desk!

currently at home, sipping an apple vodka tonic. brand new shampoos, conditioners and contact lenses languishing in the bathroom. exciting behemoth that i dragged home last night now in place in my bedroom.

it's even lovelier than it was last night. i'm so pleased. even though it does not go with the dresser (which is big, mod, boxy, and shiny black and red lacquer) at all, i don't mind. i like that my room is growing more eclectic as the days go by. particularly because the longer i live in it, the more i seem to accumulate things that really do accurately represent me. shiny black dresser. froofy green and white shabby chick desk thing. photographs. piles of music and clothing everywhere. perfumes for every mood (vanilla-y, grapefruit-y, allure-y). shoes. dust and disorganized boxes full of important files. scarf my sister knitted me. red cross cabinet from the roos. home is where the heart is, home is where my stuff is, home is where my hairballs lurk menacingly beneath the sofa. home is the only place i want to be when i'm exhausted and vulnerable.

i love it.

WHICh is why i opted to break my engagements for tonight and stay at home instead. because after and entire day of being stared at, subjected to lewd remarks and just basically disgusted with men obsessed with my tits and not afraid to tell me, i suddenly felt a great desire to be....home.

it's either that or get booked for homicide. after all, i started the day by spitting at the first guy stupid enough to crane his neck audibly at my bosoms.

hm. my mother fears that living in brooklyn is making me crass. do you think?

wednes...is it wednesday already?

the world is surprisingly quiet today (assuming, of course, you overlook the fife band that has set up camp on the federal buildling. viva la revolutionary war, eh?)...everyone seems missing.

it's funny, since i decided that i don't really give a flying fuck about office regulations anymore and went ahead and installed AIM on this box, i've grown accustomed to having a small army of people sharing my cyberspace at any given time. so now that there's only three of us. it feels a bit lonely in here.

hm. i think i may exercise the divine right of the unsupervised slacker and take off in the near future. i have contact lenses to pick up and a soul to mold back into position.

in other news, i received the cutest email from my long-incommunicado mother today. a brief excerpt, for your enjoyment: "I took the "boy" to SWILs on Saturday and all went well. He is still very

much around... practically taking over my life, with my acquiesence,

obviously. I'm not sure how long I can go on like this with no alone time

when I am not exhausted. We shall see.

I have bought a new refrigerator, finally. He helped with the measurements

etc, which was nice. He has also fixed the blinds in my bedroom, two of

which were no longer opening. Also nice.

" it's terribly pleasing, hearing this kind of stuff out of her, because for the last few months, her emails have all been tinged with this resignation, with this despair. but now this. it's great. she's in love.it's hilarious.

do you think that spring fever comes earlier to california than it does here?

quote which i stole off someone's diary, which brought a smile to my face, particularly in light of a conversation i had with this one earlier: don't hold your breath, but the pretty things are going to hell.

at last! justice for the ugly duckling (or at least the one who perceives herself that way)!

hurrah!

i have...

1. a massive welt on my arm from where somebody's significant other bit me. tut tut.

2. i really exciting piece of furniture that i found on the street (kind of a vanity thing with claw feet)...and dragged home. at midnight. by myself. in heels. up the stairs of infinite doom. in the dark. the fact that i neither killed myself nor threw my back out leaves me infinitely impressed with myself.

3. that strange, almost hollow feeling you get when you wake up from an amazing dream. i think i dreamed about the boy i'll one day fall in love with.

mutiny!

there is mutiny in the air...stay tuned.

sister act

listening to: less than jake-jonny quest thinks weíre sellouts/hooverphonic-eden/Jason mraz-the remedy/ruby-grace/luna-astronaut

currently having severe difficulty focusing on the task at hand. watching the clock. counting down until the moment I get to leave this infinite pit of despair. thinking Iím going to bounce my sorry self out of here early-ish because the boss, though away, is making us all insane and I figure Iíve got to milk every opportunity to bolt from this hellhole anyway. though part of me is wondering if I should save it till tomorrow, given that todayís weather is a complete waste of time, space and energy.

worrying about my sister. somethingís going on with her and her husband, and sheís being cryptic about it. very disturbing. Iíve never heard her anything but chirpy about her homelife. soÖdistressed. perhaps I will be able to get her to visit, feed her thai food, get her drunk and make her ëfess up. or, I suppose I could just call her. thatís certainly a thought.

Iím still worried, though. particularly because our whole family has been terribly incommunicado for nearly three weeks now. we havenít spoken to any of the parents in ages. and while this is occasionally a good way for us to beÖit gets iffy when we want that whole ëparental supportí thing. our parents have, lamentably, never been much good at that. they did a kick ass job making us independent and ready to take on the world, donít get me wrong. they did the parenting gig rather deftly. they just, upon occasion, have no idea how to deal with us. I mean, I could barely hold a conversation with my father until I was about nineteen. and my momÖwell. she tries really hard. I just donít think she knows how to deal with us much outside of the peer level. which is all well and good, it means that we can actually talk to her about anything thatís bothering us, no matter how gross or asinine. and my dad and stepmomÖwellÖwhen youíve got their attention, itís like the sun is shining just for you. you become the center of their universe for about 15 minutes. there is nothing like being in the crosshairs of their attention gun. unfortunately, in order to win that distinction, my brother, sister and I must be:

a) on the verge of a massive crisis and/or complete breakdown

b) in the midst of a massive crisis and/or complete breakdown

c) incredibly quiet for many weeks at a time. (four or five tend to do it), enough so that they think we may well be dead.

anyway. moral of the story is that the sis is on the verge of a crisis that I know she wonít talk to dad about on principle (the two of them still have some issues to work out), or mom, because mom is in the throes of new-boyfriend and we donít really want to bombard her with problems when sheís this happy.

WHICH MEANS! little sis steps up to the plate. sweet.

wanting to curl up in the conference room and take a nap. or perhaps underneath my desk. Iím a sleepy monkey. verging on the comatose, actually.

a day in the life

open. select. ctrl-c. switch. ctrl-f. ctrl-v. switch. ctrl-v. switch. open. yes to no. switch. type. switch. switch. type. ctrl-s. switch. save and close.

lather, rinse, repeat 326 times, and you've got my activity for the day.

trashy

so the latest in the apartment saga is entitled: "trash wars."

a few months ago, we got this trash cage attached to the outside of our building, complete with garbage cans. great, lovely. EXCEPT, it started getting used by those who did not belong to it. as a result, it quickly devolved into a raging heap of agony, because our neighbors would just hurl their trash willy-nilly into the cage. fines ensued, and sadness for the landlord.

we don't like sadness for the landlord. because we like low rent.

so, his latest proposition is that we get rid of the cage and that we just start keeping our trash on the landing.

to which we said: um, no.

so stay tuned for the next chapter in this saga, wherein we suggest to the man that we fit the trash cage with a lid and a lock so that only we can use it...and see how it goes from there.

because really, who wants rancid trash sitting on their landing during high summer, particularly with herr bloomberg's proposed trash pickup cuts?

not we, said the exasperated french tutor.

thoughts and suggestions as to how to remedy this situation are much appreciated.

real life

i sometimes find my mind working in the most asinine, adolescent ways...feeling palpable loss at the death of a favorite character in a book or a tv show. developing terrible crushes on celebrities. the feeling of absolute certainty that somehow, someday i am going to write the song, meet the person, do the thing that is going to make everything work. elevate this life several steps above the mundane.

because i realized not long ago that there's little that frightens me so as the prospect of mundanity, of being just like everyone else. not spiders, not flying, not disease, not death. the prospect of becoming sally sue, where the job and the boyfriend are enough, where i give up my not-so-secret desires and resign myself to the reality that is this job, this life.

it's a thought i can't bear.

because i am alarmingly aware of the fact that the only thing that really gets me through the day to day is the fervent belief that this is just a step along the way, a bump in the road. i'm not in marketing; it's just what i'm doing to pay the bills until my real life begins.

but here's the thought that keeps me up at night: what if this is my real life? what if this is all that's ever going to happen?

i suppose that's why i fall in love with fancy. it's much easier to believe that your dreams are going to come true when you've already begun constructing your own world out of the scraps of whimsy that other people have so careless left lying around.

it's not delusion. it's self-defense.

it's about more than just today.

it doesn't have to happen today. there's no rush.

what kind of a thing is that to say to me?

you think i was doing this for you?

in da hood

you know, when the best adjective you can think of to describe the neighborhood in which you live is "ghettotastic," it's sometimes rather easy to forget the things that you actually do like about it. particularly when it is so very close to another neighborhood that is so very easy to love that you can't believe you don't live there sometimes.

the point: i'm going to take this opportunity to make a short list of things i like about where i live, so i have it on file the next time some asshole calls me "mami" while staring blatantly at my tits and i start looking around for the nearest crowbar.

*ahem*

what i like about my neighborhood

-my apartment. i've tried to deny it, tried to say i'd like to move, but it's a lie. i am in love with my apartment. if my apartment were a person, it would have a loud laugh and give the best hugs ever. it's very nice to come home to.

-talking to the guys who run the bodega, who always come out to say hello to me when they see me walking past. somehow, they manage to do this without being creepy. hence the love.

-the 24 hour laundromat one block away.

-the chinese restaurant where they recognize my voice on the phone (which is impressive, considering i order chinese food maybe twice a month) and notice such things as the fact that our door had been replaced and the hallway painted.

-the greenwood cemetery. morbid, but true.

-the tiny, wizened pizza delivery guy, doesn't speak a word of english, but still has entire conversations with me in italian (which i don't speak at all) whenever i order a pizza

-the fact that the street is almost always silent between two and three a.m. beyond that, however, is a completely different story.

-the bus stop a block away from my apartment. now that it is no longer beneath my window, it rocks my world. because late at night, sometimes you just don't feel like hiking twenty some-odd blocks to get home. lazy, but true.

-the fact that i've grown to like it here enough that i can parade around hungover, without makeup and in my pajamas and not give a damn who sees me. that means it's home.

where's catherine zeta jones when you need her?

i just had one of those moments where i really wish i had one of those cameraphones. or had just had a camera on me.

i was standing outside smoking a cigarette (as is my custom when the weather is nice), when i saw THEM. two women, probably in their early sixties, matching giant frizzy red bouffants, of the shade that is only achieved by overlaying red over hair that has gone white, matching outfits in different colors (khaki and army green respectively), matching 4-inch stilettos and giant, jackie-o sunglasses. twins, i think.

it was, in a word, tremendous. and absolutely made my entire day. hurrah!

spider is so very right

holy CATS, am i glad that today is friday. that i get to leave this godforsaken hold in exactly two hours and eleven minutes and stay away for two whole days.

today has not been a fun day.

it's been a productive day, a busy day. but it was a day with the online newsletter. which, in true form, did not run smoothly at all. it was a day of updating guides that will be defunct in a matter of weeks. it was a day of bosslady in a psychotic tizz, running about, screaming at me for not giving her the right screenshots. it's been a day of being trapped in this chair and seriously contemplating gnawing a piece out of my own arm in order to give myself a plausible excuse to leave. a day of sally motherfucking sue writing the goddamn ticker and spending the whole day talking about how cool she is, isn't today's ticker wonderful, better than usual.

in the immortal words of spider jerusalem, i hate it here.

but you already knew that.

two hours, seven minutes. and counting counting counting.

deliver me from clockwatching!

today is going to be a long day. i can feel it already. i hate it when this becomes apparent this early in the day. ugh.

footnote

i'm starting to formulate a theory...and that is that the piscean gods are angry with me. and that they are out to get my feet. consider the evidence:

1. last sunday, the mysterious gimping of the right foot began. no cause, no discernable reason, just horrifying pain and eight days of limping.

2. and on the seventh day, she bought a pair of sexy new shoes. and promptly gouged massive welts into the heels of her feet. with which we are still coping. slow recovery brought to you by neosporin, waterproof first aid tape and very large bandaids.

3. i dropped a knife this evening while cutting up some chicken. missed impaling my foot by about 18 mm.

conspiracy? you be the judge.

moratorium

a little bit of explanation for this moratorium i've recently imposed on the whole dating business. i realized the other day that it's not so much that i've given up,that i'm over boys, or switching to the other team (but thanks for asking), but...something completely different. i realized that for the amount of boy bullshit i've been weathering for the last few...oh...years...is not acceptable when you consider what i've actually felt for these people. this is the shocking bit: what the fuck was i doing getting involved, emotionally or otherwise, with these people who in retrospect have been categorized as "oh, you'll do" kind of guys. really. it's not fair to either of us. i get invested in trying to win something i don't really want and then get bugged out when i lose a game i didn't really even want to play, that i just played because it was there. kind of like how you eat nasty cookies at a social tea. not because you want them, but because they're there. it's some sort of fucked up conquest thing.

now, what i've been trying to do is determine whether this is my problem or just my bad luck. or defense mechanisms, or whatever. the rationale: the last time i fell for someone, i fell hard. really hard. eight months to a year to get over it hard. and i'm wondering if: a) i'm just comparing everyone to the spectre, which is ridiculous, because now that i'm over it, i don't fully understand what i was so tizzed about...and i guess that just the people i'm meeting are lacking that certain chemical something that makes me crazy. this would be my bad luck

b) i've built up such incredibly good defenses that i'm just not letting anyone through. this would be my problem.

i don't really know. both seem plausible to me. what i do know is that it's been ages since i met someone who has set the pit of my stomach on fire (metaphorically speaking), kept me awake nights, who makes my toes tingle just by showing up. and i miss that. oh, how i miss that. i even miss its little sister, that whole pre-coital primal insanity, where you get an abbreviated version of what i described up there, just because you want to have your wicked way with someone.

i guess that what it comes down to is that i've met plenty of people who are fuck-worthy. just not many who are spoonworthy. and, frankly, fuckworthy is just not enough of a return on the idiocy i've been party to in my recent history. so, yeah. hiatus is official until i meet someone who really does it for me.

and, actually, no, i haven't even met anyone recently who's all that fuckworthy. there's not a single one of them i've wanted to bring home with me.

bloody hell. spring can feel free to spring in my heart at any time. really.

we watched lolita together

i think i would like to embark upon a quest, because god knows i need more than this job to keep me bound to this mortal coil.

i've decided to wage a full-scale assault and find my old friend the viola player.

he was last sighted in indiana.

go.

like a weight

the sense of doom in this office is palpable. which is funny, because logically, we all know that no doom is really on its way.

unless you count the chairman of the board, whom i don't, not really. but he's coming to visit. on route to the managers' meeting in arizona, i'd imagine. scary vp man, now that's another story.

oh, and he's coming to visit too, have i mentioned that?

anyway. bosslady's a stress case because she has to go make a presentation concerning all the activities going down in this office for the past year in front of all the managers in the world. literally. our world, anyway. she's up in arms about the kids' site, continually demanding information from me that i had not yet been asked to gather. very frustrating, methinks.

when bosslady's a stress case, so are the rest of us. except for sally sue, who is a creature that resembles nothing that i've ever seen. brrrr.

the russian and i are speeding down the clock, trying to get the preliminary website done in time for the aforementioned managers' meeting. he's more stressed than i--right now, all i have to do is go through and clean some stuff up. i just overhauled the photo gallery. yeeha.

tomorrow is the next installment of newsletter hell. get ready for some pretty vitriolic missives from this corner.

arizona. though i am jealous of everyone who gets to go to this stupid meeting because it's NOT HERE (and i'm very big on not here right now), i am puzzled. arizona? we don't even have an office there. most mysterious.

okay. back to mass font changing and creating splash pages that lie.

things that are entirely too jarring to have to contend with first thing in the morning:

1. celine dion

2. sewer pipe refurbishment outside your window

3. repeated use of the word "taco." (best not to ask)

horror of horrors, i actually woke up with my alarm this morning. which means i've been up for a reaaallllly long time, given i set the alarm knowing full well i'm going to hit the snooze for at least 45 minutes. anyway. having been awake for so long, i'm a little disoriented, strangely.

coffee. i need coffee. now.

stay tuned.

just a thought

it has come to my attention that toronto is ground zero for the north american outbreak of SARS. now, being prone to hypochondria, that rather causes me to rethink my opinion of how badly i want to go to NXNE.

i mean, not that they've told us yet, or anything.

BY THE WAY: assuming everyone's wires have not gotten crossed, i'll be playing friday, may 2 at bar b, should anyone care to make an appearance. i'll keep y'all posted.

anthrax this

ah me, ah my. it looks as though we need to brace ourselves for "anthrax scare: the sequel."

apparently, postal employees at an outpost in tacoma, washington reported traces of mysterious white powder on some of the mail, and promptly freaked out. now, tests have been done, and apparently there are no signs of biotoxins involved.

be that as it may, they promptly freaked out.

i give us two weeks before there's nationwide mass hysteria over it. just like there was with the anthrax.

fucking hell, this country is becoming more and more like some sort of fucked up post-apocalyptic pulp paperback every second.

a word of advice: if you're having trouble breathing, it's PROBABLY NOT ANTHRAX. and it's PROBABLY NOT SARS. you are PROBABLY NOT DYING, whatever the media would choose to have you believe. this world is not, repeat not sinking in disease to nearly the degree that the hungry demands of the paper-printers would have you believe. speaking from experience.

an anecdote: flashback, halloween eve, two years ago. height of the first anthrax scare. miss shivery starts to feel a little grim mid-day, sitting at her desk a few scant blocks from the smoking hole that was the world trade center. gets kind of pale and has a pain in her chest. now, because this was at the point in her career where she still gave a shit, she didn't go home until her friend the aussie walked by her desk and said:

"my god, shivers--you look absolutely awful. go home!"

after a bit of coaxing, miss shivery did. she staggered home and promptly passed out. missing all of the halloween festivities. alas.

she wakes up the next morning, and feels as though there's something sitting on her chest that is both large and metallic. her left lung feels as though it's not working at all, and her right suffers acute, stabbing pains on each inhalation. she has a fever of 103.

so, she calls the office. telling them her symptoms and that she's going to sleep a little more, she'll try and be in later. hangs up phone, out cold again.

ten minutes later, the phone rings. it's the aussie.

"um...shivers...not to alarm you or anything, but, um...we've been looking up the symptoms for anthrax on the internet, just, you know. because. the state department returned some mail and stuff, and...ah...GO TO THE HOSPITAL. GO TO THE HOSPITAL NOW AND GET TESTED. GOGOGOGOGOGOGO!"

to which shivery says:"um...okay."

so, as soon as she can breathe enough to move, she stands up, gets dressed, and walks fifteen blocks to the local hospital. walks. because she's an idiot. or delirious with sick, nobody knows.

she gets stuck waiting in the emergency room for about six hours, everyone she's ever met is completely freaked out, convinced that she has anthrax, because she has all the symptoms.

six hours later, she's released with an anthrax-free bill of health and the admonition to stop breathing powdered glass. to which she says: right.

the moral of the story: just because you have the symptoms of the disease of the week doesn't mean you actually have it. so relax. go to your doctor before you turn your world upside down.

goodbye, nina

nina simone is dead.

"trouble in mind, i'm blue, but i won't be blue always, 'cause the sun's gonna shine in my back door someday."

oh baby (oh, these cliches are fun!)

so, i've spent the better part of the morning scouring the internet for potential baby gifts for miss mica shea. i know that i definitely want to find a t-shirt for the baby with debbie harry on it.

needless to say, i'm having no luck. i know i've seen the damn things, but i'll be a monkey's uncle if i can remember where.

anyway. i am learning a lot as a result of this endeavor. for example, there is apparently a market for people who want to dress their children as ravers (platform shoes, reflective track suits). and goths--black and purple satin, lace trim. and punks: little plaid pants and t-shirts with silly slogans on them. you can get spiked diaper bags (which sort of seems like an inherently bad idea, myself, but perhaps i'm missing something here). monogrammed cases to carry around your baby wipes. there is a massive subculture of people who are violently pro-breastfeeding.

it's a weird, weird world out there. there's a lot of money in babies, and it makes me more resolved than ever not to reproduce.

it does, however, inspire me to reinvent myself. so i suppose that's something.

conversations with the sane

agent delicious: looks as though i'm not cut out to do project management after all.

agent delicious: alas.

TruSilvr: Oh, piff.

TruSilvr: *I* think you are.

TruSilvr: You're a pretty good manager.

agent delicious: thank you, petunia.

agent delicious: it's much easier, though, when the only person i have to answer to is me.

TruSilvr: True.

TruSilvr: But think:

TruSilvr: if you can wrangle a table for 16 people for brunch and get everyone there on time and seated and fed?

TruSilvr: You can do anything.

agent delicious: you know, i never thought of it that way.

agent delicious: and you're so right!

agent delicious: especially when the 16 people are our friends.

TruSilvr: HAHA

TruSilvr: Exactly!!

more job hell.

buggery bloody bollocking maggot bites!

rrrrrrrraaaaaahhhhhhhhhhgggggh!

so, the goddamn SHIRTS that we've been working on for the managers meeting came back wrong. and we don't know WHERE the leak in the communication was, which leads everyone to believe it's my fault. and it's not even like it's THAT BAD, not like they mangled our logo or anything, just put it in the wrong place. but the bosslady is wigging and....

ARGH! it never ends!

bloody...not, NOT what i needed now. because now everyone's going to be up in arms and looking at me like i'm the idiot here, like i'm a simpleton, never mind the fact that i am a COPYWRITER who has never done project management before and given those circumstances, thanks, i think i did a rather decent job.

NARRRRRRRRRR.

the time to go to the gym is coming up. i think that my gimpy foot and i need to hit something very, very hard. repeatedly.

we'll see if this inspires them to sack me. or send me to dubai or whatever the hell it is they do to us in this company.

she's having a baby (no, not shivery. breathe.)

in other news, the first of my clan from high school has fallen to the machine that is motherhood.

that's right. she's having a baby.

miss mica shea, she of the watch cap, the brilliant artistic talent and the omnipresent cigarette, is dropping a sprog. the suspicion is that it's going to be a boy. and if it is, they want to name it crash. (s)he's due in october.

crash.

what a great name.

and that kid is going to be criminally gorgeous.

but...fucking hell. ours was the clan that was going to tear it all up, take over the world, boozin' and whorin' all the while!

i guess now we'll just have to do it with little crash in tow.

jesus marimba. i suddenly feel old. older than the little sprouts lurking around NYU make me feel.

i've got to get back home before she's due...my god. mica shea. i'm so happy for her...and so completely skeeved out.

i guess this means someone has to throw a baby shower, then.

monday morning magazine mania.

this is why sometimes i think that burqas may not be such a bad idea

so, i'm in universal news this morning, having decided that i want to treat myself to a trashy magazine, having not done so in a little while. the guy who you would expect to see behind the counter is actually standing vigil in the center of the room. i walk in, he not-so-subtley tracks my every move. i try to shrug it off, figuring that he probably just thinks i'm going to steal something (i get that a lot; apparently, i look like a delinquent). no problem, whatever.

no.

i grab my magazine, walk up to the counter, lay the former atop the latter and pull out my wallet. the guy says nothing for a minute. just kind of stares at me. not in an expectant way but in a creepy way (im' sure you're familiar with the sort of stare to which i refer). i count out four dollars.

"so beautiful. you're so beautiful," in this strange, hollow whisper. something out of a horror movie, really.

"um...thanks." shake hair down into my face so i can avoid eye contact

"so beautiful."

"heh. um... thanks." look down. at the floor, out the window, anywhere but at this man who alarms me.

he hands me my change, kind of. i have one penny coming back to me, and he pinions it between his thumb and forefinger, causing me to have to literally pull it from his hand. all the while, he's smiling a sharp, lascivious smile, and i'm looking down, plotting my escape. and i'm taking my penny. and i'm getting the hell out as fast as my gimpy little feet will carry me.

ugh.

sunday begins to resemble itself again

things i should be doing right now:

-practicing the song i'm supposed to be recording tomorrow, evil click track and all.

-preparing myself to go out this evening.

-not going out this evening, because the gimping has returned.

things that i've done that i'm pleased withmyself about:

-touched up the roots. once again, i am a redhead.

-paid the phone bill.

-bought a perfect pair of jeans.

-participated in the first brunch of the spring. ah, brunch. my favorite warm-weather institution.

things that concern me:

- my friend who had a very eventful weekend and didn't seem to want to bring any of it up.

- my goddamn, motherfucking gimpy-ass foot.

this could be something but i don't have a pen

it's a mania that fuels me when i feel i've lost control

i take it back, i turn myself inside out

now that the battle has been engaged, i feel like i've lost my right to the metaphor

pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

put it straight in my veins!

this nasty habit i've picked up of never carrying cash means i'm going to have to choose between coffee and some sort of dinner substitute.

bring on the caffeine and cigarettes, baby. it'll be college all over again. (shudder).

see, i have reasons for hating my job and everything it stands for!

let's take a moment to discuss stupidity. let's take a moment to discuss incompetence. let's take a moment to discuss...my company.

today's adventure: transitchek hell. a few weeks ago, we decided to take the plunge into the mire that is transitchek, only to find out that our office was too small to actually participate. so, we devised a supersecret ninja way to get around the problem.

which should have been my first clue. never get involved with something you don't understand. this is why i've declared a moratorium on dating.

anyway. we devised a way to get aroudn the whole "12 person minimum" business. or so we thought. as i said above, i shouldn't get involved in things i don't understand. and i don't understand how this works. or how it is that i've spent $90 on two weekly metrocards. or how i'm going to get the mystery $68 back.

all i know is that our HR staff hasn't a clue, i'm spitting kittens, and if i don't get that $68 back in my next paycheck, someone is getting a goddamn letter bomb.

you can demoralize me. you can make me feel like an idiot. you can ignore me. you can give me no vacation. but you fuck with my money, dear employer, and you can take your goddamn moving trucks and shove them up your ass.

grrr.

not so happy feet

four days later, my foot still hurts. i have no idea, no idea at all what i've done to it. my theory is that i probably pulled something in it (after all, there's very little i do so well as trip over my own feet; it was only a matter of time before i injured myself doing so), and the fact that i live in a city where you walk or perish, it just hasn't had a chance to recover. i hope to give it that chance tomorrow; i have the day off, and except for a brief jaunt to the optometrist, i have nothing to do. and i plan to use it well. i am going to flollop upon the couch, elevate and ice my foot, and watch lots and lots and lots of cowboy bebop. and i will sleep. and i will read "the woman in white" by wilkie collins. and, most important, i am going to sleep.

sleeeeeeeeeeeep.

sleep is good for exhausted little monkeys such as myself.

of course, there's also the paranoid approach to this whole thing, which says "dear god, go get x-rayed before your foot fuses into pure claw form and you limp for the rest of your life!" which is, for once, probably not a bad idea. as the experts at webmd tell me, it's very possible that i have a stress fracture. but, getting x rays means i have to go to my physician first to get a referral to a podiatrisy, and as we all know, i'd rather eat glass.

ah ha!

ah hahahahahhahhaaaaaaaaaa!

NOW it's fixed.

browse the archive to your heart's content, peaches.

nothing left for me to do but dance

a brief aside: apparently, the remix of ultimate infamy has, in fact, caught the attention of a dance label. which means that we may be on a compilation by the end of the year. which may means we release it as a single in europe sometime. which means i will be one step closer to saying goodbye, iowa. which means someone else might hear it and say, "hey. i want that girl to sing on my record, who is she?"

it also means that we'll probably get paid a moderately tidy sum of money, and i will be able to get me that ipod.

actually, i don't know what it means. it may mean none of the above. it may mean ten times as much. i'm just speculating. because there's a difference between knowing the path and walking the path. i prefer to walk then to know, because daydreams can be oh so satisfying.

in other news...you have not lived until you've heard what we did to 'mark on my finger' last night. for real. ask me how.

again, please forgive the ultimate crackedness of my archive page. we have experts toiling round the clock.

archive my ass

okay. completely, utterly and totally lied. this shit's still messed up. please try to ignore the archive page, eh? at least until we've clubbed it into submission? grazie.

wilkommen

hallelujah, we seem to have sorted that monkey out. in which case i say, welcome to the new site, mein lieblings. and now, i am an exhausted monkey, to be sure. running on fumes, willpower, lots of coffee and the orange bell pepper i just demolished with my bare hands. time for the shivvy to get some shuteye.

under construction

please forgive technical strangeness around here over the next few days--i am trying desperately to change my template, and it just doesn't want to cooperate at all.

watch this space for updates

under construction

please forgive technical strangeness around here over the next few days--i am trying desperately to change my template, and it just doesn't want to cooperate at all.

watch this space for updates

four random facts

some random facts for those of you who didn't have time to grab breakfast:

Percentage of wonders of the ancient world in the Middle East: 71.4%

Largest burial ground in the world: Valley of the Mummies: 6 miles of tombs holding 10,000 mummies

Sinking rate of the Dead Sea: 13 inches per year

Quality of prayer during Ramadan inside the Dome of the Rock: 7000 times more valuable than in any other mosque

that should get you started.

banditos!

bloody HELL, what a day has today been.

we've had a bona fide crisis on our hands here, involving a stray sentence, access rights and the brazilian police. i kid you not. the sentence in question made intimations that maybe, just maybe, there was corruption in the workings of brazil. somewhere. maybe.

so, anyway. the local customs bureau in Rio de Janeiro gets wind of this little factoid, and gets in touch with our guy out there, and tell him that they are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore, and that they're on their way to settle this mano a mano.

needless to say, the poor guy gets a little...distraught.

so, he calls us, because he knows i'm the web content guru in these parts, figures i'll be able to change it before the cops arrive, no harm no foul. right?

wrong.

actually, the one page that he needed changed was the only one in our entire network of sites that is only accessible by our team in hong kong. all of whom are sleeping soundly now; even the crazy guy who i hoped would be up monitoring the server now.

so, unable to remedy the problem, we opted to switch gears, and went into full-on damage control mode. we changed every other instance of this article, everywhere it appears in our entire network. we drafted a letter solemnly swearing that the article had been written by someone in the states who was no longer with the company, and in no way reflected our feelings about the country as a company. now we're just waiting for the names of the customs officials who are most up in arms so that we can letterhead it and fax it through.

tragically, that's the best we can do for here from now. so our poor guy, the poster child for this company, the sweetest american boy you could imagine, is sitting in brazil, his visa still pending (though he's legal), twiddling his thumbs and wondering if everything is going to fall apart because of a single sentence that somehow passed through what i'd thought was one of the world's most brutal, PC edit mills ever.

alas.

it hurts me that we've legitimately done all we can. it bothers me. i want to resolve this, you know? but all i can do is hold my breath and see what morning brings.

man, the people in this company. never a dull moment anywhere but here.

slackers!

i wish

i wish

iwishiwishiwish

that they would just bloody TELL me whether i got in to NXNE or not.

because i'd really like to know if i have to start making travel arrangements, or if i'll have a little pocket change with which to buy an ipod.

idiocy

it's official. i have a highly overdeveloped guilt center. i am feeling incredibly guilty about a situation to which i'm not really even beholden. there's this guy i know, in miami, and he wants to come to new york this weekend, as we have friday off.

i have not offered to let him stay with me. because i am not comfortable with the idea of him staying with me. the little instinct center in my head is saying "no! bad bad bad idea!" and i'm fairly certain that this is fucking up his plans.

and i feel awful about it! for no reason! if he wants to come to new york, he should come to new york--it isn't my responsibility. and yet i feel like a tool, because i may be messing up the plans of someone who never got an offer from me. a situation for which i should feel no guilt whatsoever.

there you have it. empirical evidence that i am utterly ridiculous.

one more thing

p.s. suggestions are welcome as to what music i should be getting. summery and possibly girly are key phrases here. pete yorn is already on the list. though he is neither of the above.

can't we have class outside today?

i can't adequately express the pain i feel being in this place today. now, we all know how i feel about the job in general. that's a given. but look out the window, mein lieblings! look at the going-up-to-75-and blindingly sunny outside! it is the first bona fide perfect day of the year, and i am here. inside. under fluorescence and pinioned because they are tearing up the hall and painting our door.

in retaliation, i am going to listen to song samples on the internet for about an hour and then buy myself some of it.

in other news, the show went well. i feel awful for the girl who went up after i did, because...well. my clan is nothing if not fiercely loyal. and not entirely acquainted with mister tact. so we had to bail posthaste. but, the stage was nice, the bar was friendly, and the bartender was mad cute. and australian. too bad i will never again even think about touching a bartender with anything other than a baseball bat. but looking is okay. that is my decree.

all in all a good evening, though i got rip-roarin' drunkish and dozed off on the subway. thank goodness i had guides to lead me home. here's hoping i didn't do anything disgraceful...because although i am fairly certain i have a clear picture of all the events of last night, if there's anything i'm missing, the fact that i don't know about it makes sense in the context of not remembering.

exactly. of course.

if that's not a sign that i should end this entry here, before my poor sozzled brain hits the high road on moral grounds, i don't know what is.

so anyway. open apology to all if i was a disgrace last night.

remember two things

one beat. one beat means everything, changing the world in its own infintesimal way. imperceptible. and yet it means everything. the push/pull that transforms everything, from binding you to this plane to letting you go, letting you get where you need to be. to being free.

please don't disappear. i feel you pulling away. and whether this has anything to do with me, i don't know.

but don't go. please don't go.

monday. oh, monday.

woke up on the wrong side of the coffin, definitely. m train not running. slept through the alarm. still gimping. at work. dragging my guitar through the subway, trying to wrestle my way into the building with no hands free and one foot, while the fucking traders stare at me blankly, wondering why i'm having such difficulty doing something so simple as opening a heavy door.

with a guitar and bag in one hand, gym bag slung over shoulder, coffee in other hand and one foot clearly unable to do anything useful.

yes. clearly, the answer is that i'm inept. i do not need any assistance, i'm just an idiot.

fucking traders. make more money than god and have no idea how to interact with other human beings in a manner that is not exclusively fueled by testosterone.

yes, definitely on the wrong side of the coffin.

more coffee. mooooorre coooofffeee.

in other news 2 songs. 11 minutes and 22 seconds of wholesome, brand-new goodness. ask me how.

one foot in the door, the other trying to pull me into the grave

since i moved into this apartment nearly two years ago, not a one of my visitors has made any bones about the fact that they fear my stairs. and i, being the inhabitant and enjoying a good scoff now and again, have always pooh-poohed this notion. "we got the great white whale couch in here without incident," i say. "we orchestrated the great brooklyn sofa swap." to be sure, my stairs have never alarmed me, except when the lights have burned out and i'm lurching home exceptionally drunk. but, the fact remains that my stairs are, in fact, very narrow, very rickety, and a rather offensive shade of brown that lies somewhere between chocolate and human waste.

tonight, however, i felt the fear.

this is largely due to the fact that i'm rocking some double gimp action here--my left foot is hindered by the massive blister i incurred at some mystery point yesterday (somewhere inbetween the glaucoma test and discovering that i'd lost one of my favorite earrings). my right foot, feeling left out, opted to join in the fun this evening by developing some sort of massive cramp. as such, i spent the evening trying really hard to seem harmless and friendly to wang's new girlfriend whilst traipsing around like someone with a clubfoot. it was grand. really. it's like i've won my sea legs without having set foot on a boat in months. much lurching and much amusement for all, to be sure.

anyway. back to the fear.

stumbling home this evening, fully sober but entirely limping, i got a glimpse of why it is that people fear the stairs. while ascending the second set that take me up to my apartment, i lurched to the right, my foot deciding to cramp heinously (not entirely unexpected, sincei i finished off the evening sprinting for the bus) when i stepped on it. i lost my balance and went smashing into the railing, nearly losing my balance and careening backward down the stairs.

as i'm sure you've gathered, i managed to grab the rail and regain my composure in enough time to right myself and make it home in one piece.

but it was definitely a learning experience. i solemnly swear that from this point on, i will keep my mockery of my friends' fear of the stairs of infamy toned down to a silent chortle. no more of this full blown snickering for me.

all i have to say is thank goodness i didn't have enough money on me tonight to get drunk. things, in that scenario, might have gotten ugly.

taxes

my taxes have been sent. i'm now in that strange limbo where i'm incredibly relieved, but when the fear sets in. over stupid things, like what if i put everything in the wrong envelopes, or got the checks mixed up, or...whatever. stupid. fortunately for me, the government wants its money, so if i did it wrong, i'll hear about it, oh yes. bloody taxes. grrr.

happy anniversary

i just realized i am three days late for figuring out that it's my anniversary on diaryland.

i started this monstrosity on april 8 of last year.

my, how time flies.

brick house

speaking to my parents is frequently an exercise akin to repeatedly smashing my head against a brick wall.

"so, how is everything?"

"well... um. okay. kind of. not so good. hate the job, had a meltdown a couple weeks ago. kind of depressed over all for the last couple of months. i haven't been sleeping well."

"now shivery. you stress too much. you need to stop stressing."

"but i'm not stressing, i'm..."

"i'm glad to hear you're doing well."

picture that whole exchange without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

can't take a detour any more.

and lo, it's over. it never even began and it's over. no fanfare, no explanation, no conversation, even. just flashes of small blondeness, flashes of the kind of pretty i'll never hope to offer, and the half hearted exclamation that it was a short evening as i walked out the door.

the softer side of SARS

SARS: severe acute respiratory disease; manifests itself as a pneumonia-like illness. characterized by high fever, dry cough, and severe difficulty breathing.

SARS HOTSPOTS: china. vietnam. singapore. hong kong.

TAGLINE FOR HONG KONG'S MOST RECENT PROMOTIONAL CAMPAIGN BEFORE CIRCUMSTANCES CAUSED IT TO CHANGE: "hong kong takes your breath away."

NUMBER OF PUBLICATIONS THIS TAGLINE APPEARED IN BEFORE THE TOURIST BUREAU COULD STOP IT: unknown. but more than one.

CURRENT STATE OF HK TOURIST BUREAU: a little freaked out. just a little. maybe.

so, all over the world, there are magazines gleefully featuring an ad campaign that doesn't know how right it is. brilliant.

more rantings on the war.

at the moment, the war is very much on my mind. and everything i think about it makes me count and thank my lucky stars that i'm not living in the midwest or some other part of the country where i would be lynched as a traitor for these thoughts.

and here's the thought of the hour: apparently, once upon a time, there was some dignity in being a soldier, particularly an american soldier. when they were the armies of the mighty, the armies of the light, the armies of freedom, liberating entire continents under the thumb of a failed artist bent on genocide. that was something. that was an endeavor you could believe in. now what comes to mind when you think of a soldier? crazy vietnam vets, sick and disabled. victims of the first gulf war, floored by the syndrome named after the vast sweeps where their minds finally broke. veterans from korea, not sick or broken enough to forget that they were on the losing side. scared little boys. people who think that dubya bush is going to be the salvation of that country. buzz cuts, pickup trucks and little plastic flags.

that's what i think of when i think of soldiers.

and i wish more than anything that i didn't. i wish more than anything that i could regard the boys on the front line in the way that i romanticize those who fought in the great wars, in any of the wars that i would legitimately classify as worth fighting, as any of our business. because i know there's no difference between the two. war is a sickness, a skirmish fought by the young and the weak on behalf of those waging it from behind their fortress walls. it's a farce. and it always has been. the children doing the dirty work of the old and powerful. so why can't i respect what we're doing now, why can't i respect them, the way i respect those that have come before?

because that is the only thing about this war and my opinion of it that makes me feel traitorious, makes me feel "unamerican," if you will. i don't give a flying fuck that i don't believe in what we're doing. i'll yell that from the mountaintops with a megaphone and a skywriter. I DON"T BELIEVE THAT THIS WAR IS THE RIGHT THING TO DO. what bothers me is that i don't think i believe in the people we've sent to fight it.

and that, my possums, makes me feel terrible.

SARS can bite me sideways

questionable decision: asking a hypochondriac to write an article about SARS when she's got a coworker from hong kong in the office (ground zero of the infection, for those of you who have been assiduously avoiding newspapers for the last couple of weeks), and it's the end of cold and flu season so EVERYONE is coughing/sneezing/full of phlegmy goodness. including her.

questionable. highly questionable. at quitting time, if you need me, i'll be in the bar. drinking my paranoia away.

sometimes, i really wish we'd just bring back the monroe doctrine

this morning, the cover of the new york post told us that saddam husseinís regime was over, illustrated by a picture of a capsizing statue of said dictator.

over.

I wonder what they mean by that. because if you have any sense whatsoever, you know that this is far, far from over. even if the military has, miraculously, toppled husseinís regime. have killed him, left him for dead in the desert (because you know thatís the only way Kaiser bush is going to drop this particular bone), destroyed his cheese danish and everything that it stands for, the end of this campaign is far from sight. not even close. even when the fighting has stopped, when weíve finally emasculated the Iraqi people to the point that weíve decided that their mere existence no longer poses a threat to American ideals (ëmrrkn,í as the Kaiser would say), there will still be more. after that happens, then comes the cleanup. thatís when we will continue with our favorite trend of bucking the wishes and ideals of the rest of the world and install an American-backed puppet government, congratulating ourselves all the time for liberating the poor, backwards Iraqis from that strange way of existence they called life. never for a second allowing ourselves to believe that maybe, just maybe, they donít WANT to be America east. maybe they want something different. maybe, just maybe, theyíre capable of something more.

now donít get me wrong. I am no great fan of the despot formerly known as saddam. BUT, there are several things I believe. first, I donít really think that war is the way to deal with a dictator. ever. there are far sneakier, more insidious and more effective ways to deal with such things without invoking civilian casualties. second, I donít even think that weíre there because of the despot. at least, not because we feel that how heís oppressing his people is wrong. weíre there because he might have the audacity to stand in the way of us and a plentiful oil supply. for all our bleeding heart posturing, I donít think that our government is particularly interested in the welfare of the Iraqi people; itís a consideration low on the totem pole. I mean, why else call the entire campaign something so blatant and clumsy as ìoperation Iraqi freedomî if we werenít using it as the first line of defense in our smoke-and-mirrors attempt to deflect accusations towards what is probably the truth? ìno, we care about them. really! look! we even named the campaign after them!î but then, our government is clearly not all that interested in our own welfare, either, or anything we have to say, so why should they show any further interest in anyone else?

youíll have to excuse me, Iím feeling cynical today.

one final thought: yesterday, the AP was reporting that there was cheering in the streets of Baghdad as the US army moved in and took over. Did it ever occur to the reporters or the editors or whoever is in charge of giving stories the go-ahead that they were cheering because the presence of American soldiers in the area meant that the bombing was going to stop?

welcome to the occupation.

the revenge of 100 things about shivery, part 2

and now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

51. shivery is caught between a crippling need for caffeine and an intense desire to cut back on its consumption.

52. today, shivery is wearing a tie.

53. shivery is absolutely sick of this ass weather.

54. shivery has blue eyes, but wishes they were green.

55. shivery has a terrible weakness for sideburns. terrible.

56. and the emo glasses. don't forget shivery's predilection towards emo glasses.

57. shivery has recently been finding herself terribly fond of pink.

58. shivery is never happier than when she's in her combat boots and jeans, though she does love dressing up.

59. shivery has come to loathe the words "quality" and "delight"

60. shivery also loathes the sound of sally sue's laugh. but you already knew that.

61. shivery has twelve pairs fo argyle socks.

62. shivery would very much like to know how to play the violin.

63. shivery has lived in texas, california, canada, england and new york.

64. shivery is every inch a downtown rat.

65. shivery prefers jfk to laguardia. mainly because of the big space-age pavilion.

66. shivery is terribly fond of words that begin with the letter "a"

67.shivery's favorite song lyric of the day is: "because you're mistletoe, because i gamble, because i told you so, my eyes are scrambled." --luna, "astronaut"

68. shivery's favorite song lyric of all time may be...nope, actually, can't touch that one.

69. shivery is inordinately fond of the poem "the wasteland" by t.s. eliot.

70. shivery keeps putting off going to the gotham book mart to see their shrine to edward gorey, even though she has wanted to go for about eight years.

71. shivery is seriously coveting the roommate's new ipod. seriously.

72. shivery is absolutely dying to take trips to the following places, in no particular order and for no particular reason: paris, vienna, hong kong, austin, the american deep south, Nebraska, Prague, Melbourne

73.shivery misses having short hair

74. even though she does like the abject girliness that comes with it being long.

75. shivery has only had one crush since the last big debacle, and it is going badly.

76. shivery is sick of being surrounded by women who constantly talk about their diets and how much weight they've lost and their husbands/boyfriends and nothing else. there's nothing wrong with talking about losing weight. there's nothing wrong with talking about your boyfriend/husband. but get some other conversation once in a while for fuck's sake!

77. according to an online quiz, if shivery were a physical characteristic of a celebrity, she's be "that face that avril lavigne feels the need to make." word.

78. shivery is prone to fits of self-loathing.

79. shivery wishes she could smoke indoors.

80. shivery wants to move to england. maybe oxford, since she can't go back to cambridge.

81. shivery's favorite ani difranco album is "not a pretty girl," though "untouchable face" may be her favorite ani song.

82. in the last six months, shivery has been told she looks like tori amos, debra messing and kirsten dunst.

83. in the last six months, shivery has been publicly groped, assaulted in an elevator, and followed home from the subway once.

84. shivery is seriously considering starting up a literal chapter of the junior anti-sex league as a result.

85. shivery is quite shivery right now (it's cold in here.)

86. shivery grinds her teeth in her sleep.

87. five of shivery's favorite movies: 10 things i hate about you; the breakfast club; freeway; north by northwest; blue velvet

88. shivery prefers vanilla soy milk to regular milk. and she can't explain why.

89. shivery is easily startled, though not easily scared.

90. shivery's previous incarnations include: punk, goth (quasi-goth), choir girl, cheerleader, drama queen (though those would argue that she still holds that title)

91. shivery adores peanut butter.

92. shivery has all the potential to be a very dangerous girl.

93. shivery wishes that president palmer were actually the leader of the free world instead of what we've got now.

94. shivery wants to leave this place, but is fairly certain that it's not finished with her yet.

95. and it's not like she knows where she'd go, anyway.

96. shivery is very much looking forward to the next step,. whatever that happens to be.

97. shivery should probably not be allowed anywhere near technology.

98. if shivery were a fruit, she'd probably be a persimmon.

99. shivery wants a cigarette. but she'll be damned if she's going outside in this shite.

100. shivery is a million different people from one day to the next, to quote the verve.

who the hell are they?

we interrupt this listing to bring you this:

behold, the shivery as the disco era and her partner in crime

the revenge of 100 things about shivery, part 1

well, it's been nearly a year since i made the grand list that is 100 things about shivery. so, i figure that in honor of slightly off celebrations of anniversaries (this being my 599th entry and all), i was going to write the sequel. so here it is! 100 things about shivery, 1 year later. (please note that i have not actually looked at the original 100 things list since i wrote it. so it will be fun to see what remains and what has changed).

1. shivery is a professional redhead.

2. shivery is an aspiring rock star.(see figure 1)

3. shivery hates her job with a violent, burning, fuzzy purple passion.

4. shivery has officially vowed never to try and date bartenders again. ever.

5. if shivery were a comic book character, she'd be shelley from this strip

6. in approximately eight months, shivery will be a comic book character.

7. if shivery were to develop a crush on the physical manifestation of a comic book character, it would be jack knight of starman.

8. shivery has a penchant for black boots.

9. shivery can't decide which era it was she should have been born in.

10. shivery used to be punk rock.

11. shivery used to be an opera singer (amateur)

12. shivery has an unhealthy addiction to diet vanilla coke (that's right, ask your doctor if DiVaCo is right for you)

13. shivery smokes american spirit lights.

14. shivery loves red wine, apple vodka and jack daniels.

15. shivery seems to be a magnet for the attentions of married men. particularly married men who live in other cities. it's quite strange.

16. shivery seems to be utterly incapable of dating within her age bracket.

17. shivery wishes a pox on the house of sally sue.

18. shivery has a serious love/hate relationship with the MTA.

19. shivery would describe her style as: cybervictorian androgyne supervixen. except for the fact that she really likes wearing girly things. and that kind of knocks out the androgyne bit.

20. if shivery were to distill the woman she wants to be when she grows up from a combination of three television icons, they would be dana scully, lorelai gilmore and sydney bristow. with maybe some bubbles thrown in for good measure.

21. shivery does not have her own pair of aviator sunglasses. yet.

22. shivery is looking forward to the return of warm weather, and with it the return of sunday brunch.

23. shivery needs a haircut.

24. shivery is entirely too fond of sushi.

25. shivery has a box of towels under her desk, as well as a pair of boots with a busted heel that she somehow never quite gets around to repairing.

26. shivery's favorite member of r.e.m. is (was) bill berry. the man with the unibrow that just won't quit.

27. shivery loves eddie izzard.

28. shivery also loves judd nelson, but not in that way

29. shivery has still not heard from bumbershoot or north by northeast.

30. shivery thinks that cary grant is hott.

31. shivery is a pisces.

32. shivery's wondertwin is roos.

33. shivery calls this one biscuit

34. shivery makes a wicked goat cheese and cranberry risotto. the pumpkin one ain't bad, either.

35. shivery's guilty pleasures include: internet window-shopping, avril lavigne (shut. up.), kiehl's lip balm, mint chocolate cookie ice cream, anything involving peanut butter.

36. shivery enjoys both boxing and kickboxing.

37. one of shivery's favorite things to eat (that makes most other people ill) is brown rice with rice vinegar, brewer's yeast and parmesan cheese. it's much less disgusting than it sounds, we promise.

38. shivery is a much happier monkey since she bought a pickup for her guitar.

39. shivery misses her electric guitar.

40. shivery really needs to go to her optometrist. almost out of contact lenses. very bad.

41. shivery hates her doctor. almost as much as she hates her job

42. shivery is waiting for her UK passport to be processed by the government.

43. shivery actually owns a copy of "growing up brady," the memoirs of barry williams--greg brady himself.

44. shivery has been developing the very disturbing habit of going to bed very early.

45. shivery rediscovered a long-incommunicado cousin through this diary.

46. shivery's top googles are: shivery; naked office; trapped in time.

47. shivery is suddenly very intrigued by cowboy bebop.

48. shivery is bound and determined to learn to fight with either a quarterstaff or a broadsword. come hell or high water.

49. shivery (heart)s emo. (as does the lovely miz i.)

50. shivery is very, very sad that she needs to find a new regular bar.

and that's the first installment! we're accepting suggestions now for the second half of this litany. which will be episode 600 of this tome.

stay tuned!

what?

my lord. and i want to be a part of this industry?

maximumrocknroll

in other news...

in the heart of this city, the romance is dead.

stood up.

in the rain.

time to find a new bar.

i think i've found my alter ego and everything

this whole business of "disillusioned with an loathing my job" has forced me to seek my own entertainment and sanity in some places i would never have expected. and it's giving me some interesting obsessions. at the moment, i'm all agog and out of control over a handful of really quite fabulous web comics.

they've been sustaining me through this week of sloth and apathy that i've been rocking in between my inspired fits of productivity.

so go read them already.

paris, dumbass

you know your head has taken a hiatus when you realize that for a few minutes, you genuinely couldn't remember what the capital of france was.

and you're planning on going there within the year.

yeah.

throwing in the gin-soaked towel. maybe.

it's official. my life is devolving into a farce. or some sort of bad sitcom, of the breed that develops a cult following while causing consternation among most of the population. and i've not yet decided if i'm thoroughly amused or getting really irritated.

the story is basically this: i have been trying to get cutebartender out of the bar since our lone, neutral-fated date right after we met. we keep agreeing to do something. and then one of us keeps backing out. it's amazing. we've been dancing this little dance for well over a month and six canceled engagements. and for a while it was funny. amusing. absurd.

now it's just starting to make me a bit...grumbly. particularly because we were/are supposed to be putting an end to this little game tonight. in theory. it's a question because he called me last night to say that he might have to back out. which is fair, because the tickets to joe egg meant that i bailed on our tentative wednesday plans. turnabout is fairplay and all that. but...come on. if this doesn't happen soon, i'm going to have to throw in the towel.

though i probably won't find another watering hole. cheap drinks are still nice, even if they don't come with the hint of a special prize to go with.

egg on my face

so, joe egg was about the last thing i'd expected it to be, in that it was quite possibly the most depressing thing i've ever seen. i know! shocking, right? it was very strange to see the mind-bogglingly hilarious eddie izzard pouring himself into the role of a beleaguered school teacher in this play about mental retardation, abandonment, divorce and infanticide. very odd indeed. of course, it was also strange simply seeing him without eyeliner; i suppose we need to keep things in perspective. i enjoyed the evening, though, particularly the preamble, wherein my companion and i found ourselves in the sort of establishement that, had i been alone, i would not have wandered into without combat boots and a shiv, and whiled away some time drinking beer and nibbling goldfish crackers. ah, goldfish crackers. the cornerstone of the food pyramid.

have i mentioned recently how much i hate my job?

what we have here is a goddamn motherfucking FAILURE to COMMUNICATE and it means someone who's not me may be sporting a black eye or a broken eardrum by the end of the day.

and i've only been here for twenty minutes.

shadowboxer

so, i went to my first boxing class yesterday. not kickboxing, boxing. proper, bouncing around the ring, wearing gloves and whacking things very hard boxing.

it was so much fun.

i can't even believe how much i enjoyed it. granted, i can't really feel my arms today as a result, but...wow. granted, of course, my guitar hand will never forgive me. being a southpaw, my dominant hitting hand was my left. being perverse, i play guitar right-handed, which also means that i form my chords with my left hand. which means i should probably not be pummeling the living bejeezus out of it.

ah well.

eddie, i love you!

guess who just scored a ticket to see "a day in the death of joe egg"?

aw. yee.