Poor Tess.

2004-04-27T16:55:00.000-07:00

Well. It is official.

If you still love me, you will find me Here.

Hopefully.

2004-04-25T11:50:00.000-07:00

Dude.

I am the NUMBER ONE search result for "Ghetto Bitches" via Google AND aol.com

I feel like I have finally made it.

I've bought webspace, and am currently trying to make sense of Moveable Type, the blogging program designed by FUCKING SADISTS.

Eventually, this site will die. Because I broke it. And just because. More later.

2004-04-23T18:39:00.000-07:00

So, Tony called me today from the hospital.
He'd tried to pick up a box at work, and experienced this excruciating pain in his knee. He tried to bend it and he couldn't. He called me at work [where I wasn't yet - HAD I been, I would have told him to go to our family doctor, go to the medcheck, go to my MOTHER, but for chrissakes don't go to the hospital.].

The hospital was remodeling. I went to see him on my lunch break, and it took me nearly forty minutes to find him. When the receptionist told me, 'Go to the nurses' station and they will show you where he is', what she REALLY meant was, 'Go to the nurses' station and some crabby woman in pink scrubs with bad hair will sit in front of you, no speaking, no eye contact and reorganize her fucking purse for fifteen goddamned minutes. I found him, eventually, after asking about six different people to help me and being taken in about six different directions, sitting behind a thin, flowered curtain, bare-assed in the hospital gown and looking very, very bored.

The whole way I had been planning the next few months. Tony would have knee surgery and not be able to walk for the next six weeks, at least. I would get a second job because we cannot afford this apartment on my income alone. Maybe Tony could work from home...Stick bobbypins onto cards, or whatever Bjork did in Dancer in the Dark. Maybe we would not be evicted, starving in the streets. Maybe I would not be arrested for not making my monthly tax payment on time.

So. Tony has.
Arthritis.

We bought Aleve and Insoles.
And...that's it. Arthritis.
I'm going to go lie down now.

2004-04-18T11:02:00.000-07:00

Internet down.

Apartment management staff incompetent.

More later.

<3 KQ.

2004-04-16T09:23:00.000-07:00

Stolen from Nicole, because I am totally unoriginal in every sense of the word:

Goals for the rest of my life:

• Write something. Solid, on paper. That I won't give to my friend Bryanna and force her to burn.
• Raise children somewhere in Southern Ontario. Or Newfoundland. I haven't decided.
• Learn how to sing.
• Steal violin back from little brother.
• Learn how to play said violin.
• Be able to leave my house for a social function. of some sort.
• Stop blushing every time I am required to speak to anyone but the Tonies.
• Go to school. Somehow. For something.
• Be able to enjoy parties without drinking heavily and saying mean things about everyone involved.
• Find a decent job in the underbelly of the medical world that DOES NOT involve ghettobitches. [damnit, Abigail, I think you ruined my life.]
• Or, overcome feelings of hostility towards ghettobitches.

Yeah. I think I need some better goals. Keep shooting for the stars, right ?

2004-04-15T15:40:00.000-07:00

Strange things have been happening.

I have spent countless hours at CompUSA, trying to argue that Windows 98 is a perfectly respectable operating system and pissed because our dinosaur of a computer can't handle it's very own USB port, for some reason. I said something to Tony about shoving my Windows 98 up someone's ass at one point, which is very unlike me. I promise.

I have been practicing making direct eye contact with random strangers, and I always get mad if they don't get embarrassed and look away first.

I have also been thinking about nursing school, but all of the sudden I can't decide if I really want to be a nurse, or if I just see this as an easy way to force people to respect me.

I think Hospice is getting to me a bit. I'm not depressed or angry or even at all sad - I just find myself...completely spacing out for long intervals, seeing meaning in every tiny thing I notice, which is becoming incredibly annoying. Today, on the way home from class, I was sitting at 46th and College, waiting to turn left. I was staring at...something...thinking about...something...When I looked over and realized that the bus stop had collapsed. Just then, it had collapsed. The top was half way down the block, the street was covered with twisted bits of metal and broken glass. People were standing around, staring at this mess as if it had just fallen from the sky (which, in a way, I suppose it did.). An older woman was rushing a small crying boy into the gas station. He was holding his arm. But. It collapsed right in front of me, and I didn't see it happen. I didn't even hear anything. I mean. Surely, it must have made some noise, and I just...missed it. Somehow.

So then my sister popped into my head. My sister with her two young children and her dying husband. My sister whose own father won't speak to her despite the situation she is in. For some reason, I have only sat down and spoken with her once since we've been home from Canada. Every time I get two days off, I say to someone that I'm going to go down and visit them, to see how my brother-in-law is doing. Something in my mind clicked, and everything that has ever happened to me has become fused with the symbolism of the Collapsing Bus Stop. I am afraid that I will just...drift through everything, concentrating on the things that don't really mean anything, and all around me, my family, my friends, everything I love will slowly disappear and I won't even notice.

I'm more than a little pissed off that this bus stop situation has come to mean so much to me in the last half hour, but I suppose we can't choose our epiphanies, can we ?

2004-04-08T14:54:00.000-07:00

Today we had a lecture from the hospice's head bereavement counselor. The three solid hours of overwhelming grief and sadness were punctuated by a man in a a white, fluffy bunnysuit driving his wheelchair back and forth in front of the doorway. Apparently, he delivers the mail.

I don't think anybody else noticed him.

We also had to write our own obituaries. Other people got upset and cried - they didn't want to deal with the reality of their own deaths. When asked why I thought the assignment was annoying, I told her that I just couldn't come up with anything to say besides, 'Kelly is dead. She really, really liked ponies. Surely, the world will now be consumed by a Great Fireball of Despair in her absence.' I didn't really write that last part. I am also not exactly sure what a 'fireball of despair' is. But, whatever. It sounds sufficiently melodramatic.

I am making a literal two gallons of marinara sauce. I have enough groceries to feed everyone their own private lasagne at Tony's Birthday Dinner tonight. I just have to go buy some more pans.

Backtothekitchen.

2004-04-06T18:28:00.000-07:00

I don't know his name, but he lives in the building across the courtyard from me. I think he's around thirty. He's seriously overweight and I see him nearly every day - now that it's warm - standing out by the street, wearing the same gray sweatshirt, waving a yoyo and giving the peace sign to all the passing cars. I always forget he's there until it's too late, I'll see him in my rearview mirror, swinging that thing and waving his two fingers at the back of my car. The other day, he was walking up and down the sidewalk and singing to himself. The grass was so green and it was such a perfect twilight that I wanted to go take his picture, but I didn't want to scare him. So I just watched him dance around until his mom came out and dragged him into the apartment.

Tonight, as I was coming in after work, he was in the usual spot...kind of twirling around. His mom burst out of their apartment - hair in curlers, waddling in her house slippers - and yelled his name, told him it was time to come inside. He laughed and started running for the other side of the street. She followed him around forever, telling him that she was tired and that it was time for dinner and that he had better get his ass inside. I could hear her through my open windows. For some reason, it almost made me cry.

2004-04-04T08:35:00.000-07:00

Mr Kafkaesque is right. The last time a movie was shown on one of my flights, I was on my way to Alaska - connecting flight from Minneapolis to Anchorage. It was. Like. 36 hours. 36 hours of sitting between my two little brothers, each with their own personal hand-held video game console and each with their own personal inability to turn the goddamned volume down. In my teenage melodrama, I was reading Anne Rice's Violin. Yes. I know. I'm sorry. The movie was a welcome distraction. For the first thirty seconds.

They. Showed. Air Bud. TWICE. In a row. AND AGAIN on the flight home. I'm pretty sure that ugly dog has some sort of contract with Northwest Airlines.

'Northwest Airlines hereby is contracted and promises to show the movie Air Bud at least 72 times per week. Also, our stewardesses will be required to dislocate a minimum of 13 elbow and knee joints per flight with their Gigantic Drink Carts of Death. The fact that 75% of passengers on every flight will suffer from lost luggage goes without saying.'

I will leave and go to breakfast now, since Tony won't stop playing "Shout Out the Time".

2004-04-02T04:24:00.000-08:00

Sitting here, waiting for Tony to get out of the shower so we can meet my mom at the coffeeshop and drive to the bank to sign the loan papers. Willing my stomach not to get upset, even though I've woken the beast about two hours earlier than what it is used to. Trying to decide whether or not coffee this early will be a disastrous, horrid mistake.

I haven't bought a car in (wait...how old am I ?) 6 years. I'm a little rusty. I'm trying to decide exactly what's going to go wrong. Maybe I asked the bank for 500$ instead of 5000$. Maybe we'll be, like, fifty dollars short. Maybe the car will fall apart the very second we drive it out of the parking lot. Maybe we'll forget to start the insurance before we leave, and I'll get in a terrible accident on the way to work and spend the rest of my life fighting lawsuits and having my "wages" garnished.

Last night, I realized during my class that I forgot to take my medication, but in my creeping state of paranoia, I didn't want to take it in front of all those social workers. Surely they would somehow read the label from across the room and then instantly know what is wrong with me. Because. You know. Those social workers know people. I'm kind of wishing right now that I had braved the embarrassment. I don't feel like myself. But wish me luck, all the same.

[New cars are good for things like driving out East to visit Karla. Yay. :)]

2004-04-01T18:47:00.000-08:00

I can't remember the name of my favorite woman from my hospice class. It ends in an 'I'. She's older, has lost a husband and her best friend to colon cancer and carries her glasses around in a little quilted case embroidered with teddy bears and wrapped presents. Last week, our first class, she cryptically referred to something she calls her 'death library'. Tonight, she confided in the chaplain - and the rest of the room - that she's concerned that she does not fear going to hell. She doesn't believe in it, but she explained that there is this lingering doubt that she's 'made the wrong choice'. She compared death and the Journey Into the Unknown to that Christmas slide in a Christmas Story, where the kid gets a boot to the face. I accidentally laughed a little louder than everyone else and she game me this sort-of sheepish look. I like that we're the only two atheists in the class. It's like we both share this huge secret, even though we've never spoken directly to each other and probably never will.

Tonight, as an introduction to the Queen Social Worker, we were supposed to give our names and the qualities that we feel we will contribute to the hospice environment. Everyone else was a social worker themselves, or a nurse, or a theology student. All I could muster was, 'My name is Kelly. I guess it will help that everyone I meet has this incredible need to fill me in on every morbid detail of their life..unsolicited. But I don't mind' I then realized that I had said this whole thing OUT LOUD and my vision went. The whole room turned grey, and ten seconds later, when it was completely back, I looked down at the styrofoam cup of water I was holding and I was shaking so badly that it had spilled. I don't think anyone noticed.

When I was in high school, my English teacher made me get up in front of the class and give an improv half-minute speech about the internet, of all things. I stood up, felt all the blood from my face, gripped the side of my desk as tightly as I could and muttered something about 'spilling water on my mother's keyboard' and 'CompuServ goth message boards' and then just stood there in pathetic silence until my time was up, staring at no particular spot on the chalkboard.

Really. I'm the most neurotic person I know.
But. If you want to tell me all about how your stomach has been bothering you or all the different warts you have, I don't mind. Honest.

2004-03-27T16:50:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Butch yelled at me and made me cry. At work. In front of both doctors, all of my coworkers, and about half of our patients. He called me "Little Girl" and told me to stop calling him. He told me that he'd 'tow my car when he felt like it'. Also something about how he can only do what he can do and a monster truck rally at four pm. He didn't care that the Evil Parking Lot Gods were threatening to tow away my car FOR me unless I got it done by close of business yesterday. And then he hung up on me. Mean.

So. We called a different company. THIS guy - and his girlfriend - were out in the parking lot waiting for me in forty minutes flat. Instead of introducing himself, he just yelled though the window, 'YOU GOT THE MONEY ?' I did. So I climbed up into the tow truck with Mr. and Mrs. Tow and we drove down to Tony's dead-forever car. They were listening to Judge Judy on the radio, something about a broken engagement so the woman wanted her dishes back, or whatever. Mr. Tow got out to look at the car, leaving his ladyfriend and me inside. She was nice. She was wearing one of those long, black, almost-a-dress-nightgowns and very sensible shoes. She was trying to figure out how to fill out a receipt for me, so she was cussing under her breath, but alternately smiling and asking me sweetly how I'd heard about them. When Mr Tow finished, she held out her hand and said, 'thirty dollars'. All I had were two twenties. She took my money and looked at me expectantly...And then the lightbulb went off and she realized that she owed me change. She said, 'Ohfuck. You need a ten, doncha ?' and reached waaay down...into the front of her dress. And pulled out a crumpled ten dollar bill from her bra.

It wasn't warm like I expected it to be.

2004-03-25T05:50:00.000-08:00

So. In my dream last night, my dad apologized and then the world ended because of this horribly contagious, bleeding-eye plague.

Shut up, subconscious.

2004-03-24T19:22:00.000-08:00

Tod: You know, Mrs. Buchman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car - hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.

That was a really good movie.

So, Tony's car died. It died, and then Tony dragged it five miles down the highway with a snapped axel. Subsequently, the pavement along the way ate his entire tire and half of the rim. I hate car shopping. I hate that moment when the nice old man with the long fingers and nice jewelry comes out with our credit reports - He looks at Tony and says something like, 'Well, you don't have much...but it's not bad. In a year or so, you'll be able to get any car you want.' And then he rests his no-nonsense, grandfatherly gaze upon me and says, 'And YOU, little lady, are about to get my Credit Sermon.'

Now. I'm not really implying anything here, but I think it's sort of funny that the reason my credit is in such poor shape is that I was stuck in Canada for a year. Stuck in Canada, with all my mail being forwarded to my Loving Father's house. I mean. I know one has to take a certain amount of responsibility for one's actions, but. When one thinks all of her utility accounts have been paid off and closed, she tends not to check for outstanding balances. And when that girl comes home to a stack of letters from the electric company stating that they are threatening to take her to court over a one hundred eighteen dollar debt, naturally she will ask her Loving Father WHY he didn't TELL her.

Of course. His response will be, 'Well. I figured your mom would tell you. And I didn't want you to worry.'

And, I also suppose that the perfect end to this story is that Tony and I can not seem to buy a car to replace the piece of shit my Loving Father sold us because he has 'too much on his plate' to cosign for a year.

What makes it worse is that, when I ask him for anything, he can never give me a simple 'no'. He has to go on and on and whine about it and make stuff up. Of all the Glorious Lessons my Loving and Attentive Father has taught me, I have learned two things: I will not be ignored, and I will not be lied to. Unless HE is the one doing the ignoring and/or lying. And then I just call my mom and cry a lot.

So. End Result: I'm fucking moving to Utah.
Do they have cheap cars there ?

2004-03-19T19:36:00.000-08:00

My mom's dogs fight like bears - hind legs on the floor, front paws on each others' shoulders, snarling and waving their enormous heads around. They pause every few seconds and stand completely still for no apparent reason, and then go at it again. Maybe they're checking to make sure that the other is still okay - that they're still playing. Tonight, between the brawls, the dogs devoured two envelopes, a starfux bag, and about twenty sheets of tissue paper. It was my littlest brother's birthday - he turned 11. Dinner was at a crowded, backwoods pizza place that has somehow come to possess every piece of Michael Jordan Paraphernalia in the world, with my family and seven hyper, cheese-addicted, blond, buzz-cut little boys. The smallest one kept shouting the strangest things - 'I have EIGHT hairs in my armpit !' and, 'When I get older, I'm going to join the army and then KILL MYSELF !'. The kid next to him spilled his coke (infused with about eight packets of sweet&low), and I swear I saw Weird Kid snort it up into his nose through a straw.

Highlight of the evening was when my mother came up to me in the kitchen, a half-laughing, horrified expression on her face, and showed me the bag of loose change my Grandmother had sent to Cameron for his birthday. It had ten dollars in it. One for...each...year. Minus...one year. Perfect. My birthday acknowledgement from the same grandmother was a card with a kitten on the front, and a scrawled note that went something like, 'Sorry. Lost card under pile of papers. Love Grandma Smith.'. So. I mean. At least he got quarters. If he goes to the arcade any time soon, he'll have it MADE.

Do kids still go to the arcade ?

2004-03-15T18:47:00.000-08:00

I saw three UFOs fly over the new Taco Bell on the way home tonight. Well. It's not quite a Taco Bell yet. It always kills me how they do that - sneak in under cover of night, tear down perfectly innocent Taco Bells and rebuild entire new, more fashionable Taco Bells in. Like. A weekend. Why don't they just paint it ? I always think of the stories I heard in high school - the ones where so-and-so's manager paid him eighty dollars NOT to tell anyone that he found roaches in the refried beans - while I'm enjoying my 22-grams-of-fat-seven-layer-burrito. But. That's just me.

Best Doctor Quote of the Day:
Coworker: Hey ! Dr. Mean ! Do you want to come in and work for me tomorrow ?
Dr. Mean: Ha. If I had to come in and do YOUR job tomorrow, I'd kill myself.

Thanks for that enlightening tidbit, Doctor.
Andgoodnight.

2004-03-14T08:28:00.000-08:00

Fun Things:

• I got my ears pierced yesterday. The poor girl did a very good job - despite the fact that I kept yelling, 'OHMYGOD, don't miss and pierce my BRAIN !', and 'Did you go to SCHOOL for this ?!'. She did not pierce my brain. End Result: My ears feel...heavy...and I'm afraid to sleep on my side now.

• I got to stay a whopping hour and fifteen minutes late last night, because Dr. Mean decided that I should do all this extra shit for our last four patients, one of whom spoke English. Of course. He snuck out the lab and left work right on time. Know what ? If it's after six on a Saturday, I don't care if there's a "big shadow" in the photo of your left eye. Let's just call it Macular Degeneration, okay ? Have a lovely evening. Smile.

• I got hit on by a thirteen year old boy. So I made fun of him for being colorblind. Great times.

• After spending all that extra time at work, I exited the building and spent yet another two hours in the parking lot, trying to help New Girl change her flat tire. In the dark. With no light. After nearly cracking the frame, and then taking the car back down and trying to inflate the tire with an old bicycle air pump, we finally got things moving after some kindly strange man pulled into the spot next to us, and leaned out of his window to give us pointers. Hey, Mr. I-Have-A-Penis ? I am a girl. I'm all for empowerment andeverything, but. Change my fucking tire. Now.

Fin.

[I started knitting this amazing little sweater for my friend's two-year-old, but it's turning out to be very tiny. Who has a small baby with impeccable taste ? I would hate to let this beaut go to waste. Let me know if you want it.]

2004-03-08T15:29:00.000-08:00

Remember that part in What About Bob where Bob is in the diner, and Gill the fish is in a jar around Bob's neck ? And he starts yelling that he needs some water QUICKLY because Gill is going to scream ? I will never laugh at that part again. This morning, when I woke up, THREE of my fish were dead. Just like that. Kaput. Lucky (better known as THE SICK ONE) was still intact; swimming happily in and out of the colliseum. So. Pet Store #1 gave me some salt, told me to change the filter, said the rest of the fish would be okay. I went home and put the salt in. THEN TWO MORE died. Correction: One died, one decided to spend te next two hours gasping for breath, upside down at the bottom of the tank. It was very unsettling. I went to Pet Store #2. This time I took Lucky with me. I wanted them to look at the stuff on his fins, and I also didn't want to leave him home alone in the death tank.

Watching people wander up and down the aisles with their dogs - and sometimes kitties - I looked down at Lucky swimming around in my little Gladware bowl and realized why people were looking at me so strangely. I made it to the front of the cashier line (to buy more goddamned Ick medicine, stupidfish), and when the girl looked at me funny, I stared her down and said in my best deadpan voice, 'Oh. You know. I TRY to leave him at home, but then he just whines and whines and scratches at the inside of the fishtank and I feel so GUILTY'. She never questioned it.

Pray for Lucky.
Or. Whatever you do. You know.

2004-03-06T11:35:00.000-08:00

The woman who cut my hair today introduced herself as, "Chi Chi". She was 5'1" and had some of the puffiest black hair I'd ever seen. I had been eyeing her since I sat down with my Newsweek Stoke Victims Article, silently praying that I would get anyone besides her.

Well.

She told me that she was ambidextrous, which she also claimed was very lucky for me, seeing as that way 'a very nice wedge' may be obtained. I was basically unable to react, since she was - at that very moment - spraying that conditioner-infused water right into my eyes. She was very sweet though, told me all about how her husband died after I, for some reason, confided in her that my Hospice course is going to start in a couple of weeks. I really need to stop telling people about it. Either they think I'm crazy and never talk to me again, or they list everyone they've ever known who has died. Ever. Midway through my haircut, Chi Chi took off her shoes. She opened the cabinet underneath her mirror to reveal two other pairs of shoes - each one exactly the same - and put one of those pairs on. At least, I think they were the same. She had made me take off my fabulous new glasses (shutup) and I was still partially blinded by the conditioner.

So. Hair trimmed, poncho shaken out, "gratuity" taken care of, I started to bolt for the door when she started waving a picture of a blonde child in front of me and repeating, 'DOESN'T THIS LITTLE GIRL LOOK JUST LIKE MARY KATE AND ASHLEY OLSEN ?! OH, SHE's NOT MINE...'

I hit my elbow on the door frame whilst running away.

******

2004-03-06T06:58:00.000-08:00

So, Lucky is my favorite. He always seems a little confused - his head is almost always much higher than his tail - he swims around the tank nearly vertically. At first, we thought the other fish were somehow offended by is uniqueness. We thought maybe they were jealous of our love for Lucky and were beating him up when our backs were turned. But. This is not so. Poor Lucky has a fine coating of what looks like fluffy cotton all over his cute little fins. I feel bad now about staring down Timmy - the biggest stripey tetra - so many times because I thought he was mistreating my poor Lucky. He IS a bully, though. No mistaking that.

Now I have a green aquarium and some very disoriented fish. And Lucky's still not better.
Cross your fingers.

Unrelated: The other day, I reread one of my posts and then, because I am a terrible masochist, visited this page. The contrast is still making me giggle.

2004-03-03T19:05:00.000-08:00

It seemed absolutely perfect that the reason I spent half an hour on my knees in front of the fabulous, new laser printer trying to pry a crumpled, tiny piece of paper out from where it was stuck with a pair of tweezers was because someone had tried to make a copy of an insurance card and it had gotten stuck. Absolutely perfect that the insurance card represented my absolute least favorite of all the insurance companies - my nemesis, A___. They have this automated voice activated menu, hosted by a computerized man's voice. I have nightmares about this voice. I wake up in the middle of the night, hearing 'Please indicate whether you are a member or a provider.' ... 'Zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-pound is not an eligible response. Are you a member or a provider ?' I hate you, Mr. Computerized A____. So. Anyways. It was right around the moment - fishing around the machine with someone's tweezers (why did I even TOUCH those ?) - that my Fearless Leader reminded me that I should be very careful, seeing as how the printer was still on and I thought of all the job offers I have had recently. I'm averaging about one a week now, and somehow, I have not taken any of them.

Some random things:

This morning at the BP, I only wanted come coffee and a bagel. What I got instead was a lengthy lecture from a rather large man on the evils of using my debit card for small transactions. He told me all about the time he forgot about one of his purchases and how he accidentally bounced a check. THEN he told me about how his brother got arrested for closing his account while the bank was moving some money around - he wound up with about $400 that wasn't his. They made him give it back. It all sounded very exciting. When his coworker said to me, 'Doesn't he remind you of your father ?', I replied with, (before I could stop myself) 'I dunno. Does he think I'm a sponge ?' Hey. It was early.

We had dinner at this Mexican place tonight, two tables down from a balding fratboy and four giggling girls wearing sweaters made for toddlers. For half an hour, I had to listen to this scrawny, beer guzzling little asshole yell at the top of his lungs about how, 'You know, I don't expect my girl to be a supermodel, or anything, but...hey. Get off your lazy ass. Stop watching TV and eating crap all the time. I mean, if the people on TV can do it, anyone can, right ? I mean. At least they TRY to look nice. Shit. Get yourself a personal trainer. What does that cost, five GEES ? Fuck ! That's nothing !' I glared at him for a good five minutes and fought the urge to mouth "beer gut" and "cirrhosis" over and over, but he never looked up. Eh well. Prolly for the best.

And my fooshes are sick :(
Lucky has a fungus.

2004-02-28T20:30:00.000-08:00

My dad took me out for my Birthday Dinner Number Two tonight. It was just us and his wife. I was nervous, for some reason, and maybe had a little bit too much wine. I kept catching myself half-shouting things like, 'OHMYGOD, why do they just keep on PROCREATING ?', and 'Sometimes, I WORRY that I might be TURNING GHETTO !' right at the very moment everyone in the restaurant would become completely silent. I swear, the world is against me. I'm on to you.

Yes. Everybody loves the twelve-year-old lush in the corner. The one with the huge black stain on her collar. Guzzling wine and shoving her mouth full of salad, all-the-while regaling her dinner companions with amusing tales of German cannibals. 'He bled him like a deer. You know how they bleed deer ?!'

But, no matter. As horrid as my dinner behavior was, I still ended the evening by a relaxing trip to Target with my father. I walked out of those magical, red doors with a brand spankin' new area rug - that looks JUST like one my Animal Crossing character has - and my arms full of Toblerone bars.

I hope my birthday never ends.

2004-02-27T19:51:00.000-08:00

The Shrimp Hut on Keystone went out of business. I drove past it on my way home from work today and the lights were off. All the chairs were up on the tables, somebody had already taken all the signs down. Funny thing is, as often as I have driven past that place, this was the first time I'd ever seen it closed. It had turned into kind of a running joke between Roommate Tony and me - no matter what time we were out, the Shrimp Hut was always open.

It's just kind of odd, all the little details I take in about everything and promptly file away or forget. I can't say take for granted, because they're not really mine to take for granted. I think. Like today, standing outside the bank waiting for it to open. It had looked warm this morning so I was sans coat and freezing my ass off. I was second in line, behind an older Hispanic guy in a blue carwash jumpsuit with some old and sad-looking wingtips. I hate going to the bank in the morning, there are always other people standing around freezing with me, and nobody ever says anything. So this morning it's just Wingtips and Me when the Brinks Armored Car pulls up and out jumps one of the biggest men I've ever seen. He was pushing a cart that was so loaded with change all of his 300+ pounds were straining against it. He came up to where we were standing, rang the bank's bell, glared at us and unhooked his gun. It took the bank people a while to come and open the door for him, and the WHOLE time, he had his right hand planted firmly on that stupid gun. Like Wingtips and I are suddenly going to overcome the Language Barrier and take him down for his box of nickels right there.

So. The deposit went on unhindered, the rest of the morning posse arrived to make their deposits and somehow, as soon as the doors were unlocked to the public, they ALL stormed in and cut in front of me and Wingtips. Assholes.

I guess I know why I forget the details so easily. People are dumb.

Also: Don't forget. Robots love their mummys, too.

2004-02-25T17:09:00.000-08:00

So, I'm 23 now.

First of all, I would like to send out a big thank you to everybody who forgot my birthday. ESPECIALLY all of my grandparents. You're great, guys. Love ya. The shocker: My dad remembered. He called me. He called me JUST to say happy birthday, and DIDN'T bring up ANYTHING ELSE. He totally refrained from lecturing me about how my interest rate on my visa card is just too high. He didn't even ask me to bake him anything.

Maybe word is getting around about the dumpster full of all my burnt cookies and scones outside.

Also: I live next to a liquor store that has a neon sign promising me a 'fast tax refund'.

Sometimes I just don't know.

2004-02-22T06:54:00.000-08:00

Morning was spent hauling furniture around an around the perimeter of my living room, trying to make everything just right. Perfectly angled, dusted, cleaned. To surprise Tony who was sleeping peacefully. What started as an early-morning, cheerful project turned me into a mean, snarly, shrieky, evil wife. A sweaty one. With many, many stubbed toes. I never was very coordinated.

But the room looks nice. The fish will be very happy here. Until they die after I've forgotten to feed them for a week. I'm sure the fish after the fish I am getting tomorrow will appreciate the layout of the furniture, also.

So will Tony. As soon as I am able to beat it into him that the room looks GREAT like this, goddamnit.

2004-02-21T16:57:00.000-08:00

It's not that I think that I am above television - because I'm not, and I can't stand it when anyone claims to be. An old "friend" of mine came to visit me at Starfux months ago, where I worked with someone else who she knew really well. I invited her over for drunken boardgames and X-Files - tony and my staple "evening in" - and she wrinkled her snotty little nose and said through her grimace, 'You mean...like...on TEEVEE ?'

Oh, no, ofcoursenot. I did not mean to offend your delicate sensibilities, you intellectual goddess...you... Now. Go back to having sex with everyone in the world's roommate. Long story.

My birthday is in two days and my mom is buying me a fishtank. I'm so excited I can barely stand it, I already have names picked out for all my fish. Now, I just have to...pick out the fish. In a moment of interior decorating epiphany, I decided to move the television into the bedroom (where we can now snuggle up and watch movies in bed) and to put the aquarium in the entertainment center, where the television once was. So, now I get a quiet living room, and hopefully the not-quite-so-accessible television will help Tony and I cut down on our viewing habits. My old rule used to be that I only watched shows where people die. My new rule is that I will only watch shows that involve moving pictures.

Needlesstosay. I was a little distraught when I emerged from the shower bright and early this morning only to find my loving husband sitting up in bed, playing video games and eating girl scout cookies.

Breakfast of Champions.

2004-02-15T17:38:00.000-08:00

A few things:

• I've been playing a lot of Animal Crossing. I've also been obsessively reading Oryx and Crake. My world has become a very strange place as of late - a mixture of armageddon, bioweaponry, live internet executions, fishing for cash and running around town to give my friends presents.

• TWO little kids' birthday parties in ONE week. Number One at Chuck E. Cheese's. Number Two at the bowling alley. Screaming. Chaos. Greed. Ghetto. Screaming. Shrieking. Four dollar beers. Strange women glaring at me all night. Mice. I got to hold a lot of babies, though. Well. One. But I didn't drop her. And she only tried to choke me twice. Today at the bowling alley I sat and watched a middle aged man wave his arms around furiously and yell that when he spends two hundred bucks on a new bowling ball, he fully expects it to improve his score. I wanted to point out the discrepancies there, but he was much bigger than me. His final score was 119.

• Two MORE little kids' birthday parties in the weeks to come. Ohgod, when will it end ?

• The World of Optometry is turning into a frightening place. Seriously, guys. Leave us alone for a couple days, okay ? I just...I want to rest. I can't take much more of this. Don't scratch the mustard stain off your crotch right in front of me. Don't tell me about the mustard stain on your crotch. Don't go on to talk about me to others as if I am not standing right there. And you...don't fucking steal the contact lens trials while I'm looking at you. There is something in the water here. Must be.

2004-02-12T20:00:00.000-08:00

I turn 23 in 11 days.
My birthday blows, nowadays. My present used to be a dinner - at Mama Corolla's, my favorite restaurant - with my mother AND my father, their Others and most of my siblings. It was nice to have everyone around me and to be able to live out some delusional, 8-year-old fantasy of a complete family for a couple of hours. This doesn't happen anymore. My parents have both remarried - to people who aren't comfortable with the idea of the Looming Ex, people who don't want to compromise and sit down and eat with the Exhusband or the Exwife.

Also, this will be the second year in a row that my Lovely Father will have forgotten my birthday*. Last year, I guess, it was just too easy. I mean, I was stuck in Canada, he hadn't seen me in a year, who can keep track of all those dates ? THIS year he will be vacationing with my new stepmother (what a horrible word) at my Evil Grandma Beef's Condo of Horrors in Glorious Gulf Shores, Alabama.

I hope they each get stung by a thousand angry jellyfish.

I know what I want, but everything seems so unattainable. I want my husband to be able to afford a car that will go for longer than 20 minutes and won't slowly poison him with spent antifreeze fumes. I want a job where people aren't allowed to call me "that girl". I want to go to school. I want to know what I want to go to school for. I want to write. I want to know what to write. I want to be able to talk to people without tripping over my words and blushing. I want to go to Utah, rent an ATV, drive out into the middle of the desert and lay down on my back, stare up at the sky and think about Edward Abbey. I want a baby. I want a kitten. I want to be able to afford things that I don't need.

As I was driving home from the Birthday Party From Hell (Christ. I didn't even know the kid.), it occurred to me that I have lived in this city for eight years now and I have made two friends. Who I don't call back, and can't ever find, anyways.

So, whatever. Fuck birthdays. The End.

* Don't you dare say anything, Mom. He. Is. On. His. Own. With. This. One. No hints. No reminders. Hegetsnothing.

2004-02-07T15:34:00.000-08:00

For the first time in about three months, I have the entire weekend off.
Today, I learned some things.

1.) DO NOT drive to the mall if it is snowing. DO NOT attempt to park at the mall if there is ANY snow on the ground. DO NOT get lost in JC Penneys. If lost, DO NOT elbow random old ladies to get a little closer to the exit. It is a lost cause. You are never. going. to. exit. Penneys.

2.) DO NOT go to Trader Joe's on a Saturday - even if you are completely out of wine and peanut butter filled pretzels. DO go to Trader Joes if you are an overdressed, all-too-hip yuppie who drives a Lexus SUV and you need to stock up on CASES upon CASES of that god-awful Charles Shaw Vomit that Trader Joe's tries to pass off as wine. What are these people doing with all this stuff ? ...maybe they're bathing in it, or giving them as presents to their less fortunate and poor relatives, who they assume won't taste the difference. Peasants.

I had a few more items to list, but seeing as how I've taken my meds with wine again (GOOD wine), I can't remember what they are.

Tonight is good, though. My Best Joshie is coming up to eat the quiche, a drag show is looming somewhere in my near future, I mopped the whole apartment with this delicious lavender cleaner I bought at Target and I have Appetite for Destruction. That's right. I think G&R rocks, and I don't give a damn WHO knows it. Although. It might be time to take Sweet Child of Mine off repeat.

The End.

2004-02-04T18:45:00.000-08:00

I wish that I could say that I have a good reason for going such a long time without updating. For instance. I could explain how hectic work has been, or how I've been knitting like crazy because it is suddenly EVERYONE's birthday. I could tell you all about how I've been spending all my free time baking or cleaning or doing charity work.

But.

None of this is true.

I have a confession to make. I have been leading a double life.

I bought this game for Tony a couple of weeks ago. He had casually mentioned wondering what it was like a couple of times, and I found it on sale. I was a tad disinterested in the whole thing - until our character, Keltone, bought a fishing pole and we learned that we could fish ALL DAY and SELL the fish we caught for money. Now, I spend 98% of my time perched on the edge of the couch, fishing for little video game creatures and collecting apples for money. If Tony so much as steps in between me and the television, he is greeted with a frightening violence that I didn't even know I was capable of.

At work, I find myself spending the slow moments in front of our Internet Computer, playing all the games on animalcrossing.com and bitching about how Tony doesn't want me to buy a gameboy advance so I can play my game at work.

You know. On my lunch break.

Anyways. On to the good stuff:

You can go deep sea fishing. Red Snappers bring in the most cash.

This is the museum where I donate the fossils I find buried around my town.

Bugs are worth a lot of money, but they are hard to catch.

Anybody know anything about deprogramming ?

2004-01-30T19:46:00.000-08:00

Let's pretend that I didn't go to Shoe Carnival today.
Let's pretend that I didn't actually buy shoes from Shoe Carnival today.
Let's pretend that they are not an entire size too small.
Let's pretend that I did not eat icing and a Snickers bar for dinner.

There's a guy who stands on a platform in the middle of the Shoe Carnival and mumbles things about sales. There is a spinny-wheel of sales, and a plastic tube that has dollar signs all over it. I assume that they put people in this tube. Maybe they shoot it full of money or coupons and you get to keep whatever you can manage to catch, like in that game show. I kindof hope that they shoot it full of shoes. I'm imagining people leaving with their arms full of shoeboxes, stumbling out of the doors with two black eyes and a broken nose. My shoes are fabulous, though...albeit a little...petite.

I met Tony at a bar tonight for a second dinner that consisted primarily of fried mushrooms, cocktail sauce and some sort of soggy spinach sandwich. The icing was better. I got there 15 minutes early and sat down at a table, trying to read my book in the smoky, dirty, dinginess that is the Pawn Shop and tried to tune out the group of boys to my right. It was hard, considering that they were very passionately talking NASCAR - with the occasional dirty joke thrown in. 'He shouldn't be allowed to race ! He should stick his head in the alternator gasket and...erm. something.' ... 'And then she said, That's not my nipple, THAT'S MY FACE ! (uproarious laughter)' They were lovely. Their jokes sucked, though.

Today I told the doctor that I'm a genius and he told me not to be so hard on myself.
I'm going to bed now.

2004-01-29T18:07:00.000-08:00

Some things will always stick out in my mind like they only happened yesterday. Like the day we spent sitting in the Toronto Land Registration Ministry building waiting for Tony's birth certificate. We'd gotten up at 5am so we could be among the first in line, but already the room was full of people. He needed his birth certificate to get his visa, but we'd already sent the original to US Immigration, who we weren't about to ask for it back. I was reading Strangers on a Train and it was two or three days after the SARS scare started getting really serious. I hadn't wanted to go to Toronto at all; the local news up there was basically predicting death within a week for everyone within a 200 km radius of the city. Tony had laughed at how scared I was and pointed out that nobody in the room was wearing a mask or even seemed the slightest bit worried.

We were waiting in line to get our number so we could wait in another line when we met the Loudest Woman in the World. She told us all about how the Big Problem was that there were just too many immigrants. That's why the government buildings are full. That's why SARS was in Canada. Didn't it come from China ? And, she informed me, nobody knew more about SARS and immigrants more than she did. Why ? Because she worked in the ER at North York hospital. I instantly tried not to breathe in her deadly SARS germs, but since we remained in line for at least another ten minutes I didn't have much of a choice. I was resigned to my fate - there was really no question that the SARS would kill me eventually.

As worried as I was, I was still thrilled to be able to answer her last question - why were we in the Ministry office - with one word.

Immigration.

I win.

2004-01-27T17:59:00.000-08:00

Six days and no cheesecake.

Today I spent an hour on the phone with my grandmother. She told me all about how she used to live in my apartment complex. She told me all about how she's having to handwrite all of her W-2s (my grandparents own their own small business). She told me about her artificial knee, hip, etc. We talked about cars. I strained to hear her over the obnoxious hum of my new dehumidifier and the deafening roar of our sub-par, 'economic' heating system.

Needless to say it was a long afternoon.

It's funny that my grandmother called. I'd just burned some cookies and I was thinking about her the precise moment that the phone rang. I've always been such an effortlessly good cook. (Saysme) Lately, I can't cook ANYTHING. Everything burns or collapses or falls apart. Like my Grandmother. Running joke in my family that everything she makes you have to eat with a spoon. Be it soup, pie, cookies, cake, or a turkey...You sit down at the dinner table and in front of you is an antique plate and three spoons. No joke.

Well. A little joke. Whatever.

No more answering the phone.
None.

2004-01-23T17:22:00.000-08:00

Things I did not do today:

• I did not call in sick and lounge around in my warm, soft bed all day.
• I did not curl up into a ball and hide underneath the desk. At least. Not for long.
• I did not laugh in the Old Man's face when he pleaded with me for his contacts when he waltzed in, like, sixteen days after I closed everything down.
• I did not kill or maim anyone I may or may not work with.
• I did not stop to help when I saw a teenager in the Walgreen's parking lot walk straight into a stop sign and fall down.
• I did not immediately wash the bleach out of my hair when I started to hear it sizzle.

But. That kid walked straight into that stop sign. What was he thinking ?

I've gone two consecutive days without going into Starbucks. I'm trying to cut the pastries out. Cold turkey. I nearly attacked a patient today because in our lighting and my half-starved, delusional state she looked almost exactly like a gigantic piece of dulce de leche cheesecake. I swear.

I miss the cheesecake.

2004-01-20T14:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we were one tech short and NO doctors showed up in the morning. Of course, we didn't realize until half an hour AFTER the first doctor was supposed to be there.

I was a hummingbird on crack yesterday. I had superpowers. I drank so much coffee and ate so much chocolate that by noon I couldn't feel my legs, and by two I was yelling nonsense at the poor patients. (pour example: I am measuring a very old man's glasses half a room away when I look up and out of nowhere yell, 'COLD ENOUGH FOR YOU !? I REALLY LIKE TORONTO !' After this, if I remember correctly, I ran four laps around the building and bench pressed three cars.)

'MY KITTY IS SICK ! SHE HAS AN ANAL PARASITE !'

Really. I should be stopped.

It's going to take some time to adjust to ALL THIS TIME off. I spent all day ruining two cranberry-upside-down cakes and a full batch of coconut macaroons, and then nearly destroying dinner. To while away the time while my pathetic baked goods were burning, I shopped for new wedding rings on...ebay. Yeah. I don't know, either. I've been walking back and forth between the living room and the dining room (all of...15 feet) cradling my three new books like one slightly lumpy, floppy paper baby. I can't decide which to read first and it's driving me crazy.

And. For the record. TOMORROW is my last official day at Starbucks. I have made a conscious decision to act more normal in public - seeing as how Roomate Tony informed me today that the cashier in Frank's was actually NOT amused when I was trying to explain to her how the length of time I keep the plants alive directly correlates with how soon I am allowed to buy a puppy, and ultimately have myself a baby. When she giggled nervously and backed away from me, I thought it was just a result of the hilarity of my unexpected, eccentric personality et wacky sense of humor.

Guess not.
So.
No more talking to random strangers as of tomorrow.

At least - not when the Tonies are around. Ruiners.

2004-01-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

The smells of my childhood: wet dirt, chlorine, chipped-beef-on-toast, that new plastic-backpack smell. I always remember Back Then as being so much easier but I know that it isn't true. It wasn't easy because it was all so new. We don't know how to react to anything when we're young, but we are generally fearless and trusting - in ourselves and the people around us.

Back then I wouldn't have known to question the Vet's motives when she's quoting me a $370 visit just because my kitty has the runs. I wouldn't have known to back down from people who tend to keep eye contact for just a little too long. I refused to lock my bike up, because, who would want to steal my bike ? And why ?

My first betrayal: George and Phillip and I are under the big pine tree in George's front yard, probably playing some game that directly related to Super Mario Brothers. Phillip, out of nowhere, sits on me and yanks up my dress to see my underwear. George yells that he's gross, hits him, and Phillip cries and runs home. He was always a little whiny. But he was my friend. And we weren't even talking about underwear. So why would he do that ?

Sometimes people unknowingly reveal such dark parts of themselves and it's shocking to the point of pain - especially when you are the kind of person who always automatically assumes the best about people. Sometimes you realize that the person you know isn't the person you know at all, and then sometimes it just so happens that you can't be sure which part is correct. Who is the reality ? Does the ability to so effectively alter one's personality make someone dangerous ? A sociopath ? If I feel, still, deep down, that they are a genuinely good person, can I still stick with my own intuitions ? How can you tell, barring messy confrontations and tearful accusations ? And. If you misjudge once, who's to say you haven't misjudged everyone ?

When we're little I think these things hurt more because the wounds are fresh.
I wish that I could be as fearless now as I used to be.
I think I need to find George.

2004-01-14T21:20:00.000-08:00

So. Tonight was to be my last night at CC, Inc.

I guess somehow my Fearless Leader misunderstood me when I looked him in the eye and said, 'I quit'. I mean. He could've misheard me - it does get pretty loud in that back room. Especially when the sanitizer and the ice machine are running at the same time. It sounds like a war back there.

This is one possibility that I pondered when I realized tonight - my last night - that I am on CC, Inc.'s schedule next week. Possibility Number Two: Fearless Leader has realized that he will be lost without me. He has been crying himself to sleep every night in a state of total despair. WHO will sing Mandy to him all night ? WHO will stand around and not really do anything while he does all the Closing Stuff ? WHO will accidentally-on-purpose break half of the pastries in the case so she can mark them out and eat them only to be very sick an hour later because people just aren't supposed to eat three pieces of cheesecake in fifteen minutes ?

Well. I don't know either. Maybe if you have any ideas you could give him a call. He's in a dark place right now, I suspect.

I'm going to work next week because it's only one shift - four hours. If I work those four hours, I can get my weekly free pound of coffee. I'm happy to work that day just to get my free stuff, but all night I've been flooded with disturbing images of a sixty-year old me saying over and over again, 'Well...technically this was SUPPOSED to be my last day, but...if I work that one shift next week I can get another free pound of coffee.'

So. This is what it feels like to be a CULTIST, eh ?

2004-01-11T15:35:00.000-08:00

Tony is seven.

'WHY IS THIS CALLED LENTIL SOUP ?! There are CARROTS in it !'

'There is NO WAY that this is frozen yogurt ! OHMYGOD ! It's FAT-FREE !'

Me: I forgot to get kefir at the grocery...
Tony: What's a kefir ?
Me: YOU KNOW what kefir is.
Tony: Ruiner ! You RUINED it. You're supposed to say 'A keyfir THE DOOR !'

****

Last night was my second-to-last shift at CC, Inc. I can already tell the world is going to fall apart without me. Crackhead kept petting me and repeating, "WHO WILL MAKE THE MOCHA ?!" (Um...anybody who works there ? What ?). Some young couple left their MARRIAGE LICENSE and their VOWS in the cafe, and yet another woman just up and left her purse - checkbook, platinum cards, palm pilot et al. One of the regulars (I oh-so-creatively call him "Tall Latte") informed me that the only part of his body that he waxes is his ass. Erm. Great. Seriously, guys. Try to keep it together, will you ?

I haven't been working much, which means that I should be spending more time posting on this thing and doing other silly things like sleeping or eating or cleaning up after myself, but I have succumbed to mass-hysteria and started reading Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. OHMYGOD. I am very worried about the Vatican.

Who will save the Vatican ?

2004-01-06T19:52:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I am quitting Starfux.

After countless arguments with my husband et all about my crankiness levels, I have finally managed to persuade myself that sleeping an average of four hours a night and working sixty hours a week is just not worth the extra 300$ a month and pound-of-coffee-a-week that the job supplies me with.

But. Damn. It's really good coffee.

I've been constructing pro/con lists all day.

Pros:

• No more closing with the crackhead woman. No more of her touching me ALL THE TIME and telling everyone how I always "save the day" and spilling sticky, unwashable substances all over my favorite shoes.

• No more whiny housewives in pink velour tracksiuts wheezing through their sixteen gallons of Botox that they would like the NONFAT white chocolate mocha. Yeah. That skim milk actually counteracts the six-million-grams-of-fat-massive-coronary-waiting-to-happen that is the white mocha syrup. You should see this stuff. It's the consistency of Elmer's Glue. Seriously.

• Um. I won't work for Starfux anymore.

Cons:

• No more free coffee.

• No more free pastries.

• No more free thermoses.

• No more free tea.

***

I have been neglecting this thing as of late. Partly because I'm tired of the Blogger interface and I can't really *change* anything. Partly because, suddenly, everyone I know has this URL and can just...look at it whenever they feel like it. I mean. Who am I supposed to write mean things about ? Apparently not my loved ones...anymore. So I have issues.

The End.

2004-01-03T07:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Bands I Saw Last Night (Excluding Middletown),

Do everyone a favor. Hang up that guitar. Pack up those microphones. Get a real job and stick to it. Do ANYTHING, but for christ's sake, please stop playing music. I am not sure what makes you think that lyrics like, 'I made you a cake/ I hope it's better than OK' are acceptable. Because they are not. ALSO: Buy. Some. New. Pants. I have nothing against the fact that you are a Big-and-Beautiful-Woman. Good for you. But. Velour stretch pants are not for everyone. Infact, they are not for anyone. Seriously, guys. I'm only trying to help. If I want to hear a grown man sing about his dog, I'll listen to Raffi. Or Mandy.

I hear Starfux is hiring.

Love,
Kelly

***

I think I'm a mean and judgmental drunk. But, also, I think that most people in the bar last night fell into the category of slutty and irritating drunks. My-Favorite-Nicole and I watched a girl grind the load-bearing-pole in front of the stage for about an hour and a half. She would stop grinding the pole every few minutes, but it was only to grind and make out with the guy standing next to her. She was right next to the drunk-and-dancing-middle-aged-yuppies. Actually. I think they were all there together. And I'm pretty sure they were swingers - they kept goosing each other. Lots of people danced. Like the guy who never opened his eyes in the Fed Ex shirt. He didn't grind, though. He just swayed back and forth. I guess songs about dogs and cake and beautiful African friends really speak to his soul.

I'm never going out again.

2004-01-01T16:29:00.000-08:00

Even though I carried my BIG thermos to work and drank all the wonderful live-giving coffee inside it today, my eyes are still glazed. I'm still catching myself breathing out of my mouth. I still answered the phone this morning and said, 'Thank you for calling Dr. ------'s Office. This is Kelly. How may I love you ?' Yeah. I don't know either.

Tony wants me to quit the coffeeshop.
My office manager wants me to quit the coffeeshop.
Nice Doctor wants me to quit the coffeeshop.
Hell. I want to quit the coffeeshop.

But I CAN'T. I think that I am living proof that their coffee is drugged. What other explanation is there ? I don't need the money, I'm not friends with my fellow coffee slingers, I don't really even LIKE the job. I certainly don't like working 65 hours a week. I like to sleep. And to have days off sometimes.

The more I think about it, I'm realizing that I can't quit jobs. I HAD to quit my first bookstore job because management tricked me into a stupid sexual harassment suit. I was able to quit the bakery because that job and the owner were satan and I tasted a piece of cake there and it wasn't good. I mean. One has to have faith in one's product, yes ? Every time I go into the coffeeshop my manager says hello and lots of nice things to me and the evening eventually degrades into a 4-hour Barry Manilow singalong. How can I tell him I'm leaving after we've been singing copacabana together all night ?

That's just something you do not do.

Someone should call CC, Inc and tell them I'm dead. Or something.

Please ?

2003-12-27T21:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Blogger,

Please, please, please stop changing the interface. Every time you change something it sucks just a little more.

Love,
Kelly.

***

I am sick and tired. Today at the doctor's office the only thing I had to keep myself alive was generic night-time Thera-flu. Needless today, it was a fun-filled day complete with wacky mishaps and yours truly nearly nodding off a couple of times while I was doing the fields test. 'Miss ? Miss ? I...think I'm...done...' I accidentally threw a pen at a nice patient's face (I didn't actually HIT her with it - she was very sweet about it, shook my hand and everything.) When an elderly man told me that he didn't know what to do with the last two questions on his paperwork, I blurted out, 'Well, you should prolly ANSWER them.' before my poor drugged body had a chance to clamp my germy, flu-infested hand over my mouth. When another nice patient told me that I was an improvement over the surly, pierced girl who did his pretesting LAST time, all I could manage was to stare at him through overly-dilated eyes and force myself to stop breathing through my mouth. Well. Almost.

We won't even go into all the horrible things I did at CC, Inc.

I haven't been posting much because I have been house-sitting for a friend and taking care of these beasts:

They are supercute and not nearly as satanic as they look. The bottom one is a spooner. He is perfect.

Do you guys know I have a photoblog ?

2003-12-23T20:45:00.000-08:00

My archives are all fucked.

Eep. Help :(

2003-12-23T20:29:00.000-08:00

Dear Christmas,

My Maiming list is growing swiftly but surely.

Like Mrs. Hanging Out of Her Nasty Velour Tracksuit who informed me (after she snuck in TEN minutes after close) that she only wanted a cup of coffee while rolling her eyes...Huh. Well. I only wanted to go home since I had been working sixteen hours at that point. I'll give her a cup of coffee. It's not going anywhere near her mouth, though.

Like the creepy guy who wouldn't stop singing Jingle Bells too loud and pinching his daughter. I mean...Hey, Mr. Creepy ? Find a decent therapist. Please. Do it for us all.

Today was the worst day ever, but I'm sure it will be totally trumped by tomorrow.

Except. Except for that one Eastern European woman today who whispered to me that she is flying to Prague this Christmas to get married. She turned bright red and her eyes were shining and she told me, 'I have been divorced 26 years ! 26 years and not ONE date ! And now I get married.' She was happy and sweet and slightly confused and kept repeating that line over and over again until I said that I can't imagine WHY she hasn't had 'one date' in twenty six years. She blushed again and said, 'Oh. Honey. Nobody wants to love an old mushroom like me.'

Now. How does one keep from leaping over the counter and squeezing Adorable Eastern European Women half to death when they say things as wonderfully cute as that ?

Also: Daymented. I heart you, I heart you, I heart you. Thank you.

2003-12-20T13:56:00.000-08:00

Ahem.

Dear Christmas,

Please just cut it out. Make the malls close their doors so it won't take me 45 minutes to drive FIVE MILES to the part of town where I work. Please stop making people twist the lower part of their faces into grotesque imitations of "cheer" whenever they make eye contact with me. Please find. and. burn. all reindeer antlers, christmas light necklaces, christmas-stocking-sweaters and corduroy red-and-green jumpers. Please make my patients stop screaming "HAPPY HOLIDAYS !" in their frantic-I'm-about-to-go-shop-my-life-away voices.

Also: I have a list of people I would liked maimed or maybe killed. Like the woman in front of me at McDonalds this morning - when ALL I WANTED was a CUP OF COFFEE - asking questions like, 'What is Canadian bacon ?'. Where the fuck are you from, MARS ? I think EVERYONE in the WORLD knows what goes in a goddamned Egg McMuffin.

Snuggles and Love,
Kelly.

P.S. I just burnt my grilled cheese sandwich. I BLAME YOU, CHRISTMAS.

2003-12-16T19:53:00.000-08:00

So, today was Christmas. Both Tony and I had the day off, so we were supposed to lounge around and do nothing in some sort of Holiday-Married-Euphoric state.

The reality: I scrubbed every inch of this apartment. And made banana bread. And made mango cake. And cream cheese icing. And made manicoti for six people. And cleaned up my mess in the kitchen. And somehow managed to squeeze in about four solid hours of Mario Sunshine.

Marital Bliss Kelly-style: Tony spent all day stringing the picture frames together that made up his mural. As a result of my incessant prodding, he DID do a couple of loads of laundry, but when he walked through the front door with that basket piled high with hot, unfolded clothes and said, 'Why don't you help me with this ?', he was greeted with a big, fat, 'I'M BUSY ! I DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE ! OHMYGOD I WORK SIXTY HOURS A WEEK !'

Poor Tony.
I should really try harder not to be so fucking. crazy.

2003-12-15T19:19:00.000-08:00

I spent 120$ at WalMart today. The cashier gave me a dirty look when I wrinkled up my nose and yelled, 'Yes ! It went through !' when my card cleared and my receipt printed.

I do not heart WalMart.

My internet has been down since Thursday and I've been repeatedly unplugging the T1 cable and plugging it back in with Tony in the background saying in his Crabby Voice, 'I ALREADY TRIED THAT.' and replying over and over again, 'WELL, MAYBE it will WORK this time.'

So. Tonight Tony and I had our Christmas so I have to go play games on my BRAND NEW Gamecube and hang the Canada Mural I made him. It's pretty. Pictures will follow if I can tear my lazy ass away from Mario Sunshine sometime in the next few days. I've already traded someone at work so I can stay home all day tomorrow. Ha.

P.S. Thankyou for the popcorn thing, Grampa-and-Barb. Except, now whenever I ask Tony what he wants for dinner, he just says 'popcorn' and I don't think this is very healthy at all.

2003-12-10T20:11:00.000-08:00

Tonight I closed at CC, Inc. That's fine. I don't might nights. EXCEPT. I work there tomorrow. At seven in the fucking morning.

Something else occurred to me today. What other organization makes a habit of depriving its members of glorious sleep and pumping them full of mind-altering chemicals ?

That's right. The Moonies.

I tried this hot little theory out on my manager today and he neither confirmed nor denied.

Guess I should go to bed. Tomorrow they've got me working the register in the morning, and selling these crappy plastic toys door-to-door in the afternoon. Gonna be a lot of walking and...vacant smiling.

(My mom knows all about deprograming.)

2003-12-09T18:14:00.000-08:00

The first time my car wouldn't start today, I called AAA. A nice man in a truck came out and jumped it for me. The second time it wouldn't start, my mom was there to (try to) jump it for me. We opened up the hood of her Passat and squinted into the maze of meaningless wires and huge plastic boxes that make up her crazy German engine. In the end, the mall security guard jumped my car. I had run over to him to ask if he could find my mom's battery for us. I was beginning to think that she didn't even have one. We found it in the end, turns out it's somewhere in the windshield. Or something.

We were Christmas shopping. Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself.

Today, someone apologized to me because their eyes were swollen. When I asked them if they were okay, they informed me that it was just that they had been crying all night. I don't think I need to say what happened next. Half an hour later, I pried myself free and collapsed in the room where we store our extra contact lenses.

A different patient told me how much he liked my outfit and quizzed me for half an hour about what gift I would like to receive from him. Because I am just too sweet. Also, I would make a good optometrist. They love to work, youknow.

Patient: 'Kerry, you are nice. I'll buy you a present. What do you like ?'
Me (Kerry): -turns beet red and RUNS AWAY-

While I was shopping, I found a gorgeously disturbing calendar featuring a certain breed of domesticated weasel wearing lovely, lovely seasonal costumes. The PERFECT GIFT for a certain someone who occasionally wears a bowtie (who had better not read this blog.) I was checking out and the seemingly nice man at the register asked me if I like ferrets. I said no. I said I thought the calendar was disturbing and was buying it for that reason. Over the next ten minutes or so, the man proceeded to tell me about a musical group called the Wiggles ('they kinda remind me of PEEWEE HERMAN, ifyouknowwhatImean') and the posters on the walls of his room. He loves posters. He has D&D posters, mainly. He thinks people who ACTUALLY drink blood are a little creepy.

Man: 'I collect horror dolls. I have this one...'
Me (Kerry): 'HAHA. Well. I suppose you have to collect something'

The whole time my mom was not-so-subtly nudging me towards the other end of the mall; closer to the Hallmark and glorious safety.

I have been forbidden to walk to Sears alone until the holiday season is over.

2003-12-08T19:42:00.000-08:00

Today's Important Lesson:

Let's say you are talking to a nice girl. This girl works at your optometrist's office and is an empathetic listener. She likes you, but she has only known you for fifteen minutes. Seriously, guys. Don't tell her your life story. Don't tell her every bad thing that has ever happened to you. Don't ask her if she knows all of your other doctors. She doesn't. Trust me. Also: Don't tell her intimate details of your children's lives. That's just unfair to the children. Really.

About four years ago, I was walking my dog Edgar in my favorite park. We were just starting to go into the woods when Edgar started lunging at this other dog, who was ten or so feet away. Other Dog lunged back. While our dogs sniffed each other's asses and quickly fell in love, Other Dog's owner and I giggled for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, she started talking to me. Not about the park. Not about the weather. What did she say ? 'This dog is my only friend left. My sister died long ago of cancer and both of my parents died in a fire. I don't have any friends, just this dog.' And then she starts CRYING. I mean. Holyshit ! I'm a nice person andeverything, but...WHO IS THIS WOMAN ? I didn't know whether to hug her or yank Little Edgar up into my arms and run for my life.

Pfft. People.

What is it about me that makes people think I want to see them cry ?

2003-12-04T16:25:00.000-08:00

So. Well. Vive la Today.

Ask me how many times I dropped patients' charts right in front of them.

Ask me how many times I had to apologize to the patients because I, for some unknown reason, was totally unable to speak the English language today. (I actually said "I command you to sit in that red chair" at one point.)

Ask me how many times I had to retype the word "chair" just now.

Ask me how many times I nearly plowed into the man in front of me on the way home because he somehow managed to drive fifteen straight miles with his brakes on. I'll give you a hint: It was about four. fucking. million. (Coincidentally. If you are 80something, a resident of the Northside of Indy who drives an old light blue Ford with red tape over the brake lights, I hate you. I don't care that you're old. It's NO EXCUSE.)

Ask me if I realize that the format of this post is totally unoriginal.

Where's my coffee ? I want my coffee.
And some Makers Mark.

2003-12-01T19:17:00.000-08:00

A good sign that I spend entirely too much time reading people's blogs:

Last night Tony had the flu. I hadn't had a decent nights' sleep in about four days so I was fucking. ready. for. bed. Unfortunately, Between Tony turning over and over and over and letting out these deafening sighs every five seconds, I didn't get much sleep. My entire night was full of those bizarre, too-real, three-quarters-asleep dreams that stick with you for days even though you can't remember the details. A few minutes ago I remembered this one:

I lived down the street from Estella and I knew where her house was, but she didn't know where I lived. She had this old, falling-apart maroon car that she parked in front of my house one morning. When nobody was looking, I snuck out to look at the car and the door was unlocked, so I climbed in. I moved the car a couple feet and then got out and ran back to my house, leaving the door open. So. Then. Somehow, next thing I know I am standing in front of the car with Estella and a man I don't recognize and she's yelling, 'Do you SEE what happens ? Everywhere I go, THEY JUST WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE !'. I tried to comfort her when the man said, 'Well. Thank god we had that video camera installed in the car. We'll know who did it soon enough.' So. Of course I confessed at this point. I said that I didn't know why I did it, that I just couldn't help myself. All was forgiven, and then I turned to the man and said, 'So, I assume you are R, then ?' and he answered, 'No. I was at one time, but I don't think I ever will be again.'

So...right. Maybe I will try to wean myself off of your lovely blogs for a while.
Or maybe I'll just go out and try to make a friend or something. Maybe that will help.

Inthemeantime. Don't fear me. I am harmless. And I will leave your cars alone from this point on, I promise.

2003-11-30T17:46:00.000-08:00

I was unfired from the coffeeshop today.

Downside: I. Am. Tired. I feel like someone dragged me home from work today. Behind their car. You know, with me tied to it. The back of their car. I am a walking bruise. Tony came home sick from work and we each just slumped in the living room, out heads propped up with pillows, grunting monosyllabic nonsense at each other until I was somehow able to find the strength to dump a can of soup into a pot. Food has helped somewhat. I feel slightly more human. Slightly.

Upside: Is there such a thing as an "upside" ? Yesterday I bought a coffeemaker. Corporate Coffee, Inc. will supply me with weekly supplies of free, precious, life-giving coffee. Hell, maybe I'll start looking around for a third job.

I have a new comments system. Maybe this one will be better and even do things like count and display the comments. So. Maybe you should...comment...to...see if it's working. Do it. I want to know who the hell reads this thing. Comeon. Do a very tired girl a favor. Leave me a measly little comment.

2003-11-30T05:57:00.000-08:00

Last night, after my 16-hour work day (think I'm exaggerating ? I wish.) I bought a coffeemaker. After dumping scalding shots of espresso on myself TWICE, after putting countless drinks on the blender with NO LID, after telling the girl I was working with all my friends' dirty secrets because I JUST DON'T CARE ANYMORE, after trying for nearly an entire minute to unlock the door of my car with my READING GLASSES. WalMart closes at midnight, forsomereason. I'm still pretty sure that the guard who told me they were closing was playing a mean joke on me - when I asked him WHY Walmart was closing, he only gave me a dirty look.

Asshole.

I'm tired.

(Last night, I had a dream that Orla sent me a picture of herself playing a gigantic guitar.)

2003-11-28T08:01:00.000-08:00

Ah, Thanksgiving.

Last year we were Stuck in Canada, so this was the first Thanksgiving in a while that my mom had all three children (and the soninlaw) with her. Mainly, we spent the day talking about my new medication and spying on the neighbors across the lake with binoculars. They have a hot-tub and they take a LOT of cheesy, contrived photos. I was supposed to learn how to cook a turkey, but instead Tony and I drove my little brother around the city, searching desperately for donuts. Tony actually had to pull me out of Marsh while I was half yelling, 'They're OUT of donuts ? WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE ?!'.

I tend to get a little emotional when I'm starving. To death.

2003-11-25T17:55:00.000-08:00

The salesman at the Volkswagen dealership just wants us to find the BEST deal on the BEST car. He has an interesting technique - loading on the self depreciation with just a twinge of condescension - that, in turn makes you want to pat him on the head and prove your worthiness. He showed us the only two cars on the lot that we would be allowed to buy with our Current Credit Score and invited us to "spend five minutes" filling out the credit application "just to see what happens".

Three and a half hours later, after three attempts at tricking the Credit People into accepting our applications, a call to my mother ("No I will NOT tell you how much I make a month !" [sorry, Mom]) and about six lectures as to why we will NOT find a "decent" car for $150 a month or less, we took the Jetta for a test drive. The Salesman sat in the backseat and I tried to look very interested in the car's interior and keep my mouth shut. Ten minutes earlier, Tony had informed me that I talk too much when I'm nervous and maybe the Salesman might think that my blurting "My almost-stepdad's name is Tim ! Sometimes he wears a bowtie !" to be a tad bit strange.

Whatever.

In the first five minutes in the car I broke some plastic thing off the dashboard and Tony came about FOUR MILLIMETERS away from sideswiping a nice red Jetta. The Salesman was nice. All he said was, "See...that's why I told you to merge to the left here. Uh. Hahahaha." and, "Oh, I'm pretty sure I can snap that thing back on." So. 9pm and that damned Jetta is sitting in out carport downstairs. They gave it to us for the night. The salesman wanted me to show my mom. We drove it home first and, about half a mile from out apartment, the engine light came on.

Tonight, Tony has reassured me about twenty-two times that the dealership will not make me pay for a whole new engine. I hope he's right.

2003-11-21T20:44:00.000-08:00

So. Here it is. The greatest thing I have ever said in my life:

Customer: 'There is a St*r**c*s on 3*th and Mer*i***n ?! That's in the ghetto !'
Me: 'Yup. They sell 40s there.'
Customer: 'What's a For-ty ?'
Me: 'YOU GOT SOME OLE E UP IN THIS SHIT ??!!!'

I like being fired.
I can do and say whatever I want. What can they do about it ?

2003-11-21T08:02:00.000-08:00

Dear NyQuil,

Thank you for being you.

Love,
Kelly.

*****

Last night at the drugstore I saw an elf. She was about 40 years old, 5'6" with curly brown hair, short pants, red and white stried stockings, and POINTED SHOES. Now. I know I saw her because I hadn't taken the NyQuil yet. I was just buying the NyQuil at this point. The elf drove one of those big Lexus Suburban Utility Vehicles. A gold one. Santa must be paying well this year. I'm in the wrong line of work.

Speaking of Santa. HE IS ALREADY AT THE MALL. Already ! Up until this year, I have always been on okay terms with Christmas. I didn't love it, but I could appreciate it for what it is (or isn't). This year, though...This year anything Christmasy makes me SO angry. I catch myself at the mall, glaring at Santa and giving him the Eye every time I walk past. Roommate Tony gave us his parent's old Christmas Tree and when Tony suggested putting it UP, I yelled so loud I think he almost cried.

So.
Huh.
I wonder when this happened...

(I'll get you, Santa...)

2003-11-19T18:26:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so you know that joke where the boss turns to the employee and says "You're fired. Do you mind finishing out the week, though ?"

Do you know what makes the joke even funnier ? When it is TWO weeks instead of one. AND when the employee isn't even TRAINED for the job that she has just been fired from.

And ! What makes the joke truly, truly hilarious is when the employee is nice enough to say, "SURE, I'LL STAY THROUGH THANKSGIVING !" Do you want me to clock out first ? HA ! I suppose another funny part is that it really doesn't matter - I'm full time at the doctor's office now, ~~and if the universe decides to smile on me, POSSIBLY the next office manager~~. So I was going to quit anyways. But the shits beat me to the punch. I've never been fired before. EVER. And, even worse, I have to wallow in my deplorable, pathetic fired state until November 30th.

Today I told at least half of the customers I rang up. "Thankyouverymuch. I got FIRED today ! WOULD YOU LIKE ANYTHING OUT OF THE PASTRY CASE ?" Pfft. Starbucks.

Oops. Did I just say Starbucks ?

2003-11-18T17:40:00.000-08:00

Where to begin...

Important Tip #1: When you are trying to impress the doctors and the King Doctor is congratulating you for something DO NOT give him the devil sign and say too loudly, "I ROCK !". Especially if he is very, very Christian.

Important Tip #2: When you are shopping at the mall and frazzled and stressed out from being at the mall and the girl in American Eagle comes RUNNING towards you with a coupon, but gets too close on accident, DO NOT yell and try to...sort of...jump backwards over the table with all the cashmere sweaters on it and almost knock over EVERYTHING IN THE STORE. She will just look really hurt and spend the next FIFTEEN minutes apologizing.

Important Tip #3: When you are checking out at the pharmacy and the nice lady tells you that your RX copay is TWENTY FUCKING DOLLARS (even is this is REALLY high) DO NOT yell something along the lines of, "Holy SHIT ! I should just buy this crap in CANADA !"

Important Tip #4: Just don't leave the house. Because now you have new yoga pants and a shirt that says ALGEBRA IS FOR LOVERS and cozy pink sockasins. Just sit on the couch. Eat cookies. Watch Agatha Christie movies all day. Finish that damned scarf.

Ohmygod I love my sockasins.

2003-11-16T18:45:00.000-08:00

I invited one friend over tonight who in turn invited two other people. Somehow, they have ALL stood me up, but I had no idea until Friend No. 1 called to inform me that she and Friend No. 2 would not be coming. Maybe Friend No. 3 died, or something. The only thing I can say for certain is that she is not here.

I made cookies so I could eat them ALL BY MYSELF (and the Tonys, too) and not have to share them with any flaky people. Who suck.

Why don't girls like me ?

2003-11-16T18:17:00.000-08:00

My most recent search referrals:

• "tess she"
• "MOM Ex-lax"
• "GIRLS WHO LIKE PIE IN THE FACE"
• "sex with my motherinlaw"
• "chaunaka game" (I'm number ONE !)

Hmm.

My manager at the doctor's office is leaving soon. He wants me to take over his position when he goes, so my days have been filled with trying to prove to the doctors that, contrary to popular belief, I am not mildly retarded. It isn't working. Every time they try to talk to me, I only half hear them and respond correctly to a question that wasn't even asked, OR they ask me about TV.

"Did you see that show ?"
"I don't have cable."

"Did you CATCH that Colts game ?"
"I hate sports."

"So, you're working two jobs now ?"
"The optifree is in the cabinet to the left of the Encore Premiums."

"So. How long have you been mildly retarded ?"

I can't win.

2003-11-13T10:59:00.000-08:00

Today is my only day off until I turn 30. I swear. I was going to sleep until noon. I was going to wake up at. my. leisure. and bake bread and finish knitting the most gorgeous scarf in the world (you are lucky I don't have a digital camera; the very image may blind you). This morning, around 7:30, I was awakened by what I'm fairly sure was Tony shaking his car keys over my sleeping head for fifteen minutes. Followed by stumbling out into 56° apartment. Followed by panicking and not being able to find the couch because Tony moved the living room around last night. Followed by burning all of my skin off in the shower. No kidding. I'm a skeleton now.

Yesterday I had a job interview. This will be job number three, but if it works out I'll be able to stop working at Corporate Coffee, Inc. It's at a museum - in one of my favorite galleries. It was the. most. painful. interview. EVER. She had me "do an activity" for random children. Except the museum was totally empty. I had fifteen minutes to practice and then her supervisor was supposed to come and watch me interact with the patrons. Nobody seemed to think it strange that the "activity" mainly consisted of trying to lure unsuspecting children over to my table, waving a cattle brand around in the air, and saying as loudly as I could force myself to, "CAN YOU GUESS WHAT THIS IS ? THEY USED THIS TO BURN COWS !"

So. I think it went well.

2003-11-11T12:15:00.000-08:00

By the way. I want to start a Flossie and the Unicorns cover band. I'm serious. With puppets and everything. We can play shows at the Children's Museum and scar thousands of small children for life. It will be SO exciting.

Who's with me ?

2003-11-11T12:04:00.000-08:00

When I was little I lost half of my hearing in my right ear. All through my childhood, solicitors would call and ask for me. My mother would first ask them their business, and THEN she would ask them if they were aware of the fact that I was four years old.

I think it's getting worse, though. At the coffeeshop, when I am on register and taking drink orders, there is a three repeat minimum before I get the drink right. The sound is there, I can hear them speaking, but the sounds are garbled and wobbly. Yesterday at the doctor's office, I said something to one of the girls about my quarter-deafness and she looked at me with genuine shock on her face.

"Oh ? We thought you were just kind of stuckup sometimes."

Haha. Erm.
Do they still make those clear almost-invisible hearing aides ? I feel like I'm 80.

2003-11-10T16:09:00.000-08:00

Today I met a Law Enforcement Officer that just wouldn't stop LOOKING at me funny. Like he recognized me. And he was just trying to figure it out. For. Like. TWO HOURS. I had decided that he has seen my face on a wanted poster, or something, and he was about fifteen seconds away from hauling me to the...slammer...when he spoke.

"You look like...someone famous. Who is that girl ? With the black hair ? She sings."

"Cher? HAHA."

"No...Natalie...Natalie Imbroo*cough*."

And so it began. The next couple hours were filled with NEVER ENDING "You look so like her!"s. I steadfastly insisted that I look exactly like Edward Furlong in the Terminator, but the girls at work would just give each other that Why-Do-We-Even-Try-To-Talk-To-Her-Look and shake their heads.

But I'm serious !

(This woman is totally not me.)

(Oh my god ! Twins ! Switched at birth ! Shutup.)

2003-11-09T15:01:00.000-08:00

I made up with my father today. At the mall. He showed me his new cell phones and told me all about his impending South Carolina Vacation. My brother is in this band with a few other high school students and a whole lot of middle-aged-semi-professionals. They play at the mall nearly every Tuesday. Usually we go and just shop while my brother plays. We get the points for going, but we never actually have to sit and listen to them play the Grand Old Flag Song. Over and over and over again.

Today is Sunday. Today was Special. Today was Veteran's Day. At first it was funny - watching the Channel Six News Crew running around with their cameras, trying to record the image of hundreds of flag-waving, half-asleep senior citizens for posterity. All in front of the backdrop of the biggest US flag I have EVER SEEN. I found this gorgeous hat on sale that Tony wouldn't let me buy so I spent most of the afternoon following him around and shouting things like, 'WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST HATS ??' and 'OHMYGOD MY HEAD IS SO COLD !' over the music. They do this thing, the band does, where they play the song for each branch of the military and people in the audience who SERVED in that branch stand and people clap and blahblahblah we do it every year. As I was watching a cute old man in a bright red bowtie - he was hunched over the back of the chair in front of him and I was trying to figure out whether he was dead or sleeping - I noticed the TINIEST LADY EVER standing two rows in front of him. Standing. While they were playing the army song. Standing while they played the Air Force Song. Standing through the Navy song...She was clapping out of time with the music, but so hard that I think her hands will probably be bruised tomorrow.

I leaned over to my dad and pointed at her.

Me: 'She must've been pretty busy...She's served in them all !'

Dad: 'No her sons did. They all died in wars. She comes here every year and stands up. Last year she danced.'

Me: (shuts the fuck up)

2003-11-08T19:20:00.000-08:00

Ha ! I like the Church Sign Generator (via Kafkaesque) a little too much.

You heard the man. Pay up.

2003-11-07T13:02:00.000-08:00

Okay. I should know better.

When people offer to make me drinks at the coffeeshop, I should say no. Instead I say things like, "Okay. Make it a big one." Or, "I'll make it...I want EXTRA shots of espresso. And twenty two pumps of this chocolate syrup over here."

The end result is Not Good. At work, I don't notice too much - There's a lot to do and I'm really confused, so it feels normal to run around frantically, or even to hop up and down in one place for a few minutes (I caught myself doing this at least ~~five times~~ twice today.) BUT THEN ! But then I get off work and go see Tony. Where HE works. Where it is quiet, and full of people I know. THEN I find myself saying things way too loudly, like "She's a crazy bitch ! DON'T TALK TO HER !", and "I look like I've been bobbing for apples in a huge vat of rubber cement !" That one got a few looks. And when I start bouncing in place and rambling wildly about the sixteen thousand loads of laundry I have to do this afternoon, THAT's when Tony takes my arm and starts leading me to the door.

Ashamed, driving home, I replay every stupid thing I said and wonder exactly how many people heard and how cool I am going to have to be around them in the future to cancel it out.

AND THEN I see a pumpkin, lonely and sad and discarded on the side of the road and I think to myself, "Someone should save that penguin !"

Um.
No more coffee for me. I swear.
My chest hurts.

2003-11-06T19:08:00.000-08:00

Bad day at work - Check.
Pissed off at the movies - Check.
Liesurely evening consisting of leaving strange/creepy comments on other people's blogs (sorryguys) - Check.

Um. Guess it's time for bed.

2003-11-06T18:34:00.000-08:00

I will start by stating this simple fact: Pieces of April is a surprisingly good movie. It was simple and pretty and sad and nice. It was free, which was an added bonus. Unfortunately, we sat in the middle of - what Tony so eloquently stated on the way home - the 'Special Section'.

Oh. My. God. I have never been so angry at such a large group of people in my life. I swear, there were people shouting comments to OTHER people on the OPPOSITE SIDE of the theater for the DURATION of the movie.

"OHMYGODITISAWIG !"

"LOOK ! SHE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO COOK POTATOES ! HA ! HA ! HA ! HA !"

"OH, IS THIS SCENE REALLY TASTEFUL ?"

I'll tell you what isn't tasteful. That guy. Going out in public. Without a big, fat strip of duct tape over his mouth.

Maybe I should take a short vacation from the internet and come back when I have something nice to say. About anything. Anything at all. Or maybe not. Who knows what the future holds ?

"OHMYGOD HE'S RIDING ONE OF THOSE SCOOTERS ! YOU KNOW, THOSE SCOOTERS ?"

2003-11-05T20:32:00.000-08:00

I get twitchy when I don't have a book to read. I tend to wander the apartment, pull every unread book off the shelves and sit down on the floor with them scattered all around me...glaring at them like they've just called me a terrible name. I've done this a few times with what I have left in the apartment - unread - but it hasn't been working.

Next Logical Step: Tony works in a bookstore. One would think that this would help my situation. Doesn't. I'll go in, wander around for an hour and walk out with a couple of trade paperback cheesy mysteries that I have no real intention of ever reading ('Oh LOOK ! In this one, the KNITTING CIRCLE solves all the crimes ! It's like me ! with...crime-solving-friends ! Who...also knit !).

I started the new(er) Howard Zinn book, but it made me so paranoid that I was calling Tony from work in near-tears, drilling him about what he knew concerning my right to free speech and privacy. He's been on this big Anais Nin/Henry Miller kick, so I haven't been able to read anything HE's brought home, either. I just don't have the patience right now. If I read about one more beautiful, flowing Orange dress-like-the-sun or another Mexican blowjob I might just have to take a long hot bath with my toaster. Butseriously.

Is this why Man invented magazines ?
I don't have any magazines.
Where did all the Twain go ?

2003-11-04T16:15:00.000-08:00

Dear Mean Lady,

Sorry. See, when I don't know the register system well and I make a TINY TINY mistake and try to fix it, it does NOT help when you keep your botox-filled face about three inches from mine and incessantly yell, "WHY DON'T YOU VOID IT WHY DON'T YOU VOID IT WHY DON'T YOU VOID IT" into my forehead. I have an idea. Why don't YOU void it. Leave me alone. I am new and they don't let me eat.

Dear Indianapolis,

Please learn to drive before I go on a killing rampage. It should not take me forty five minutes to drive five miles to give my husband a latte and have him get mad at me over a stupid joke thirty seconds later. Thank you.

Dear Centipede That I Sprayed With Half A Can of Deodorant and then Jumped on for Fifteen Minutes,

OHMYGOD I hate you. If I see any more of you I am selling all my things, moving out of here and suing the apartment complex for psychological damage. Stay away from me.

Love,
Kelly

2003-11-03T16:53:00.000-08:00

I suppose that we love the people we love because they are so different from us. They think differently, they speak differently, they eat tons of food that we think is gross (like..possibly...THREE POUNDS OF CELERY A DAY).

(loud hammering noise coming from downstairs)
Me: Sounds like Girl Downstairs is hammering something.
Tony: Yeah.
Me: Probably pictures.
Tony: Yeah.
Me: Sounds like she's hanging pictures ON THE CEILING.
Tony: Maybe she's hanging a Vietnamese Spinfuck Chair.

Right.
Maybe.

I am trying to figure out what the fact that we are about to go "hang out" at the airport so Roommate Tony can change over some Canadian currency says about our social lives. When Roommate Tony asked us if we wanted to go, I yelled "SUREWEWILL ! I love the Airport !" Either it means that we are completely awesome and so incredibly cool that we can just have a good time anywhere and it doesn't matter, OR it means that we are pathetic and total agoraphobic losers who leave the house about once a month...to go hang out at the airport.

Seeing as how my Evening at the Airport will really only consist of my running up and down the hallway with the rainbow carpet and trying not to step on the red, and then hyperventillating and having panic attacks when I see any security guards, I am going to guess that it's the latter.

Eh well. I think Girl Downstairs is having a good enough time for all of us.

2003-11-02T17:24:00.000-08:00

There is something that switches on when I've had a long and stressful day that enables me to think that having margaritas for dinner is a good idea. Maybe it's the same thing that forces me to have loud, over-gesticulated conversations with my 15-year-old brother in unassuming chain Tex-Mex restaurants concerning the Nature of Love and Why Parents Souldn't Baptize Their Children Before They are Sixteen and Oh My God Can You BELIEVE What an Ass Our Dad Is ?!?. Maybe it's also the same thing that somehow persuades me to try to flirt with the cute waitress on poor, shy, Roommate Tony's behalf and spend at least an hour elbowing him and commanding him to ask for her number.

I don't know. Maybe it's just me.

Maybe nobody noticed that I was drunk.

Also: Maybe nobody at Corporate Coffee, Inc. will notice that I accidentally shaved an hour off my shift today. Wasn't my fault, exactly. I wrote something down incorrectly. Or, maybe she told me wrong. Lost in translation.

When I was at my Perkiness Workshop, there were about ten of us sitting in a circle (surprise, surprise). We were all about the same age, We all prolly could have been mistaken for any of the others in a dark, smoky room. Scraggly hair, plastic glasses, black/white/brown clothing and shoes. Right before the workshop began, an older woman walked through the door. She stuck out for three reasons: She was over 40, she was wearing red (NOT the prescribed black/white/brown), and she kept leaving. We were all given these 6,000 page employee manuals on our first day, and the first thing the Workshop Leaders asked us to do was turn to such-and-such a page. We all turned to the said page. EXCEPT for the stick-out lady. She explained that she didn't have a manual. Nobody had given her one. She was quickly escorted out by one of the workshop leaders.

AND SHE NEVER CAME BACK.

I sat there calmly for the next hour or so, not realizing what had happened. After our first break, though, I remembered her. It was all I could think about. What did they do to stick-out lady ? Why didn't anyone ELSE seem to care about stick-out lady ? What if they towed my car and then I had to walk home through the ghetto (And, oh, right. Poor stick-out lady.) ?

Maybe I should make a list of names and numbers to keep in a certain safety deposit box just in case the bigwigs decide to do me in. I should be ultra-specific because I am sure that EVEN NOW, none of you have the SLIGHTEST idea which coffeeshop I am working for. HaHa.

2003-11-01T18:39:00.000-08:00

I've never had a job that I just don't care about before. I mean. If I make the tiniest mistake at the doctor's office, I spend the rest of the day staving off tears and panic attacks, waiting for my boss to take me out back and reach for the rifle. But. Corporate Coffee, Inc. is different. Seeing as how I am at the moment too lazy to quit and search for gainful employment elsewhere, I would be relieved if they fired me. One less thing that I have to do.

I'm having fun, thinking about the possibilities. I had to go to a training workshop last week. At the end, they passed out questionnaires for us to fill out. In answering the questions, I think I used the word "propaganda" about 17 times. Why ? Because I don't care. Let them fire me for not being able to swallow their corporate credo. I'll brag about it for years.

I'm beginning to think that I have it wrong, though. I am so creeped out by all these Corporate-Coffee-Inc.-Saved-My Marriage-My-Children-and-My-Life Stories, I wonder how obsessed and...worship-minded I would need to become before I started giving them the creeps. I am picturing myself behind the register tomorrow, telling my new coworkers things like, 'I remember when CC, Inc. pulled me out of that trench in 'Nam. I surely would have been a goner. Wanna see my shrapnel ?' Or 'It was when I started coming to CC, Inc that I realized that the killing had to stop. Once I get them all out of my basement, I will be reborn. A new woman.' Or, 'Ohman, I'm so glad I got to come in today. If I would have had to go another twenty-four hours without seeing your smiling face behind the counter, I just might have ended it all. OHGODILOVEITHERE' Erm. Something along those lines.

I can't help but smile. I'm getting kind of excited. (Please remember that you owe your life to coffee.)

Also: I am re-implementing the comments system. Why ? Because I am a masochist.
Leave a comment. Or else ~~I'll cry~~.

2003-10-31T20:50:00.000-08:00

If I ever see another piece of candy, one more plate of delicious tofu, one more spoonfull of icing, or ANY MORE handfulls of sweet, sweet sugar cookie dough, I will end it all. Seriously.

Seeing as how I am so full of poisonous sugar that I can barely speak (let alone type), all you get in regards to my Halloween is a SUPER EXCITING photodocumentary:

(That one in the middle is not really sad. I know this because I ate him. And. That other one is a frog. The Chaunaka Frog.)

2003-10-29T18:10:00.000-08:00

Today in a single sentence:

My father is an asshole, my second job is a cultist joke, I made cookies to cheer myself up but they burned.

Well. Today in a runon sentence.

I have a new favorite quote. It is:

'More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.'

Ha. Preach it, Woody.

2003-10-29T05:52:00.000-08:00

I can only wear brown and black pants to New Job. I suppose it was a bad idea to do all my laundry at midnight last night, seeing as how I can't dry any of my work pants. I hung them on the shower curtain with the window slightly open, foolishly thinking that any 21° breeze we had blowing through our bathroom last night would dry them quicker. Today I got out of the shower and slipped my leg into a cylinder of solid ice. I've just had to drop an entire dollar to dry two pairs of pants, but that's not even the fun part. The laundry is in the basement, which has a separate key. Our door locks automatically, so if I leave to do laundry, I need to be carrying a minimum of two keychains to get everything done properly. After I threw my pants in the dryer, I left the basement and walked upstairs to my apartment when I realized that I had no idea where the basement key was. But my pants were down there. My work pants. And I have to leave in twenty minutes. In a half-asleep panic, I made it about fifty feet out of my building (going to the office to have them let me into the basement) when I realized that the basement key was hanging out of my mouth.

I really think that Corporate Coffee, Inc has been feeding me subliminal messages about how fabulous they are and it's disrupting my thought process.

2003-10-28T19:52:00.000-08:00

I am trying to give the New Job a fair chance. I really am. Today felt like I was trapped in a Moonie Camp. I was pumped full of gallons of mind-altering lattes and left alone at a table to read a 200-page employee handbook that described for me all the ways I can make customers happy and enrich their lives. I am apparently supposed to ask random customers what their children's names are and "where they got their cell phones/sweater/haircut". I learned some things.

• I learned that I should not point the whipped cream canister towards my face when I am squirting whipped cream. I could get it in my eye.
• I learned that I should not put my hand in the blender when the blender is on.
• I learned that I should not put my hand in the coffee grinder then the coffee grinder is on.
• I learned that Corporate Coffe, Inc. was apparently founded by Jesus Himself and is saving the world from evil and destruction one. delicious. cup. of. coffee. at. a. time. (I am here to enrich your lives, people...not just to serve you heart-unhealthy hot beverages)

After work, I went to my ten-year-old brother's championship football game (his coaches call him 'Big'un') and learned a few other things.

• Player Number Four is the CUTEST boy alive. He is two feet tall and spends the whole game running laps around the field. He reminded me of a Jack Russell Terrier. Who can play football. To some extent.
• When you are at a football game and the announcer sings the BASEBALL song (...take me out to the ballgame ?) during half time, nobody thinks it's strange besides my mother and me.
• Apparently, it is acceptable and maybe even cute for the ten-year-old cheerleaders to do booty dances and yell about "taking it all the way down" and wanting to see my "tootsie roll". (WHAT does this even MEAN ? I am too sheltered.)

My 15-year-old brother asked, 'doesn't it make you feel kinda dirty to be witnessing this ?'.

We stared straight ahead and did not answer, out of respect for his legal safety and peace of mind.

2003-10-28T07:42:00.000-08:00

Added: I have just noticed that the advertisement up there is now 'Work With Fools ? Vent Here !'.

Must remember to tell NO ONE about this blog.

2003-10-28T07:33:00.000-08:00

I have to leave in fifteen minutes.
It's my first day at the New Job, and I'm scheduled for four hours.

Seeing as how I don't know anyone, don't know how to do anything, and don't even drink coffee, I am going to go out on a limb and say that the four hours ahead of me are going to be very long ones. Very. Long.

Have I mentioned that this place opens at 5am ?
And that I don't know anyone ?
And that I don't drink coffee ?

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the very idea of things; a couple years ago I got a job at a plant nursery - hauling bags of mulch and manure in the 95 degree heat for eight hours a day. I weighed about 102 lbs that summer. Needless to say, I worked there for about three-and-a-half days. Odd, seeing as how I was so excited to have gotten the job there; I was so sure that everything was going to be perfect. Working outdoors, working with my hands, actual real labor. Work that requires showering when you're finished. I conveniently had forgotten that I hate the sun, am terrified of all bugs, refuse to sweat under any circumstances, and know nothing about plants (or how to keep from passing out when you are exhausted and overheated and malnourished).

At least it's not my Real Job, so if I don't like it I can run out screaming, crying, with my face in my hands after 15 minutes if I don't like it. I am not above this.

2003-10-26T16:23:00.000-08:00

It has finally happened. The transition is complete.

It started when I signed up for those keychain discount cards they give out at Kroger. I am the person who is nearly run over about a thousand times outside on the way to her car because she's scrutinizing every penny that she's saved, blabbering on to nobody about how amazing it is that those five bags of celery were only TWO DOLLARS. Yesterday, I clipped a coupon. I nearly didn't buy deodorant today because no brands were on sale.

And now I've done it. Now there is no going back.

I have hauled a computer monitor out of the dumpster. In broad daylight. It is small, foreign and nicotine-stained, but it works. For the last month, I've been straining my poor eyes, trying to see the internet through 14,000 shades of blue, which for some reason was all my old monitor could display.

Sothere. WHO needs to go drop a hundred bucks on a new monitor ?

Ha. Not me. I win.

2003-10-25T18:01:00.000-07:00

Ohman, I forgot about this one.

Corporate Coffe, Inc. and I have already gotten off to a bad start, and I haven't even started yet.

Me: (walks up to counter) May I speak with Gary, please ?
Girl: Gary ? Oh, he doesn't work here. He works at another store.
Me: You are sure that you don't have a manager named Gary ?
Girl: Totally sure.
Me: Is ANYONE who works here named Gary ?
Girl: No.
Me: (points to older man behind counter) What's his name ?
Girl: ...oh...Gary...

Wow.

2003-10-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

I live in an old apartment building. The walls are thick and the ceilings are high, but it's impossible to block out all the noise coming from neighboring apartments. I kind of like being able to hear bits of what's going on - every once in a while. I think the girl downstairs would be kind of creeped out if I told her that I knew exactly what she did when she got home from work.

She did the dishes.
She used the garbage disposal.
She dropped some pans.
She listened to the news.
She somehow found a way to drive her car into her apartment, and commenced driving it into the wall. Over and over and over again.

I hope my building doesn't collapse.

Our apartment complex takes part in this tax credit system, so Tony and I only pay something like 70% of the market value every month. Some people pay less. Some pay more. I've noticed that they group us together, according to income. In my building, it is all pseudo-professional, single women who are quiet and don't have lots of drunk friends over on the weekends and have lots of plants in their windows. Roommate Tony pays less for his apartment. The hallway always smells like a pool, and there is a man who sits outside the door of the building in a lawn chair - almost every night - passed out, with smooth jazz playing on a portable radio.

I'm kind of jealous of his building. It's exciting where he lives.

I used to live in this crumbling, old crappy asbestos-filled building. Years ago. Before Tony. There were apartments in the basement, but nobody down there paid rent. They all did odd jobs for my landlord. There was this one. His name was wife-beater. (He was not married. He wore the shirts.) He looked like that guy from MTV - the greasy cab driver guy - and he always walked around with this cockatiel on his shoulder. His job was to mow the lawn. I remember waking up one of the loudest, ugliest, most metallic sounds ever - later, I went outside to have a smoke and saw that he had mowed over a blender.

I mean. He would have had to have picked up the lawn mower and PLACED it on top of the blender to accomplish this. I will never figure out why.

I guess that really didn't have anything to do with...anything.

2003-10-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

Why do I allow myself to leave the house ?

Today I finally persuaded myself to call George, the manager of Corporate Coffee, Inc. I asked for George. I talked to George. After a few minutes, I remembered that the manager's name is actually Gary. Beautiful. So. I'll call again tomorrow. For Gary.

Also: I have this cat. Usually, we pretty much leave each other alone. Recently, she has developed the habit of ALWAYS maintaining a distance of about 10 feet and staring at me. Incessantly. With those bizarre people-eyes. If I get up or move towards her, she takes off like I am screaming obscenities and waving a bloody meat cleaver around in the air. Which I am not.

Maybe I look like a monster.

2003-10-22T17:14:00.000-07:00

When I was little I walked to school. Up the street and then down this dark, overgrown sidewalk every morning. Sometimes with my friends Gretchen and Phillip, only the friendship didn't last long. Their mother was psychotic and would yell at me if I accidentally touched their car. Once she left a nasty note addressed to my mother in our mailbox, claiming that I was not nice enough to Gretchen and that probably it was the fault of my mother's lax, irresponsible parenting.

Once we were on the slide and she was sitting right behind me. I stopped suddenly, and her face smashed into the back of my head. Her glasses cut her face where the rims met the skin. I don't remember seeing much of Gretchen and Phillip after that.

I had this other friend. George. He didn't have a dad, he was homeschooled and he lived right next door to Vergil, a man I remember only because there was a three-legged raccoon that lived on his roof. Phillip would tell people that he was a warlock, and even if six-year-old me had known what that word meant, I wouldn't have cared. For some reason, I can only picture him standing on his front porch in his bathrobe. He must have done a lot of that.

George was the best. He was tall and dorky and had a Nintendo, which my siblings and I weren't allowed to have yet. His mother would take us to the lumberyard and we would haul home all these free scrap two-by-fours...George would nail them together in the shape of crude crosses and I would paint them. They were airplanes. We'd climb to the top of the pine tree in his front yard and throw them out, never understanding why the damned things wouldn't fly.

He told me he was homeschooled because he was too smart. My mom said it was because he couldn't sit still in class. We used to go to the school parking lot sometimes so he could collect these tiny little red bugs in jars. For his "experiments", he said. I would talk about people I didn't like, mean kids from the neighborhood, and he would tell me all about how he had beat every one of them up. And thrown pies in their faces. He was a big fan of the pie-in-the-face.

I don't remember what happened to George. Maybe he moved. Maybe I found out I was a girl and stopped talking to him. Or the other way around. I wonder how hard it would be to find him. I have this second job -that I haven't started yet - at a particular obscene corporate coffeshop. My new manager's name is George, but I haven't met him. I get kind of excited when I think about the Georges being one and the same, even though I know it's impossible.

2003-10-20T22:13:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of this evening sitting in a dark, dirty bar with three late-twenties, balding men - and my husband - talking about cereal. Well, not just cereal. Yogurt, also. And sex. And sex WITH yogurt, somehow. It is not very often that I find I am the Coolest Person at the Table. Tonight I discovered that I don't much enjoy the feeling, really.

They all work with my husband. I like them; they're nice and sweet and funny. They spent a bit of time discussing all the girls they work with at the bookstore - who's 'tough'. After discussing a girl named J in length, one of them asked who would win in a fight - me or J. Unanimously, the vote was for me. Prolly because I was sitting there.

On the way home, I asked Tony if he really thought I could take her.

Tony: Ohyeah. You could totally kick her ass.
Me: I'm not so sure. She's been through the pain of childbirth and everything.
Tony: What, it's not like you're fighting with your vaginas, or anything...

2003-10-19T21:17:00.000-07:00

2003-10-19T21:06:00.000-07:00

Here's the deal.

You, you and you are my favorites.

You are my least favorite. Ever. In the world. But, I'm sure that if you ever found out it would not lower your fabulous opinion of yourself. At all.

Vergil. I'm sorry. But, we BOTH know that you are NEVER going to UPDATE.

End.

2003-10-19T17:32:00.000-07:00

A note to whoever discovered this blog by searching for "poor+depth+perception+cats" :

Email me. We need to talk. Seriously.

Today, Dr. Mean printed out the detailed daysheet so he could point out every minute thing I did wrong. See, when I make mistakes, that cuts into the time he generally spends hiding in the back room, giggling at Dr. Phil's infinite wit and wisdom and playing yahtzee. OHMAN, it must be a hard life. Really.

I like my job. I do. But.

I think that many of you know that I look and sound like I'm twelve. I really can't help it. I have tried grown-up clothes, hair, makeup - I always look like I'm drunk, colorblind, and just finished raiding my grandma's closet. Also: I do the pretesting at the doctor's office, which means that all day, I am trapped in a tiny room with one person after another, blowing things into their eyes and trying my damnedest to amuse them with my infinite wit and wisdom (I am much better than Dr. Phil, thankyou). At work, apparently, there are two unspoken rules:

1.) I pretest every patient with any sort of accent.

2.) I pretest every 16-18 year-old oversexed teenager.

I am fine with accents. I am patient and nice and very much not the average Indiana Bigot. The teenagers, though, are a problem. Earlier today, testing a seemingly very nice young man's peripheral vision, he alternately tried to touch my hand and called me a jerk. By the end of our uncomfortable (on my part) ten minutes together, I was so stressed out that I was nearly shaking. Or maybe it was hunger (they do not let us stop to eat on Sundays.) Last week, teaching the biggest 17-year old I have EVER SEEN to wear contacts, he made some offhand comment about desiring some sort of torture, and followed with, "I think you and I are gonna FIGHT." Whywhy ?

Maybe it's time to raid my grandma's closet again.

2003-10-18T16:52:00.000-07:00

So.

A full week without internet access. A full week of cursing the apartment management staff, secretly shaking my fist at the office every time I would drive by, secretly and silently wishing ill will upon that one particular property manager girl - the one who had all her tires slashed by a fellow dissatisfied renter - one week of general annoyance and boredom.

It is fixed now.

How was it fixed, youask ?

I unplugged the T1 cable. And then (here is the clencher) I plugged it back in.

My head hurts.

2003-10-12T21:28:00.000-07:00

A couple of my favorite overheard statements tonight:

"I smell dogpoop. Is it Lance ? Here - smell my face."

"Nonono. The outside of the record has to move faster because the circumference is...(Kelly turns up Mr. Bungle - rides rest of the way to Glorious Orangeville in Virtual Silence)"

"The room was on fire, and my dog saved me. He woke me up."
"What, did you hear him pissing himself from fear in the corner ?"

So. I guess tonight wasn't as funny and/or entertaining as it seemed while it was actually happening.

I'll try again tomorrow.

2003-10-11T21:31:00.000-07:00

So, right. It's been fun.

12 hours in the car. That's right. TWELVE. We hit our first two-hour traffic jam before we even left the city. Then spent another lovely hour lost in Anderson, Indiana - The World's Smallest Shithole. The manager of the Anderson Arby's was a nice boy, although he did try a little too hard, ifyouknowwhatImean.

Two and a half hours of sleep. Followed by "breakfast" - a generous title, considering all I really did was sit down at a dirty table and suck down about three pounds of butter, three pots of tea, and two cups of sugar. Followed by walking through the front door of my inlaws' house and instantly being accosted with heaping plates of turkey and vegetables. Followed by finishing said turkey and vegetables, contemplating suicide, when the motherinlaw realizes that she has forgotten the cranberry sauce in the pantry and goes ahead and opens up a can just for me. Followed by...

So, I don't really remember what happened after that. What I do know is that the house is full of barking dogs and my stomach hurts when I touch it.

If you will excuse me.
I am going to roll my cranky ass to bed.

2003-10-10T12:28:00.000-07:00

'Aw, you look so cute when you're not in scrubs !'

Oh. Why...thankyou for giving me an 'Ohdear, I look like a dumpy little slouchy myopian girl when I wear scrubs' complex.

Myopian. Shutup. It stays.

In two-and-a-half hours, we depart for the Great Unknown. Erm. I mean. Canada. Probably just like last time, we will arrive at my inlaws' house around 4am, only to be awakened at 7am by the bulldozers ripping up the street piece by piece right outside my husband's old bedroom window. Breakfast at ten, holding stomachs until three, dinner at five, sitting in other people's basements playing old video games until midnight, bed. Wake up: repeat. Three times. Then home.

It is fun, though. Talking to my inlaws is like solving algebra equations, if algebra was challenging in an enjoyable way. The accents and the English - it's one complex puzzle after another. I should really follow them around with a tape recorder and then just sell tapes of the things they say. I would be a millionaire.

(motherinlaw is yelling at me)
Motherinlaw: But ! Toe (this is her name for my husband)... Toe should work in the factory ! Lots of money !
Me: But ! He doesn't want to !
Motherinlaw: Oh ! You...You are so...so...WHAT'S THE WORD ?!!
Me: As if I'm going to help you. You're yelling at me.

(fatherinlaw is watching a newsbit on SARS)
Fatherinlaw: You know what I think ?
Me: Erm ?
Fatherinlaw: They say this...SARS come from monkeys. I say it comes from space.
Me: Erm ?
Fatherinlaw: From Mars ! SARS from Mars ! (maniacal laughter)
Me: Erm.
Fatherinlaw: SARS from MARS !

AND ! My all time favorite:

My fatherinlaw goes to this off-track betting bar. Every night. He'll stay there for six-hour stretches, losing two or three dollars on each race. It is uncanny to sit with him there; watching EVERY SINGLE horse he bets on start out in first place, CARRY first place until the last 200 feet of the race, and then somehow come in dead last. Every time. Unbelievable. My sisterinlaw doesn't want him to go to the bar every night. She wants him to sit on the couch with the rest of the family and watch Trading Spaces. The more insistent she becomes, the more his excuses flower and become beautiful in an unbelievably transparent, childlike way. Example :

(fatherinlaw is putting on hat, scarf. coat, shoes - getting ready to go to the bar)
Sisterinlaw: WHERE are you GOING ?!
Fathinlaw: Um. I...I...err...I am going to go outside...and...look at the sky.
(fatherinlaw scurries away, to return three hours later)

I hope they haven't been working on their English in my absence.

Added: This Blogger SpellCheck kills me. It tried to replace 'workign' with 'orgasm'. What ?

2003-10-08T12:55:00.000-07:00

I am sick, tired, ill, dying.

I made it at work for an entire five minutes before the Nice Doctor saw the color of my face, made me lie down on the couch in the back for ten minutes, and then sent me home - trying her best not to breathe my spent air into her own lungs. Dizzy, hot, sick, crabby.

Ideally, I would come home, curl up in the sunnyspot conveniently located on the center of my couch, and spend a few hours with Dickens and the wards of Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Butno. Taxes ! Taxes, which have been haunting my paranoid fantasies and nightmares for nearly the last year. Taxes, which I have about 6 days to turn in now, all my extensions used up.

Taxes, which this year are going to cost me TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.

That's right. You heard me. I think that this is about 567% of what I made last year.

This would be a good time in my life to learn that all along, I was the secret lovechild of Bruce Willis, or something. Bruce would have to pay my taxes, especially if I threatened to sell my story to the papers. About how my mom was just a young teenage starlet, trying to hold her own in this mean, dark world. About how, pretending to take my poor mother under his wing, he actually forced her into a world of drug abuse, Satanism, casual unprotected sex and maybe a little Scientology, in the end impregnating her and forcing her to give her beautiful, sweet baby up for adoption.

Isn't he a Scientologist ?

2003-10-05T09:52:00.000-07:00

Some things I learned yesterday:

• When your boss hired you basically because he is under the impression that you are a missionary, it is a generally good idea not to be in the middle of denouncing someone as being a 'crazy fundamentalist bastard' while he is coming 'round the corner. If you are stupid enough to actually make this mistake, I recommend running away and hiding in the supply room for a medium-length period of time.

• When you are setting someone up in a doctor's office and for no good reason they just...fall out of the exam chair, DONOTLAUGHLIKENELSONFROMTHESIMPSONS. They will think you are mean and will probably tell the doctor on you, who - due to what you may or may not have said earlier that morning - will be beginning to suspect that you are a Satanist.

• Do not do any sort of Boris/Natasha impression for the Russian patients. No matter how much cold medicine you've taken. They don't know that you're so drugged you can barely see them. They are just frightened and confused at this point, and maybe they think you've had a stroke or something.

• When you've had a day that has been one embarrassing mistake after another, and then drive home to notice your mean and smelly exboyfriend's truck parked in front of your Only Friend in the City's apartment and your husband won't be home from work for hours, do not think to yourself, 'Fuckit. I'm going to go listen to Barry Manilow and have wine and an ENTIRE CHEESEBALL for dinner.' More importantly: Even if you think it, DO NOT do it. Trust me on this one, guys.

-end of list-

Seeing as how I am dire need of a baby that I don't have to give birth to or carry around everywhere for the rest of my life, Tony and I are going to go look at rats. Just to look, I have promised. No rat-buying for a while. At least until my next paycheck. Today on the television, I saw tail-less rats, which I find very intriguing. And something called an Australian Pouch-Rat (Ithink), which looked like a giant chinchilla, except with a nose and without the bloodthirsty, evil attitude. I already have names picked out. Gus and Ruby. They will fall madly in love and have lots of babies.

Maybe I need another hobby.

2003-10-04T16:10:00.000-07:00

Right now I am listening to Barry Manilow and eating a cheeseball.

It is the divine little coincidences that make life worth living, sometimes.

Especially when you are drinking.

2003-10-03T16:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the world swallows me up. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, after a night full of bad dreams, my head pounding and my jaw still grinding. Sometimes I realize that I am the offspring of two adults - one of which seems to think words like 'sponge' and 'ridiculous' are fucking terms of endearment - and the other, who will go without speaking to me for days because I have robbed my invisible grandchildren of music forever by giving a piano that barely plays to the musical therapy department of the hospital. Sometimes I am so overloaded and exhausted by all this repressed anger and these pathetic hurt feelings that I find myself standing opposite a clerk or a property manager or any random person - eyes tearing, hands shaking, dizzy with the thought of grabbing their hair and smashing them against something because I am fucking tired of being taken out of context. I am tired of being talked down to. I am tired of being 'punished' like I'm some goddamned sevenyearold. Sometimes I come home and am greeted by Tony and his love and his sweetness and his affection and it makes me angry, and I don't know how to handle him. Sometimes I don't know what to fucking do.

I wish I had a sensory deprivation tank in my living room. Can you drown in those ?

When Tony and I first came home to a lukewarm reception and a fat stack of unpaid bills, we would cry at night and lay in bed and tell each other over and over that 'it will get better'. We thought that we only needed time. We would get back on our feet. We would move into our own space. We would work; cook dinner, be normal. The truth is that sometimes I still don't feel like I'm at home. What did we come back here to ? My friends have forgotten me, my family isn't speaking to me, I have a job that will only allow me three days a week, we live in (albeit a beautiful apartment) the projects. When we first got back and I was writing about it, my friend Virgil commented that our return seemed 'bittersweet'.

Right now, I think that he got it half right.

I've been trying to figure out how to make it better. I know that in order to tolerate those around me, I have to solve my own problems first - I was thinking about nursing and/or social work - I was told that I would be incapable of doing both these things by two (well-meaning) prying friends. I guess it's my fault for speaking up in the first place. Nothing feels like it means anything anymore; nothing seems important. I am too tired to even be nervous - which, if I was my normal self - would be enough cause to haul my ass to the emergency room. But ! Funny thing: I don't care.

Note: The word 'fucking' is not, in fact, in the Blogger dictionary.

2003-09-28T16:23:00.000-07:00

So. For a short length of time today, my father was the only member of my immediate family who wasn't pissed off at me.

As soon as this cold, black vortex stops swirling all around me, I will construct a list as to why.

Okay.

1.) I am a compulsive knitter. Compulsive in that, if anything is bothering me even the slightest bit, I must knit. Compulsively. Beware any who step between my wool and I, any who dare tread on one of my needles or expect me to stop and explain something; I will protect my compulsion with savage and bloodthirsty ferociousness. I stop for nobody - so shutup, I'm knitting.

2.) I have this habit of giving away pianos that apparently are intended for my children to play. Never mind that I have no children, or that the piano is going to a nice place where needy children and mental patients can play with it and feel better - I should really not be giving my pianos away at this point in time.

3.) I borrowed twenty bucks from my teenage brother the night Tony and I moved into our apartment - My paycheck couldn't be cashed for another two days and we desperately needed food. I have not given it back, nor will I give it back until I have finished filing my taxes. Enough said.

Excuse me.
I have a hell of a lot of knitting to do.