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Saturday, August 31, 2002 All right, all right... I'm feeling muuuch better now. My gums look bad, but you can't see anything at all if I smile demurely (you shut up, I can be demure!), and only a little something off if I smile big and brightly... for now I can deal with that. If anybody knows anything about dental laser surgery, let me know, please. Most importantly, I've let myself forget how angry I was yesterday by way of a series of treats. I got a nice big curry takeout last night and watched a cheesy movie (The Sweetest Thing... actually, I laughed. Darn it, any gag involving Cameron Diaz in her underwear just can't fail!) and one too many E! Hollywood stories (the Brady Bunch was on! The Coreys were on! What luck!), took a nice long walk around the 'hood today, slammed into the Chelsea flea market with a vengeance and came out with a very smart black velvet blazer from Japan, some vintage postcards for sending, a few gifties for friends, and a vintage poster of an ecstatically happy technicolor boy, girl, and puppy in a basket on a bike which spoke to the kitch lover in me. And obviously I've been on the internet as much as I damn well please. Kelly and Kat, whose apartment I'm crashing in, are gone for the weekend and I haven't seen anyone I know since Friday morning... mm, it's turned into a nice weekend. Now I'm just starting to watch Lord of the Rings (fucking finally! I promised myself last October that I'd finish the book first... right) and oh, that Bilbo! I should pay attention. Okay bye! the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:19 Friday, August 30, 2002 Went to the dentist today... put simply, dude fucked up my gums. Last Friday I had surgery on my front left tooth for this longstanding abcess problem I've had for a few years now, yes? Simple enough... I've had so much done to my teeth that it was cake having to go in yet again. So I've had stitches for the past week. And I went in and had them removed today... along with a nice big part of the gum between my two front teeth. I should have worried more when he didn't give me a mirror after he'd finished, just said something vague along the lines of "I'm sorry. Call me in a few weeks if it doesn't look better and there's a... procedure... we can talk about." And I just said okay and left, thinking nothing much, that it probably looked worse than it was because it was bleeding a little bit (too much detail? I'm sorry). On the way to the bus I stopped in a bank parking lot and leaned in to check out the damage in a rear view mirror, and started to cry. Cancelled plans to meet my mom even though I knew she'd buy me stuff, cancelled plans to hang out with Mary tonight even though we haven't hung out much lately and she probably could've cheered me up. I don't want to have to open my mouth for another two days, and when I do open it again I want perfection. And I never want to go to a dentist again, ever. Let 'em all fall out, I don't care. I'm so mad I could punch something, so sad I could cry. And I don't cry. What do I do? Unrelated: I'm watching this Sorority Life show for the first time. Totally totally. Totally so not that entertaining. Could they abuse the word "sister" any more in a short half hour? I so don't think they could. the words spilled out effortlessly at 20:49 Thursday, August 29, 2002 .... So I'm off in a few minutes, for a long weekend. What promises to be the longest of all long weekends, actually. Full of oral surgery stitch-removal, visiting mothers and their middle-aged tennis friends, a move out of storage and into my new apartment [which entails stresses of its own, including driving a moving van?? crying to the storage unit owner when I discover that all of my belongings are infested with termites?? wondering when the electricity might arrive??], and a trip to the U.S. Open with aforementioned middle-aged tennis women. Wish me luck. I would do it for you. the words spilled out effortlessly at 18:21 Psychology 101. Today's lesson: The laying upon of doozies. Of late, I've had some minor stresses weighing on me... job issues, male issues, homelessness issues, the like... but nothing new. Nothing too, too taxing. In general, minus the occasional down beat, I've felt like myself: generally on the up, balanced, satisfied with my social sphere, waxing humorous when applicable, happy to at least have a job and a comfortable place to stay while my housing situation is in flux.... good. So last week, when two concerned coworkers and friends came to me independently and asked if I was all right lately, calling me 1. "despondent" and 2. "reticent", I thought it was a little bit weird. I proclaimed that I felt great, that it was weird they might think otherwise though I thanked them for caring, and that maybe it's all the black I've been wearing that casts an air about me. But then yesterday, another good friend and coworker asked me if I wasn't feeling a little depressed, because I'd been a little "staticky" and "not myself" lately. I protested again, a little weaker this time. Then I went home. Last night, I went with Kat and Kelly to Luxx to see a few bands. The National and Lansing-Dreiden, to be exact... both were really, really hot. But all night, I just sat there feeling more funked and depressed than I have in ages. Antsy and desperate to go home and be quiet. I hate that I would have let their concerns influence my state of mind, but that's exactly what happened! Or maybe they just brought my attention to some dark blue streak I've been hiding. I sat there sipping on my standard issue PBR, frowning and wondering, among other things, if I've just been repressing for the past year. I think maybe I have. I think maybe I'm also worrying too much about being a good roommate, after living alone for a year. I think I fiddle with my own love life more than a person should. I think I need to be more active in finding a job that challenges my mind. I think I'm tired of living out of a suitcase and of having no money and of worrying that I and everyone I care about could feasibly die tomorrow. Oh woah, where did that last one come from? Shit. There's no smart little ending to this entry, I guess. That's just it. the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:44 Wednesday, August 28, 2002 Hear ye, hear ye!!! Ahouy-houy! We here at Fuzzy Sweater are known to occasionally toot our own horn... and today, somewhere out there, our 10,000th official visitor has allowed us an opportunity to toot it again, long and loud! If you happened to log on around 3:30 EST today, it might very well have been you! No prize, unfortunately, other than the warm feeling in your heart. But thanks to the 9,999 others (ignoring the fact that half of those log-ins are probably me reading myself) who helped make this glorious event a reality. Let's go for 20,000, shall we folks? the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:46 Join me in mulling over some thoughts and observations, if you would, please. 1. Meaning no offense to ninjas... I dressed myself like a goddamn ninja today. Black pants, black top, and a slash of a red belt through the middle. I feel a little silly in the light of day. Though, really all I need is a big sword or some Chinese stars and I could kick some serious ass*. *No, I couldn't. I've never kicked anyone's ass. I've only ever once tried to. I slapped my high school best friend in the cafeteria because she was being a total bitch. But she didn't slap me back, so it wasn't really a fight and nobody really got hurt. I guess I also did once attempt to kick in a bathroom door at a Valentine's Day party, because the same best friend had egged my car in freezing subzero temperatures and I thought she didn't care about me anymore. As it turned out, she didn't really. It was a rough winter. But in the long run it turned out not to matter. I digress. 2. Today, my given task is to compile a list of every Civil War battle and note whether or not they have annual reenactments, and when and where those reenactments take place. Talk about a load of crap. And I've had this assignment for two weeks and only just remembered it this morning. I wrote "Civil War" on my hand on the subway so as not to forget. 3. I decided this morning that if I ever get a boy cat, I'm going to name it Alvin. 4. Last night, I watched Amelie. I also watched Amelie the night before last. Two nights in a row. I can't help but love that movie... and yet at the same time, it hurts to watch. I want to be her. 5. Any reasonable theories on how I might have lodged El DeBarge's 1986 classic "Who's Johnny" into my mental jukebox would be much appreciated. ("Who's Johnny?" she said, and smiled and looked the other way... damn it, you know you know it, too). 6. Free fucking mohawks. Just click on the picture at the top there, sit back, and prepare to be amazed by eleven pages of mooooohaaaaawks. So cool. Thanks to Liz for pointing me in the direction of this pointy-haired phenomenon. Discuss. the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:29 Tuesday, August 27, 2002 for a nice little site that'll consume your interest for awhile, check out the mirror project, sil vous plait. a dreamland for those of us who take pictures of ourselves and have nowhere to display them. the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:13 Wow. Look at me, letting this go for five whole days... sorry. I was "down the shore" and mired in a high-grilled-meats-intake-induced stupor. We've got three new young people starting work in the office today. Very weird. We have a fairly tight-knit group of coworkers, and for a very long time nobody came or went. We just sat tight and were happy that we more or less liked each other. But that romance wears off eventually, and so a few weeks ago we wrapped up the tail end of a whole slew of farewell parties (tainted by a "why HER and not ME" undercurrent running stronger with every cocktail downed)... and now the newbies have arrived. They all seem very nice. Very willing and able to do a good job. Very... new. By contrast, here I sit, the hardened old bag who knows how it goes, typing very obvious non-work-related Yahoo and Hotmail (I alternate windows bi-minutely) emails all day long, literally as I meet and greet the new flesh. I am wizened, hardened, lazy. Not filled with spirit. Old hat. Sigh. the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:36 Friday, August 23, 2002 I am Trying to Date a Wilco Fan. Lately, it seems I can hardly swing a cat without hitting a scruffy (read: attractive) Wilco-obsessed boy in this town. Now, the linked sentence up there is really just the headline that goes along with this rather amusing article from the Observer which entreats women in the New York area to go see I am Trying to Break Your Heart if they're scrounging to pick up some of New York's finer available men. The girl who wrote the thing was actually obtuse enough to suggest that the movie is boring ... so obviously, right there we can all see she is a moron who lacks something major in merit and credibility. The amusing part is that she seems to be set on making any legitimate female Wilco fans seem like manhunters by lumping us in with all non-male people with excellent music taste. Manhunters We Are Not! At least, the two things are wholly unrelated even if we DO happen to be Wilco fans and manhunters. Which we at Fuzzy Sweater are certainly not! But right or wrong, it's still a funny article. And damned if the headline, in and of itself, doesn't happen to be pretty much dead-on-balls accurate for at least one Wilco girl. My sympathies to anyone who did not get tickets to the October 17th show. I'll be sure to let you know how truly amazing they are and all the great memories you missed out on. Thanks to Amber for procuring. ........... I'm at my aunt's shore house in Jerz right now recovering from this morning's oral surgery... it wasn't all that bad so please, don't believe any ploys for pity that I might throw out at you. But I do have stitches, and I can't eat my uncle's delectable steaks or ride the wave runner. Isn't that terribly sad? Don't you pity me? Don't you? the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:37 Thursday, August 22, 2002 Today, I am a New Yorker. All the years (tw0, approximately) that I've been living and breathing and walking and eating in this town, I've never once succombed to the thickly succulent, tempting odor of the street vendor hot dog. Not even once, and that's the god's honest truth! Hard to imagine it, I know. I will typically consume anything and everything that crosses into my mind as edible. Despite the legendary appetite, I have always, always avoided that devilous weiner above all things. I would think to myself, or sometimes announce aloud, with an air of self-importance: Who knows what could be in it? Who wants to know? And what makes it smell so much more alluring than a regular, homemade hot dog? Whatever it is, it can't possibly be a good thing. It is probably a construct of Satan. I will never eat one, mark my words! Behold my self-restraint! Note the restraint! But today, I have done it. I marched myself downstairs and around the corner and I Bought Street Meat. And I ate it, and it was good. Almighty street vendor hot dog, for you I am born anew! Why would I have never had one before? I don't have any idea. Fucking delicious. UPDATE, 2:10 p.m.: Me: Dan, for some reason my desk area reeks of hot dog. Dan: Yes, Sarah. That's why they sell them on the street. So people will eat them on the street and not inside. Me: Oh. Huh. the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:17 Wednesday, August 21, 2002 I've been given two books today by friends in the office. The first made me squeal with delight like a small girl on a sugar high. It's the new short story collection from Haruki Murakami, After the Quake. I've been waiting for this one for awhile, and I hear it's spectacular... And it includes the most awesome fantastic fun time story, "Super frog saves Tokyo", which I saw Haruki (I can call him that) read at The New School last year and which caused me to fawn shamelessly. The second was given to me with a smirk: Love Numbers: How to Use Numerology to Make Love Count. Get the pun? Making love "count" by using "numbers"? Yeah, hilarious. I was laughing so hard about that pun that I could barely hear the weeping in my own head over the fact that I'd eyed this book on the free shelf recently and seriously considered picking it up for myself. I need some beach reads for my upcoming trip to the Jersey Shore / recuperation from Round Two Thousand and Five of my oral surgery nightmares. Somebody recommend something good and saucy, please... the words spilled out effortlessly at 18:00 And look at THIS! My horoscope for today, courtesy of Kelli Fox: "You'd rather not move, but soon you'll have no choice. Either you've seen it all before, or you just don't want to know. Look beyond the obvious boredom and risk. There may be another way." Then see the post below. Grrraaah. the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:37 Good morning. Today, I am delighting in the typing out of hundreds of em dashes as part of this project I'm working on. Option/Shift/- gets you to it, and then: — — —... beautiful. I could do it all damn day. I don't know what it is about that em dash! Very satisfying. Very. Can I have a new job, please? Anyone got any tips? the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:58 Tuesday, August 20, 2002 Revelations on a Tuesday. I'm the girl who is always asking for a bandaid. Or a stamp. Or nail clippers. No one ever has what I'm looking for. It's always the same... a *rummage rummage rummage* through the desk drawer followed by an exaggerated "ooh, sorry hon, I got nothin'". And so, in a moment of what can only be called divine inspiration, it occurred to me today that if I were to actually carry such things around in my own (large) bag, rather than resort to perpetually asking tapped-out coworkers for them again and again, I'd probably be much more likely to get what I want. This I realized while standing at the copy machine staring at my badly chipped nails today. That's what this day has netted for me. One sad little withered grape on the vine that once I called my own inventiveness. the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:04 Monday, August 19, 2002 "The East Village has turned into Wall Street, so now Wall Street is becoming like the East Village," Mr. Yago said." Read this article. Then try to remember what "irony" means. the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:03 Some music I got highly excited about this weekend: 1. Benny BenBenBen Kweller. Ah, to be a sixteen year old girl infatuated with this twenty year old boy! Those were the best crushes of my life, the ones I had as a teenager on Evan Dando and Darren Jessee... before I got all jaded and old and cynical, that is to say. Ben K. played Bowery [to a heavily teenage-girl-populated crowd] on Saturday and was more than dreamy-- he was also spectacular. The fact that he finished with a twenty minute rendition of Frank Black's "Headache" only endeared him to me even more. Maybe he digs older women... I'm sure he does. 2. My Morning Jacket. This Jesus-haired band opened for Ben Kweller, and thirty seconds into the first song I was completely hooked. I leaned over to my new-ish, got-me-in-for-free friend Tom and said, "Don't they sound like the band who played the theme song for The Adventures of Pete and Pete?" And they did. Who was that, does anybody remember? We couldn't. But MMJ were just lovely. Anybody in Louisville (and y'all know who y'all are) should go see them play whenever they can. They're from y'all's town. 3.Flaming Lips: The Soft Bulletin. It's about time I bought this album... it's about darn time. Unfortunately I can't get it to play on my stupid computer at work... I ask you, why must I suffer so? the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:07 Friday, August 16, 2002 I feel I should say something. But I really have little to say today. So after giving it some thought, I've decided I will post a list of sites that I have, over time, actually chosen to put in my "favorite links" file. If pressed, I will profess to have no idea why they're there or when I put them there. Or what I was thinking when I did. Or who I am. lip balm anonymous where's my pants? clamato.com the jerky of the month club dictionary.com's definition of "fetishize" urbanphotos (this one's got some very cool pictures of new york) ad critic dot com fat trucker's union fark.com mixmatcher playlist jesus is with you always andy's anagram solver personality disorder test samsonite pet carriers the hottest asian Prince impersonator ever Bon appetite, mon cheries. the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:53 Thursday, August 15, 2002 Happy Goodness Funtime Fuzzy Sweater Kommutin' Korner Presents!!!: Tattoo of the Day: Forearm, on a little guy with a goatee. A blue, barrel-chested robot reminiscent of the Tin Man. He is standing on the cratered surface of the moon blowing out a stream of fire. On his little tin chest is a little heart marked with stitches. Someone broke his little heart! On his face, the look of an earnest warrior. His hands are clenched in fists above his little tin head in defiance. Disheartening Revelation of the Day: Nineteenth century French psychiatrist-style goatee growth appears to be on the rise again in Brooklyn and surrounding boroughs. Too-Little-Too-Late Comeback of the Day: Her, with a snarl, on the L train at Union Square: "We're all getting out here." Me, with a withering look of condescention: "Yeah, like your hairstyle went out with the early '90's..." O! How I wish I'd said it out loud. Attractive Boy of the Day: Tallish, skinny bordering on scrawny, Ben Kweller-esque hair, plaid shirt, corduroys in the blistering heat, scruffy tennis shoes, copy of Kavalier and Klay. Regardless of what train you were on... if you were coming from Williamsburg today, you saw him too. Subterranean Daydream of the Day: Me, frolicking among the fjords of Iceland three months from now after effortlessly paying off my credit card debt. (They have fjords there, right?) Muffin of the Day: Cranberry. Unwisely consumed with a Cran-Raspberry juice. It was still good. Private island good. the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:48 Wednesday, August 14, 2002 A new way for all of us to waste our brain cells and make funny sounds come out of our computers at work, courtesy of Odd Todd: Mepnomis good stuff. the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:31 Tuesday, August 13, 2002 dan: sarah? me: yeah. dan: can you speed up time a little bit? me: i'll do my best, dan. dan: sarah, you would make such a better witch than sabrina the teenaged witch. me: thank you. sometimes i think so, too. dan: you'd be a whole lot better than melissa joan whoever. me: oh, go on. the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:01 What is Sweet-Ass About My Life Today: So... it's been a month and thirteen days since I started searching for an apartment. At first, I was looking for a share with strangers thinking it would be easier to live my own life in such an environment (and thanks to those of you who passed on tips... really, you helped saved my sanity at times)... but making the calls and the rounds and getting politely rejected and seeing overpriced hovels over and over got to be a little tiresome and I started to hate myself and New York a little bit, as you can probably understand. So when my friend Barbara suggested we look together, I concurred that it was a decent idea. And we've (well, she's) been searching like a champion for three weeks or so... seen some even worse hovels, started to feel more than a little bit poor at the prospect of living in the only crappy holes we thought we could afford... but on Sunday she stumbled across this place like magic, and yesterday I saw it and demanded that we had to have it, and today we found out... it's ours. Thank fucking god, I have a home! It's in Cobble Hill, a very precious looking place on a charming looking street WITH A WASHER / DRYER AND A DISHFUCKINGWASHER!! Finally, I can live the life of a slob without showing it! No more piles of dishes that haven't been washed in three weeks!! No more very-last-pair-of-scratty-underwear days! And I can eat at Joya any time I want!! So cheap, too! We're bandits, taking this place at the price we're getting it for. Bandits! Now I can afford cable! DSL! CD's! Clothes! Food! I am never moving, ever. My palms are hurting after a series of emphatic hi-fives. the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:42 Monday, August 12, 2002 All afternoon, and for most of the morning, I've been sitting here at my cubicle sorting copies of ads to be copied, filed, distributed, and ultimately thrown away without so much as a glance from those who are to receive them. It's a pretty mindless task, which is why I'm kind of enjoying it. Many of these ads have May and June dates on them. This means that they are late. And that it is my fault. Throughout these past few hours of sitting and sorting, I have received email upon email. By my count, around fifty. And from whom are these emails coming? They have come like waves in the ocean! like headlights in the dark to the field of dreams! like so many lemmings! and all from one person... and that person is the impenetrable Liz Interstate. And so to you, Liz, my beacon, my candle in the wind, my city built on rock and roll... I want to say publicly: thank you. You're the only one who cares today. Huzzah and Hoorah and Big Up to you! Pat yourself on the back! Treat yourself to a smile! Ah, what the hell... where are the rest of you people who call yourselves my friends, goddamn you all??? UPDATE: I just got an email from my mother. Still. the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:50 So I'm back. Yes, yes, here I am, people! I'm back. You were right when you thought you heard songbirds chirping "Sarah! Sarah!" in the brilliant New York sun this morning. (You, amongst yourselves: Is it me, or is she getting a trifle big-headed? Did she go mental in the Midwest? Brilliant New York sun my ass... who does she think she's kidding?) Grwaaaalhgh. Sorry. It's trying, being back at work. I just guest posted over at Normalcy so I might have little to say here for awhile... feeling kind of spent. Work to be done. I mean real work, not blog work. Really. the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:16 Friday, August 09, 2002 So I'm sitting here pensively chewing on a turkey / pumpernickel sandwich, meandering through my daily blog reads and awaiting the beginning of Better Off Dead on Comedy Central with the dog, and I'm suddenly reminded of something genius that my dad once said about her. He said, "This dog has eaten the same exact food every day for seven years. She should have a perfectly in-tune digestive tract. She should be the most regular person [we consider her a person] in this place." Which makes a lot of sense. A lot of sense. But instead of having a perfectly functioning intestinal system... our dog farts. Allllll the time. In fact, Mully is nothing if not a fart factory. She's adorable, sure, and personable as any dog you've ever met. But don't you dare squeeze her the wrong way. Thank you in advance for not commenting about your own various farting house pets. [Did I really just write about this?] the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:08 i attended my first bachelorette party tonight. hence, i have decided that if i get married, i will never have a bachelorette party in this hometown, ever. i will get married in barbados and not tell anybody and just skip the whole pomp and circumstance. why? because i saw two of the grungiest, most inedible, unsavory gentlemen SUCK on the NECK of my FRIEND tonight because she was wearing a candy necklace and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. of course, it was my fault she was wasted beyond her imagination. such a lovely girl... too bad i'll never picture her the same way again. *shudder*. i have to ask you: how fucking awesome is my diction??! i've been doing shots all night! praise to me. really. it just gets better the more drink i've had. the words spilled out effortlessly at 03:08 Wednesday, August 07, 2002 [Attention!: As you read the following note, written by my 7th grade best friend Kelly to me when we were both 12 and found folded into a triangle in the back of my closet today, I want you to keep in mind a few things. I think it's better that you know it all from the get-go... less suspense: a. There is no HTML code for bubble letters, unfortunately. b. Kelly and Doug broke up in the 8th grade. They never went all the way, but they might as well have because Kelly married the next guy she started going out with in high school. They are doing well, although he was not as cute as Doug. c. I never liked anybody. Or at least I never confessed to liking anybody. So [as evidenced] I was perpetually asked the question, "Who do you like???" And perpetually, I would say "nobody." Actually, I think I might have had a crush on Doug. Oh yeah. d. B/F/F in general preteen (or " 'tween") lingo means "BEST FRIENDS FOREVER". Between me and Kelly, it meant "BOOGER Friends Forever". Because we first bonded over a huge booger she had in her nose in Spanish class which was really funny. Other commonly used acronyms included LYLAS (Love Ya Like A Sis) and BFFOUTSOLSD (Best Friends Forever Or Until The Statue Of Liberty Sits Down. I did not make this up, people). Sarah: HEY!!!What's up or down or all around? Not much here. I just got off the phone with Sara B. We were talking about how entertaing doug and I were at Nat-alie's party. I was laughing so hard. She said her favorite part was when I was rubbing his neck. I asked her what was wrong with that and she said I practically had my legs around his neck. I totally disagree with her. I was a perfect little angel. NOT!!This weekend won't be near as fun as last. At the game we (DOUG AND I) won't have any privacy. If ya catch my drift! Oh well. I'll still have fun. BFF!! Are you still mad at me? I really hope your not. Are you mad at me because you think I'm ingoring you? If I am, I'm really sorry. I'm just afraid I'll lose Doug. I know that might seem strange to you. But I really do love him. And I think he loves me. (I HOPE) My mom says I too young to love someone, but I disagree. O.K. she might be a little right. I might not love him like Mom loves Dad but I really close to it. I was never this serious with Matt or Jim. I wasn't at all. I almost couldn't stand talking to Jim and Matt was so boring I'd say goodbye before a half hour was up. But with Doug it's different. I can talk with him for hours. And I'm not embarrased to tell people I going with him. I don't care what other people think. If they don't like him they can KISS MY BUTT! Well, enough about men. Oh, wait one more thing. Who do you like? You'd better tell me. I'm watching China Beach. It's a pretty good episode. I actually studied for my Spanish test. I was only allowed to talk on the phone with Doug for ten minutes so I had nothing else to do but study. I probably should call Natalie but I really don't want to. I feel really sorry for her. She likes Phill so much and he's going with some other girl. She's supposed to spend the night tomorrow night. Maybe Doug can fix her up with someone else. Or maybe he can get Phill to break up with that ho. Doug thinks Jerome likes me because Jerome always puts his arm around me and smiles at me in the hall and walks me to some of my classes. BFF!!! Jen is getting on my nerves. She is fine on the bus. But by the middle of the day she's a bitch. She was okay at the beginning of the year but when she became best friends with Kirsten she changed. So did Kirsten. I still don't understand why all the guys went with Kirsten. She nice and okay looking but she's not that wonderful. Was Leah's skirt short enough? At least she wore hose. All the guys were making fun of her. Doug said she had ugly legs. Anne is making me so mad. She treats me like I'm an idiot. Just because I'm slow in math, doesn't mean I'm an idiot. I good in all my other subjects. I'm sorry if I'm not as smart as all my friends, but I can't help it. I had the same GPA as Leah. So I'm not that stupid. I'm just stupid in Math. And my dad expects me to be really good in math, but I'm just not. Oh, Well!!! Well, I gotta go! It's almost time for 90210. B/F/F,Kelly next page: KEL + DOUG! 4 EVERnext page: SARAH + ????next page: P.S. I GLAD WE WILL ALWAYS BE BEST FRIENDS! L.Y.L.A.S. the words spilled out effortlessly at 19:37 This evening, I drove an hour and a half to Indianapolis to meet my college friend Alissa for dinner. I haven't driven on a highway for a year or so, and haven't been to Indianapolis since my drive home from college over two years ago. It's funny how a simple landscape can bring back memories so easily... tonight I happened to be unable to stop thinking about my first big love, Brian. Even though I've driven that road a hundred times since my freshman year of college, since the last time we were really together, he's what flooded my mind tonight. Here's the story. The summer after freshman year, he was living in the town our college is in and working in a restaurant. He was from Belfast, Northern Ireland, and was spending the summer here trying to figure out a way to stay in the states on scholarship so that we could be together. We were eventually going to get married, of course. Then we were going to live in London together, and later move to Rye, New York. Rye, that was the plan. I don't know why Rye. So that summer, I would drive to see him every two weeks or so, just for day trips... but my parents didn't approve of the whole idea so they were really restrictive about letting me take the car, no matter how nasty or pleading or reasonable I tried to be with them. I would've gone more if I could've stolen the car, but they were really strict and I was weaker and I just couldn't win. I hated the drive, though. I hate driving on the highway. Makes me really tense. And that's what made me think of him today... or maybe it was the August sun or something. Weird. We broke up after about a year of stupid, long-distance desperation, about a month after I got to England for my study abroad program and found myself living about twenty miles from him. I wonder pretty much every day, even now, what might have happened to me if I hadn't called it off. My life is pretty great now-- the people I've met in New York have been amazingly great influences on me, and I surprise myself with my independence sometimes -- so I'm about 99% sure that I made the right call. Thing was, I wanted to move to London, but not for anybody but myself. The thought of moving so far for someone else scared the crap out of me. I took that as a sign. I was waaaay too young, and we weren't really even each other's types anymore at the end. It was too easy to grow apart when we were never together anyway. But still... last night digging through my closet I found a song list from our radio show, and at the bottom he'd written this short, lovely note... I don't know if I'd ever even seen it before, it was folded under. I forgot that people can be romantic like that, in little imperceptible ways. And it's weird to me that I have no idea where he is right now. Sometimes I imagine he might even be dead, because it's unlike him to not write. Um, woah. Sorry for the ramble. But... it's on my mind, and what's a blog if not a platform for emptying out the contents of one's mind? [An aside: I paid a paltry sum of $10 tonight for unlimited soda, a salad, bread, so much pasta I couldn't even finish, spumoni, and two cups of coffee. And tip! $10!! You just can't beat that deal. In New York I would get a salad and a used teabag for $10. So Indiana beats New York on at least one plane.] the words spilled out effortlessly at 01:00 Tuesday, August 06, 2002 i have been so lazy today. my goal around noon was to get to the "square mall" to return the hideous clothes i bought for the wedding but didn't have to wear because i did get my luggage back in the nick of time. so i talked all this big talk to my mom about how i was going to the damn mall. i said i was going at noon, but got completely wrapped up in digging through these boxes from the attic labeled "sarah's junk" which held a huge cache of crap. including, but not limited to, a small army of little girly figurine-y dolls with scratty hair, some beat-up judy blume and v.c. andrews books, a few homemade pieces of "art" such as a metal casting of a turtle which i made in middle school shop class, and a sizeable napkin collection. yes, world, i used to collect napkins... really. in going back through them today i realized exactly how big a freak i was at age 9. who saves a napkin from applebee's, i ask you? jesus. though i did have one from the bahamas which was quite a jewel in my crown, if i recall... and one from my dad's 40th birthday party which he had signed, which leads me to note mentally: if i ever have kids, i will Never indulge them any leeway in collecting paper products of any kind. [i also had a huge business card collection... where were my parents? why am i telling you this?]... sigh. what else did i find in those boxes? well, nothing quite as revealing or emotionally charged as the napkins, unfortunately. i was really hoping to dig up a stack of garbage pail kids that i could sell for primo bucks... even a my little pony with all the hair still intact would've been worth a shot on ebay. but no. just junk. the words spilled out effortlessly at 00:56 Sunday, August 04, 2002 Yesterday's wedding... interesting. Made me think. Made me smile. Made me smirk. Made my head go fuzzy. A few things are clear to me now and yes, I intend to share them with you in an enumerated fashion. 1. Religion is STUUUUPID. At this wedding yesterday, this celebration of a great thing, we were all made to sing this song called "place your seal on me" or something. The dryest, humdrummiest, least heartfelt song ever written. I could hardly bear to open my mouth. And then at one point, the minister admonished, "The human heart is NOT the greatest symbol of love; Jesus on the CRUCIFIX is the one true symbol of love!" Enh? I'm sorry. I just don't buy into that. Also, not romantic. Why so many people are into religion, I will never understand. [Aside, re: the ceremony-- I had a coughing fit and almost ruined the exchange of vows. I ran to the bathroom just in the nick of time. Still, it was noted by several old people at the reception]. 2. Lots of people will marry the first schmoe that comes along. This guy my friend is marrying? First of all, the guy is highly unattractive; Sara, by contrast, is absolutely beautiful. It's a shame their children will be hideous. Secondly and more importantly, of all the people I asked about him who'd actually met him, everyone's reactions were the same: a sly glance around to make sure no one was listening and then a loaded "He's... all right." Why, Sara, a most delightful young lady and a fine catch I'm sure, would you marry this guy who's only all right? 3. Being single is a gift you give yourself. I was one of two singletons at the "hometown friends" table... the other couples were all very yawn, very "honey, unbuckle my shoes for me" and "let's go home and watch tv". Yuck. 4. George Bush is a god. At least, to many people in Indiana, he is. I was rather dismayed to find this to be true among many people my own age. I made a derisive comment about him to an old acquaintance, Greg, and he not only looked at me like I was stark raving mad, but launched into a long speech about how it was UnAmerican to not want to do something about the current state of the world, and every great empire has fallen and doesn't that scare me? Greg has quit his job and has been working out with the intent of going into the army and becoming a captain or whatever so he can go overseas and "kick SaDAAM's ass" and take his men in and bring them all out alive. But if he died, at least he would die doing something good for freedom. I asked him if he was serious. He was Very Fucking Serious. This guy and I had a hilarious running joke about flying squirrels in the second grade. Now he's a zealot. 5. Drinking lots of wine and smoking in front of your pediatrician and your dad's business partner and your childhood ballet teacher and the parents of lots of your friends and friends of your parents and people you didn't even remember existed may not seem like a good idea, but really, who gives a crap? I did feel guilty about the smoking a little bit. I just had one because they were giving away cigarettes at the open bar! But even my friends were like "Hmph, must be New York". Two of them actually said that. Maybe it IS New York. Also, I had enough wine that I found myself in a conga line towards the end of the night. That's when I knew it was time to call my mom to pick me up. 6. Because I live in New York, I want to talk about September 11th with everyone who approaches me. Let me clear the air right now, folks. This is a falsehood. I just threw it in to see if you were paying attention. Because it seems that a lot of people don't understand that it is indeed not true, this rumor that I want to talk about September 11th ceaselessly. In line for food. In the bathroom while having to go very badly. Over the roar of a large fan while eating dinner. All of these are examples of moments during which I do NOT want to talk about September 11th. If you'd like a more complete list, I'd be happy to provide one. Anyway... very interesting indeed. the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:03 Friday, August 02, 2002 It's been an unusual day of trials and travel today. Actually, that's a lie. This day could hardly have been more textbook, as far as travel days go. Bear with me and I'll tell you a little bit about it. I went through the typical lines of thought that I tend to go through when en route... about planes (how the hell do they stay UP on such nimble little wings?), death (namely, mine, by way of a fiery plane crash), my former selves, present self, future selves, sex, career, the concept of home... it's a short flight, so really I didn't dedicate a lot of time to any one musing. Just enough. I was reading What's Not to Love?, my first Jonathan Ames endeavor, which contributed to the introspection. At one point in my reading, I was struck by a washing recollection of what it felt like to not understand what was special enough about myself to warrant anyone liking me. It's been a long time. But that's what this book promotes. Still, the stories are written well, and I absorbed them quickly and in the end the book left me simultaneously amused, depressed, and better about my life. Also, I felt like writing. In fact, I scribbled down the bulk of what you've just now read, and this: 4:00 Today. I've lost my luggage somewhere between New York and Indiana, a suitcase I parted easily with and even recall feeling smugly confident about getting back at the end of my flight. Currently [not really] awaiting the arrival of a parent-- which one, I don't yet know. I kind of want it to be my mother, I think. Whichever one is coming to get me at the airport is late, by a good forty minutes. Leaving me here to watch over the constant rotations of a baggage claim belt yielding nothing for me. There is a fine layer of irony coating the two bags still on the conveyor belt, one khaki and one black, in that they probably belong to someone sitting in an airport in Akron who is at the same moment watching my luggage go around and around without an owner to claim it. And so I sit here waiting, listening to the croonings of Billy Ocean imploring me to get out of his dreams and into his car, hoping to see my belongings again sooner rather than later. ... So the luggage has still not arrived at 10:00, and when I called they had no idea where it might be. Apparently they don't really use the codes on those sticky labels to track the luggage, or so says the woman I talked to. Which is unfortunate for me, because I didn't actually put a nametag on the suitcase today. Of all days, today. No tag. Jesus christ, I'm such an asshole. No lock, either. ALL OF MY CLOTHES, MY FAVORITE THINGS, BOOKS, STUFF FROM GRANDMA, CAMERA, IS IN THAT SUITCASE! Everything. I was going to live out of that suitcase for the rest of the month of August. I just know, I KNOW, I'll never see my things again. Fuck. FUCK. Never mind that I had to run to the nearest "square mall" to find something to wear to this stupid wedding tomorrow because all of the clothes I have left here at my parents' house are three sizes too big for me and haven't been worn since 1996 or earlier. Of all things to worry about, this was the last thing I want to have to care about. Fuck. the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:18 Thursday, August 01, 2002 so i'm hitting indiana tomorrow... flying home, going to two high school friends' weddings, and generally lazing around for a week. i really cannot wait. what it means to me to go home: - i will be permanently stationed on the internet (...try to guess my AIM handle and win a prize of dubious value!) ...still searching for an apartment from a thousand miles away. - i will be permanently immersed in central air conditioning. - i will sleep late under a ratty pink and purple comforter in a pink and purple bedroom, on sheets that probably haven't been washed since i was home for christmas 2k1. - i will rent bad blockbuster videos with money stolen without remorse from my mother's wallet. - i will eat tater tot casserole and hot chicken casserole and tuna noodle casserole. - i will loot the attic for any remaining childhood relics to see what can be sold on ebay for a good price. - i will have my eyebrows waxed. i don't know why, i just will. - i will order pizza king pizza, no pepperoni because they mince it up in little pieces and i hate that. - i will maybe go to the park to feed the ducks. - i will maybe go creekin'. - i will not look askance at townsmen wearing mesh hats -- they are quite popular in new york these days, you know. - i will go to goodwill with high hopes for quality items, only to have those hopes dashed by a dearth of anything worth pulling off the rack. instead i will find only muu muu's and elastic-waisted highwaters, as always. patience is waning around here. i need to get me the hell out of dodge. the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:00 Scathing Ziggy Review Generates Roundtable Discussion!! lee: In case you were wondering, I can't stand Ziggy. me: who can?? lee: Retards. me: precisely the point i was hoping to convey. do you think it came across? i didn't look like a ziggy fan, did i? lee: What I got from your review is how clever and multifaceted the comic is. me: you make me want to bite off the fingers that typed that review and spit them out the window. i sincerely hope your comment is in jest. lee: I never jest. Except when I outright lie. me: m cv,mcxzdmkdcvm c, c cxxfcvvv p3p24ppklojkhtyt67888ioliu. (that's me typing with my elbow after having gnawed off my fingers). that is all. lee: Careful with that axe, Eugene. the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:29 |
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