I’m worldwide.
I’m worldwide.
Heal me. Finally put down my diary. I just couldn’t stop reading it. But it made me want to know what happened to all those people I used to be tight with, so I googled them. Then I googled myself [kinky!] and found a German web site featuring flash animation of a marijuana leaf turning into an exploding joint. The site contained the phrase “Wenn hoid into de Ferien well A of sches weda wad wads supa!!!!!!!!!!!!MB July,” which is adorable. I don’t know what it means, but I like it.
Total exhibitionist.
Nothing is more horrifying and fascinating than reading your old diary.
Oh, dear lord. My God. Heavens have mercy. Jesus, Mary — and Joseph, too.
Christ on a fucking bicycle.
This is too much.
“19 July, 1998. Had the accident a week ago. Smashed in my maxilla, lost three teeth, squished my septum, banged up my knee. Didn’t feel anything at first. Then I got depressed. Now I just hurt …”
“12 Oct. 1998. This is eight kinds of insane! In a week my life has turned wacky. I’ve developed a strange fascination with Iain Eastman, down the hall. I think about him all the time …”
“29 Jan. 2000. I just watched Dead Poets Society. I am filled with — an appreciation for life, a confusion for who i am, where I’m going, who I will be. I broke up with Iain a month or two ago. … Soon I’ll have new teeth, which, I guess, will close this chapter of my life, in a way …”
“11 June 2000. Listening to “Car Toons,” staring at stale Sanka, sitting on my futon in my new studio apartment in Fort Wayne, Indiana. This is so weird. … “
“12 July 2000. Tango with depression. … Matt showed me the picture he took with his accordian camera. Drooping eyes, shiny face, flat hair, weak chin. Awful. Not poetically ugly — just yucky, plain uninspired ugly. … I thought, If he can see the ugliness, everyone else can. Why haven’t they pointed it out? How did they choke back the gorge to talk to me?”
“30 Nov. 2000. Patrick won’t talk to me. I feel sick, ulcer-sick. … I know he needs time. I just hope he doesn’t break my heart. I hope England doesn’t separate us …”
“19 Feb. 2001. Ugh. Up too late procrastinating. Think I just made [a couple] dumb move[s]. … “
“03 April 2001. I smelled it in the air tonight. The scent of humidity, of things growing. This is the first day of Spring.”
“22 April 2001. Self-identity. Oh, what a bitch. Who am I? See, I can write an entry that’s not about boys. … D’oh! Three more weeks til Graduation. And then … settledness. A home, a job, and a new life … lord help me. The one thing I dread is that New Life, Post-College will mean a narrowing, an end to cool times, self-searching, self-questing, new knowledge, etc. I guess that’s where the library card comes in … “
“11 June 2001. Smoking in my bedroom with moonlight streaming in. Worked at the Times-Dispatch today. I talked to Iain and agreed to meet with him Tuesday … “
“07 November 2001. Part of me feels really comfy with getting married. The other part feels like, ‘What if?’ What if I lose all my feminist independent shtuff? What if it all comes to naught? Or is vanquished? Or is just a ruse? I just want to hold on to who I am. I think I can do that, especially with Iain to lean on … “
And you thought I was writing personal shit before.
This is like a disease, this bizarre desire to share shit with the world. Just — don’t hold it against me.
Oh, by the way.
Oh, by the way.
Case you didn’t notice, I made a teeny weeny redesign. There’s still a million bugs, but I’ll get to that when it’s not 5 a.m.
Support our troupes.
Support our troupes.
You know, I think we, as Amurrricans, should redirect our donations to those truly in need: Tiny stage companies, one-man bands, aging clowns, local musicians, listener-supported radio stations, and unicyclists.
Adventures in health care: I had the cutest doctor today. She was about four and a half feet tall and 10 months pregnant. Her name was Dr. Asra. She stuck a swab down my throat, and I don’t even hate her. We’ll find out tomorrow what my mystery ailment is.
Anyway, that’s all. More web site stuff to do!
Access denied!
Access denied!
Argh! My entire life is one fat error message right now.
Throat: “Agh! Invaders detected.”
Work e-mail: “Error. Access denied.”
Cell phone: “The line is currently busy.”
Calling doctor: “No one is available to take your call.”
Calling wedding photographer: “Thanks for calling. Leave a message.”
Printer queue: “Post-script error alert.”
Quark Xpress: “Error. Please restart your computer.”
GoLive: “Files Missing.”
Internet connection [just now]: “Connection suddenly terminated.”
WTF? It’s like Y2K was delayed three years.
Anyway, i’m tired. Time to go to bed. Gotta visit the ol’ sawbones tomorrow for some penicillin-substitute. God, I’m so diseased.
Too big for her britches.
Too big for her britches.
So I’m sitting here like a monkey at a typewriter while other people take odds on whether or not I’ll produce the HTML equivalent of ‘Hamlet.’ It doesn’t look good.
I’m working on redesigning our little webmag in GoLive. I’ve only had this for a week, but I’m upset that I’m not proficient at it yet. Things aren’t working as they should. Bugs and orphans are appearing. All told, a messy experiment.
But I’m also playing around with Supafine, so mayhaps something cool will come of it. Keep watching.
Bad habit: I really need to stop eating Redi-Wip directly from the can. It’s not a satisfactory meal substitute.
From the “Why Me?” files: I think I have contracted a rare and bizarre disease: an interesting variation on the strep throat theme. Something is staging a brand-new and painful attack on my tonsil situation. On the downside, it seems to require antibiotics and a visit to Dr. Silly.* On the upside, it doesn’t seem to be fatal nor ridiculously contagious. As such, I will cross ‘Panicked Rush to ER’ off my to-do list and replace it with ‘Sedate Trip To Doctor’s Office.’
I’ve been curled up with a bottle of Alleve watching ‘Mallrats’ and ‘High Fidelity’ for the last two days, if anyone’s missed me.
*[Dr. Silly = our GP. He is by far the goofiest, laughiest doctor I’ve ever had.]
In an uncomfortable place …
I love the smell of commerce in the morning.
Smooth machine: Guess who got her new toys?
Small Dog made my day by delivering my eMac Wednesday evening, after a long and depressing day at work.
Been playing ever since.
The scanner’s a bit of a bitch, but we’re working around it. Hopefully Photoshop arrives tomorrow. Printer’s a doll-baby. iTunes is making Iain happy. Everything’s so pretty. And zippy-fast, too.
I’m smiling. Finally.
Not too much else is new. I’d like everyone to congratulate Jen on getting a job in the Windy City! Her unemployment barely lasted a month, the lucky duck.
I’m all bejiggedy.
I’m all bejiggedy.
Oh, this fucking dream, man. I had this dream last night. We’re living in California. We have a cute little house. But there’s a problem with the house. The old dead lady in our living room is causing problems. Her brain tumor is growing into our sofa and making a mess.
We live in a housing complex that’s part mausoleum and part new development. Our dead resident is misbehaving, though. I’m concerned, because I’m thinking she should be in a box, or something, not just laying there with her tumory, twiggy head on the sofa. I’m walking past other houses, I peek in the windows, and I see that their dead residents are contained neatly in metal filing-cabinet coffins, half-in and half-out of the house, installed into the wall. The part that’s in the house is serving as a seat for a guy I see through the window. He’s sitting astride the coffin, typing on his computer. I think, “See, that guy’s got it worked out OK.”
We call the housing manager, and he fixes the dead lady.
There was more, but I can’t remember it.
Other scariness: So I put through the order [So I says to Mabel]. Seriously, anyway. So I put through the order for the new Mac, printer, scanner, software. Big fat charge on the little bitty card. But I did it, took the plunge, et cetera. Looking forward to playing with it. Hope nothing goes wrong.
Todd, dude, I want a mad lib.
All right. I don’t want to go to work. I don’t want to get dressed. I don’t want to make my lunch, take a shower, leave the apartment. But, I guess I’m going to have to do that. It’s easier to collect the paycheck when you actually show up for work.
Here’s to hoping they fixed the bug in the database and killed the virus in the printing shop. Otherwise …. it’s going to be a very looong week.
Ooops.
Ooops.OK. ‘Case you were wondering, you can read the “about me” at left now. Fixed it. Sorry.
Oh, and another thing. I
Oh, and another thing.
I meant to post about Friday. We drove down to Arlington or Alexandria or some place. D.C., I guess. Saw Jess’n’Greg, Jillian’n’Chris, Daisy’n’Jeff, and Bethany [minus Rob]. The girls were Iain’s old high-school friends. The guys are their husbands/fiances/boyfriends, all very cool.
Daisy was cool. It was OK to see her. She lives in LA now, and fits right in, stylish as she is. [She was as impossibly beautiful as I expected, too]. Her boyfriend Jeff is an actor. He just shot a bratwurst commercial. He looks like a common-man’s [?] Jimmy Fallon. He was the only other one who smoked.
We all went to The Melting Pot, an exorbitantly-priced restaurant, where, as you would figger, they hand you little bits of food for you to cook in a fondue pot. Our bill hovered near $400.
But we had a good time. Jillian is a whirlwind, a little suburban tornado with unbelievable-but-true stories of her time in LA, bustling into Gwyneth Paltrow’s birthday party, buying a Prada bag to match her Maltese, things like that. [I guess her dad played for the Steelers, so it kinda makes sense.] Her fiance, Chris, was like a much-mellower Randy Jackson, if Randy Jackson was in med school. Bethany was as sweet as always, very interested in what was going on. Jessica was also sweet, playing hostess and just being nice. I think this was the first time I met her; I don’t know if she was at the wedding [I’m horrible!]. Her husband, Greg, is a real nice guy, in the military, same mind-set as Iain so they got along.
Daisy took pictures, so I’ll probably post one one of these days.
But really, it was a good time, which is unusual for me when i hang out with people i don’t know very well.
I tend to clam up and do “Quiet Girl In Corner,” reminding myself that I’m a very cool person on the inside, even if these schmucks don’t bother to find that out. And i get all self-conscious and shit, and don’t say much, and force a smile as I listen to strangers talk about whatever, and feel left out.
But this time my insides and my outsides matched, if that makes sense, and I was able to be myself and talk and have a good time. I don’t know if it was the fondue, or if it was because I’m Iain’s girl now, or just because these guys are so damn friendly and nice. I don’t rightly care, anyhow, because it was fun.
When I said “We should all do this again sometime,” I meant it. And I hope we do.
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