fuzzy sweater.

Monday, June 30, 2003

A few things.

1. I applied for not one but TWO jobs this morning! I feel good, having done this. Both of them sound pretty cool, although very different from one another and from what I do now. I felt like I nailed the cover letters. Even an interview would improve my job-related self-confidence right now. Go me.

2. How much soy is too much, do you think? I'm eating a tofu sandwich with soy crisps on the side. That can't be bad for me, right?

3. Tonight, a show I've been anticipating with some eagerness! The
Argyle Nines descend upon The Continental tonight, and while I didn't think to go with gutter punk when I got dressed this morning, and might start to worry about looking out of place at a proudly scabby establishment such as The Continental, I assume I'll still find myself enjoying the atmosphere as well as the rockin'. They do rock, after all.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:26

Friday, June 27, 2003

In the past eighteen hours, I have heard the following things said of myself:

1. "Sarah could totally pull off the dyke look". Am, to Dan, enthusiastically, on the subway. I questioned her meaning and they both said that I could easily chop off all my hair and wear tough girl clothes and look like a hot butch lesbian. From them, as I sat legs crossed daintily at the ankle with my hair pulled into a sweet pony tail and my frilly girl skirt looking ever-so-not-butch, I took this as the highest form of compliment.

2. "You know what... you have a little bit of Willow in you!" Allison, in my cubicle. She said that sometimes, when she's watching old Buffy reruns, she thinks of me when Willow delivers a funny line in a particular way, or makes a particular facial expression. I laughed and told her what Dan had said about my butch lesbian thing the night before, and she said "Oh, but I'm only on season 3, Willow hasn't even gone lesbian yet." I hadn't even thought of that. I was flattered... it's nice to hear that I'm Willow-y. Even after that ridiculous interview Allyson Hannigan did with FHM or whatever magazine it was, in which she went waaaay out of her way to ensure the readership that she's not a lesbian and therefore give all the readers hope that someday, maybe, they'd all get their chances with her.

Anyway, it was nice, getting these two completely unique, unprompted compliments bestowed upon me. I'm walking a little taller today.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:36

Thursday, June 26, 2003

I will be tonight, all right.

Who's going to see Wilco in the park? Woot woot!

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:56

A hearty thanks to Newtop for loaning me her own personal copy of The Phantom Tollbooth, which she brought back from Kansas (or wherever TNT hails from... somewhere in the heartlands, I always forget the specifics) just for me! I think. I never read it as a kid. It's got the heft and pulpy smell of the well-crafted books of our youths, you know what I mean? Thick, white pages and the kind of cover that wears well even after years of thumbing and sweaty kid palms. Yummy.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 09:49

Wednesday, June 25, 2003

If you had asked me yesterday if I believed in fate, I might have raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, in general, I think it's a really pleasant idea, and I definitely see reason to wonder... but in general [since you're kind of forced to tie it into religion and all of that], it's just a little far-fetched, don't you think?"

Today, though? Yeah, I believe in fate. For you see, the forces have delivered to me... a new keychain!

Dan went to Nashville to visit his brand new nephew (who he first mistakenly reported weighed 19 pounds... yeowch) this weekend. Upon his return today, he called me over to his cubicle and presented me with a Nashville "Music City USA" keychain! With my NAME on it!! I ask you, could the timing have been better? Could it possibly have been more than coincidence? Could it be any less than more than coincidence?

In further key-related news.... I got home a little early last night and called the landlord's guy to come over and set me up with a new deadbolt, and he did. He then had to come back over three times to help me with it, because it kept jamming the minute he walked away and my wimpy weakling arms couldn't force that lock into submission for anything. Finally I locked myself in for the night and didn't mess with it further, and had little trouble locking it from the outside this morning. You burglars can just kiss it.

So, now I'm back on track... safe and sound with a new big lock, and keys for it, and a keychain for the keys. Life is good.

Is this interesting? I'm questioning its value as an anecdote.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:31

Today: better. Although I can't catch up on my sleep for anything, and I can't get my story written for anything, and I haven't gotten to spend much quality time with the boyfriend— or any of my other friends— in what feels like forever, and I don't have any idea what I've been doing with my time, and people are leaving work and going on to better places, and I'm not, and it's hot, and I'm incredibly broke again, and X, and Y, and fiddle faddle, and I can't remember my goals at all.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:58

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

Got me so down I got me a headache.

Yesterday over lunch, I had a near panic attack while trying to pick out a sandwich at the grocery store near our office. Everybody else was outside waiting when I finally came out after having picked up and put down six things and decided to just get nothing.

Then, last night, I broke down crying in the middle of the cheese section at Whole Foods. Amber showed me the prosciutto she bought for our sandwiches, and I started to cry. And I just let myself do it and I didn't care that I was in the cheese section at Whole Foods and people with carts couldn't get to the spreadables display behind me.

I don't know... I've typically got a pretty good tolerance for stress. But I'm just not interested in suppressing my stress right now. I want to get it all out, for once, instead of putting things to the back of my mind and trying to ignore them.

But probably it's best if I try not to do so in grocery stores henceforth. And not on the blog, of course. No, no. Because as we all now know, Everyone in the "blogosphere" can learn all you think, say and do. This includes all you think, say and do when dealing with your family, co-workers, and friends.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:47

Monday, June 23, 2003

About A Worm.

I was settling in on the plane yesterday afternoon after an hour of delays and standing in lines and overpaying for trail mix and not being able to use my phone to call my roommate to tell her I'd be late and other such small annoyances. I sat down next to a plain-faced college boy reading science fiction, stuffed my bags under the seat in front of me, and scowled at the tow-headed child screaming about throw-up bags to my left.

After lift-off, I put my headphones on and opened my book, and something caught my eye. There on the right page of my book was the teeniest, tiniest, inchiest little inchworm, no longer than a centimeter, working his way across my book! So tiny and nimble that it looked like a piece of black thread! I took off my headphones and turned excitedly to the guy at my right. "Hey... um, I'm sorry, but I have to show you this!" I said to him. He turned his head to look at my pointing finger. "Look! Do you see that little thing? It's a little tiny inchworm! Have you ever seen anything like it in your whole entire life??" "Woah... nope, I haven't!" he replied in chipper airplane-banter style, and then turned back to his book in a decisively I-don't-talk-to-[crazy]-strangers-[who-rhapsodize-over-worms]-on-airplanes manner. I wanted desperately then for him to turn instantly into someone I knew, who might believe that I'm not a crazy worm lady. But he didn't. I later refrained from tapping him on the shoulder when I thought to myself "Oh my gosh, it's a bookworm!!!"

For the next hour, I watched the worm intently. He scooted around on my book for awhile, then the seatback tray, and then the book again. I made sure that whenever I turned the page, he was safe on the side of the book and not in harm's way. I would put my finger next to him, and he would pick up the pace to get away from me, as if his back end was barking orders to his front end to "move IT, move IT!" Every time he made it to safety, I would think proudly, "There you are, buddy!" and carefully turn the page so as not to disrupt him with a strong gust.

I began to refer to him in my mind as Gumshoe, because his little front and back ends had two or four pairs of tiny sticky feet things moving him along which made me think "Gumshoe!". He would rest for a time, and then cautiously make his way back to the middle of the page and over and around and down. When passing over an "l", he would make it look like a "t"! It was really quite remarkable, the potency of this tiny worm's charisma.

I began to wonder if there was any way I could save him and take him home with me, perhaps by containing him in the cap of my water bottle and holding my thumb over the top. In the end though, I lost him. He moved around to the underside of the tray, and I decided it was not my place to hold him back. When I put my tray back into its place some time later, I saw no trace of Gumshoe. I'm sure he made his way into the magazine pouch and settled into the in flight magazine or something.

It was just so... beautiful, I guess. This impossibly tiny little living thing, traveling from Indiana to New York and beyond all by itself. Inside my book! I had the distinct sense when I was watching it move that if I had been feeling lonely, I wouldn't have felt lonely anymore.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:01

Saturday, June 21, 2003

Okayokayokay: I just found this advertorial in "The Amen! Page" of my local newspaper, circulation 40,000:

A Friend Indeed

Have you ever heard of "blogging"?

It's apparently quite popular with the computer crowd. Your "blog" is essentially a diary of your life and thoughts, which you put on the Internet for one and all to read. Everyone in the "blogosphere" can learn all you think, say and do. This includes all you think, say and do when dealing with your family, co-workers, and friends.

This may be fun, but this creates problems. After one woman said too much about too many relatives, the resulting mess was "the worst thing that ever happened to my family." The same woman was also fired from her job after she said too much about her employer.

Here is my question: what would it be like to be the friend of a "blogger"?

You would speak, and your words would be spread throughout the blogosphere. You would act, and your deeds would be reported throughout the blogosphere. You would get quite a reputation, and it probably would not be good. Such a friend doesn't sound like much of a friend.

Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."

Quick modern interpretation: Jesus will not "blog" you. He knows the truth about people like you and me, but instead of spreading the truth for all to read, he spread his arms upon a cross, for all who will believe blah blah blah....

People will "blog" you. Jesus Christ will save you from your sin, comfort you in your distress, guide you through your struggles, make you into the blah blah blah the end.

Pastor T__ S____
C___ Presbyterian Church

No joke. This was the centerpiece of a big group ad for local businesses. Unreal.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:13

gee, fellas, way to make a girl feel lewd... sigh. that's absolutely the last time i tell the world-at-large about any groundbreaking tanning adventures of mine. see what you've ruined?

to change the subject abruptly... grandparents. i saw mine today. grandma told me it was time i found myself a church and started going to it, that if it was "maybe methodist, if not presbyterian or catholic" i'd still be all right. grandpa slipped me two twenties and told me not to spend it on "rent or anything silly" but to use it on "a nice date". grandma put her hands on my cheeks and kissed me hard on the lips like she does to everybody. grandpa drew me close to the faint scar on his neck from the surgery he had a few months ago and said, as he ate a cheeseburger, that he'd never felt better. grandma pointed out and named every shade of beige used to decorate her new duplex home on the assisted living complex. grandpa told me i looked like i'd gained a few pounds and said i "still looked beautiful".

every time, they give me fodder for quippy, anecdotal blogging, so i can't really resist and it then comes out sounding like i'm making fun when i don't mean for it to. in a way i feel like i'm writing it all out for myself not at all to be funny, but so i'll be more likely to remember the things that make me laugh and groan and get a little wistful and wish i lived closer sometimes. to be honest, their capacities to remember details are stronger than mine at this point. i need a little help sometimes.

speaking of assisted memory recall... i then came home and pored through a few forgotten boxes of family pictures. i'm pulling out all the stops today, nostalgia-wise. i tried to involve my mother in the fun by holding up snapshots and saying "look at david!" or "awww, abby as a puppy!" etc., as mothers and daughters always do seem to come together in movies or one-hour dramas when poring through forgotten boxes of family pictures, but she wasn't too interested in talking about what an uncommonly adorable baby i was, or how skinny dad used to be, or how funny it was when X gave Y that ridiculous thing for christmas that one time. she's just not the type. she doesn't tell stories, either, and i've always wished that she would. me, i don't think i'll ever grow tired of looking at old pictures of my family. i like trying to piece out how we all got from there to here.

okay, to bed now before i start in on something else.

but oh! one more thing. today i found my old benji dog! you know, the dog, benji... when i was little, i had a string tied around this toy's neck and would pull it around behind me like a real dog, and talk to it and stuff. not just at home, but all around town, benji and i would go together, me fore and he aft. the string is gone now, but benji looks pretty good for all i put him through twenty years ago. god, i loved that dog.

good night.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 01:41

Thursday, June 19, 2003

yesterday this friend of my mom's, and the mother of an old friend of mine, stopped by to give my mom something. i went out to the driveway to say hello, and upon seeing my legs gleaming white in the wash of indiana sunlight, muttered something to myself along the lines of "god, i'm pale." to which my mom's friend responded with a shrill cackle-laugh. like, laughing at my legs' whiteness. i just stood there. then she dragged her 15-year-old daughter out of the car and held her at arm's length as she said "look at olivia! it's an airbrush tan! doesn't it look fabulous?!" mom and i nodded agreement that it did look fabulous. "she just went! i'm going tomorrow! here, sarah. here's the number. honey, you should go!"

so... uh... mostly only because my mom insisted on paying for it, i swear... i went and got one. what is known in these parts as an "airbrush tan". wherein i stood in my skivvies while a woman knelt in front of me and sprayed my entire body with a hand-held airbrush gun filled with some self-tan solution which is designed to somehow "chemically meld with my skin cells to create a naturally healthy glow" or something similarly cockamamie. the woman was really nice, and we chatted the whole time, like it was normal for her to talk to strangers in the buff (though i guess it is) and normal for me to be sprayed to bronze almost all-inclusively by a stranger (which is not normal). it was surreal. i don't do things like this, do i? i feel like somebody else right now. someone who lives in florida. and i look a little like someone named tawny. perhaps because i AM tawny.

and no, thank you, i did not get diamond-encrusted gel tips and a brazilian bikini wax to go with.

it really does surprise me when i think about the outlandish things that so many women do to make themselves look a certain way.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 18:09

Not to worry, not to worry... I'm still alive. It's been a long week, not the least annoying part of which involves my laptop having shat itself completely. I think it's a virus, considering that the screen has gone black and just before it did, I was informed in black and white that the operating system "doesn't exist" anymore, but what do I know of such things. Also, I took this week off of work, intending use that time at home to work on a more extensive online job search. It's destined not to happen, apparently, as instead, I was cut off from the Internet, thrown blindfolded into a world I did not understand where information was not routed on any such superhighway, ready at any time for my absorption and immediate disposal.

To finish off my week away from work, I came to Indiana. I have this wedding to go to in Indianapolis on Saturday and decided to spend a few days at my parents' house nearby. This is where I am now, in the basement specifically, watching The Cosby Show and trying to ignore the droning snores of my parents' dog.

I don't know... these past six days (since last I wrote at you, nigh on a week ago now) have been up and down. In the interest of my own interest and yours, I think I'll skip the down and just ramble on about the up for now.

First, I bought a bike! A really nifty bike, a Fuji Captiva to be exact. I forgot how exilhirating bike riding is! And what a great idea, eh, being able to zip to the store on a pair of wicked-looking wheels instead of walk on my boring old feet like all the other saps. It's pretty exciting. I don't know why it took me so long to get around to it.

Also up... being home, as usual, is giving me a nice, relaxed sense of bland normalcy. Granted, I've been home for six hours and have already fended off numerous commentaries about my bangs being "too shaggy" and made the mistake of telling my mother I would help her to remove some stitches from the dog's ear (thank me later for not getting into detail)... but today, I like the fact that none of my friends live here anymore, and I have every excuse to do nothing but hang out with my mom, go to Target and the Iron Skillet, sit on the floor of my bedroom-- still painted the same putrid pink that I picked out myself when I was ten-- poring over photos and notes and scraps of things that mean nothing to anyone but me.

What else, what else... well, I saw a matinee showing of Capturing the Friedmans... took a day trip to Staten Island... hung out with one of my favorite people, Leffybottoms, while she was in town... ate a bagel on my stoop while reading an ARC of a book I'm really, really enjoying (and come on sale time, you will be urged to do so as well if I haven't already urged you to do so face-to-face)... slow-smoked a cigarette while lying on my back staring at a night sky on an elementary school blacktop playground... bought some hot red pants (not red hotpants) and a few saucy summer tops... and, it seems, decided to say "fuck you" to my financial woes and sent them packing... got a small patch of sunburn on my right shoulder which didn't last long but somehow made me happy... and that ain't all, but I'm tired of trying to remember clipworthy stuff so it ends here.

I suppose that tomorrow, I might have some clever, cheeky and stereotyped anecdote about my hometown and its Hoosier-steeped inhabitants... but we'll just have to see. In the meantime, I'm going up to take a bubble bath, making further dent into a seven-year-old bottle of Mr. Bubble, and then flip through favorite books I haven't read since I was eleven until I fall alseep.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 01:04

Thursday, June 12, 2003

schmaltz / also schmalz (n.)

1. (informal) excessive sentimentality [syn: schmalz, mushiness]
2. Liquid fat, especially chicken fat.

Today I went out and had lunch with Kelly in a Cosi or someplace. She gave me a small wooden turtle from her trip to Mexico and a bottle of bruise-black nail polish from the freebie pile at her office, and we caught up. I was trying to force down a vulgar-tasting shrimp wrap when over her shoulder I spied this guy sitting down to eat two tables away. I looked for a second and then realized that he was a Nerve guy, someone I had gone out with last fall a few times. I remember him being very funny and interesting, but I just didn't feel quite right about dating him, and he told me he didn't want to be friends, so we parted ways. This was definitely him. I told Kelly to scootch over to her right, and spent the rest of lunch leaned over to my right so as to be blocked from view to avoid any awkward eye-contact.

So anyway. I couldn't remember his name offhand, and this bothered me. I came back to work and decided to look at my old Nerve account, because I haven't thought about it in ages. I'm browsing and cringing and wrinkling my nose as I read through the old messages from strange boys who thought I could be wooed by such lines as "damn your profile is hott!!!" or similar. And so I read through my "hott" profile (no longer visible to the public, thank you very much), thinking to myself that I could possibly have been a bigger dork, but only slightly so.

Anyway, my point... my point. I come to the part at the bottom called "Who I'm Looking For." It's the part where you describe who you are looking for, you see. I remember thinking that it was silly to try to summarize a person who may not even have existed in such a way. It's just more sensible, healthier, to not have a checklist, I've always thought... more fun to expect the unexpected. (Maybe I should've just written that? Anybody still on Nerve can have that line, my treat.) Of course, having already compartmentalized myself in a similar fashion, I went ahead and did the checklist thing anyway. And what surprised me today is how prescient it seems that I was then. Because really, as dumb as a "wish list" may be in theory, and unrealistic at best in whatever world you're trying to find a date... many months later, I still somehow managed to run smack into somebody in the real world who matches up pretty nicely to that nonexistent person I was coerced into defining a year ago. Nicely enough to make that paragraph seem somewhat like a prediction.

I'm not going to further embarrass myself or anyone else by pasting that paragraph here... but what I'm saying is, I guess I'm just glad. I'm glad for where I've been, and for the fact that I actually seem to know myself fairly well, to my own amazement... and glad for the way things are right now. And I'm glad about the cool boyfriend part, for sure.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:56

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

Hi, hello... sorry for the urgency yesterday. If you felt that I was specifically trying to make you, reader / friend, feel guilty, you're probably wrong. It was probably somebody else I was hoping to pressure into getting help from. Thankfully, I did get a good potential lead, so we'll see.

I have been stagnant all day. I have no work to do, and I know I should go and talk to my boss about this and tell her I want to get more involved, because I know that I'm more capable and I guess I want her to know that I know she's underusing me... but that would mean actually getting more involved. And it's hard to get excited about that when what I want even more is to be rid of this place. Soon, I know, there will be things for me to do, and this is a slow time for our department. But I hate sitting here feeling like I could get busted for using the Internet or churning out large blocks of blue Outlook text when really, what else have I got to do? I even cleaned my desk and threw out a bunch of stuff from my drive. Before long, I'll find myself bringing in a small tub of soil and attempting to grow herbs. And I could sit and watch the tub all day, waiting for the tiny sprouts to clear the surface. Not a terrible idea.

This Friendster thing is getting ridiculous. When I'm bored, as I am today, I go onto the site and just leave it up and refresh throughout the day, occasionally meandering into someone else's friendster group. Why do I do this? I really don't know. It is not in any way enriching.

I've been reading some news, though, catching up with the world around me... I just read an article which just makes me terribly sad. And also made me snicker a little. I couldn't help it. But mostly it's just sad. I hate to hear about people being duped.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:47

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

Okay, folks. I'm gonna post this again... maybe people weren't feeling all too cooperative when they read it the first time, but a second time will inspire them to email me. It's possible, isn't it? Because I know there are people out there, people I KNOW (no naming of names) who could help. And as your friend, I just don't want to have to browbeat you into helping me, your friend, with this thing about which I am increasingly excited.

To: MUSICIANS
From: ME
Re: MY BIG BREAK INTO JOURNALISM

Hi, musicians. I need a little help. I'm writing an article (!!!), and for this article, I need to interview someone who's been part of a band that tried really hard to make it but ultimately failed and broke up. Preferably a local band... and preferably you're someone I already know. But regardless, if you've got a good story, I wanna hear it. I NEED to hear it. So... if you fit the bill, drop me a line right now and I'll tell you a little bit more about the article and you can decide if you want to help me. I'm excited about this, and I reallyreally hope it can be pulled off. So... what say you?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:25

Monday, June 09, 2003

To: MUSICIANS
From: ME
Re: MY BIG BREAK INTO JOURNALISM

Hi, musicians. I need a little help. I'm writing an article (!!!), and for this article, I need to interview someone who's been part of a band that tried really hard to make it but ultimately failed and broke up. Preferably a local band... and preferably you're someone I already know. But regardless, if you've got a good story, I wanna hear it. I NEED to hear it. So... if you fit the bill, drop me a line right now and I'll tell you a little bit more about the article and you can decide if you want to help me. I'm excited about this, and I reallyreally hope it can be pulled off. So... what say you?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 23:41

I am a sandwich-making GENIUS. Seriously now... today's sandwich is even better, or at least just as good as, last week's Italian Herb tofu, or the apple, brie and raspberry jam combination. Today, I went with Thai-spiced tofu, arugula, tomato, and ginger soy dressing on 12-grain. It really is quite delicious, albeit a bit moist. That's something I can work on.

I wonder if I've got what it takes to make sandwiches for a living. Or email Liz professionally. I'm also very good at that.

On a more serious and semi-related note, I'm re-considering going into international education. This was a plan I had hoped to follow after college, in a roundabout way, which was tossed aside when my parents said they would help pay for a publishing postgrad program at NYU in lieu of watching me run to London with no real plan, no money, a BUNAC card, and a penchant for English men to try to be a bartender or waitress. My only trouble with this goal is that it seems rather difficult to find a job in this field in New York. Unless I want to be a rep and run myself out to podunky little colleges in Pennsylvania on the weekends to go to fairs and crap. Which I do not. What I really want is my friend Karl's job. He gets to go to Italy once a year, and then sits around in New York talking on the phone to prospective students for the rest of the year. Plus he gets to be in a union.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:53

Sunday, June 08, 2003

Did you know that Goodwill now has an online shopping site? It’s true! Combining thrift, secondhanding, charity, good karma and the Internet all into one… I can tell you, this excites me to no end. I’ve been skimming the site for a few minutes now and have already found leiderhosen, seven Peanuts neckties, a Xena, Warrior Princess leather jacket, Hoosiers on DVD, a vintage Polaroid land camera… actually, there are quite a few cool-looking old cameras listed for almost nothing... the hitch is, none of them have been tested, so there’s no way of knowing if it will work or not. I guess if you’re a gambling person, you might get a thrill out of paying $4.00 for a Kodak Brownie and not knowing if it’ll work or not. Still, pretty neat. I love other people’s junk.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 19:39

Thursday, June 05, 2003

I have been shopping on eBay for the past hour, trying to find a reel of new Kodachrome 8mm film and an inexpensive projector. I've had this Super 8 camera for almost two years and always take it out of the case to click the little lever and push the button, but have never put it into actual use... which is such a shame, because what a cool toy! And a terrible one to waste.

My problem is, I'm really very broke right now. And I have a million other things I need to put my money towards before I go blowing it on potentially impotent eBay flotsam. But I don't care. I want to use this camera! I want to have it primed and ready for outdoor summer shenanigans! So I think to myself, why not?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:53

Am currently listening to Modest Mouse: Between the Moon and Antarctica at my desk, and my boss came over just now and asked me chipperly, "Ooh, what's this?? Are you listening to "Who Let the Dogs Out?" ...Really! It isn't? That's funny, it really sounds like "Who Let the Dogs Out?"!

As if I hadn't been working with her for three years, which should be well long enough to know a girl well enough to know that she wouldn't be listening to any such thing.

And as if she shouldn't just have instinctively realized that, once it had been established that I was not listening to "Who Let the Dogs Out?", I wouldn't want to awkwardly converse with her about "Who Let the Dogs Out?" for any length of time, let alone for several long minutes.

As if she ought not to have taken a cue from me when I quit attempting small talk with her two and a half years ago in an effort to improve our relationship so that it could be manageably bearable. Sigh.

I've got to get out of this place.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:54

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

Two really neat things!!!!

1. Courtesy of Amber... I present to you, mortal reader, your very own.... Hero Machine! That's right, you can construct your very own superhero, right here! Mine is currently under construction and she doesn't have a name yet, but be assured: she's going to be hot and powerful, with abilities and skills that would blow the minds of average human beings like yourselves.

2. Ten years ago, I thought I was the coolest girl around because I "discovered" They Might Be Giants. Oh, did I ever think I was the coolest! Well, no, actually I definitely didn't think that... but I did think TMBG was the coolest. Of course, I also thought wearing vests was cool. So.

The point, yes. Have you ever heard of They Might Be Giants' dial-a-song? Another Brooklyn secret revealed! Today, Jeremy directed me to a specific This American Life show (Telephone, Episode 90) and one of the acts features Sarah Vowell interviewing TMBG about Dial-a-Song. Apparently for the last twenty years, they've had this Brooklyn telephone number (718-387-6962) and if you call it, you get to listen to a randomly generated TMBG song! Just think of how refreshing that could potentially be in the middle of a rough day. If you like TMBG, that is... and even if you say you don't, I would still be quick to suspect that you once had a copy of Flood stuffed under the passenger seat in your hatchback along with some other old tapes I won't mention, for your sake. I think the sixteen-year-old me would've flipped over this idea, as I've always had a curiosity for unusual phone numbers. The twenty-five-year-old me still thinks it's pretty nifty, and currently has "Your Racist Friend" bouncing around in her head.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 18:03

1. My dentist told me that my teeth are fine, fine, fine. Not a one of them is in need of a pulling! Very clean, he even said! This renewed my faith in dentists, being told exactly what I wanted to hear.

2. Erica has just now informed me of the existence of these amazing Hotjobs search agents which email you the jobs you're looking for! I never knew. So instead of typing in "books", "writing", "international education", "tv", "radio", ""massage therapy", "medical guinea pig", etc. etc. etc. every day in search of a better position, maybe I can finally start making that headway I'm always trying for. I'm now certain that prior ignorance of this Hotjobs feature was the only thing keeping me from that great new job. Watch this space!!!

3. Tomorrow's my first mediabistro journalism class. I'm now dreading it, in part because of this article, courtesy of catwoman, which has me convinced that the class will be full of shiny haired girls who want to write about fab abs for magazines like Glamour and CosmoGirl or whatever. With $500 I could've bought a neat new bike, a fancy TV, my Marimekko bookbag... or I guess the money would be even better spent on the cable bill and electricity, which are currently very unpaid. But nooo. No Marimekko bookbag for you, Sarah. Just homework.

4. I'm watching a dating show on which a man's ex-girlfriends are shadowing him on a date toting microphones and shouting "As *#@(*ing if, you mother@*I(er!!" every time he opens his mouth. Oh, I've just learned that it's called Extreme Ex's Gone Wild or some such. Top notch!

5. I was reading my old posts tonight... I urge you, go back and read what I had to say in October 2002. I was funny then. I'm not as funny now as I was then. I'm not sure why this is, but it might explain why my hits have halved themselves recently. Oh well.

6. Someone just called and wished me sweet dreams, and with that, I think I'm going to bed.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 00:45

Tuesday, June 03, 2003

A somewhat dull post about my teeth.

In a few hours, I have a dentist's appointment. I haven't been to a dentist since last summer, when I had my second apegolectamy on my front left tooth in a third or fourth attempt to fix my abcessed tooth. A friend of my uncle's did the surgery (yes, he was a dentist) as a favor, and it was free... but he was a real jerk. He messed up my gums and didn't even give me a mirror so I could see what he had done, and when I finally bent down to look at myself in a rear view mirror in the parking lot, my gums were so disgusting that I started bawling.

After this experience, my tooth actually felt fine for about six months, and my gums healed all right... but sometime last winter, the throbbing began to bother me again. This time, I decided to find my own trustworthy dentist in the city. But it's been hard to find someone who came highly recommended, and I really wanted to be sure I was going to a good person as well as a good dentist this time. So it's been awhile, and my tooth has been hurting off and on, but I have an idea that this isn't a good sign any way you look at it. I seem to notice that it hurts more when I smoke frequently... so maybe if I just promise to stop smoking, he won't tell me he needs to pull my chronically sick front tooth. Actually, I wonder what I would do if he did tell me that. Would I back away slowly, telling them I'd call to make an appointment later, and then never call? Maybe. It doesn't hurt that badly, I can and have dealt with much worse.

It just seems like there ought to be an antibiotic cure for abcesses in this modern age. Why do they have to keep going into my mouth with torturous metal tools? Can't they just shrink it down with a laser or a pill or something?

This mess is really never going to end for me, I don't think.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:25

Monday, June 02, 2003

I don't know about you, but I had a pretty excellent weekend. An excellent weekend entailing: girl shopping, the purchase of a sweet new shirt, finding a new smell for myself (satsuma), a hot boy and his pants, a great bottle of syrah, a small toy rabbit who drums and wears leiderhosen, quality kitty time, nat shermans, yuenglings, pulling a small, plastic hula doll out of my purse on sunday, street hockey in the brisk june evening air (watching, not playing, i'm not built for team sport participation), a drunken nelson outburst, emphatic photobooth photos, a trading spaces marathon, almost making banana bread but not, kielbasa, being scared the fuck out of by wrong turn, leaving the theater with a wet lap... I don't know, there was more. It felt like such a full, but not too full, weekend... all seemed rather exciting at the time, I assure you.

I always hate it when other people post this sort of thing, full of references other people couldn't possibly get. Like you have any idea what I'm talking about. Sorry, sorry. But it was a fine weekend, just that, and some of those details are the kind of things I'd like to remember when I forget in a week with the arrival of a new weekend and have to refer to something, rely on my text memory because my actual memory is being corroded by beer and preservatives (and I even had to ask Amber what the word for "fake stuff they put into food" was just now, so I know I'm right about that). Anyway, as almost everyone learns very early on in life, a perfectly normal, average time can be made great or awful simply by the state of mind one is in. A shitty time is just a shitty time, like 15th Century England or being mutilated and eaten by mutant backwoods inbred rednecks (a la Wrong Turn)... but a normal old time is quite pliant, and what with me being in a pleasant state of late, things varied from good to very good. Are good to very good. Good people, good jokes, good food, good conversation, good experiences. I'm well, thank you! And itchin' to say so.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 18:12