Life Listed - Chronologically

Bess went off of my restrained reference to President Doofy's statement on how life should be protected (read: maybe we should get rid of this abortion thing). I admire her for having the energy I couldn't. But then I recalled the ultimate irnoy which is applicable to most conservatives that are anti-choice/pro-death penalty: he allowed 143 to be executed while governor of Texas. Go look up some of the cases; most of the deaths are to minorities that had public defenders. A good many of them shouldn't have even been given death sentences. 143 people can be put to death but let us not give women the right to consider her body any more than a vessel of conservative desire.

This is yet another reason why the disconnected rants I wrote last night are being morphed into an article and knitting classes are being searched out to distract me from all these disgusting realities.
Thursday, January 24, 2002

I want to know why I am forced to send money to Sallie Mae each and every month when the President seems to think we have billions of dollars lying around to spend on the military. President Doofy honestly makes me want to cry. Clinton may have done dirty things with young girls but he never was this disgusting. The Clinton years feel like a mirage, a fanciful presidency to allow me to slide through my college years believing that the world was moving forward, not backwards. As I child, Reagan "star wars" gave me nightmares as I imagined huge Russian missles aimed directly at my bedroom. I wonder what pyschologically disturbing effect Doofy will have on me.

Last night I had a dream that I received some supplies I have on order for a special surprise for everyone I know. I began making what I want to make, completely happy and excited at my little devlish plan to put a smile on everyone's face. My materials were exactly as imagined and I couldn't wait to finish one. I was disappointed to wake up and find that there was no such supplies at my doorstep. Now I want to go home and craft away the depression that caring about the political world gives me. It all stops mattering when I have spray adhesive, x-acto cutters, pencils, yarn and thread in front of me.
Thursday, January 24, 2002

My big sister called me at work at 5:45 pm. I asked her how she knew I'd be at work sufficiently past 5pm. "Because you are an over-achiever," was her "well, duh" like reply. Sometimes, I wonder if I am. If the only thing that really drives me is to be extraordinary. When the challenge before me is simple, surmountable, easy, I get bored, walk away, loose interest. So many projects fizzle and die in my life because I master them. Except crochet, I'm pretty darn good but I haven't given that up yet. I'm even beginning to copy scarves that urban hipster wanna-bes are wearing.

I transfered colleges for a challenge. I packed my bags and went to a different country for the challenge. Most of my friends challenge me, in good and bad ways but mostly good. When they tell me there is all this work and it may appear as if you'll never get it done, I'm updating my web-page in between print-jobs at 7:45 pm. Mostly because if I stick around until 8:30 I can get a cab home. The over-time doesn't suck either.

For the most part, I like difficult things. I like proving the world wrong. I avoided math or science as a major not because I could not succeed in them but rather because everyone thought I could. I like watching chapters get crossed off my to-do list, my piles moving from the pending-left to the finished-right. I like mastering the tiniest details down to the fact that Canadian English is pretty undecided about the "z" versus "s" issue and Oxford Canadian-English version(I need this) generally prefers the "z." But always use the "our" as in colour, they refuse to Americanize this one (or rather Americanise).
Wednesday, January 23, 2002

I'd like to thank President Doofy for being a Supreme Ass and declaring Sunday as Celebrate Life day or some other corny crap just to let the world know as President he can declare days about Preserving Life right before the Roe versus Wade anniversary to remind all of us that the right can be taken away. I remember in reading Mario Cuomo's essays, how he'd talk about the difference between himself as a private religious person and the public political one. And he'd talk about how is private religious views do not need to be part of his public political career. Because his job was to decide what was best for the public, not to make the public submit to his private views.

On the same stream of thought, or maybe flow pattern, I recently noticed there is only 2 tampons and sooner or later I'll need more than that. There is a nice paper/99 cent/general store in my neighborhood which I go for paper/extension cords/cleaning products. Angel is going there to get a power strip so we can plug in the microwave. To save me a trip, I asked if he'd pick up tampons. And he actually asked what kind (multi-pack please, not the plastic applicators, thank you) and wrote it down. And he hangs my bras to dry. When I was 19 I made my 15 year old sister get me Monistat because i was too terrified to purchase it myself. Angel casually will go and buy tampons. Today, he's okay with me.
Wednesday, January 23, 2002

Tonight I am writing an article. I'm writing it with the intention of becoming a "hot topic" in New York and beyond. I'm writing in hopes of not severely embarassing myself for life. I'm writing it because last week was the 25th anniversary of Roots (so happy my parents didn't name me Kunta) and this week with Monday's MLK Jr. Day and the 29th anniversary of Roe versus Wade. I'm writing this because I can't remember the last time I felt this strongly. And I know I can go off.

Orginally, I complained about the bill. Recently, I was astonished it became part of the law. But the fact that it is now illegal to ban the Boy Scouts or face the loss of federal education aide is so wrong. The fact that people aren't talking about this, it's not on the 10 o'clock news, gay men and women aren't marching up and down Seventh Avenue and basically it feels as if I am the only person who gives a damn, I need to write about this.

The intolerance of homophobia has been made illegal in public schools. Social progress has been cut when it comes to accepting gay people into the mainstream. As anti-slavery movements began with Northern Quakers and morphed into the Post-Civil War abolishment; social progress happens in this country. Movements spread, ideas gain acceptance. Over time, we've, generally, become a tolerable and open country.

However, the federal government is now saying that we will not allow a wide-sweeping movement against homophobia to occur. They once also said that Northern states must return slaves to their Southern owners regardless of the state's view on slavery. But the sanction for not compling with this was not loss of federal money. To the best of my knowledge, the federal government did not impose sanctions against areas which allowed slaves to be harbored. Becausee they understood the importance of social progress. Social progress cannot happen when muncipalities must decide between homosexual acceptance or federal funds for education.

That choice is like liberty or life. Unfortunately, life wins.

This article is going somehere. I want it be printed and shared with the world. Maybe equal rights for gay people is something is country is not ready for or will never be ready for. Upsetting as that may be, I think it's something that deserves a chance to be tried out. I'd like to be in a place where people I love aren't third class, without rights and groups which specifically ban them aren't allowed to thrive.

Now I must call home to make sure there is an empty floppy disk waiting for me after work.
Wednesday, January 23, 2002

I don't feel as if I have anything particularly profound or remotely interesting to share. This would be why I haven't shared anything. I feel a tad boring, and therefore can't think of any reason to spread this boredom further than my stuffy office and simple young life. I'm a bit sick today so my lethargy has spread to my brain.

I have been very busy. This past could be titled "Best Week all Year" (meaning it's beat out the rest of January, so not a very impressive award. Because I had Wednesday off, saw the college girls on Thursday, Bess on Friday, three days without work and now that I'm back I feel slow and numb. Because I know this is how the week will leave me so I might as well adopt that feeling now.

Friday I drank too much, talked too much, stayed out too late and scared Angel by leaving Merchant's (where he wanted "one beer") for about 15 minutes. Saturday I slept in late. I slept deeply and long. I kept waking and looking out of the window for snow. I didn't get out of bed until the snow started to fall. Then I walked all over New York, in the snow, in my "J-lo" puffy blue coat and new boots. I bought craft supplies and framed butterflies. The evening was spent plotting out top secret project that only one person knows about and sneaking outside to smoke cigarettes in the snow.

I continued to gather the ingredients/props/supplies I needed this weekend while consistently failing to find adequate brown shoes. I also emptied every drawer, organizer and clutter keeper in my room. Anything that was no longer useful went into the trash. New piles were formed from cluttery-drawers. Organization was reinstated on a massive scale. The linen closet will be tackled by week's end. I must do this all the time, make sure everything is neat and put away. I like organization and organizers and origami.

Yesterday was Williamsburg in the rain. The $2 plaid pants would have been more Williamsburg-like but the rain kept me in less "fashionable" attire. Williamsburg is ugly. Williamsburg is all talk, it's like Soho where you have to pass a lot of nothing to find where to go. Williamsburg is as burdensome to navigate as it is to type its name 5 times in a paragraph. But lunch with Brooklyn Chocolate Stout is always good, especially when followed by Dixie Ale at Cajun. But too many Dixie Ales on a Monday afternoon lead one to pass out at 9 pm, wake at midnight and get a pretty shitty night sleep.

As I've sufficiently proven, I really have nothing to say. I just had a shopping list of my whereabouts with nothing profound to link them together. You read this far because of voyeuristic self-indulgence. But really, did you learn anything? Other than the fact that I drank about 10 time more than usual in the past 5 days.
Tuesday, January 22, 2002

When I started to see stuff come out about In the Bedroom, I wasn't terribly impressed. Sissy Spacek would be playing yet another hysterical female, this time a Northwestern instead of a being from the Midwest. I swear, if there is ever a movie with her and Holly Hunter, everone in the theater would have an aneurysm from their combined hysteria.

Regardless, I dismissed the movie. It was disappointing as Marisa Tomei is in it and I think she is wonderful. I mean, she was in The Slums of Beverly Hills. People toally don't take her seriously even though she won an Oscar. However, she was up against all of these uppity English-types like Vanessa Redgrave and Miranda Richardson. And people started a rumor that Jack Palance read the wrong name. Because none of dem bitches wanted to loose to some girl who was on A Different World and was winning an award for being in My Cousin Vinny with friggin Joe Pesci.

But the benefit of being freinds with someone who actually pays attention to Hollywood is the fact that this movie is based on a short story by Andre Dubus. I mean, Andre Dubus! There is something about having a movie from something you wrote that gives you a certain legitimacy. It doesn't mean all of these authors are great, but they have a certain thing, part of a certain club. And now I must go see this movie. Seeing something inspired by Andre Dubus is worth the hysteria of Sissy Spacek.
Friday, January 18, 2002

Yesterday I went to the DMV. That acronym instills fear, frustration and general stress into the average person. But I see it as a wonderful opportunity to spy into the lives of Jersey-folk (who are, undoubtedly, the most fascinating people I've ever met - including myself). After an hour and half, I had yet license that looks as if it's fake, $18 less to my life and about 5 separate Jersey boys I wouldn't mind marrying.

The best of the 5 would be the sweater turtleneck and loafer boy with the glasses. He wins marks not only on his looks but on what made me pay attention to him. There was this guy in a wheelchair; I'm not sure what he was doing at the DMV because he had a hard-core powered wheel-chair all suped up. Maybe you need a license to drive one of those. I've watched people on the subway freak out and move away from the blind guy. I watched people purposely not sit any where near the guy in the wheelchair. Because it's true: most non-disabled folks act as if disabled people are diseased or alien rather than generally just people. Except for the turtleneck, who sat by the guy in the wheelchair, stuck up a conversion, received his license and was therefore free to go but sat back down to finish his conversation. While everyone else just stared.

Or like the older couple sitting next to me, they talked about him. "I wonder what's wrong with him." "How much do you think that wheelchair costs?" "Why does he keep driving that thing around?" (He was dong the wheelchair equivalent of pacing, or just wondering around because he, like everyone else, was bored.)

So, yeah, I'm in love with the turtleneck for being that human at the DMV.

The lady who takes your picture is the exact same person who had been working there since I got my first license back in 1994. Talk about a dead-end job. I think the DMV sent a recruiter to Apex Technical School, found the stupiest person in the "Intro to Polaroids" class and hired her for life with the lure of a tenured job. How great would licenses be if unemployed or part-time photographers worked there? How wonderful would we look. But no, they manage to get the worst camera, the worst lighting and combine them with a nasty attitude making a picture for you to have to carry around in your wallet for 4 years, hoping the next one might be marginally less horrific.

Next time: the pre-teen delinquent activities of Marie and myself involing the ice cream man and the cops.
Thursday, January 17, 2002

Yesterday, after only getting up from my desk to get print-outs and visit the ladies' once, I wrote something up in my last half hour at work. It was sun-shining happy. And then pitas wouldn't work. So I picked up my shoulder bag and left. As a result of all of my hard-work yesterday, I am sitting here today trying my best not to jump out of my skin. Ants in the pants. I can't even think of a good way to spend my time. Well, all the good ways involve not being in the office. I'm sick of the internet being my source of amusement during the slow times at work.

This one job I had proofreading at my mothers' company (though not obtained through nepotism) involved sitting in a small room with 4 chairs, a table and a desk with a computer. There were no windows. The hallway was off to the side with only a very large conference room at the end. There was generally no work for me so I would bring books. Because they didn't give me computer access. Because I was supposed to compare two sets of contracts all day long, but they rarely had any for me to do. I would sit a read all day most of the time. Then someone walked past and said they don't think the company should be spending money to have someone reading. I was then told that I couldn't read any more. This meant they wanted me to sit in a completely quiet room with nothing to do for hours on end. I left that job; Ben got assigned by the temp agency. He too left the job after several weeks; at least they gave him computer access so he could play like Free Cell all day.

I'm taking tomorrow off. Because it's Wednesday. And I want to go embarass myself for the next 5 years by getting a new drivers license while I have this huge gross cytic zit on my jaw bone which ranks in the top 5 zits I've ever had. Then let hygentist scrape my gums and inevitably, no matter how careful she is, they'll bleed. The dental coverage I have will surely not cover everything, forcing me to fork out cash. I'll get the oil changed in the car, hoping the cute teddy-man at the Mr. Goodlube is working and he'll ignore the zit and flirt with me as per usual. This day sounds a whole lot more exciting to what today is shaping up to be. If you have an American Express Card and live/visit the NY area, go to here to get a discount card and a list of restaurants to go save cash next time you take me out.
Tuesday, January 15, 2002

I just realized it's my sister's birthday. I mean, I knew it was coming and all as it's always been right after mine. But I didn't realize until just now it is indeed today. Heh, that's what she gets for making me sit hungover through frigging Aida with her Penn-hick future in-laws on my birthday. Though, I suppose, I'll pick her up a gift.
Friday, January 11, 2002

Last night I had a dream about walking around under a huge pink umbrella. I really liked this huge pink umbrella, keeping me warm, dry and covered in pink, which is strange because I generally don't like pink or umbrellas. When I woke up, to "Octopus Garden" by the Beatles since I was too lazy to look put in a new cd, I was annoyed. It was raining and the Beatles were talking about being under the sea. I don't think Beatles' songs put me in a good mood first thing other than "A day in the Life."

While getting dressed and searching through what seems like a lot of clothes only because I just did laundry, I was hoping I might have a pink shirt. Most of my clothing, thanks to my mother's tendency to buy about 5 of the same thing to make Christmas shopping easier, is these long sleeved cotton shirts. None of them are pink. I settled on the pale yellow one instead.

I totally forgot about my dream under the pink umbrella, inspiring me to want to wear a color I haven't owned since age 2, until I was leaving the house. I was standing in front of the storm-door, breathing on the glass and looking at the rain. I was trying to decide whether it was worth going into work today. I was also trying to decide how wet my hair would get in the walk to the train and being thankful for my foresight of not pointlessly blowdrying my hair. I walked back in for a hat, took a cigarette from the not-so-secret hiding place, and then stood under the small awning to the front door. I lit a cigarette, watched the rain fall, and realized the awning was casting this creepy color on me. Then I remembered my dream, under the pink umbrella. It made me laugh to myself. Then I walked to the subway.

I'm thinking I might paint the hallway pink. I sort-of don't care what Angel would think about it. I'm thinking we need a soft pink core to our apartment. If not, I probably should get a pink shirt; maybe a button-down.

Every morning, I take note of what color the Gowanus Canal appears to be. This morning is was silvery evergreen.

Lately, New York has been about 75% more smelly. I've been smoking at least 90% less cigarettes. People say smoking ruins your sense of smell. If 75% of it has recovered, I don't want to know what 100% is like. I tried to do a wacky math problem but then realized it doesn't matter. What matters is that it is now the considerably less smelly winter. When I'm down to no cigarettes in the Spring and Summer when it's smellier, will I go back to smoking just to avoid then stench?
Friday, January 11, 2002

Today I took a walk during lunch. Today, while I had three people doing the work needed to meet a deadline, I walked out of the office and didn't return until the deadline was minutes away. Because it was too nice outside to return once I left. It's in the fifites, it's not going to be much of a winter, I don't think. Other than that 7 feet that Buffalo has, but Buffalo is another world much like the other world of the East 50's that I walked around today. This world was so strange and new. I always have walked downtown and for once I wanted to see what was up there. Nothing really, just people strolling much like I was.

I have had the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun" on my cd alarm clock this week. This song annoys me as the sun doesn't rise high enough to enter my room until at least 8 o'clock. When John, Paul, Ringo and George are all happily telling me about the frigging sun and it's cold and not at all sunny in my room, it doesn't exactly make me want ot jump out of bed. In a month or two this song will be a bit better. In the interim, I'll find something ironically angry to wake to each day. That might make me want to jump out of bed.
Thursday, January 10, 2002

Last night I had the car service drive me to my car. Because I didn't want them to drop me at my house just for me to have to walk 6 blocks to get in my car and move it across the street from my house. My temptation to explain the alternate side-of-the-street parking in my hood is being supressed. The car-service driver laughed when I asked him to drive me to my car. I guess it's funny. I smoked a cigarette while looking for a closer parking spot. It made my body numb. I had another this morning. This makes a grand total of 4 cigarettes in 2 days.

I have saved about 6 dollars by not smoking for two days. This means I can go a buy 1 beer at a bar, about 4 to 5 beers at the store, 24 packages of Big Red, 1 pair of long socks, infinite bananas, and everything else in that under $10 range.

I'm drinking about 50 gallons of water a day. It helps. Instead of stepping away from my desk to go smoke I now am getting up and down three times as much to visit the bathroom and refill my 1 liter bottle. I'm sure the person watches me walk back and forth tot the bathroom must think I have the runs or some sort of infection. I'm also chewing Bubblicious becase Santa left it in my stocking and I'm sure the smell of it is driving my officmate just as batty as what his poor manners do to me.
Thursday, January 10, 2002

I would like to thank the complete lack of listening skills on the part of several people that get a great deal more than I do from preventing me buying new boots tonight. Being in the mood for shopping is not something I can cultivate at will and when I have this mood, I hate it being struck down by trivial matters such as this report I'm basically in charge of. Now I must wait until I can reluctantly drag someone with me. Because if I am not in the mood to buy shoes I need someone's help to prevent me from buying 4 inch platformed neon orange with velcro straps, metal buckles and appliqu�d flowers boots for $200. Not in the mood = afflicted with bad taste. In the mood = fucking gorgeous and sexy shoes that are also comfortable to walk and versatile for both casual and office attire.
Wednesday, January 9, 2002

Yesterday I bought a pack of cigarettes. I smoked one because I was starting to go mad. It didn't make me happy though. Actually, buying the cigarettes satisfied me more than smoking one. I drove around Brooklyn for a half hour while my laundry was washing and didn't smoke the cigarette I was holding in my hands until it was almost time to put my clothes in the dryer.

I'm such an over-dramatic-crackhead. Driving through the streets of Brooklyn, trying to avoid Hassidic men that just seem to have the tendency to walk right into the middle of the street without looking, cigarette in hand as I tried to decide whether it was worth smoking it or not. As if it was smack. I was at least hoping to get a buzz off it, but no. I smoked most of it, tossed it out the window and wondered, what now? So I lit another one, took a few puffs and then threw it away. I act out such dramatic scenes in my life. I'm live-action-drama all the time, and most of the time it's just to entertain myself.

I think I'm quitting the smoking habit just for the dramatic entertainment value.
Wednesday, January 9, 2002

So George W. Bush is a sneaky slimy toad-boy with no respect for the rights of school districts to decide on whether they deem sexual orientation discrimination wrong or not. Because, thanks to the new law, from the bill I complained about last month, school districts must allow the homophobic Boy Scouts to hold meetings or loose all forms of federal aide. I can't tell you how pissed off this makes me. You can read the bill turned law here. The section under question is way way down at the end at section 9525.

I'm personally hurt that the feds dictate what townships can and cannot decide is right or wrong. I'm annoyed that stupid shit like this goes on because the government is trying to give us a pretty nationalistic face while slowly screwing us out of our right to determine the way we wish society to function behind the scenes.
Tuesday, January 8, 2002

Yesterday night I went to the home-town to have fish dinner with my family in yet another celebration of my birthday. I love dragging my birthday out for as long as possible. Really, I'd be happy if I could get away with celebrating it all January. I didn't want to be there on Sunday night because that was the offical throw-away-the-ashtray date. I didn't tell my family this was why I was opting to go home rather than open more things for me. I told them yesterday, but I was smoking as it was really unrealistic to expect me to quit smoking around my parents. Not because they stress me, but because they smoke too much.

Anyhow. So I got more loot. I love being born on the Epiphany, 12 days after Christmas, getting so many gifts in such a short period of time. Getting spoiled twice, in less than 2 weeks. Because in addition to what I thought were great Christmas gifts, I also got a whole bunch of lovely presents. Included was a pretty necklace because my parents reminded me that it was a "milestone" birthday and I wanted to say, "I'd rather not get this necklace than to have a milestone birthday."
-Egyptian cotton sheets, plum colored, because I refuse to sleep on anything but good sheets.
-Dust buster. Yes, I wanted one. I'll totally be the wife that gets a new stove for Christmas and thinks it's better than any jewels.
-Humidifier since I'm a big whiny baby who likes moist air.
-Super soft, super warm and fuzzy bathrobe. Fuzzy slippers too.
-Wok. I got another piece of cookware!
All my gifts were perfectly related to me. The way I like things just so. I mean, what 25 year old asks if her dust buster comes with a nozzle attachment? Because I like to get all the corners of the apartment, where dirt likes to collect. Welcome to 25, let your neuroses flourish until you pass them onto your spawns.
Tuesday, January 8, 2002

Ack! I'm 25!
My eye has been twitching on and off for about a day now. This is slightly annoying as it interrupts my vision with this little wavering blur. Is this the first sign of old age settling in?

Currently, I have about 10 cigarettes. These will be my last unless I fail in my big attempt to quit. I'm taking it seriously this time. My plan was covert until now, but this date has been set for a while in my head. I threw away my ash-tray last night, cermoniously went to the trash bin and placed it deep down so it would be gross to have to pick it out. I still have another than Angel had given me, a nice one with a fancy design, but that one is saved for all my smoking friends. I'm not going to be that person who used to smoke in her house but now bans her friends and loved ones from doing so.

I went to the Blue Ribbon in Brooklyn for dinner on Saturday. Don't ask no white people restuarant to make you good collard greens because those babies were so undercooked that the comments of what they'd do to me if I ate all of them are really inappropriate and disgusting. However, in addition to the drinking later in the evening, I was reminded of the two bites I had when they came up through my nose the next morning. Regardless, dinner at the Blue Ribbon was great because we had the world's greatest bus-person.

She was totally chill Brooklyn black girl with a scarf around her head and an easy smile. Our waitress was pretensious Brooklyn white girl with the tendency to purse her lips before speaking. The bus-person was constantly checking in on us, chatting and so forth. She looked at me crazy-like "please, whitey what do you know" when I said the collard greens were undercooked but then agreed when she found out where Angel worked.

At the end of the meal, Angel told her it was my birthday. She said her boyfriend's birthday was the same day and I must be a great lover, friend, super responsible but full of fun. Basically, she broke me all down in about 2 minutes. And we talked about writing and working and all this other stuff. And I got a hug and a kiss good-bye. Because she was the greatest bus-person in the world. I want to meet her again and again. Spend excessive money just to have her filling my water and talking about whatever.

I went to see Aida, the play with my sister, granny, mom and the sister's in-law-types. I wouldn't suggest you charge to the box office to go see it. If someone gives you a ticket and you have nothing else to do and are feeling kind of bored, maybe you should consider it. Plays generally make me to antsy. Musicals make me go into super-critical antsy mode. I like to watch for them messing up, dancers a bit behind and stuff like that. Because they are over-produced. Ever second of movement is accounted for.

My baby sister is away for two weeks. This means I can borrow my parents' car for lengthy periods of time. This is probably one of the best birthday presents I could get. Because Tuesday I'm going to Kings County mall and buying shoes.
Monday, January 7, 2002

There was a bus broken down on Fifth Avenue and 34th Street this morning, blocking a lane, with a police tow truck pulled up behind it. It wasn't a MTA bus but one of the other buses that the MTA allows to run in the city, providing express service from Bensonhurst, Woodside or other far-out places in the the boroughs. The first thing that I noticed about the bus was a bumper sticker that said "Mechanics Wanted" and a 718- number. Obviously.

Today I got my letter of salary and bonus for the year. I get a 3.75% pay increase. 3.75% of nothing is still nothing. My bonus will allow me to nearly pay off the credit card. Actually, not exactly nearly after they feds take out taxes. While talking to the head of the department, he randomly threw out tax lawyer as a possible future job. I guess he figures that if I can still put a smile on my face in this boring job, tax lawyer just amy be right for me.

Recently, I got all hard-core Republican in my thoughts when I realized I had no health insurance for about 2 years but was having Medicare taxes taken out of my pay checks to provice this service to my fellow country-persons in the same non-health insurance having status. Now that $10 can buy me the best care in the network, I didn't bother to think too much more about this.

I un-decorated most of my Christmas tree last night. I was sick of the needles getting my socks and poking my feet. About 15 pounds of needles fell to the floor, rescenting the hour with the lovely smell of evergreens as it did when the tree was thriving. What do they do with all of the trees that no one buys? They very well can't keep them until next year like fuzzy red and white stockings, glass ornaments and plastic Santas. There is definitely a Christmas tree grave yard somewhere in Pennslyvania.

(As we can see, my mood has gone from viciously insane to distant amusement since yesterday)
Friday, January 4, 2002

The best way to describe the kind of day yesterday was can only be found in reading this book: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. No fucking joke either. My shoulders felt as if I was one of those women in third world countries that carry 10 gallon buckets on each end of an unsanded log across her shoulders 5 miles uphill from the water source just to have to boil all of this water since it is contaminated.

I can bitch about a lot of the things that are bothering me, specifically go into how horrible things are/were. Or I can just cover the highlights such as
a) I am in charge of setting deadlines at work. Deadlines come and no one has anything done.
b) I am too damned old to have to tell my roommate what is appropirate behavior for him and his biz-notch (i.e. sitting on my couch watching my television in her underwear) All of us are too old to not know how to respect other people's spaces. He has a god-damned door on his room for a reason.
c) When your old sister "forgets" when your birthday is, forcing you to have to go to a play that day, promising to spend the evening with you to make up for this, she should not back out at the last minute. This applies to many other people in my life.
Basically, if you read this page and know me, I'm probably not pissed off at you. Because you'd know this by now. But everyone else who I know who does not read this is truly aggrivating me. And no, I am not PMSing.

On the nicer side of the world, I'm reading an insanely good book . It might not be great, but it makes me think about a lot of things and that is ultimately more important than anything else. I really have too much to say about it but it's made me decide another truism about the world which I shall discuss when I finish the book. Also, the new set of pots and pans Santa brought for me are great. I made myself a omelet last night that cooked evenly and actually slipped right out of the pan. It was almost too good to be true. It turned those 10 gallon buckets of water on my shoulder into 5 gallon. Because at least my eggs weren't runny or burnt but a tasty dinner while I soaked my feet and watched Lifetime movies.
Thursday, January 3, 2002

I was trying to find some overly significant lyrics to replace the bolded title, but came up with nothing at all. Rather, I gave up because I was sick of looking at completely irrelevant lyrics.

When Angel came to meet me at work on Monday, he had a pretty big list for us to accomplish. Because Saturday we didn't get anything done, because he was making his girlfriend cry, forcing me to waste value time which was set aside to try and win Scrabble games with Jesse.

It looked like he was expected a nice sized group, buying huge packages of beef in Chelsea, Chinese vegetables and sauces in Chinatown, fish and wine in Park Slope and then beer, more vegetables, ice and so forth in our neighborhood. For nearly 5 hours, we walked in the cold going from store to store. I thought he was buying too much, he didn't seem to agree.

In the end, it was only 5 people. Not 5 people in addition to us, but 5 people total. The guest of honor was Bess, of course and she prevented me from wanting to pull out my hair, made it a nice gathering and generally made the night. Angel and his girlfriend were mysteriously too together after Saturday's crying. One of his co-workers, Mossimmo, rounded out our strange group. I got his entire life story the next morning, from his fabulous life as a hipster Italian shoe designer to the world of an immigrant who knew no English leading him to re-evaluate his life and what it truly important. Basically, I drank a lot of rum and for the first time in my life I have empty spaces wherein I can't remember what happened other than me talking incessantly. Surprisingly, I did not have a hangover.

But I know a few things: someone knocked over my aloe plant and didn't tell me. I'm leaving the dirt in the bathtub until something is said. Someone took apart my name which was spelled in those primary/secondary alphabet magnets. These letters were not used to make any other words while others were playing with them. Someone covered the Bert part of a Bert & Ernie picture we have on the refrigerator. Angel and I are pretty Bert & Ernie like (with him being Ernie). I know it wasn't this way before because I actually washed the refrigerator doors on Sunday. Finally, in addition to Mossimo loving Bess, he also was constantly around our cigarette smoking selves because "the couple" make you feel unwanted, whether you live there or not. (talking trash, naming suspected somebodies and overly bold statements have been deleted.)

When I needed to steam my head last night because it was too hot, but freezing if the window was opened 1/1000 of a millimeter, unable to sleep and so forth, I spent a lot of time thinking about that list I want to make. It's not "resolutions" but rather "goals for the year." Right now the list is:
Finalize list and LSAT study schedule by birthday on Sunday.
Include the following in list:
-Write 3 stories
-Work on being less paranoid
-Work on 9 am being time to be at work and not a subway station
-Go to Seattle. Try to remember to return.
-Make a new list and throw away old list either in June or when I've failed to start doind anything on the first list. Repeat second half as needed.
Wednesday, January 2, 2002