as it sounds, the way I feel about my hair often reflects how I feel about life at the moment.
It's why in a fit of energetic rage last summer I ripped down all of my posters and covered an entire wall in fashion ads from Vogue and Harper's Bazaar. Now I have tall, skinny goth girls in haute couture staring at me when I'm home. I just wish I had been able to do the entire room. Frankly, posters of Nirvana and Dawson's Creek were painful reminders of my high school years (and subsequently, self), and they had to go.
I think a psychologist would say I have a fear of contentment or permanence or something along those lines. I just think I like to change my mind.
07-23-2002 4:50 PM - comments (0)
I put some new webcam photos up. They're the last three in the set. Melissa, don't be mad I bought the same shirt as you! (But it's green striped, not pink--doesn't that count for something? Oh, wait. I also bought some bergamot and coriander sugar scrub. You always smell so great!)
07-23-2002 12:56 PM - comments (0)
I have the sneaking suspicion my life would be a lot better if I owned the Essential Earth, Wind and Fire collection.
07-22-2002 8:26 PM - comments (0)
If there's anything that years of watching MTV have taught me, it's that when people break up with their significant others to "experience new things" or because they "need some time to themselves," it's really sorostitute-speak for "I want to sleep with other people."
Also, there are maybe five people my age who don't consider "partying" to be a hobby. ("Oh, I like, totally love reading. Cosmo, um, and some other stuff. Let's party! Yeahhhhhh! I like not remembering large portions of entire nights, because I'm like, so much fun! I'm sure I won't regret this sort of behavior when I'm a parent!!!!")
07-22-2002 7:51 PM - comments (0)
I'd kill for a pet koala.
07-22-2002 7:43 PM - comments (0)
I almost bought tons of underwear from trashy.com. Thank God for my burgeoning self-discipline.
07-22-2002 7:41 PM - comments (0)
Elliott is the newest addition to one of waferbaby's infamous photo projects. He's not old enough to be posing for the sex project, don't worry. See Elliott in all his grey striped glory in waferbaby's new pet project.
And if that isn't enough to tide you over, you know where to find me on waferbaby :)
07-22-2002 9:26 AM - comments (0)
I am in boy withdrawal! The human and cat variety!
07-22-2002 9:17 AM - comments (0)
Goals for ouranophobe: update currently page weekly; add new links/remove undesirable ones soon; change webcam picture weekly; update about page; complete archives page.
(Are you taking notes, Michael?)
07-22-2002 9:16 AM - comments (0)
Eleven years ago. We were meeting my godmother and my godfather and their son, Ryan, though I always just called them Aunt Paula and Uncle Jim and Ryan. My dad said that was wrong: "They're not your real aunt and uncle. You have real aunts and uncles, you know." But he was wrong. He was wrong because unlike my "real" aunts and uncles, they were always happy, Aunt Paula with her thick auburn hair and cherubic face, lanky Uncle Jim with his premature grey hair and permanent smile, and Ryan, the tow-headed kid who never sat still for a moment. Ryan was the crazy cousin whom I couldn't decide whether to laugh at or tell on. I probably did the latter more; I was that kind of kid. Every infraction would cause my face to get all red and scrunched up, and I'd leap up and dart to the Scary Room with the Adults and serve as the indignant informant. I wasn't a popular kid.
My brother Andy and I were in Ryan's room. I was sitting on his bed, watching the boys fiddle with Lego ships and walkie talkies. I was lucky, I suppose, to even have been allowed to watch. I was a girl, and a tattletale at that. I longed to be accepted by them, and never saw the irony in it: I treated Andy and his geeky Lego habits like a pariah any other time Ryan wasn't around. Ryan interrupted the determined silence. "You know what Saddam Hussein's name is backwards?" he asked, to no one in particular. I glanced at Andy, wondering if it were a joke. Ryan didn't give me a chance to mentally spell out Saddam's name, backwards at that. "Mad ass." I know my jaw dropped. Ass? Ass? It's because he's an only child, I remember thinking. That's what mom says. Only children get to do things, like be the center of attention, and not share a room with their brothers when it's hot outside and the air conditioning unit is put in one bedroom for two people to share. And say ass, I guess. Ryan is laughing hysterically, half at his own wit, half at my predictably shocked response.
We took a trip to Cape May that summer. My mom, Andy, maybe my other brother. I don't remember Kevin being there, but I suppose he would have been alive if the trip were eleven years ago. Three hours in the car, I remember thinking. I didn't know New Jersey was such a big state. It was summer with my brother and my mom and me driving in her Peugeot, a funky blue French thing I never appreciated until we traded up for a minivan. We drove to their beach house. I have never been to the ocean, and am afraid of sharks and jellyfish. I'm afraid of what Ryan will think of me. Ryan and Andy and I are walking on the sidewalk later, me trailing behind dutifully. We come upon a wire lying across the cement. Ryan stops suddenly and spreads his arms out, as if to shield Andy and me from some invisible danger.
"Do you see that?" he whispers conspiratorially. "If you step on it, you'll get electrocuted." My eyes get big. Andy's get bigger. We let the much braver, much wiser Ryan be the first to jump over the life-threatening wire. By the time I get over it, I feel as if I've accomplished something great. The smile Ryan throws to me after my jump fills me with overwhelming pride. But the newfound feelings of invincibility came far too soon. The next day on the beach while searching for pieces of glass and shells, I see a plastic bag filled with water. "If I lived on a beach like this, I would not pollute it," my well-trained pro-recycling fourth-grade brain thinks. I stride towards it, ready to throw it away. Ryan bounds of out nowhere, blocking my way. "It's a jellyfish!" he yells dramatically. "They look like plastic bags. They sting...and you die!!" He lunges towards it and heaves it back into the ocean while I watch, knees trembling, mouth agape. "He didn't get stung," I think in awe.
It wasn't a jellyfish, I found out later. It really was just a plastic bag filled with water. And the wires wouldn't have killed us any more than stepping on a crack would break my mother's back. But in Ryan's eyes, everything was larger than life. Everything was something to overcome. Everything was something that added to the richness of life. He ignored the restraints we all put on ourselves because we don't want to get in trouble. At the tender age of eight, he made me realize that living by someone else's rules was no better than voluntarily imprisoning yourself. I learned to laugh at life. I learned to laugh at myself.
I have no idea what kind of person Ryan is now. I haven't seen him in almost a decade. He was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma a few years ago, and it got so bad that he couldn't leave his house for fear of infection. I often thought about the irony of that: a free spirit who laughed in the face of danger as a child was now locked up because some invisible thing in the real world could kill him. His cancer went away, and the e-mails from Aunt Paula came less and less. In some ways, it was better that she didn't write. We had learned that an e-mail from her was only going to bear more bad news. Last month, my mom got another e-mail from her. The cancer had returned. It had returned and it had spread. No one has told Ryan yet; he's preparing to take the SATs, applying for college. He's finally getting to do all of the things that we take for granted, even complain about. No one wants to spoil his brief period of normalcy.
I had put Ryan in the back of my mind because I naively thought things like this don't happen to people like Ryan. I think of my aunt and uncle, and how they will have nothing left if he dies. I think and I think and I can't think anymore about it because when I do, I end up hateful and angry at God. Ryan is one of the good ones, the ones who give society the finger and then flash a charming smile, and all is forgiven. I don't remember much of my childhood. Most of it is like a puzzle with most of the pieces missing or intentionally misplaced. But when I remember Ryan, I remember vividly. I remember his devilish grins and crazy plans and heart-breaking sweetness and tremendous courage and pure invincibility. That's the Ryan I choose to remember, and God can't do a fucking thing about it.
07-21-2002 8:30 PM - comments (0)
I have never been so immensely bored. I have not talked to one person today, not even online. I've gotten 15 hours of sleep in the last 24 hours. I've watched far too much TV. I want to work out so badly. I want to take a walk. I want to do something, but what?
Instead of doing something productive, I'll listen to the Trail of Dead and make myself cry. I think if I don't cry enough, I get out of balance and need to force myself to. A sad quota, maybe. I think I'm missing something.
07-21-2002 7:07 PM - comments (0)
My only plan today is to watch Breakfast at Tiffany's again. I've seen it about a dozen times since my mom got it for me a couple of birthdays ago. It's kind of funny--when I was a little girl, she predicted it would be my favorite movie when I was older. She was right, but she can't even sit through one of my other favorite movies, Rushmore. She doesn't think it's "funny."
07-20-2002 7:21 PM - comments (0)
It seems that every e-mail Michael sends me from San Antonio includes a fervent demand for me to write him lengthy, frequent e-mails so he does not die of boredom and loneliness. If this behavior keeps up, I'm asking for a raise and two more weeks of paid vacation.
07-20-2002 2:53 PM - comments (0)
touched by walker, texas ranger
All I want is to strip off my work clothes, curl up on my couch, make some popcorn and watch my taped soaps. Wait, why is Walker, Texas Ranger on? Where is Guiding Light? Help! I think I speak for everyone when I say that Chuck Norris and CBS primetime television are the couple from hell!
07-19-2002 8:04 PM - comments (0)
it's bitter baby, and it's very sweet
Have you ever been reluctant to try something new because, well, it's something new? I used to be quick in describing myself as extroverted. Maybe I was once, but the label has worn off about as fully and gradually as my tolerance for other people. I am nearly unable to be around people I don't know very well for any meaningful period of time. I know I could make new friends, but it has gotten to the point where it feels like a burden. Relationships should fall into place without that awkward waiting period where you determine if and what the connection is going to be. That's why I think Michael and I have such a good relationship--we never went through the painful "getting to know each other" part. We fell in love, which meant I didn't have to abide by the same rules my past (and failed) relationships were governed by. The same goes for my friends.
I find myself giving otherwise kind, well-meaning people reasons why I can't go out: I need to work in the morning. I don't feel well. I didn't get your message. Anything but the truth: I just don't want to go out. I like being alone. And I like people who feel the same way.
07-19-2002 7:17 PM - comments (0)
I know I promised I'd publish the results of the mad ouranophobe libs a while ago, but Blogger has this unfortunate habit of being broken any time I need it. Sort of like every Coke Icee machine in the universe. Is that a phenomenon only Christie and I have noticed? The machine has two flavors, and somehow it's the Coke kind that never works. Tell me, who really wants White Cherry?
Last week's prompt: _____________ is something I think about constantly. The results:
Money is something I think about constantly
Revenge is something I think about constantly
Music is something I think about constantly
If I leave work right now, how many hours will I have to put in this weekend? is something I think about constantly
The Paul situation is something I think about constantly
How many things I have to do is something I think about constantly
What am I doing with my life? is something I think about constantly
The future is something I think about constantly
This week's prompt: I'd be happy if I could just __________________
Thanks for your responses! Send me your answers for this week's prompt.
07-19-2002 7:32 AM - comments (0)
I feel so wonderful today. I don't know if it's because I didn't have to come into work until 11 (!), because my friends are so neat or because I'm just happy to be alive. Maybe all of the above. I really, really miss my roommates--I miss watching The Wedding Singer with them, having three-person parties in Melissa's room, barging into Christie's room and sprawling out all over her floor while she attempts to do homework. I just miss having my best friends around. But I'm still happy, because I only have four weeks until I drive home to Houston (any chance I can convince my terrific dad to fly up and drive with me? I suppose I have to make a 12-hour drive on my own eventually, but he's so much fun to travel with. Except for the Meat Loaf business), and I go back to school three days later.
Silly as it is, I'm also excited to get my hair cut. I love going to Yummy. But this time will be even better, because this time Ray will be doing the honors. Ray is the prototypical gay hairdresser, complete with perfectly shaggy hair, Diesel jeans and black boots. Normally when I call to schedule an appointment, Tia answers the phone, and I have to make my appointment with her because otherwise she'd be offended. She's great, but Ray is a bit more adventurous, and I need someone this time around who won't try to change my mind about what I want.
Yowsa, I'm craving chocolate Coke from TGI Fridays. I might be the only person in the world who likes that stuff, but it brings back good memories of being a kid in New Jersey and being taken out to dinner there for a special occasion. Maybe I'm just getting old, but I'm starting to understand why parents limit how much candy and soda their kids can have. You're a lot more excited when your mom buys Count Chocula once in a blue moon than if you have it every day. A metaphor for life? It's possible.
I really need to stop writing. I have no idea where my mind is.
07-19-2002 7:21 AM - comments (0)
Ozzy Osbourne is really kind of pathetic. I mean, the guy can't even clap in time to his own songs. I would probably give a better rendition of "Crazy Train" than him. And because my brain hasn't been fried by all sorts of psychedelic drugs, I might come off more believable as a scary goth performer than the elderly, frazzled, can-barely-remember-the-words-to-his-own-songs Ozzy.
07-18-2002 11:04 PM - comments (0)
I called my mom in Tulsa the other day--she and my dad are at a baseball tournament of Kevin's--and she reported that Elliott had learned a new trick. Those of you who read my site already are familiar with my cat's remarkable ability to fetch household items that one throws (such as hairbands) and bring them back. I'm fairly certain fetching means both running after something and bringing it back, making my last sentence redundant, but I wanted to stress that he is successful at both parts. Well, my brilliant cat no longer needs any of us to throw the hairband for him to fetch. He has learned to put it in between his mouth and paw and fling it himself, run after it, and bring it back to start over.
I am very happy that Elliott inherited my intelligence. He sure didn't get my looks. I miss him so much. I hate no-pet apartments. I just want to call home and have my brother put him on the phone. He probably won't even remember me. Argh.
07-17-2002 7:24 PM - comments (0)
There should be a law against driving while high on caffeine. Specifically, there should be a law against me driving while high on caffeine. Does anyone know what the long-term effects of caffeine are?
I'll post the responses to my mad ouranophobe libs tonight. Right now I have to stare at my computer screen and pretend to work.
07-17-2002 10:19 AM - comments (0)
Michael left today for his robotics conference in San Antonio. The idea of him driving an Expedition with a crew of computer science boys is very, very funny.
We were talking last night, as we do every night, but I think the amount I missed him was at an all-time high. I love falling asleep right after talking to him; it practically guarantees good dreams. It's even better when he calls me in the middle of the night because he needed to hear my voice (like last night). I'm in a sleepy stupor, mumbling something nonsensical, and he's uncharacteristically talkative and characteristically adorable.
And now I feel really stupid for talking about it, because it will most likely embarass him and probably make everyone else roll their eyes and tell me my relationship with him is sickening. But you know what? I'm tired of pretending when I'm around bout it. And frankly, he deserves more from me than a casual "he's just some guy" just so people around me don't get upset. I don't flaunt my relationship to make people jealous. I don't act like I don't remember what it's like to be single. When I was single and miserable, I never held it against anyone else. Why should I have? It's a simple fact that most people want only one thing: a soulmate, a lover, someone to come home to at night. I have that. I haven't always, and I might not always. But I do now, and that's what matters. My happiness and the happiness of everyone else ought to be mutually exclusive, don't you think?
07-17-2002 8:42 AM - comments (0)
I'm in total Onion withdrawal. They promised a new issue today. Where is it?
07-16-2002 12:04 PM - comments (0)
I think my favorite day in Amarillo is Saturday. All I can think about at work is how much I'm looking forward to coming back to my newly-cleaned apartment. One of the benefits of living in a $600/month apartment is the maid service. I say this with a straight face--I think it's ridiculous that no one at the paper helped me find a cheaper place. My "mentor" suggested about three places, all costing upwards of $279/week. A week! So this place was a great deal in comparison, I guess. If my parents weren't helping me out, I'd end up spending as much on housing and food alone as I make at the Globe-News. I'm very lucky to have the parents I do. I'm very lucky that there's a job at ExxonMobil for me when I graduate if I decide to join the dark side. Principles are for crybabies, right?
How did I manage to get totally off topic? I was trying to say that I love the feeling of walking into a newly-cleaned apartment: the carpet has vacuum lines, the floor is sparkling, my sheets smell like fabric softener. If I knew how to clean, I'd be the cleanest girl in the world. Instead, I told my mother I didn't have the cleaning genes required of me to dust the living room or wash the floor. You know, sometimes I hate DNA.
07-15-2002 5:44 PM - comments (0)
what are the kids calling them nowadays?
I'd like to respond to a recent post of Chris Hill's. He suggests that impressionable teenagers consider the implications of getting a tattoo or a piercing. Years down the road, will they still want that rad skull and crossbones tattoo or the tongue ring? While I agree with his argument--parents with tattoos scream "white trash"--piercings can be removed quite easily, allowing people to indulge in their punk fetishes without worry. I am one such person who, before I graduate from college and coed couture, would like to go a little piercing-crazy. I am not so stubborn in my 21-year-old ways that I think I would want a metal ball in my tongue forever. Forever is a long time.
P.S. Although I wouldn't get a tattoo because it's not a Rachel thing to do, I don't think it's wrong to have them. Most people I know with tattoos chose something subtle and, for the most part, hidden from public. But then there's the people who made a wrong turn and ended up on Highway Idiot and refused to stop and get directions back and will have to deal with their mistakes for the rest of their lives. I feel no sympathy for drivers on Highway Idiot.
P.P.S. Skulls and crossbones are actually really rad.
07-15-2002 11:44 AM - comments (0)
I was having a rotten day at work yesterday; my boss/Rumors co-conspirator, Jim, was giving me a headache with his insufferable sarcasm, delivered with his signature nasally Illinois accent. I came home, took a ridiculously long shower and scrubbed more of the day off than usual. An hour later, newly-tanned legs softened by the appropriate Victoria's Secret lotion, eyes properly lined in jet black and everything else left to the imagination, I felt much better. I felt even better after the requisite cherry vodka sour and cosmopolitan.
Alcohol is not a cure for anything. I've had enough experience with it to know. I respect the choice to avoid it entirely, but I think I've grown up where it's concerned. I don't feel compelled to drink every weekend. I don't feel compelled to get drunk when I do choose to drink. I drink moderately and responsibly. That said, there's a point between cold sobriety and sweaty intoxication that reminds me of the slippery point between being awake and being asleep. Things are surreal. People are happier. The music sounds better.
I walked back from the jukebox last night, and I felt every man in the bar watching me. I wasn't being harassed. I was simply being watched and appreciated in an admittedly superficial manner. I wasn't there to share my thoughts on journalistic ethics with a bunch of blue-collar men who hold onto their beer bottles for dear life, happily watch the women from a distance who are resigned to the fact that they will be going home alone on a Saturday night in a lifetime replete with lonely Saturday nights.
No, I was there to assume a persona of mine that I have to keep closeted most of the time: the girl who doesn't take herself seriously, who can laugh at a dirty joke without blushing, who can feel sexy and confident in a room full of men. She thrives on the attention of the opposite sex. She wears too much eyeliner. She feels like the song "Hella Good" was written so she could walk across a room when it was playing.
But she's not really me. She's just a character I play when I'm lonely and insecure and want to forget reality for a couple of hours. Unlike me, she doesn't have to worry about her weight or if she's talking too quickly or if men are looking into her eyes and not elsewhere or how much prettier every other girl in the room is. She is the prettiest girl in the room, at least for the duration of the fantasy. For me to abandon her now would take a remarkable show of strength, and I don't want to be that strong. I never want to wake up and realize I've turned into her, but I can't hate her.
07-14-2002 8:03 PM - comments (0)
-I have the strongest desire to sit around in my bathrobe and watch reruns of VIP all day.
-To expound on the previous observation: I have decided that I like Pam Anderson. Her interviews in Jane are really great. Plus she's gorgeous, every manufactured inch of her.
-The 198th anniversary of Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton's duel was Thursday. I fell in love with Aaron Burr sometime during Mr. Tumlinson's AP History class three and a half years ago. He's probably my favorite character in U.S. history (Merv Griffin is definitely up there). This is a guy who tried to sell America to another country; how neat is that?
-Jen posted about the movie Waking Life, and her response intrigued me. When I was younger, I believed we were all part of God's dream, which I thought explained the randomness and horror of the world. It actually still does, and I don't think it's any more farfetched than the idea of God itself. Michael has an interesting theory about it as well, but I would most likely explain it in such a way that I would be unintentionally discrediting him in the process. All I'll say is that it has to do with an elaborate computer program.
-Michael and his robot team are being interviewed by the BBC and some trade magazines in the near future about their research. I work for a small newspaper, changing instances of "since" to "because" and getting hyper over dependent clauses. You should probably take his ideas more seriously than mine.
-Is VIP on yet?
07-14-2002 9:30 AM - comments (0)
I inflicted some major damage today in Express. Jen's to blame--she was telling me about a skirt she got there that sounded darling, and it made me long for the good old days of shopping bags full of trendy clothes and $1000 debt on my Discover card. I returned some stuff to Victoria's Secret (who was I kidding? I don't even know how thigh-highs work), and proceeded to my very favorite store (in the mall; I'm a sucker for Urban Outfitters, even if I don't seem it). Here is why I am allowed to spend money: I find great deals. Really. Everything I bought today was something I had wanted to buy at full-price. I got two pairs of jeans (Jen, we need to compare notes); a long-sleeve, off the shoulders black blouse; a sleeveless black ruffly shirt (made of the same loose, silky material of the other shirt); a black v-neck t-shirt, a black and white houndstooth mini-skirt; a silver, black and red bracelet and an adorable brown purse with bronze grommets.
In summary, I got $300 worth of stuff for $100. A capitalist would say I had earned $200 in economic rent (or some term like that. I can remember all about liquidity and GNP and capital accounts from a 300-level political economic relations course, but I can't remember stuff from basic microecon). Michael and my mother would say I had spent $100 that I shouldn't have. I'll just wear my sexy black blouse and dark skinny-fit jeans while I'm taking the capitalist high road.
07-13-2002 7:20 PM - comments (0)
they won't listen when the casualty rate's near one hundred percent
Have you ever heard a song from a time you thought you had put behind you, and the song, though melancholy and not at all happy, has made you yearn to live through that time again? It's completely irrational. You were not happy then. You are most likely happy now. Yet all you can do is let yourself be overwhelmed by a foreign feeling of hollow longing. Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you remember things wrongly? Why do you remember the rare moments of true happiness instead of the more telling evidence: that you cried at any private moment you could get?
One of the fundamental problems with man is his inability to see things for how they really are. He gets swept away in a romanticized past, society's persistent reminder that "it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" echoing in his ears. Why can't he realize that sometimes it is not better to have loved? Why must regret be a dirty word to him rather than the realistic and necessary emotion that it is? There are some things that never should have been.
07-12-2002 11:48 AM - comments (0)
My stalker is back. I won't go into too much detail, but now that people in the newsroom have taken to walking me to my car and advising me to take a roundabout way home, I am getting a little freaked out. To turn the matter into something more easy to digest, I composed a poem when I was driving home (disclaimer: I do not like poetry that people my age come up with. It is usually terrible. But my poems are meant to be fun, not deep, I promise. I haven't found many people my age to be deep, and the people who think they are tend to be really pathetically melodramatic. That said, if you feel the need to write deep, dark poetry, I can't stop you. But let it be known that I wish I could).
Driving home on the road
is sometimes a blur
a blur of yellow flashing lights
and police cars and streetwalkers
and the chemical brothers make me
want to dance all night long,
in a dark dance club
i see michael out of the corner
of my eye and like the way
the flashing light bounces off
his face
i smile
and then my smile slowly fades
as i remember,
michael is not here in amarillo
and then i think,
who is this person next to me
in my car?
good thing i watched so many
made-for-tv movies on lifetime
because i will be careful not to
let on that i know you are a stalker
i nonchalantly acknowledge your
presence and act like everything is all cool
even asking if you want some quesadillas from
taco cabana and if you want to change the CD
i wish i had not said that part about the
CD changing, though,
because i do not like what you changed it to (eminem)
(and i also realize that it is out of character
that i let someone mess with my radio
and you probably know it) and then i realize
something much, much worse:
i have been making up this poem out loud and
you have heard the entire thing,
even what i'm saying right now
gulp! i always do this!
um, i like stalkers?
07-11-2002 9:37 PM - comments (0)
I'm a Marilyn vos Savant fan (with a last name like that, who wouldn't be?), and one of my favorite things she does is to have readers fill in the blank of an incomplete sentence she would come up with. I think it would be fun to have an ouranophobe version of that; I'm that odd variety of girl who likes to find out all of the different ways people think. If I could take a trip into someone else's brain, I'd do it in a heartbeat (provided it wouldn't be like J.Lo's experience in The Cell). So finishing sentences might not be a glimpse into your souls, but it's about as close as I'm going to get. Plus, it'll be fun!
___________________ is something I think about constantly.
Send responses to me if you want. If I get a few, I'll come up with increasingly thought-provoking prompts. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't make promises like that.
07-11-2002 8:32 PM - comments (0)
Dammit, this stupid infomercial is making me hungry for tamales. Jeff the Burrito Guy, an Amarillo fixture who stops by all of the bars and peddles homemade burritos and tamales, didn't stop by last night. Doesn't he know he's one of of the only reasons I like going to bars? Well, it sure isn't the persistent smell of cigarette smoke and obnoxious guys who think it's their mission from God to hit on me! Help! I need tamales!
07-11-2002 11:25 AM - comments (0)
I've seen the Ronco rotisserie informerical all the way through a dozen times. It's on again right now and I cannot avert my eyes. I am utterly transfixed by this amazing "set it and forget it" machine, enough so that I'd watch the infomerical for a thirteenth time. Ron Popeil calls rack of lamb "pretty." That's disgusting. A woman in the audience just said the rotisserie was her new husband. That's disturbing. People ooh and ahh over it with more enthusiasm than most Sports Illustrated swimsuit models get from desperate men.
Mark my words: someday I will be an audience member. And then you will all be sorry.
07-11-2002 11:15 AM - comments (0)
Elaina invited me over to dinner last night (nice to have something other than a frozen dinner for once), and her little boy, James, was crazy about me. He kept following me around and plopping down next to me on the couch and showing me pictures of him and his parents (it's really adorable that someone less than two years old can identify his mom and dad in photos), and most importantly, giggling uncontrollably. I have never met a happier kid than James. So of course I'm in love with him, and it got particularly bad when he started drawing on Elaina with a pencil and she pretended that it made her really sad. When he saw her "crying," he nuzzled up to her neck in apology. He absolutely adores her.
My enchantment ended abruptly when Elaina's husband, Lorenzo, came home from work. The first thing he said when he walked in the door was "are you going out?" He was more than annoyed, and he and Elaina spent the better part of 20 minutes arguing in their bedroom about it while I watched James bound from place to place, seemingly unaffected by his parents' argument. When they finally came out, Lorenzo demanded that I make sure Elaina not talk badly about him during the evening, and reminded Elaina that she was "in hot water" when she came back.
This situation upset me for a couple of reasons. Obviously, I never want to have my husband order me around or talk to me in the tone of voice that Lorenzo used with Elaina. (I might also be angry with him because when he went out with us one time, he put all of his and Elaina's drinks on my tab without telling me.) But more subtly, I worried about James. There's something very organic about having a child around--I found myself censoring my language and changing the channel when Law and Order came on--and I wonder how much fighting and going out is too much when you're a parent. Elaina definitely needs to have some time to herself, as I imagine most parents of a two-year-old do.
I bet I'm going to be that obsessive mother at first, the one who never leaves her baby alone and is constantly worried he's going to choke on something or get a cold. If it's how I am with Elliott, I imagine it would be much worse with an actual human being.
07-11-2002 10:35 AM - comments (0)
I admit. I'm a Real World Chicago addict. I've seen all the episodes (twice, if you count my half-hearted marathon-viewing), and I have fully-formed opinions on all of the cast members. What's this? You want me to opine? I will not do so. For as much as I like to say "who cares what everyone thinks about me?", I really don't want some poor hapless visitor to come across my site and leave suddenly, all because I think "Chris is such a hottie" and "why can't hot guys just be straight?"
As I'm typing this, the song "Hot in Herre" (yes, it's supposed to be spelled that way. And Nelly is one of the few rappers who volunteers with the public school system because he values education so much. Scary, isn't it?) is on sadistic repeat in my head. For the last six weeks or so, the two songs that get stuck in my head are "I Do" by Toya and the aforementioned Nelly song. Both are hot and sticky sex anthems. Both drive me absolutely crazy. And yet all I can hear is "I am getting so hot/I will take my clothes off." Quick, get me some Fugazi. Todd Rundgren. Anything other than this sick breed of St. Louis rap!
On an entirely different topic, the votes are in about the Monkees concert. A whopping total of one person voted, in favor of me going. His exact words were "see the monkees, you shrew." I guess the ayes have it.
07-09-2002 8:40 PM - comments (0)
and i don't know if i'm ever coming home
Sweet sassy molassy! The Monkees are coming to Amarillo next week (and I thought there wouldn't be any concerts here all summer long)! Tickets are an outrageous $28. I decided my cut-off was $15, but now I'm not so sure. "Daydream Believer" is on the soundtrack to my childhood, and I used to have the biggest crush on Davy (so did Melissa, whose birthday is today). But unlike everyone else in the world, I was convinced his British accent was fake. I'm also convinced Faye Dunaway is dead. Did you hear that, Chase? DEAD.
So should I go? Keep in mind I'd have to buy a t-shirt and soda if I went, making the grand total for the evening about $50.
07-09-2002 2:13 PM - comments (0)
I watched Wild Hearts Can't be Broken tonight, mostly for nostalgia, partly because I vaguely recalled the lead actor was really, really cute. It's actually a decent movie, mostly because the lead actor is really, really cute.
In 1991, my two favorite actors were the guy from Wild Hearts Can't be Broken and Billy Campbell from The Rocketeer (come on ladies, are you with me?). Summary: chiseled pretty boys (but on the skinny side) with dark brown hair and carefully-constructed, signature smoldering gazes.
Yeah, not much has changed.
07-08-2002 6:55 PM - comments (0)
I turned on the TV this morning and was half-listening as I was checking my mail. I heard the phrase "come with me on an amazing Bible adventure" and determined that even if it were taken out of context, it still greatly frightened me.
Speaking of frightening, I can't possibly be the only person who experiences a mixture of terror and repulsion when I see G.E. Smith, the former leader of the SNL band, can I?
Melissa called me this afternoon and we talked for two hours. I miss that girl and her crazy Bible adventures. Oops, that's wild drunken revelry. I always get those confused.
I uploaded yet more pictures on the neat Yahoo! photo album thing, this time of my roommates and Elliott. I need more of Christie, and they better be in the same vein as Melissa's.
07-08-2002 2:02 PM - comments (0)
I like this website. Summer's art reminds me a lot of Paul Frank's, which is to say very very cool.
07-08-2002 1:59 PM - comments (0)
I uploaded some pictures I took of myself on my webcam. I think it's fun to watch them as a slideshow. Kind of like a carnival, except instead of clowns and rides and cotton candy, it's me looking mopey.
07-07-2002 1:42 PM - comments (0)
I found a very girly, pink flowered corset at Victoria's Secret yesterday. It was marked down from $78 to $12.50. It's absolutely gorgeous. Now all I have to do is figure out when I'll ever have a chance to wear it.
07-07-2002 1:05 PM - comments (0)
michael's 22--time for the mustache
Dear boy,
Happy birthday! I hope your neighbors don't steal your present. How about September 1st as your unbirthday? That's also Elliott's birthday. It would be fun.
Love,
girl
07-07-2002 9:35 AM - comments (0)
I've been reading the weblogs and Live Journals of friends of people whose weblogs I read regularly tonight. It's my normal procedure when I'm bored. I was reading the site of a very trendy--no, that's the wrong word for it; she's a veritable fashionista--girl who likes Imitation of Christ, posting near-naked pictures of herself and Jeffrey Dahmer, to name a few. Only the latter bothers me. She was fairly interesting, so I looked up her bio and decided to check out some of the journals of her friends. I scrolled down and saw that she was a member of quite a few LJ interest groups, Pro Ana being one of them. I had a sneaking suspicion it was a pro-anorexia group, so I clicked the link.
Dear God. There were almost 400 girls in the group, all bearing names like Beautiful Bones and A Hunger to Die For. The scary thing is hardly any of them have posted in the last few months. I am so afraid they're dead. And I hate them but I feel this deep pit in my stomach because I feel so bad for them. They have no control over themselves, so they refuse to eat so they can feel like they are in power of something. They don't realize that in almost no period in human history have anorexic girls looked good to anyone, and even they're never satisfied with their appearance. It's this horrible, destructive disease that has actually found acceptance among tons of girls my age. I just want to shake them, shake their mothers, shake their friends, ask them why they haven't done anything about it. How could you let someone wither away like that? How could you support someone in a quest to not eat for days on end?
What kind of fucked up society do we live in that expects girls to give up their innocence like that? Don't we have other things we could be demanding? Why can't magazines and television and Hollywood start promoting something good, something that would actually better mankind? Why can't volunteering or donating to charity be the next cause celebre among the people who run this God-forsaken society? Why can't men stop criticizing women for their appearance? Why can't they understand that we are not supposed to look like the Kate Mosses and Gwyneth Paltrows and Kirsten Dunsts that the media throws in our faces? We don't expect men to look like Brad Pitt; we "lower our standards" and deal with men in a realistic manner, judging them on their personality and intelligence. And please don't send me e-mails suggesting otherwise. Why do you think magazines like Maxim, Playboy, FHM, etc. exist? Why isn't there a female version of those if women care as much about looks as men do?
And why can't women learn to support each other? Why must we be so obsessed with embodying the paradoxical tiny-everywhere-except-for-our-breasts look? Why can't we leave the house without a firm hour of getting ready behind us? Whom are we doing it for--men or ourselves? Do we really want a man who would judge us based on something so ludicrously stupid and shallow? When's the last time any guy you know spent over a hundred dollars on an outfit, shaved for half an hour, layered on cologne or balm, spent twenty minutes in front of a mirror on his hair to look perfect for you?
I'm sorry if I'm coming off bitchy right now. Go look at some of those journals. Read them. Try to fathom what it would be like to forbid yourself from eating for three days. Try to figure out what kind of horrible thing had to go wrong with somebody before she'd be willing to destroy herself that way. And then tell me I'm way off base, that things are fine the way they are. Tell me that we don't really need another uptight feminist complaining about something so trivial.
07-05-2002 8:52 PM - comments (0)
The only thing I have to report on is my plateful of cole slaw. Cole slaw and I have a complicated relationship, probably stemming from the fact that it is stringy and crunchy, yet strangely soggy. One cannot consume cole slaw with a spoon, for the excess liquid would have no place to go and would most likely become resentful. I suggest a fork, or for the adventurous souls out there, a spork. Even if you have no cole slaw handy, a spork is highly recommended.
07-05-2002 9:59 AM - comments (0)
Elbow is perfect thinking music.
Elbow is perfect thinking music.
07-04-2002 1:01 PM - comments (0)
I don't find myself jealous of many girls, much less what I will affectionately term "online girls." But I am in total awe of this girl. She's beautiful, a tremendous artist (what I wouldn't do to own some of her prints) and seems very neat and intelligent. (She must be. She used the phrase "Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You." That's a close second to "Welcome to Caringville. Population: You," which I think can be used more often and viciously.)
I am feeling so very insecure right now.
07-03-2002 2:37 PM - comments (0)
nice boys don't kiss like that
I could be wrong, but it seems my boss and I are doing that whole Bridget Jones/Daniel Cleaver thing. I asked him to switch some of my days around so I could leave for Houston earlier. He wrote back, telling me "I think it's really sweet that you think we're going to let you leave (at all). Didn't I mention that we're like Hotel California? You can check out, but you can never leave." Then he went on to say "If there are areas you want to work or things you want to try, I'll see what we can do." Well, it all sounds innocent, but I bet it's not. This is the same sexy, suave (but shy) guy who left his wife for a Globe-News reporter a couple of years ago.
He really is a nice guy, and I would never think of pulling an actual Bridget Jones with him, but if I don't get to send him an e-mail that says "Go away. I am busy and important," I will be overwhelmingly disappointed.
07-03-2002 1:04 PM - comments (0)
Christie reported earlier this morning on scientists' attempts to blend spider and goat genes so goats could make webs out of milk. Or something along those lines. She seems to be worried about the chance goat-sized spiders would result from the experiment, terrorizing everyone. But Christie, you've failed to consider a much scarier possibility: spider-sized goats.
07-03-2002 8:24 AM - comments (0)
I had dinner at Ruby Tequila's tonight with Elaina. She used to work there, and so she knew some of the waiters. She'd get us "hooked up," she said. We did in fact get "hooked up": our drinks and queso were free. I was excited--I was saving money (sort of)! Then Elaina instructed me to give our waiter a "mad tip." The "mad tip" ended up making the dining experience as expensive as it would have been had we been charged for the drinks and queso. I'm afraid I don't understand the point of getting "hooked up," but I have a feeling the waiters sure do.
07-02-2002 6:48 PM - comments (0)
To imitate the stylings of my sexy Norwegian roommate, Christie:
Rachel is...
-the post-abortion healing ministry of the Catholic Church.
-well worth the small additional cost
-an open-source resource loading toolkit
-a means of receiving the healing grace of God
-a dork
-familiar with aliens
-worth watching
-an international musician specializing in children's and Jewish music
-named for the Old Testament figure who wept inconsolably over the loss of her child
-DULL
-Recommended
-surely one of the prettiest actresses in the movie industry
-at your service
-just a scatter of mobile homes
-Still Weeping
-a disputed point
-here to prove it
-also an admitted television and movie addict
-undergoing training to acclimatize her with the harsh conditions of the North Pole
-in love
-testing you!
-Closed For Good. The only thing you will find there are lies and ripped off information, so I suggest bypassing Rachel
-pretty much a loner
07-02-2002 10:59 AM - comments (0)
and that's why sleeping pills are a bad idea
To demonstrate how my new work schedule is affecting my mental wellness:
I typed in my name and password on Blogger, and I noticed another place to type my password in. I thought it was a little strange that they needed me to type it in twice, but with all of the (ahem) terrorism going on, maybe Blogger was trying to do its part to make the world a safer place. A screen appeared that cruelly informed me that ouranophobe was taken and that I should come up with another name. What? Ouranophobe is taken! By whom? It's my site, dammit! Who stole it!
All thoughts that went through my head before realizing that I had entered my name and password in the sign-up area rather than the sign-in area. As I would say, S.S. Yowsa.
07-02-2002 10:39 AM - comments (0)
07-01-2002 5:43 PM - comments (0)
I tried nobly to go to bed early last night. 11:30, to be exact. I woke up at 1:30 unable to sleep, and Michael graciously offered to talk to me until I fell asleep. This included him describing in amazing detail a perfect Caribbean vacation (flawless beach, jacuzzis, massages, picnic lunches, even a monkey wearing a uniform who took drink orders) we would take, and I was so enchanted that I fell asleep and had a dozen dreams about it. Reason #156092 I am the luckiest girl in the world.