No, YOU rock!

I am so proud of my friend J- (am I using names? Probably not, I don't know the rules. So I will use initials, or thinly disguised names, or adorable nicknames. Right now I'm not in the mood to come up with the latters, so I use the letters. ha!)

Anyway, she did this - run up the stairs of the Hancock Tower in Chicago.

Whoo, hooray for her! Go girl, go!


This was not a random download.

Selfindulgent, yes. Completely unrandom, yes. This is one of the most completely compelling songs ever. Bet you've never heard it.

This is a journal about love, nominally.

When I first heard this song, I lost it, just lost it.

Now that I look at it, it reminds me a little of something my ex-B says, too.

Callback city.

This is some beautiful song I bet you've never heard.

Voice in the wilderness - Ben Weaver

I'm not gonna give you what you want to hear
I’m not gonna be with you in the end
It’s cold as the stars way down inside of me
You’re the voice that stands on the edge of the wilderness
Crying my god what should I do with this mess
My heart is the legs running inside my mind
Like a mad man I have lost any sense of time
I have slept under the overpass of Blue Avenue
In the people passing by I let go of you
Crying my god love is a bird dying in the sky so blue 
Sometimes people are like god and they really don’t exist
Unless you aim for my heart you will always miss
You can hold a match to my love and it will always burn
In your arms I can make any 2 words rhyme
Crying my god this is a place these are strange times 
When you wake up one morning I will be down the road
You won’t see me or hear or understand this song
When I wake up some mornings lying next to her
Say time is an arrow they say it heals the stitch
Crying my god this is a song for a love I can’t resist 
The snow falls tonight on the horses back
And the light comes through the window like a stolen car
I wish you the best in everything you do
I love you with everything I have
Crying my god cant you see there’s no going back

Why do you drink? I'm so lonesome I could cry

Silly! They're song titles!

I've just downloaded (legally, silly) an inordinate amount of Hank Williams, Jr and Sr.

Silly me.

Overtired, most unfortunately so. It's 454 AM. This is not funny.

xx, world.

Pastiche of blind items, stolen items, and miscellaney

1. Blind items are not effective, sod it.

2. I sent this poem on to the person who perhaps needed to see it. Another of life's bitter ironies, if I had font capabilities, I could have sent it in the original:

"I loved you..."
by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

I loved you, and I probably still do,
And for a while the feeling may remain...
But let my love no longer trouble you,
I do not wish to cause you any pain.
I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,
The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain -
Made up a love so tender and so true
As may God grant you to be loved again.

As I described it, "Overwrought, with a touch of 'Fuck you'" So very Russian.

3. Without permission, I have dipped into same certain person's email account and have reprinted this without permission. But expectation of privacy being what it should (zero) and someone knowing that they should really separate their electronic lives, my help or not, tough shit to you. However, it sums things up in a most poignant and kind of interesting manner, and shows how fucking wrongheaded and selfish and sad he can be.

Did I break his heart? Did he break mine?

How did we make eachother out so wrong for so many years? how???

(a reply to a friend of his, another former friend-with-benefit of his)

"I'm very sad for Michelle, for myself, for her family, her friends, for Homeboy. But I think her expectations for solipsistic *me* to give her a happy, giving marriage were unrealistic. I've asked her enough times (albeit in anger or exasperation), "What... do...you...want...from...me?!

How could I ever have competed with her X-er improv and comedy friends, her lawyer friends, or her gay friend M*, who she spends hours and hours with, talking and laughing about tv shows, plays, musicals, books and songs that I don't know anything about?

I was fascinated by her smarts and her manic craziness, and felt tender affection and sentimental romance, but it ultimately wasn't enough for her. She wanted to be friends, too. But I guess I knew better on some level: how can you be friends with someone who can break your heart?"

4. I have many friends named Ken, and I spoke to some of them tonight, and that made me quite happy. One of them and I were wondering if we'd ever just have one relationship, just have one job, one love, one career. If nothing else, our brilliant university education (Where we met) taught us how to multitask! Sigh.....

5. I had a tentatively nice conversation with a perfectly nice, attractive, funny, employed, age-appropriate, smiley, friendly guy last night. Who appeared to kind of like doing that with me. Then I ran ran ran away. Fast.

6. The "Vagina Monologues" is over. It went well. I'm tired. Can't help but think about that one about the thirtysomething lawyer who became a dominatrix....

7. A diet of whole foods and booze can constitute a balanced lifestyle, no?


Things aren't supposed to happen.

(pushes glasses up on nose, begins in a slight nasal drawl)

My entry today was inspired by dialogue from the Steven Soderburgh masterpiece "sex lies and videotape:

Graham: You're right, I've got a lot of problems... But they belong to me.
Ann: You think they're yours, but they're not. Everybody that walks in that door becomes part of your problem. Anybody that comes in contact with you. I didn't want to be part of your problem, but I am. I'm leaving my husband, and maybe I would have anyway, but the fact is, is, I'm doing it now, and part of it's because of you. You've had an effect on my life.
Graham: This isn't supposed to happen. I've spent nine years structuring my life so this didn't happen.

(End Gilda Radner/Molly Shannon teen angst parody. Too draining)

What was i going to say? I really should be working. But instead I was cruising imdb, ruminating over movie quotes.

This isn't supposed to happen.
You aren't supposed to love me.
You aren't supposed to miss me.
You aren't supposed to take me so seriously.
You're taking me the wrong way.
Why can't you just not let my obsessions not get to you?
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I won't fall in love with you.
I can't have feelings for you.
You weren't supposed to find out.
This wasn't supposed to happen.

Guess what world, shit does happen.

Happen it does, and happen it will.

No one is an island. A ball bounces in Peoria, a waveform perpetuates in Algeria.

Euphonious, no?

Touch and be touched at your own risk.

Take that as you will.

Now, I'm off to my seaside cure for at least a month. Send me back in time where my calling plan has no meaning. Of course, that would mean certain waves of chaos perpetuating into the future.....

And things that aren't supposed to happen, most certainly would.


hee he hee!

Oh dear, am I horrible? This is (almost) a bit-free entry. Almost, of course. Come on, this is me.

So I mentioned to the ex that I'd called my ex-boyfriend (who'd given me the kitty in the first place), and he was pretty unhappy I'd given up the kitty.

I didn't expect this. G'd been bugging me for years, Why dont' you call your exes, stay in touch, blah blah. Keep in mind, he was friends, etc (?) with almost all his ex-girlfriends and fuck buddies, except for the ones who couldn't handle him (and he'd tried to insinuate himself into their lives anyway). But I'm not really like that, I'd think about people, move on, I'd have folks on my mind, but whatever. I never called B. Until the other night (see below) and yes, it was nice. And honestly, I don't have that many exes.

The ex(husband) was pissed. Mad, jealous, pissed.
And I couldn't stop laughing. He admitted, he didn't expect it. The jealousy. He's figuring out, that I'm not "his."
Mad jealous. Laughing. Oh dear.
Now what would the poor man do if he found out, say, I was hittin' dudes theoretically young enough to be his kid? (I mean, not that I am, but I could be!)
Oh dear. Too funny!
To quote a future sketch work in progress...."Are we awful?"

(clarification: To you kids out there, my future ex is 44 years old. Old! Precambrian, preMTV, precomputer My ex-boyfriend is 46 Damn, I'd forgotten about that. Guy I was hittin' around the same time I was dating the ex-B is probably, by now, over 50. I actually need to look him up, for a slew of other purposes....but oh, another entry for another time. Yeah, I had my older-man phase. Never slept with a guy in his 20s when I was in my 20s. Well, a couple of odd times, but not with any regularity. Why am I telling you people this? Sheesh. Ancient history. Get it? Maybe I need to resurrect "sexual peak...." Oh no, even worse.)


More important facts about me

1. I am an erratic, lazy perfectionist. (Note that I carefully edited my stupid last blog post for content and clarity. Yet my office is a mess and I am behind on billing and have a paycheck in my pocket crushed up to be deposited.)
2. I fear rejection (well who doesn't?) but I tend to go "shields up" and develop an attitude of apparent rudeness and snarkiness, while inside I'm like a fourteen year old girl sobbing into her pink fluffy throw pillows and drawing giant violet hearts onto her notebook with x's through them.
3. I may agree with my lamented husband that I may, perhaps, expect way too much from people. Unconditional love, great empathy, and the ability to read minds, for starters.

Did you care? I thought not!

Getting over it, for the moment

1. Pour some bourbon into small water glass over ice. Sip reasonably slowly.
2. Call ex-boyfriend
3. Repeat #1 during phone call, relive past in positive fashion. Hear some (unrelated to current life) terrible news. Make tentative lunch plans. Repeat #1.
4. Call friend, realize time, hang up on machine
5. Repeat #1
6. Call back good friend in Chicago in slightly manic fashion
7. Develop slight soul-crushing hysteria
8. Call good friend across street and insist that nothing is wrong.
9. Good friend arrives at door. Finish drink.
10. Receive hugs and relieve hysteria.
11. With friend, create fake "Nerve" profile and chat up weirdos. Laugh hysterically, freak out and delete profile.
12. With friend, review sites for adult baby gear and the "Real Doll" in great detail.
13. Thank friend profusely for supporting bout of temporary insanity.
14. Contemplate snack and finish unfinished business neglected during bout of soul-crushing hysteria.
15. Straighten up house, pour soda, prepare for bed. Type this shit.


Salvation and unintented consequences

Ever see "Homicide: Life on the Streets?"
Ever see the final "episode" movie?
Ever watch the next to last scene, where Bayliss and Pembleton have a conversation?
Ever realize you didn't see it coming, at all?

I won't spoil it for you, but it's a fine piece of television writing. The movie's not the show's finest hour (I mean, it's no subway episode - itself, in a way, about salvation), but it's worth seeing. Especially for all you Wire fans, and Oz fans, there's so many awesome castings and callbacks and foreshadowings.

Salvation. It's been on my mind a lot lately.

Salvation, my friends, doesn't come from Netflix. Or this glass of Jack on the rocks. Or fucking, or chat rooms, AIM, reruns, or blogging, hyper-activity, or mindless netsurfing.

Salvation is absolution of the self. Salvation, to me, is permission to find peace.

I'm just saying, is all.

And goddamn if Bayliss in that episode doesn't look like a finer boned, more haunted version of my husband. Holy crap, that near did me in.


I need to sort out things. Although the bedroom needs it more, I may start with the bookshelf first. I think that sorting out my physical space will be helpful.

Sorting goes from easy to hard.

Like, books, books are easy. There's "not mine." Into the box. There's "hmmm...is it mine?" Split those suckers up. There's "damaged beyond repair." Trash 'em. There's "textbook, dull but useful for reference." Hmmm....I like to keep those, I'm a "you never know" person, but I'm also "compulsive about up to date." So if clearly dated or supplanted, then out they go.

Then, there's "haven't really finished but half," "classic but meaning to get to, will I ever really penetrate Ulysses?" "neglected treasures," "old worn out favorite," "freebies," "may be better enjoyed by someone else," "does this belng to someone else?" and the like. Those are the harder ones. And then do you wonder where the hell stuff went, like that set of Raymond Carver short stories or the Roz Chast cartoon set and you remember that the Roz Chast set got demolished in a flood and how fucking hard it is to replace "Mondo Boxo" and it's kind of sad.

Are books like people?
God I'm fucking clumsy, analogy-wise. Fuck me for that one.

I'm tired.

I'm tired.

This is the sum and substance of this entire post.



You know, people, or as some comics like Rick Shapiro (one of my latest obsessions) like to say, PEOPLE....I've completly lost my train of thought. Shit.

My point, that I've been rolling around in my head all night, is basically a distillation of the wisdom of an oddball assortment of influences, including my dad, my Trial Ad professor, Frank at Stand up NY, assorted friends and former friends, therapists and former therapists, a big chunk of relationship life, and whatever sense my own brains gave me (and the words of a certain improv coach sticking his big old face in mine barking GET TO THE FUCKING POINT ALREADY!).....

Words are not to be taken lightly. Words are fucking bullets, and there are no accidental words. Thoughts and sentences should be handled like loaded guns; don't point them at people unless you have unloaded them personally.

Words are the tools of our trade, the gifts of evolution and intelligence, of learning and experience and reason. Words are not to be fucked with.

Use as many words as you need, no more no less.
If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.
Think before you speak.
Some things you say can never, ever be taken back.
Think of how you'd feel, hearing that.
Say less, listen more.
The less you say, the less you have to answer for or worry about later.
Get to the fucking point!

The ability and the platform and the space to communicate is a fucking gift, if you are given such an opportunity, treat is as such. If you have such an ability, do not fuck it up. nurture it, challenge it, work hard with it, consider it a blessing and leave it not idle to rot and fade away.

One person is no less an audience than twenty or one hundred.

Words on paper are fixed and lack depth and are subject, more often than not to misinterpretation.
Words spoken often come out too soon, too fast and often just as murky.
Is it ever easy?

George carlin often talks about the words themselves. Listen to him.
Lenny Bruce talks about the words themselves.
Words don't kill people, although they pretty much did kill Lenny in the end.

Although generalities are easy and specifics are hard and again, I may be talkin out my ass.....

Never ever ever ever refer to a women's weight if you are in a relationship with her. Regardless of her actual size. Ever.
Never ever refer to a woman as "nothing" in any sense whatsoever. No matter what your actual intentions are. Ever.
These things tend to stick.
I thought long and hard before saying this.
I think long and hard before sharing this journal.
I'm still thinking. Perhaps, unduly so.

Words are arrows, daggers, blankets, pillows, flowers, poison, cocktails, glasses of warm milk.

Words are power, submission, permission, obfuscation , enlightenment, opportunity.

Do not fuck with them.

Do not.


I do tend to have 80% of the conversation in my head....

so why should this journal entry be any different?

"....i have to do something about this. This has to stop, it can't go on...."
"...start keeping track, or it's not doing me any good...."
"....convince him it's the right thing to do? Fucking blood work. I need an ally...."
"...answer those emails...."
"...two sets of monologues....maybe as characters? Got to get together...."
"....i have to do something about this. A week maybe....will it be noticed? unilateral action..."
"shit...next week..."

(I think I caught ADD working in Family Court for so long. However, that theory doesn't hold up. I think I've always been like this, operating on several wavelengths and having 80% of the conversation in my head, which is harder to convey on paper than I realize. It was actually pointed out to me back when I was a social worker, by my ex-boyfriend. He thought it was because of his slight LD and the fact that maybe he just couldn't keep up. Wrong! BC, it wasn't you. It really was me. At least on that point.)



Can you imagine what would happen when two Scorpios with essentially the same date of birth get married?

Not that I really, truly truck with this astrology nonsense.

But you have to wonder. Do you think they, the Scorpions, wear their poison on their sleeve? Like the big-horned Rams and Bulls? The Crabs with their claws? No, that shit is hidden deep, deep inside. Under a hard, hard shell.

"You're a deep down dirty liar."
"Well, how else could I be so byzantine?"

Byzantine. What a great word. He revels in the terminology.

Sigh. Would that I weren't quite so byzantine, myself.


Back to semi-adulthood and rationality.

Did you know it is NOT in fact a violation of the New York State Code of Professional Responsibility for an attorney to entertain mildly impure thoughts about one's client? Especially if that client is charming and adorable?


A lovely sushi dinner never did a business meeting any harm, I say! And here's to a job well done.

Now, what does one do about allowing a client to see one perform comedy?



Fifty second rant ahead.....


Shit shit fuck fuck motherfucker cocksucker i want a dozen red roses fuck fuck now. Hate this fucking moron fake holiday always have always will never celebrated it when I actually had someone to love and to hold and said no, don't bother, save it for next week. When I'd go out with girlfriends for drinks or call them on the phone and bitch about shit. Now I just want all the stuff. Where's my fucking dozen overwrought sweeping foolish just because i want to show I might love you gesture?

Fuck you all you motherfuckers nonspecifically. Fuck you all and fuck society for making me feel like shit for wanting this crap. And fuck me too for letting tears of idiocy run down my pathetic cosmetic-wearing face.

Rant over.

Off to bed with ya!

Head still awry, not quite myself.

Passed a lovely evening with my best buddy, slurping up cheap Chinese food, and after watching a fair amount of "football," humorously ripping on the Brits for an equal amount of time. (With apologies, naturally, to all my lovely English friends. There, that didn't take long. I didn't start it. I actually watched for sport AND cute players, unlike SOME people who merely were watching for looks! Barclays EPL highlights, for those who care.). Watched a lot of "Project Runway," which is more or less brilliant, sorry I missed the earlier part of the run.

Returned some phone calls, some email, sent out some resumes, gathered some intelligence on a covert (!) project, cleaned up a bit, was otherwise more or less useless today. Downloaded stuff (useful, not trashy). Helped friends with things. Hmm, maybe not so useless.

I abhor the lack of font creativity in these posts. Jeez, even the "other message board" upon which I post has more than this!

I can't believe Joss Stone is so freaking young, damn!

Happy Fucking VD. Bah humbug.

(what no flowers? Prices jacked up this time of year anyway. Opportunistic fuckers.)



Yes I know what time it is.

There are so many places I'd rather be...Places where I'm out of range, entirely.

My mantra "I can't handle you right now" is NOT WORKING for me. Guess I don't repeat it to myself enough.

One of the awesomest things about being in Europe was the fact that my cell phone didn't work. And the one time I signed into the Internet, I got my bag stolen. Coincidence?

Someone gave me the book "1000 Places to visit before you Die." I'm not that ambitious.

I want 5 places to be left alone. Anyone want to come with? Har!

What did it take a hundred years ago to get a month by the seashore? Consumption? Exhaustion? An unsuitable love affair?

Were it only that simple.

A hundred years ago, "hysteria" would get you whacked off by your doctor. To relieve tension." Perhaps, with a complicated medical device. Such cures were popular amongst the wealthy doctors of the upper class. No joke. Do you know how many patents were issued for such machines?

Were it only that simple.

First Time Meetings...Survey Says?

A Quinipiaq College Pole of up to 1000 lovely ladies was performed. (Or, a treatment for an Oxygen channel talking-heads show...Hmm, brilliant! No Stealing!)

Got any more? Send them along too!

"I took my big gay friend with me, partly as insurance in case this guy was a total creep/loser/creepy loser, and partly to scope out the restaurant for annoying coworkers, which he did neatly and quietly and then departed. Because as we approached the restaurant, the one guy who was waiting clearly was not creepy looking. In fact, he was kind of hot, even bundled up in a green winter coat and lugging a backpack. Wow. Damn."

"We had our cellphones in our hands at our ears as we approached each other on Orchard Street because we were both convinced we had missed the other after missing a few calls. We looked up and smiled and clicked our phones off. He bent down, being seriously tall, and laughed and said Ha ha, well, I kiss you now, no? and kissed me, quickly, but on the lips as my head was tilted up by his great hands. I was surprised but not unpleasantly so. Must be a European thing."

"I'd just gotten off the subway after kind of a hectic day and done the makeup reapply in transit, so I was a little concerned. Turns out I was right to be, because for the first time in my makeup wearing life I managed to get lipstick on my teeth. Which turned out to be an okay thing, since we were both really nervous and it was the first thing that made us laugh."

"You know I don't remember actually "meeting" since we worked together....just not always in the same location, just for the same business, running around in the field, but we'd bump into each other in the office a fair amount somehow. And then, maybe start hanging out with some of the others from his division...or was that afterwards? I do remember the one day he suggested actually doing something, going somewhere, together, and I remember looking up at him and smiling in my best flirtatious tone of voice, 'are you asking me on a date?' And yes, he was. And, weirdly, I felt all Southern somehow, Lord knows why, and flattered and flirted with and adored at that moment and it was cool."

"Not that I wasn't thinking how absurdly short he looked in the absurdly low booth, in the fairly quiet bar, drinking a beer and seriously reading a newspaper, which was somehow endearing. Much better looking than the photo. And just the right height, turned out."

"It was pretty late as my taxi zoomed up from the Village towards 8th Avenue towards 56th Street or thereabouts. He wasn't there yet, but it gave me time to get money and mints in the deli. Since we both had other plans that night, it worked out OK. He looked like he stepped off the pages of the J. Crew catalog but I thought hell, there's nothing wrong with being neat, even at this hour. And hell, it's just one drink. Right?"

"And after drinks, and dinner, I remember thinking, hmm, he's kind of weird, but still, pretty cute. Do I need to know about every woman he's ever dated, ever, in his life? And does he need to know about why I don't keep in touch with my old boyfriends? We split the check. No kiss goodnight, though, I did kind of want one."


deep breath....

Ice cream, off-brand peanut butter, graham crackers, tomato soup, Diet Coke. Oh there I go posting grocery lists again!
Mr. Show, Season 3.
Still awaiting the nap and delaying phone calls. Did wish Dad a Happy Answering Machine Birthday (63? I think.)
Will return those phone calls.
Physical state: Queasy and achy still. Mono? Duplo? Nutso? Botso? (Alternative spelling of the Italianate word for "Crazy" I believe, part of the regional patois that is New York.)

Do you answer comments in comments? Kind of a meta-question, I know.

schmuck schmuck schmuck a fifty-second rant.

Let me count the ways.

I'm fucking sick as hell.
So when he stops by to pick up the mail and sign over a $400 check (!) I let him bring soup.
So he stays to eat the soup. And brings over more mail. And I learn more about the failed investment account he's poured hundreds (!) into. And I try to figure out where to complain to, what lawyers to call. And he complains about the lack of email storage, so I try to set him up a Yahoo account which is not working (!) And he complains about having to change his email address so I bring up Return Path and Classmates (!!) and his Webmail (!) to be fucking nice and now not only do I have a fucking fever but I have total fucking anxiety so he's gone to get cat food which I asked him to do on the way here and instead of packing and tossing his crap he's sitting around eating soup and reading the paper and petting the cat like he FUCKING LIVES HERE WHICH HE DOES FUCKING NOT.


The Yahoo account still hasn't registered. YOUR TECH ISSUES ARE NOT MINE. Except I want to shut this Earthstink account down, soon.

Time to cry and go to sleep now.

More bits later, boys and girls!
Tomorrow, I will be hydrated and alert. And perhaps, I go buy boxes. And Hefty bags.


Snow is general throughout Ireland.

Preface: James Joyce is one of my favorite authors. not one of the "cool" authors you list in your "profiles," to be sure. An author who, because of, or despite being shoved at me in high school, was succesfully pushed on me and wormed his way deep into my twisted teenage psyche, his complex words and worlds were somehow soothing to me. (24 hours in Dublin found me posing next to a statue of the man, and wishing desperately it would snow, but I was extremely happy to be there even for a short while, despite missing out on being in a pub, a carriage, a parlor....the churches and the cobblestones and light mist of rain and the people did me a world of good. But, to use the phrase that will no doubt be hacked into my tombstone, I digress.)

Spoliers ahead...although I'm sure you're not gonna run right out and rent the film or read the book. But if ye do, than ye do.

It concerns ghosts.
And the shock of discovery.
And who you thought you knew so well, most intimately, you just didn't, perhaps, know at all.
And who you thought you had, you possessed, so completely, you never will.
And who's to possess, really, anyone at all?
It's about a part of you permanently haunted, an attic in your soul barricaded by impenetrable beams of oak, nailed shut by the sweaty craftsman of your conscious mind.
It's about the ghost refusing to stay barricaded and puncturing through your psyche in tiny tunnels, almost but not quite invisibly.
It's about living your life not quite the same as you would have before, perfectly fine, but never quite the same.
It's about something, somehow, triggering the haunting, a sight, a song, a circumstance...
It's about grief, and distance, and love.
Yes, about love.

I'm not doing a very good job, am I?
Then again, I'm not Joyce.

Maybe I won't spoil it.
It's a lovely read and a lovely film.
Watch Anjelica Huston. She speaks barely ten words until the final fifteen minutes of the film and a more powerful performance I've never watched on film.
Just watch. It's utterly lovely and sad.

Today is the first Opposite Day of the rest of your life!

When you find yourself on your own, for the first time in awhile, things become Different. And not just "the old man is on vacation so i can sprawl out and eat junk food and blast all the TVs" different.

Things you thought you were "married" to - ha! - Habits, and such - somehow, you start doing the opposite. As if you'd previously clung to them as symbols of your own independence, your own resistance. Or, somehow, by changing them, you're beginning a new life, a fresh start.

I don't necessarily know which one is true. I'm just postulatin'.

For example, there were always complaints that I kept the TVs on when I slept, that I couldn't fall asleep with out one on. And since childhood, that's been pretty much true. (Oddly enough, when in college or grad school or other living situations where TV was unavailable, I've been fine). And I'd stubbornly keep the TV on, both if I was home alone, with most of the lights. Scared of the dark (Another story for another time. And sleeping in complete silence and darkness does make me insane....And keeping on music never did it for me, in fact it bothered me.) But lately, I don't automatically turn on the TVs (still have 2, yes, for the moment) when I get home. And sometimes, falling asleep to music can be nice for a change. Or even just to the relative (this is NY after all) quiet.

Some of my bad habits, bones of contention, are naturally falling away. I keep food moving in the fridge, not buying it and letting it go over so often; pay the rent on time; trying to pack lunch, eat breakfast home, return videos on time, not buy coffee out and take fewer cabs. Without nagging or provocation or passive annoyance. I cancelled the newspaper delivery (I can run down and get my own damn paper) and call waiting (I don't care all that much and it's ineffective) and get my laundry done in the mornings before work.

I'm gonna turn off the lights, and maybe just leave the iTunes on. It's on 80s shuffle right now. The GoGos to Journey to Foreigner. That hasn't changed. He'd hate this (the GoGos least of all, I'd bet, though. Although I don't know.)

Next: We Never had a Song, Could We Ever Have a Chance?


$38.78 IS technically UNDER $39.00!!!

Sometimes I find watching QVC soothing. There, I said it. I wouldn't buy the stuff, I've tried and have gotten crap clothes (way small and fllmsy) and weird food (the legendary overwrought Mrs Prindables Candy Covered Apples I served at a New Years party as a sci-fi dessert). I did, however, get a huge box of neat kids books once, that have served me well as gifts, but I digress.

Their downmarket cousins, HSN, are too hilarious and erratic to be soothing, and are best watched with others, preferably when under the influence but perfectly silly when sober too.

"Versatile," "Bohemian" and "Comfortable" are the catchwords I've heard the most in the past hour.

Because that's what I look for in clothing and accessories.

The brightly lit worlds, full of well manicured ladies and blond wood and fit models in Medium and 1X and happy happy happy people with precision measurements at the ready, the availability stoplight flashing at precise intervals, and soooo many ways to wear those kicky designs!

Sometimes (catch a breath)...the Designer Themselves appear! Usually a designing man, sometimes but rarely a woman...to help pump up the volume and the possibilities - How many ways can YOU wear that belt? Two heads are better than one!

And the callers, oh the callers.

The last one was from Queens. Turns out that the host AND designer were both from Queens too!

Connections. Versatility. Availability.

That's the world of QVC.


Quote of the Day

"That day I read the story Holden had wrote for me. It was kinda different from the other ones but kinda the same. It was about a girl who was put upon, whose job is like a prison, and whose life has lost all meaning. Other people don't get her, especially her husband. One day she meets a boy who is also put upon and they fall in love. After spending their whole lives never getting got, with one look they get each other completely. In the end the girl and the boy run away together into the wilderness, never to be heard from again."

- The Good Girl

from www.imdb.com

Pretty in Pink, Blue...or I Love Pens!

You know how you think that buying office supplies will magically make you a better, more organized, more productive person? (Yes, you do, I got confirmation from several sources today. Or, as one of them also mentioned, "stealing them from your office." Somebody's a little Post-it stealing sneak-thief! I knew it!) Anyway....I do need paper clips, and anything lift-able from work I won't buy, yes.

But pretty collored folders, resume paper, envelopes big and small, snazzy roller or felt pens, and yes...notebooks! Two brand new neat spirally tabby notebooks! And printer paper.

I did forget batteries, alas. So my remotes and such are dead.

I just realized that "pens!" looks a lot like "penis" when you look quickly. Or is that just me? Okay.

The "Dead Kennedys" are cranking. I need to shower.

Where one friend of mine loves the four color clickable pens, (Guest Shopper: "I like to click all the buttons at once till they break."), I am morally opposed. They reminded me of the compulsive geeks of Developmental Biology who used the different colors to draw different embryonic layers. Then again, that was the one bio class I did shit in (who put the d in d-bio......we did!), so maybe it was just a matter of .....Office Supplies!

My college bookstore was my comfort zone of office supplies and Cheddar Goldfish. Half a bag of Cheddar Goldfish and a couple Diet Cokes and a Snickers was a meal to me. (Cheddar was protein, right?)

Anyhoo. Wish there was an office supplies equivalent that would make me more productive in other areas of life. I need to get off the blog thing. I need to brainstorm actual projects, apply for jobs. Maybe if I had a purple, shiny keyboard to pop on!

Most places are email submission now, so the resume bond will likely languish. But just in case.

I got new towels, too. Will it make me a more productive bather?

"Chemical Warfare, Chemical warfare, Chemical warfare, warfare, warfare....."



When you google the word "unlovable" you get an array of the following:

1. Christianity support/self-help sites
2. Porn movie references
3. Teen-angst poetry
4. Song references