leaving on a jet plane

time to leave for the airport.

ta ta darlings, i'll try to contact you all from texas.

oh, and freyja? yeah. watch your mailbox.

hee hee hee

ghostly

i am in trouble, just asking for it. i really am. so much for my youthful cynicism, my attempts to squash and destroy my idealism. my attempts to protect myself.

how dare the universe send me something this pleasant when i'm all ready to seal the door to my siege tower?

honestly. how's a girl supposed to stay bitter...when someone is that easy to be with? when someone calls? when someone makes her feel so nice?

fucking hell.

collect them all

human bingo

MeanwhileÖIím actually starting to get kind of excited for this little trip Iím taking at the end of this week. Not so much for the conference itself, or even for going to visit my parents, but because of this game that weíre planning for one of the group dinner/celebration things. Now, itís fairly common knowledge that one of the reasons that the marketing office is sending a delegation is because we are renowned for our wackiness, and as such we are being counted on to infuse the proceedings with some good old-fashioned fun.

So weíre going to make everyone play human bingo.

Yeah, yeah, I know. When it was first suggested, I too got some fairly clammy flashbacks to junior high leadership class. But, we all figured. Sure. We have no better ideas. Letís see what we can get these people to come up with. Maybe it will be interesting.

Since we sent out the first call for interesting factoids about our co-workers, weíve learned that we have someone who was once engaged to Madonna. Someone who was a punk rocker in London in the 70ís and got to hang out with the who. Someone who was attacked by crocodiles in south Africa. And someone who had a horrible debacle with a liquid-filled wonderbra.

I suppose it shouldnít surprise me at all that the people who work at my company have got some serious stories to tell. But, after getting responses from just a fraction of them, Iím suddenly far less apprehensive to spend three days locked in the Sheraton brookside with them. Iím even starting to think it could beógasp!ófun.

And Iím certainly looking forward to finding out the rest of the stories. The big question is, what are mine going to be? Suddenly, everything Iíve got sort of pales in comparison. Anybody got any suggestions?

patina

Iím listening to this mix cd that I made during the last summer I spent in England, when I was rocking the whole kept woman thing to my eternal boredom and increasingly short temper. Itís a bloody great disc here. Really. A marvelous mix of soul, electronica, bubblegum pop and funk. Somehow, I doubt that anyone will love it quite so much as I, but thatís not the point of this entry.

The point of this entry is that due to the time at which the disc was concocted, itís got a serious dose of the indelible patina of that time. I remember rocking out in the kitchen to ëstop the rockí while I chopped onions. I remember putting on my makeup to ëcíest la vie.í I remember learning about Apollo 440 and lying in bed with the Englishman listening to their album, or the cocteau twins.

I know Iíve spoken before about how I associate certain songs or musicians with certain timesÖand this disc is a whole bowlful of nostalgia.

And I wish that I were looking back on the times fondly. I really do. But Iím not. I suppose thatís a testament to how much Iíve grown up in the last year. I caní imagine, canít even fathom now doing the things I did then. I donít even recognize the girl in those pictures. And that makes me sad. I canít remember what it felt like to love the Englishman, I canít remember when I couldnít relate to my peer group, when I would rather decamp to another city to be with himthan spend the evening with my friends. I canít remember not knowing about the penguin cafÈ orchestra, heaven or las Vegas, orbital, my wife and my dead wifeÖand as such itís almost painful to listen to them. I look back at that year and realize that Iíve not so much as outgrown the girl I once was, but lost her.

And thus, itís strange to be listening to this disc.

Because certain memories from that year become too poignant through the mist of memory, and because that year was virtually defined by its soundtrack. That year was macy gray, otherside by the red hot chili peppers, meshell ndegeíocelloís bitter, Madonna and coldplay, craig david and radio one all saintsbabylondigitallovedaftpunkpjharveybjorkÖthey are the harbingers of my past, of the most influential year of my lifeÖand sometimes Iím not sure I can listen to them. Does this mean that I donít want to acknowledge my past?

Or just that I donít ever want to remember the dance that the Englishman would do in the mornings before putting on his bikini briefs?

leading up

i can't help but feel like this recent spate of violence all over the world is leading up to something. i don't know what, though. not yet. but it's something big. not necessarily destructive, but big.

i mean, armageddon isn't due for another few centuries yet, right?

so what the hell have they been putting in the water to make it like this?

embryonic

why do i make the rules different for you? you're just a boy, i'm just a girl. so why am i wearing a mask of myself when i am everything that i am?

i'm speaking in fragments today.

sorry

'bout

that.

quickly

117 dead in moscow.

183 dead in bali. 53 of whom are still enough in tact to be identified.

10 people in DC killed by a religious fuckwit with a rifle.

to quote margaret cho, what kind of fucked up, motley crue behind the music bullshit is this?

i'm not one for getting overwrought about world events, but...what?

random question

where exactly do you go to sign up for a holy war? do they have recruitment centers for that?

and it's ladies night

it is far, far too early for me to be awake right now. particularly now that it seems daylight savings has popped itself into effect. i went to bed something ridiculous like three hours ago. but, with the sunshine streaming in the window the way it is, it's rather hard to begrudge my system for deciding to wake up. it's really a little too stunning for color tv out there.

anyway.

let me take this opportunity to say that girls night ROCKS MY FACE. having spent a splendidly, alarmingly girly evening with two of my best and brightest, i realized how very much i'd been missing having proper girly friends with whom i can discuss the things we discussed last night. things like boys and bodies and the perfect undereye concealer...to a degree, you can do it with your boys. but there's nothing quite like girly bonding. seriously.

so, my ladybugs, much love for an evening of abject fabulousness. we should do it again sometime...

kisses!

tease

you know, all things considered, i thought i was supposed to be the tease here. that's certainly the role i've played in the past.

it's fun, really. power games are fun.

even when you're on the receiving end. actually, it's almost tastier being on the receiving end. though i love being the one in control, sometimes it's nice to have that wrested away.

when i take it back, however, you'd best be believing that there will be some fireworks. mmm-hmm.

color me your caller, baby

the telephone and i have never been great friends. this is largely due to the fact that i am deaf as a post, and as such frequently spend large swaths of conversations asking people to repeat themselves. even in person, when i can read their facial expressions/body language/lips to try and orient myself within the conversation. it's ten times as bad when i'm separated from my conversation compatriate by the technological wall of the telephone.

this week, however, the phone has taken our relationship of low-level animosity just a little too far. i have been missing calls left right and center. it's getting obscene--my voice mail is getting significantly more action than i am. and charming as that function is, i feel, somehow, that i could use the attention to a slightly better return.

now, i suppose that this is all less to do with the phone than with my friends and family and their impeccable timing. i prefer to blame such things on technology, because otherwise it just gets to be too terrifyingly coincidental for a girl like me to assimilate. though i love me my coincidence, sometimes it just makes my head hurt.

examples: fulminous has the amazing ability to call me ONLY when i'm in a meeting (we're up to five calls that fall into this pattern and counting). roos only calls when i'm at kickboxing. rlf only seems to call when i'm out of the office for five minutes getting lunch. my father only calls when i'm on the subway. the ghost...the ghost just always manages to call when i'm not available to talk, and then i have to sit there and stare at my phone, blinking away at me, telling me i've a call i can't answer and i can't return, because he never leaves a phone number where i can reach him. it's most disheartening, actually. though it's definitely a good sign that he's calling. at last. for these small mercies are we grateful. and, at least if i keep missing the calls, i'm going my part to keep up with my moratorium on boys. if he wants me, he's going to have to read the rulebook and pursue me properly. because i've no patience left for having my heart or head stomped upon, and will not make any efforts to place myself in the path of that particular train until i'm given damn good reason to do so. but i digress.

anyway.

i guess that i really should start attempting to make amends with my phone. even though the entire reason i have a mobile is so that i am available at most times. because god knows i'm never home (with the exception of tonight, but that's a different story). so, i find it irksome when the convenience designed to make me accessible fails to do so entirely.

of course, it's not always bad that the timing triangle between me, my phone and my callers is a little strange. the boy from the subway, the one who had been sort of stalking me--i'm sure you remember? yeah. he called me the other day, just wanted to give me a heads up and presumably seek my authority to start up the whole cycle of constant telephoning again.

thank god i was on the subway when he called. the only evidence that he's wanting to reinsinuate himself into my life is a recorded message on my voicemail, retained for posterity, or at least fourteen days. he's getting no validation from me, thanks.

oh, and in an interesting and frustrating side note, he and the ghost share the same name. if that's not bizarre, and yet completely fitting within the scheme of my life, i don't rightly know what is.

french class

young mister longacre has brought the love of his life to the office. she's small and french, and they're over in his half of the cubicle having small, french, whispered conversations. and giggling. it's really very sweet.

i'd really like to take my monitor and send it kerthwapping down upon them.

hell hath no fury and all that.*

*like a woman embittered by the opposite sex, that is.

keep waiting

i keep waiting for the smell of old leather to wear off.

i keep waiting to find myself wandering about somewhere in this city. i think i would buy myself a sno-cone.

i keep waiting for the answer to present itself, the path to open beneath my feet and show me the way.

i keep waiting for a message to come in. it's already late.

i keep waiting for my jack knight.

i keep waiting for the other shoe to drop; i keep waiting for my universe to explode in glittering light.

words of the day

halcyon

sartorial

alchemy

lyric of the day: she is a living fire, she is a reason to live.

comic book character of the day: starman. oh yeah.

false idol

i have no fingers and no toes. at least, that's what my brain thinks right now, after standing out in the thirty degree new york morning for two hours or so. in spike heels.

i suppose you could say that i'm suffering from idol hands (rimshot).

that's right, ladies and gentlemen, i actually hauled my ass out here at 7am to partake in the debacle that is american idol. i stood in the shadow of the federal building. slunk my way around to the front. toddled slowly and listened to a whole bunch of incredibly irritating people practice their act while waiting. made it to the corner of wall and william streets (across the street from where the auditions were to take place) only to find out that in order to gain clearance into the building, you needed to have a fox-issued wristband. they started giving these wristbands out at 2am. and stopped when they ran out, around 2:45, apparently.

so, yeah. despite the fact that all the literature said to show up at eight, you were out of luck if you dared to appear so late. though they didn't see fit to tell us so at the time. whoops.

i was not terribly fussed by this particular turn of events--as most of you know, i had my reservations about going near this circus with a ten-foot pole. but there were some people that i just felt so awful for. one kid standing near me had flown in from chicago to get rejected. another girl was here with her mom, who'd completely rearranged her schedule as a nurse at some hospital to be here--she was going to be working something like an eighteen hour shift as penance. terrible. i'm mostly just cowed by how badly it was organized, how long it took for the word to come down from the mountain and find its way to us poor sods. inexcusable, really.

and i was so set to stare down that simon guy, too. who cares that standing in line i still had no idea what i was going to sing?

ah well, time to breathe life back into my digits and try to keep my ass warm (it's suspiciously chilly right now. rather distressing).

vital idol

god help me, i'm actually considering trying out for american idol tomorrow.

maybe.

thoughts on the subject, darlings?

song suggestions?

music makes the people

if there were justice, here's what would by my mix tape today (you'll probably recognize a few). in no particular order:

bang on!-propellorheads

our love-rhett miller

firecracker-ryan adams

dancing undercover-john cale

c'mon people-richard ashcroft

charm attack-leona naess

tmw-two chicks and a casio (because, goddammit, i AM tmw. for anyone, it would seem)

someone to call my lover-janet jackson

heart and shoulder-heather nova

sexual revolution-macy gray

saints and sailors-dashboard confessional

pills and soap-elvis costello

new-no doubt

scary-bjork

lady marmalade-all saints (butchery, to be sure. love it.)

...and i just realized that jimmy eat world's bleed american is my summer album for this year. that's odd, considering i didn't own it until september, and didn't have MTV and as such managed to escape its apparent omnipresence therein.

it's funny...i've been thinking about music as a seasonal thing quite a bit of late. just last night i was chattering about how fleetwood mac is very wintry music for me. i need to be wearing a wool sweater to appreciate it properly. nelly furtado (in those rare moments that i can stomach her) is definitely all about the late spring/early summer. ani difranco? definitely autumn. definitely. especially not a pretty girl and living in clip. madonna's ray of light is totally summer.

man. now that i've thought about this, it's going to be on my mind forever. oh well. at least now i have a new way to organize my cd's, i suppose.

his name is bart. yes, bart.

my boss and young mister longacre are, as we speak, interviewing someone to take over longacre's job when he leaves. his reputation has preceded him. this is why the door to the conference room has been left open. so we can listen.

it's cruel, to be sure, but this man is proving himself toolworthy--he just declared midtown manhattan to be the "best place on earth."

poor guy. he really shot himself in the foot before he even arrived, by rescheduling his interview twice, on the grounds that his "clients" need him. now, the question is this: if he's so busy and so successful with all these international clients, why the hell is he applying for a job here, where wages are low, hours are long, and despite the fact that we are an international company, there is no traveling involved for the marketing department.

that, and we get to listen to fire drills all the time, such as the one we're having RIGHT NOW.

polarity

note to self: excitement is overrated. remember that next time you're tempted.

the interloper

spotted at brunch this weekend: jesus' pet magpie this mysterious and elusive creature only comes out on days when the weather is perfect and there's a walk-a-thon in the air. easily distinguished by its heavy gait (which occasionally bears resemblance to a limp), large quantity of associated baggage and tendency to sigh heavily and pontificate about god's master plan to anyone who has the poor judgment to be either polite or friendly.

in this most recent sighting, the magpie twittered awkwardly to the outdoor table at which this observer was sitting, reclining heavily into a chair at the table i'd spent 45 minutes waiting for, and ordering a cup of tea without so much as a hello. now, this past sunday was the day of the "making strides against breast cancer" walk-a-thon up in the park, and as such there were many weary travelers limping their way down the hill throughout prime brunching hours. i assumed she was of this flock, and just wanted somewhere to rest for a few minutes, and would be on her way once my companions arrived.

once again, it was proven that i am generally mistaken about such things.

not only did she not leave the table when my friends appeared, but after roos expressly asked her to go (very politely, of course) because we had waited a long time for the table and had much private business to discuss, she went sweeping in to the establishment (leaving her tea for us) whereupon she pounced upon the maitre'd and proclaimed that no, she was not with our party, but that i was terribly rude, asking her to leave, and that she wanted to sit somewhere else, away from us rude heathens (well, i'm paraphrasing there, but she did call us rude for defending our territory). to which the maitre'd expressed his condolences, promised to relay her dissatisfaction to us, and immediately came back to our table with this message: "i'm so sorry, i thought she was with you guys. really sorry about that."

the moral of the story is this: when faced with interlopers at your bruncherie, never stop for idle and/or friendly chitchat. be openly hostile, or you may find yourseld pushing the limits of your threshold for irritation.

i mean, i'm all for sharing table space when the situation calls for it, but really. sunday brunch is just not generally the place i like to prove that theory.

call the doctor

i am in the process of procuring myself a new primary care physician. that's right, i've finally grown tired of the man down in ghettoville and am currently seeking someone new with which to discuss my girly bits.

wanted: hip young (or old) gunslinger for intimate acquaintance. you will respect me intellectually and know my body intimately. must be located in downtown manhattan or park slope proper. men need not apply.

basically, now that a prescription of mine is running out and the winter season is creeping up (unlike autumn, which did not so much fall as crash land), i figured that the time has come to go in for a tune up. particularly because i've been feeling madly under the weather for several weeks now. but, every time i've drawn near to actually picking up the phone and making an appointment, i remember how very much i hate my doctor. how he snipes about my weight and my smoking (with far more gusto than doctors are supposed to do), how he looks at me disapprovingly whenever i answer his questions about my reproductive health/sexual history. this is not a man that i feel i could openly discuss my digestive issues with. this is not a man to whom i could confess that my nether bits seem to be going awry. none of these things. and, as a generally hale and hardy individual, these are the complaints that make up the bulk of my doctor's visits.

for heaven's sake, i feel weird whenever i go in there with a UTI, looking for antibiotics. though, as any girl will tell you, a UTI is punishment enough fo any transgression, my doctor has a remarkable habit of making me feel like a dirty little girl whenever i put that affliction on the table.

"so, what's the trouble?"

"i've...got...a...um. a UTI."

"i see. have you been having sex recently?"

"um..."

"did you use a condom?"

"um..."

"mmm-hm. i see."

generally speaking, the answer to these questions is yes, and as a consenting adult, i know that there's no reason for me to feel delinquent of dirty about it.

particularly because, as most people will tell you, i don't have much trouble talking about these things. i've got a mouth like a trucker and the conversational guttermind to match. it comes with living somewhere between combat boots and high heels.

but something in the tone of his voice and the look in his eye makes me want to don a few petticoats and go hide beneath the linoleum.

anyway. the moral of the story is that i loathe my doctor, and the time has come to find a new one. the question is, who do i pick this time, and what are the odds that i hate them, as well?

home on the range

i've been trawling the websites of wineries in sonoma county in the line of duty (new website for a new company division. involving wine. and they're being delightfully vague about what they want. hence, the research). and while there's the usual smattering of uber-slick, poorly executed, nice and pleasant etc. etc. etc., there's a higher than usual percentage of those that make me sigh.

yes, miss delicious has been having pangs and twinges of homesickness.

i think it's all part and parcel of the amazing wanderlust i've been feeling of late, that every destination sounds like a good one. montreal? sure! road tour of the deep south? never wanted anything more! bavaria? bring on the meisterbrau! so, naturally, seeing sweeping pastoral images of the area where i grew up, in its full, sunny, clear, tempt-the-tourists beauty...definitely gives me pause.

i think that once you get those hills in your blood, you're never quite free again. and i remember detesting it as i grew up, i remember hating it for its stifling nature, its sparseness, its agricultural legacy, its lack of infrastructure for the growing adolescent. it was an area designed for breeding powderkegs, armies of dazed teenagers too bored to to anything but drink coffee, smoke pot in the teevax parking lot and cruise mendo in their hand-me-down volvos. i still get antsy whenever i go back. for god's sake, the entire town is the size of park slope. it's so...small. it's so...placid. it's so...it's so not where i belong any more. i go back and i see the same fixtures in the same places, the same kids i went to high school with who never quite made it out, the same crazies on the benches outside aroma's. and it all strikes me as so utterly alien, when really it's exactly what i remember, what i grew up with. only i'm not one of the slinking teenagers anymore. i'm not one of the landmarks that passing vagabonds and escapees notice on their passes through. i'm one of the travelers. my piece doesn't fit in the puzzle anymore.

once upon a time, that's all i wanted, to not fit into santa rosa anymore.

so why is my heart aching so for it today?

for some reason, today today today...all i want is to be where the ragweed makes me want to claw out my eyes, where the coffee is subpar and the sidewalks roll up at ten p.m...i want to tramp the grounds where i've become one of the ghosts.

i want to go home.

but this too shall pass.

get out of here!

just because you get something that you want doesn't mean you're not allowed to complain about it.

as far as i'm concerned, complaining is sport. complaining is fun. complaining is what young mister longacre and i do to break the monotony of the cubicle.

so just because i'm bitching doesn't mean i'm not happy. i complain about how stressful it is having gigs pile up back to back--that doesn't mean you'd get me to give any of them up without ripping off my arms, or that i'm not fully cognizant of how bloody lucky i am to have them. i fret over the amount of work that goes into planning a party or somesuch other event--that doesn't mean i don't love it, and that doesn't mean it's not worth it. it just helps me keep things in perspective. no situation is perfect--the trick is acknowledging the weaknesses before they acknowledge you.

the moral of the story it this: i fully recognize that missing the halloween festivities here at home is a small price to pay for a free ticket out of town. i'm neither so small nor so young that i don't realize that, no matter what i say.

well that's just sick

so the show went well--a good time was had by all, i daresay.

the chaos didn't begin until i got home.

somewhere between the hours of two and three a.m. my body decided it would be a reaallllly good idea to turn itself inside out. which would have made sense if i'd had a lot to drink in the evening preceding. but, in my experience, three glasses of wine over a period of five hours is not an invitation to spend many hours slumped on the floor communing with the porcelain god.

i kept thinking "okay, this is just something i'll have to get out of my system, i'll be fine for work in the morning."

not so.

the magic hour rolls around and i'm barely able to stand up, except to make one final, fevered dash to the bathroom. while shivering on the floor at that point, i made the executive decision to stay home from work.

which means i'm going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, trying to convince that lot (who were almost all present at the show) that no, i was not at home in an alcohol-induced stupor today. i am legitimately fever-sick.

ah well. either way, i'm going to feel like a shmuck.

in the meantime, however, i'm going to make one brief expedition to procure myself some ginger ale and some chicken soup--mom's magic cure-alls for an iffy stomach. and then i'm going to curl up on the couch and alternately nap and watch copious quantities of TV. and then i'm going to sleep more. yeah.

and i apologize if this entry was a little bit too much information for y'all.

blame it on the delirium of ill.

i feel gross.

hong kong dragon

"Last yearóby when he was chief secretaryóMr Tsang replaced the emblem with a little dragon, the fruit of three years of research by international brand consultants. Besides cosmopolitanism, says Kerry McGlynn, the government public-relations director behind the project, the dragon projects five ìcore valuesî. These are three adjectivesóìprogressiveî, ìfreeî and ìstableîóand two nouns, ìopportunityî and ìqualityî. "

don't call the mausoleum just yet.

okay. word from the front is that the roommate is indeed alive and kicking.

relief.

danger, danger will robinson!

it is ten past nine in the morning and i've already had a very, very long day. i wake up at a quarter to six, have a very nice shower, and i'm blowing my hair dry...when the doorbell rings. i ignore it, figuring it's some dipshit door-to-door thing that i'm really not interested in.

it rings again.

and again.

finally, i figure that maybe, just maybe, it might be something important. so, i throw on some clothes, buzz them in, poke my head out the door, and...

"anybody call for an ambulance?"

ambulance?

"um...no...i don't think so. probably my downstairs neighbor." (my downstairs neighbor is from the devonian era, more or less)

so, they go to his apartment and knock and knock and knock and knock. no answer. his phone rings. and rings and rings and rings. no answer.

so, they do what any EMT would do when a potential call doesn't answer:

they bust his door down.

i kid you not. when i come downstairs to go to work, tim's giant metal door has been beaten out of the frame and is now lying on the floor, along with a few chunks of doorjamb. and what did this act of object brutality reveal? tim wasn't home.

so, it looks like he didn't call the ambulance.

and then it occurs to me...well, i didn't ask the roommate if he'd called an ambulance. what if it was for him? what if there was some sort of history of heart issues or something in his family that he hadn't told hime about? what if i'd just left him to die?

so, halfway to the subway, this thought strikes me, and so i start calling the roommate. the logical part of my brain says: no, he's just sleeping. the irrational part of my brain says: aaargh!

either way. i'm going to worry until i hear from him.

anyway. time to chill out if i can, show tonight and all the wonder that that entails. and worry. will i have a crowd respectable enough to get them to book me again? will the ghost make an appearance as promised, or do i get to chalk him up to the list of assholes? will the cover go okay? what's the playlist? will i remember the words to the new song?

ah, the life of a wannabe rock star. it never does run smooth.

this afternoon

i wonder if the fact that i hauled my ass up to 70th and park by 8am this morning for a company function means i get to leave this place an hour early.

somehow, i doubt it.

leaving one's house at 6:45am does not get you much in this company.

ah well. i guess that means i just have to do the whole "slacking with panache" bit that i do so well. sure, there's plenty i could be doing. updating a web site. writing a press release. starting the new article for the next issue of the newsletter. but, quite frankly, i can't be bothered right now. i just want to sit around, exploit a high-speed internet connection and daydream.

potential contents of said daydreams: scottish accents, ghosts, escaping the office to go to battery park, my trip to texas, fixing the hole in the bottom of my combat boots. haircuts (as i am in dire need of one). polishing the new song i plan to unveil tomorrow. sleeping late (ha!).

oh yeah. those will do me nicely.

songtacular

you know how sometimes you find one song that finds small strange cracks in your mind and fills them with happy things, so you just listen to it over and over and over and it never quite gets old?

i've got one of those right now. it's staving off the doldrums of monotonous and repetitive email action.

in fact, i am going to hit repeat again. so i can bounce about my chair aggregiously.

hurrah!

bushy-tailed

i

am

so

bloody

chipper

when

i've

gotten

enough

sleep.

whee!

letter from the front

i found myself watching football yesterday. and even enjoying it. now, if that doesn't completely repolarize my personal sense of right and wrong, i'm not particularly certain what would. ah well. what are sundays for if not calling into question all that you know to be true? seriously.

in other news...i received a letter from my friend in kazakhstan on saturday. she'd sent it over a month ago. she spent a great deal of it reminiscing about our freshman year of college. now, our freshman year was not particularly noted for its glamorizing or positive effect on any of our psyches, so the fact that she was latching on to it so strongly leads me to believe that she may be on the verge of exhausting many of ther other good memories. that distresses me, because the associated implication is that she's spent a great deal of time seeking solace in the depths of her own mind. that, in turn, means that she hasn't been finding solace in her surroundings.

i want her to be happy, and it doesn't sound like she really is at the moment, or at least wasn't as of a month ago. but, there's only a limited amount of stuff that i can really do to help...but, you know. every little bit helps. so, the wheels are already turning, thinking about a long letter and a care package, just a little somethin' somethin' to bring her enjoyment. i'm thinking mix tapes and peanut butter, i'm thinking magazines and batteries, i'm thinking photographs and art projects. i'm thinking gossip, above all. oh yes. lamentably, i know very little about kazakhstan, aside from the fact that it was once colonized by russia and that some people still live in yurts. (yurt!)...so, i don't really know what she needs. i'm going to place my bets on english periodicals, the latest madonna movie and peach-scented soap. but, if anyone's got any suggestions as to what to include...i'm all ears.

late night/lazy saturday

i want the name of the secret institution where they teach those west coast boys how to do that.

and shiny

i love the word "bright." and i love being described as a "starlet." i do, however, hate "manual quotes."

three things

1. i'm going to spend this halloween in houston. at a business conference. be still my beating heart! ah well. can't complain. means i will be getting a company subsidized ticket out of nyc for a few days, possibly with a little side jaunt to see the parents. and, a chance to convince the unbelievers in the country that i am, in fact, legitimately nuts when the occasion calls for it.

2. the UN just banned midget tossing.

3. jimmy carter just accepted the nobel prize for peace, on behalf of "world suffering."

yep.

welcome to the working week (end)

listening to: rhett miller-the instigator, texas: greatest hits, latin playboys.

feeling: not too bad, considering that the weather is just this side of complete ass.

currently engaged in: the ever delightful task of cleaning up the eight hundred emails i invariably receive after sending out that damn demon newsletter. yes, eight hundred. so i've been stuck in an endless loop of copy/switchdatabases/paste/search/delete/fix/record/etc. i'm sure you get the picture. woohoo! i'm a one-woman data entry machine! or, i would be, if it weren't for the pesky fact that my little brain tends to shut itself off during this activity, though whether it's out of protest or self-defense, i'm not sure. either way, i'm actually a self-automated, one-woman data entry machine. i'm about as close to a droid as you're likely to find during the working day. it's rather exciting. no, really. it would certainly explain why i don't like being wet.

anyway. there's worse things to do than shut off your brain. i'm an old hand at it. i've learned to multiplex like a demon. for example: there may be a new song in time for wednesday's show, thanks to the utterly mind-numbing character of my job! god bless corporate america.

but...oh dear. look what you've done. the brain is almost stirring. i'd best return to the task at hand before it wakes up, and i have to go through the whole process of lulling it back into trance again. an ugly prospect, indeed. more later.

pet peeve!

oooh! guess who's got a new pet peeve? after months of serious seething over the relentless invasion of pop-up windows into the hallowed halls of my screen, i've discovered a new level of hell in my computer: they're kind of like pop-ups, only more insidious. they sort of float over the screen, rendering whatever bits of information they happen to cover utterly unreachable and illegible. skyy vodka seems very fond of this particular marketing tactic. as do the producers of the movie "the ring."

okay, so, yeah, it may be effective, but...really. it's just getting kind of absurd. i find myself avoiding the net on a semi-regular basis, just because i can't handle it. there are places where i don't go that i used to go before (that's a mangled song lyric, and if you can figure out what it is, i'll give you twenty bucks), all for dread and irritation at these damned quasi pop-ups! come now people? are we helpless against these things? is there nothing to be done? what is to become of us if we allow corporate america to completely dictate what we can and can't see, no matter where we are?

in other news, i'm starting to develop "the fear" of my new kickboxing instructor. this is twice now i've come out of his class with some seriously fucked up leg muscles. this probably means that if i stick with it (while managing to stay just shy of hurting myself), my little ped-stems will get ripped! of course, i have to stop gimping aroudn first. that might be good.

in other other news, congress just gave bush the go-ahead to fuck shit up in iraq. batten down the hatches, darlings. it's going to be a bumpy ride.

cher!

i'm bored today. can you tell?

heeeeeere's johnny!

Which John Cusack Are You?

oh, come on. is anyone really surprised? meanwhile, check this out.

edit track

so, i'm supposed to be editing this article one last time before it gets released to the world and motorola and all hell breaks loose...and i am, i must admit, thoroughly uninspired. and lo, in response, i procrastinate!

maybe i just didn't bring the right music. but then, i haven't figured out just what that is yet, though my quest for the perfect editing music shall never cease. i'm in several minds about it. is good edit music droning and mellow, so it can be easily tuned out while being slowly digested by my subconscious? or, perhaps it should be jaunty and upbeat, to keep my spirits up and keep me from falling asleep at the wheel? or maybe somewhere inbetween. 'tis indeed a quandary. i've not yet found the answer, and i shall not rest until i have. mainly because i am going to edit as long as i'm in this stinking job, so i may as well salvage my sanity somewhere along the way.

i am, however, kicking myself for failing to bring a certain cd with me today. i was over at biscuit and stylegirl's place, taking in the series premiere of birds of prey (give it time. that's all i've got to say just yet) last night...after the great tv extravaganza, stylegirl put on this cd to groove to whilst pottering in the kitchen...and i have to say, i think that disc would have complemented the weather and my mood perfectly (somewhat feisty, a little dark but not too bad). 'twould have been perfect, indeed! right now, ivy's second album is an acceptable substitute, and i'm keeping my finger's crossed that the rhett miller album i ordered arrives today, just to break the monotony.

i know i've spoken before about my purpose in life being truly nothing more than to compile the perfect soundtrack for every occasion...the englishman once said it was my superpower. all told, not too bad a one to have, though i'd rather be able to fly.

or, at the very least kick some ass without mangling my hip flexors. that would be nice. 'cause i'm really in to walking and all that.

yeah.

right. back into the abyss!

debbie...or is it deborah?

debbie does dallas is now live on stage.

i'm so there.

dye, dye my darling

roots freshly rouged, i'm feeling like a new person today.

well, not entirely. but close enough. at least i'm no longer wearing my dichotomy upon my head.

only inside it.

vague it up a notch?

a little explication for the sweltering masses...

i was kissed by a ghost on saturday.

the ghost was lost five years hence and yet came walking in someone else's door on saturday night. and found me.

i barely remember the gesture, except that while it was happening i was just gone. everything was just gone, except the smell and taste and texture and surprise. it happened so quickly.

i guess he'd been looking for me, too.

in the day that followed i got four hours of sleep, woke up like cinderella with a blistering hangover and a missing earring, wondering what mischief i'd wrought the previous evening. felt the roughness left on my chin and remembered everything. perhaps that's why i couldn't go back to sleep.

i tried to remedy this by retiring at eight o'clock last night. needless to say, that didn't do me a lot of good.

i remain exhausted. and perplexed. i don't know if i'm even going to rise to the challenge this time. i'm not sure i've got the energy left. j

but then, how does a girl say no to anyone who kisses like that?

there will be more on the raging battle between self-preservation and desire as the story unfolds. or fails to, as i suspect is the more likely case.

honestly. sometimes i feel like i'm stuck in a b-rated mexican soap opera.

no fly

note to self: don't ever give yourself behavioral ultimatums. learn from experience that the universe will do everything in its power to subvert said resolution.

clearly, i should be taking my own advice. but no! no, i have to go and break my own convictions. with trepidation to be sure, but...yeah. i'm thinking about it.

though i'm not really sure that i have the energy to deal with it and the inevitable souring it will take. and, aren't i supposed to be living in a celibacy no-fly zone, anyway?

explication to follow. for now, i need to run away.

weekend of ultimate insanity

a self-fulfilling prophecy has been cast.

let's wait and see whether she decides to pick up the baton and run with it or not.

in other news:

-it seems that i might be the model for a character in a new comic that DC is putting out. more on that as i hear it.

-new recording! new recording! new recording! two spanking new tracks, hot off the burner. yee-ha!

-catharsis is a good thing. a gooooood thing. i had one. a year and change overdue. i'm feeling a little better now.

quiet friday

i feel sick.

i don't know what to do, i don't know what to say, i don't know how to fix this.

i want to fix this.

i want to fix things.

i do.

i at least want to try.

but i don't know how.

i don't even know where to begin.

so instead, i'm going to go do some dishes, and try really hard not to cry. or throw up. because both feel like the right reaction just now.

bunny!

Which Donnie Darko character are you? by Shay

ranting

this may very well be one of the most disturbing things i've ever read.

we're supposed to teach people that thin isn't the only definition of beautiful (though it definitely has its place in the lexicon behind the word) when there's this kind of crap in the NEW YORK TIMES?

if this article doesn't turn someone, somewhere to anorexia, i will be very surprised.

picking up

this little ninja just got another gig.

in two weeks.

so much for taking a little time off between shows.

orange bear. 9pm october 16.

get ready.

list of shame!

i just realized that i actually sent out a file earlier entitled "the list of shame" to a great deal of people in the company. including the executive board.

whoops.

oh well. it is a rather shameful list. seriously.

ah, work. how it makes me utterly indifferent to life or death at times.

although, i did learn today that it's virtually impossible to fire someone in mexico. the amount of hassle you would have to go through--including buying out the contract, giving appropriate sevrance pay, making sure that they're all together and set to face the world again...well, it would just be easier to simply keep them on staff, stick them in a corner, give them shitty hours and pray that they quit. passive-aggressive micromanaging, if you will.

that is how we ended up with a manager in mexico city who, from what i understand, spent most of the day surfing kiddie porn on company computers.

weird.

and speaking of mexico...it looks like i'm going there in february. woohoo! vacation! vacation rocks my face!

lord knows i need one.

two chicks and a casio

"oh my god, my practice head--i left it on the IRT! where is it now? the number three!"

two chicks and a casio KICK MY ASS in the best possible way.

if you're in the nyc area next year, go see them. as soon as you can.

oh--and the show went well. hopefully well enough to wangle me another show there.

play that song

playlist hell!

oh, how i hate compiling the damn things.

but, these are things that must be done before a show.

after the quake

it's only after the earthquake that you figure out where your foundation is the strongest.

i know where mine is.

i know who my pillars are.

i know where to find my shelter.

i know i don't have to hold up the sky all the time because they will always help me dig my way back out.

that's something to hold on to, something to keep balance when my sailor's gait fails me, when i'm lost at sea.

that is worth its weight in pills, potions, lotions, crutches, polutices, quick fixes and psychotherapy.

epilogue: other people's roommates

by the way, that quote i gave you two entries ago? that is not paraphrasing. that is, verbatim, what was said to me.

thought i should clear that up.

confidence

i think i've finally been divested of what shreds of equilibrium i had left. i am now righteously, horribly off-balance.

isn't it funny how it just takes one last straw to knock down the whole house of cards.

six months ago, yesterday's little debacle wouldn't have bothered me much. i had a slightly thicker layer of armor then. but, i've had to deflect enough arrows and shots and firebombs to my emotional well-being in the time since that the nicks and scratches in the plating are more rule than exception. i am vulnerable, and thus wide open to receive the death blow.

at least i know this is not about the boy. the boy was just the breath that blew my house down. hell with the boy. hell with boys in general. they've caused me more damage than their power should have allowed them. i give up on them.

whatever. no, this was about everything i am and how it fits into the world i created.

and right now, i guess it kind of doesn't. fit.

months of hard battle and i've finally fallen on the field. take me to sick bay and give me back my confidence.

because i don't know what i am without it.