Wednesday, August 28, 2002"Spork"
*sigh*...I haven't been properly sporked in ages.
"You are a spork! You are a mismatched hodgepodge of a personality, and as such, utterly useless."
what kitchen utensil are YOU?
There's only maybe one person in the whole, wide world that'll get that reference, and I hope it made him smile.
Okay, so, I had a bit of a dissappointing run-in with humanity today. Nothing special there, I work in retail, therefore, the majority of my interactions with the public can only be described (kindly) as dissappointing. But this was more of an "inner circle" dissappointment.
The "cool herd" at Drugco is beginning to thin. We're reaching critical "asshole-mass". Some of may favorite co-workers, like Cal, moved out of state. Some moved to other districts taking other, less exploitive positions. The rest are going back to college and high school. There are a few remaining "chill folk" I cling to like the last truffle at a weight watcher's meeting. The last day of my vacation I had a cookout at my house to celebrate the chill folk, and had about 6 of them over, along with their respective spouses and kids (where applicable), for burgers, dogs and beer. It was a great turnout and a characteristically mellow, funny time, and I enjoyed it immensely. I felt even closer to them than before, which is interesting, considering the daily grind at the salt-lick had already established a solidly united front.
One of the attendees I'm fond of thinking of as Drugco's drunken den-mother. She cracks me up and I really do like her, but I never really trusted her altogether. The thing is, when someone talks shit about someone to you, and then you turn around and catch them kissing the ass of the same person they were just bashing, you know it's only a matter of time before you're in their crosshairs.
I can be a pretty cynical, untrusting bitch, so it's hard to tell where my self-defensive nature begins and the truth ends. I make leaps of faith sometimes, giving people the benefit of the doubt, because I have to assume that most of the time I have these people pegged all wrong. Well, not anymore, goddamnit! From now on I'm going to go with my gut. It has never ever failed me. Here's your proof.
This week, I came down with a nasty case of "manditory meeting-itis". *cough* *cough* *gag*. See? I'm still getting over it. It's like this; you can't pay me dick-fifty an hour and expect me to get all lathered-up about a 6 hour meeting, in a godforsaken town that I've never been to for any reason, that's at least an hour out of my way, held in some crappy Holiday Inn function room, where some idiot drones on about nothing I don't already know. It just ain't gonna' happen. I will do whatever it takes to avoid that scenario.
I tried to reason with these people telling them; I have no car, I have no time, you have no knowledge I need, I don't have the proper team spirit for such a meeting, I am a high-risk asshole when placed in such a situation, please please leave me alone and just let me do my stupid, meaningless, ill-paying job? I do it well, better than most of the people here, don't further humilliate me by taking me an hour out of my way with a co-worker I barely know who is as equally unenthusiastic about it as I am, and holding me hostage in a conference room with a bunch of angry, soulless, witless fuckers. Please? Just let me punch in like normal, be an officious little doobie, collect my pellet at the end of the maze and punch out hating you people a little less than I would otherwise. Pretty please? Don't make me go.
I asked nicely. I argued coherently. I wheedled. I cajoled. I pouted. I did everything short of crying. Nobody would listen. So, I did the only thing any sane, rational person would do in my situation, I called in sick.
Now, anyone with half a brain would know this was a ruse. Our new store manager, whom I haven't quite figured out yet, other than to say he's a bitter little malcontent, and that warms the cockles of my heart, is a smart guy. The way you think of a weasle as smart. I was 100% assured that he knew exactly what I was doing, and still had no qualms about my decision. I figured if I got fired for this, then the whole mess was in deeper shit than I imagined, and nobody needs to work in an environment as stupid as that. If it pisses you off that much, then good, you can have my crappy job. Good luck finding someone who will do it 1/2 as well for what you're paying, suckers.
Anyway, I woke up the morning of the dreaded meeting, suspiciously late enough to make it impossible for them to refuse me, dialed my work number, and put on my best Tom Waites voice. "I'm sick, you see? The piano's been drinking, not me..." I claimed I had the stomach flu that's going around (handy, that), to make any desire to transport me anywhere in someone else's vehicle extra undesireable. (you don't want me honking on your upholstery, do you?) Well, it was Mr. Malcontent, our new store manager and my self-appointed kidnapper...uh...driver I had to answer to.
"Well, now who am I supposed to take to this stupid-ass meeting, then?" he asked. Judging by the obvious smile in his voice I knew this was a rhetorical question, but I offered up my own smirking; "I dunno." anyway. The rest of the brief exchange I had with him made it clear to me that, although he walked the Drugco walk, it wasn't his fucking religion, the way it is with so much middle management around here. At least for the length of that phonecall, and several points after that, I was pretty sure I liked this guy. I hung up feeling secure in my rebellion, and sure that he approved. It was the nicest sick call I ever made, and that's saying something in an environment where they usually act like a sick-call is an act of blatant, anti-retail insurrection. I went back to bed, slept until noon, and frittered away my day e-mailing folks, daydreaming, and successfully tracking down a dear, long lost friend. It was a good fucking day.
Anyway, I went in today bearing baked-goods from my mom who is known around Drugco as a bit of a patron saint (a little homemade bribery never hurts, my friends, oh no no!), and was greeted with a few knowing smiles and nods. The important people knew the truth, and they were silently cheering me on. Mr. Malcontent was the first to scoop a coffee-cake square out of the bag, assuring me between bites; "You didn't miss a fucking thing. It was the most boring, stupid, pointless waste of time I've ever suffered through. This is damn fine coffee cake! Jesus, the way the crumbs dissolve like that. Amazing." "Yes," I said "That's brown sugar and cinnamon. And I told you, dude." he nodded "Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. You were right."
I was right. Of course I was right. But does that mean I'll be able to escape the next meeting with anything short of blatant deception? Probably not. So all is well in the world of minor corporate rebellion, right? Not really.
Seems our drunken den mother started her closing shift an hour early so that she could be sure to catch Mr. Malcontent before he left for the day. The story goes that she marched right up to him, without so much as a hello, with one of my fellow Drugco "guerilla chillas" standing right next to him and said; "Taiwan_On conveniently calls in 'sick' the day of every meeting and visit we have!"
Of course, she didn't call me by my super-secret alter-ego, I'm taking some liberties here. But for the record, the only other "visit" (corporate practicing "seagull management" by flying into the store every few months, making a lot of noise, shitting on everything, and flying off again) I missed was when I actually was sick, though probably for weeks of lack of sleep than any actual illness. (Ah! Back in the halcyon days of "Cal". The day he and I jokingly referred to as "calling in fucked".) And also for the record, our notoriously hard-to-please district manager took the time to hand write a note to yours fucking truly saying "Sorry we missed you. Keep up the excellent work! The lab looks great! Outstanding job!". Mind you, everyone, including me, treated that note like a rare artifact, nearly doubting its authenticty, such an uncharacteristic bone this was for her to throw.
I think what pisses off my drunken den mother coworker, is that I'm the Ferris Bueller of Drugco. I can get away with a (not so sick) sick day or two because I get mostly straight A's. Fuck you! I work hard enough to merit a little unauthorized playtime, dammmit, and I have yet to even request that I get sick pay for any of these irresponsible rambles, so where's the harm, really?
I thought it was nice, too, that Mr. Malcontent fired back to Drunken Den Mother with; "So what if she missed it? I wish I had missed it! It was a meaningless waste of everyone's time. There was no need for either of us to be there." And, the "guerilla chilla" who was present got right in DDM's hostile little face and said; "You just threw taiwan_on under the bus!" No need for me to ask; will the real guerilla chilla' please stand up? here.
She didn't, of course. Throw me under the bus. Whatever DDM was trying to achieve turned out to be a non-event, but the whole idea that DDM would try to shop me like that after chillin' at Casa de Taiwan_On a mere week or so ago makes me a bit twitchy. I'm not saying that some burgers, beer, and laughy-chatty should afford me any extra slack (I've got all I require, thanks.), I'm just saying that I thought we were pals. If not in the "Best Friends 4 Eva" sense, at least in the "cool coworker I shouldn't like to lose" way.
I don't want there to be any hard feelings or uncomfortable vibes. I'm sorry that DDM took a shot at me (however poorly aimed), but I'm just as sorry that all the other guerilla chilla's want to get ugly on her ass, now. I feel a mass-snubbing coming on, and I really don't want that on my account. I want to be friendly with DDM, in spite of this, but I don't think I'll ever again call her a "friend".
Look, it's not like I'm smug about all this either, no matter how cocky I may be coming across now. (After all, this blog is where my "Id" runs rampant.) I skulk in with the appropriate length of tail between my legs proportional to however naughty I feel I've been, but I can't help but throw a sneaky wink out to the guerilla chilla' who's got my number. We're cool like that. But I never gave that wink to you, DDM, and I certainly never will after this.
So, in closing, I'd like to say work hard and play harder, people. If you don't feel like going to work, then don't. Nobody ever ended up on their death-bed wishing they had spent more time on the clock.
That, and choose your friends for their sense of humor and your enemies for their alcohol-impaired aim. And forgive them. For in the morning, they remember not what they do.
Be right to each other, yo!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 11:18 PM#
Monday, August 26, 2002"This Post Was Brought To You By The Letter X"
The letter X. Bringing the wrong people together since 1912.
I actually got these 2 e-mails awhile back (as the timestamps will attest), and kept forgetting to post them. But now seemed like such an appropriate time to share them, no?
Date: Tue, 6 Aug 2002 23:32:55 EDT
Subject: hi..Reading your diary
I came across your diary the other day at Diaryland, actually it was by accident, I was just looking at other usernames that start with X, since mine does and I opened yours because "Ashes" is what I call my best friend. And I just wanted to tell you I am like obsessed now with reading your thoughts. Not scary obsessed, i promise :) Just intrigued. You write amazingly. And i have felt so much of what you've written. When i read certain sentences, its like i could have written them myself. You remind me a lot of a cross between my best friend and myself. So, I just wanted to say hi and that i love your writing. You seem like one of those people that I would love to know. Did
you ever see someone walking down the street, or have a short conversation with someone, or maybe read something they wrote..and you think "wow, i want to know them" There's so much substance to you. It's awesome to see, because it's something a lot of people lack these days. Anyway, have a great day, or night, or whatever it is when you read this.
(NAME WITHHELD TO PROTECT THE UH...INNOCENT)
oh, if you wanna check out my diary it's XXXXX (WEBSITE WITHELD TO PROTECT THE...UH...WHATEVER)
i only started it this week so there's not much there.
Date: Wed, 7 Aug 2002 02:13:30 EDT
so sorry. I think I definitely sent that email to the wrong person. sorry!
The whole "blogs beginning with x" thing should have been a dead giveaway, but it wasn't until I got to the comment; "there's so much substance to you!" that I realized the caller had clearly dialed a wrong number.
Sigh. Am I forever destined to be without a net stalker?
posted by taiwan_on 'round 5:30 PM#
"There's No Such Thing As Bad Press..."
I'm proud to announce that the lovable and gregarious Killjoy has declared me the winner of the prestigious award:
"Webmaster who has worked incredibly hard on their design, but it doesnít show, because itís pure shit."
Can Killjoy get an "amen", people?
Now do you see why I'm always saying that an obsessive love of barcodes will earn you nothing but trouble? Well, do you?
My favorite quote in this assesment? Easy:
"I canít stand it, and it all starts with that fucking cat."
Thank you, thank you very much! I'll be here all week!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 5:03 PM#
Sunday, August 25, 2002"Chalk One Up For The Kid"
chasing the bandwagon like it's the ice cream man
This is my new blogchalk:
United States, Massachusettes, Brockton, North Brockton, English, Female, 26-30, Film, Writing. :)
Hey, why not get 'yerself chalked, eh?
posted by taiwan_on 'round 6:08 PM#
Saturday, August 24, 2002"Extra Tasty Crispin"
with a side of weird.
So, in between chain smoking and re-editing, like, the whole damn site...
Oh, you didn't even notice did you? I work and I slave and this is the thanks I get? I might as well be invisible.
Anyway, in between all of my unnoticed hard work, I have been slavering over Crispin Glover.
That's right, you heard correctly, Crispin Glover. I even went so far as to nominate him (horribly belatedly) as August's "Cupcake of the Month".
Come on, admit it, you want him too, don't you? Don't you, my dirty little cupcake divers?
I've had unresolved "feelings" for Crispin since, like, 1987. I think after my bah-zillionth viewing of "River's Edge", I offhandedly admitted to a friend that I thought I had a Crispin jones. My friend's reaction was an incredulous; "What!?", and I clammed right up and never spoke of it again. I harbored my lust in silence for years.
Well, not anymore, dammit. I love Crispin Glover and I'm proud of it! Do you hear me, world?! I want to naked limbo with George McFly! Yep, Mister Density himself. I want him, and there's not a damn thing you or anyone else can do about it.
*whew* I feel so liberated.
Anyway, check out the "Cupcake of the Month" section for more on my little "gloverboy", and notice the new superlative stuff I've added to the current nominee page.
That is all.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 11:47 PM#
Friday, August 23, 2002
faster pussycat, spend, spend, spend!
Help Meee! I'm in another "spendy frenzy"!
Actually, call off the hounds, because I'm having a great time here, regardless of how impractical this all is.
See, every so often, I go out on a bender and start blowing cash like I have a limitless supply of the stuff. It only lasts a few weekends, at most, and I'm not sure why I do it, but the point is, I almost never suffer from "buyer's remorse", even though none of my purchases are going to significantly improve my life in any way.
It's always goofy stuff like candles, perfume and other things that smell good, linens, lingerie, makeup, imported cigarettes, gourmet snacks, books, music and movies. And, as you'll recall from the post a couple of days ago, candy. These aforementioned items are my collective Achillie's heel, and when you put them all together, they make me sound like an idle courtesean.
Ah, I'd have made a great courtesean, but that's a musing for another day I guess.
Anyway, there are a few things that I'm overjoyed about at the moment, so I'm going to bore you with the details. Bear with me.
1.) I found silky black stockings on clearance for $1.50 a pair! This is a big deal, because the only thigh-high stockings I've been able to find for ages are the kind with the elastic around the thigh, which are useless to me, because I've had this great new garter-belt for months that I haven't been able to use sans plain, un-elasticized stockings. I just wanna' kick my hosiery old school, y'know? Anyway, I'm saved now, because I bought four pair.
2.) 1 pair of Mickey Mouse bikini panties, with old school Mickey and Minnie chillin' on the front, with some glitter sprinkled around them. I do loves me some sparklies, dontcha' know. Also, that's twice I've used the phrase "old school" to describe my purchasing options. Such a classic girl, 'eh?
3.) My chosen "summer selection" of Yankee Candle Co. votive candles, which I have been dying for all summer long. These scents include, but are not limited to: seaside holiday, storm watch, midsummer night, clean cotton, rainbow's end, citrus and sage, mountain lake and cliff walk rose. They didn't have cucumber or fresh grass, which are, imho, two very necessary summer selections, but I'm happy anyway. Despite the fact that those little bitches are disproportionally expensive.
4.) Two DVDs; "Lord of the Rings", which I bought the day it was released on DVD, but because it was fullscreen format and not widescreen, I wouldn't watch it and returned it at my earliest convenience. Just say no to fullscreen, folks, no matter how much it hurts sometimes. It's time to take a stand, no? And the other one was "Evil Dead". Now, some of you are going to consider me a fake fan because I opted not to buy the new "book of the dead" version, but cut me some slack here. I'm running out of room on my DVD rack, and as cool as that box looks, I just don't have the space for it. Gotta' make room for my babies.
5.) Most thrilling purchase of all; 2 of the coolest baby-tees ever! One is of this cute little anime-style vampire girlie (kinda' looks like a Powerpuff Girl) that says; "Beware! I'll bite!" (and it has more sparklies sprinkled on it!) and the other is of, get this, remember the cartoon "Jem"? It was this early 80's "girl power" type cartoon about this sort of "Barbie and the Rockers" type girl-band named "Jem and the Holograms". I think they fought crime or evil or something, whilst accessorizing brilliantly and rocking out. Anyway, I didn't like Jem, because she was a total Pollyanna and entirely too moral for my taste, plus she played cheesy, irritatingly bright-eyed "you can do it" type stadium rock. But what I did like about the show was Jem & the Hologram's rival band, the "Misfits". The Misfits had a better logo, were hotter, dressed sluttier with fishnets and spike-heeled thigh boots, wore edgier, trampier makeup and played bitter, hateful, anti-social candy-punk. I also suspect they were wasted on stage most of the time, and fucked a lot of cute, boy-groupies in their tricked-out purple and black tour bus, but you never got to see that shit on the cartoon. I hope VH1 does a "Behind the Music" on them. I fuckin' loved the Misfits. They were the only cool thing about the show. Anyway, the other tee shirt is a Misfits tee shirt showing my bitches in all their angry floozy glory, and while it's curiously lacking in sparklies, it's still a cool shirt.
I'm wondering now, though, do you think the cartoon had any legal problems with that? After all there is a real punk band named the Misfits, isn't that a copyright infringement? Do you think they got sued? Was that what did in the show? Does anyone but me really give a shit?
Anyway, I found those tees at Hot Topic, and can I just say I needs me a Hot Topic on every corner? That store rocks my world! I mean, I felt like such a conspicuous "nark" in the place, easily the oldest and least trendy bitch in there, but after about 5 minutes, the rebellious 15 year old in me came out to play. I wanted to buy the walls bare! I wanted a Spongebob Squarepants lunchbox, I wanted Wonder Woman underwear, I wanted a purple and back lace corset-dress, I wanted a napping kitty hoodie with little cat ears on the head, I wanted a messenger bag with a sparkly green fairy on the front, I wanted some of that cheap, evil smelling "Morbid" perfume that comes complete in a coffin box, I wanted aqua glitter in every shade, I wanted a Hello Kitty eye makeup kit, I wanted a pair of acid green oxford shoes, I wanted a glittery vinyl spiked dog collar with matching bondage cuffs, I wanted two fistfuls of mood rings, I wanted a Johnny the Homicidal Maniac pocket watch, and dammit, I wanted that little spiral-bound journal with the black cover that said "I "heart" tattooed dumb guys". Why didn't I get that? I will kick myself forever for not buying that. It was so "me".
It's a good thing I was running out of money and still had Best Buy to hit, otherwise I'd look like a complete fool right now. *sigh* I don't wanna' turn 30, I don't feel like I got all of my fashion disasters out of my system for lack of funds in my teen years. No fairsies! We didn't have Hot Topic in my day, all we had was Lip Service and nobody could afford that shit!
Can I get a "do-over"?
posted by taiwan_on 'round 10:08 PM#
Wednesday, August 21, 2002"Taiwan_On's Beauty Tips"
hey! stop snickering!
Where all my bitches at? I got a beauty scoop for you, yo! I like, so have the inside track here, it's scary. My elbow is firmly on the pulse of beauty culture, and pressing down hard. Check it out:
Okay, It's obvious now that I have a love/hate relationship with makeup. I used to slap that shit on with a shovel but now I can hardly stand the stuff. If I put any on, it makes me fussy and eventually I just want to claw it all off within an hour. I'm picky about what I put on my mug these days. I gravitate towards makeup that markets itself with words like; "sheer", "tint", "natural", "shimmery", "glow". Y'know, light and easy-going. Still though, every now and then I am utterly seduced and this is so cool I just had to share it with you.
Revlon doesn't officially launch this stuff until tomorrow, but I wheedled and cajoled our cosmetician at Drugco, and I suspect she finally forked it over to shut me up. (I can be annoying like that.) In my hot little hand right this moment is a tube of Revlon's Colorstay "Overtime Lash Tint".
It's a bit like mascara, but it's more like temporary hair color for your lashes. You stroke it on clean, dry lashes, just like mascara, only lighter (single coat, girls), and your lashes are significantly darkened and defined without the clumpy, chunky, flaky mess of mascara. But get this shit; you can wear it for THREE DAYS! It supposedly lasts through face washings, showers, rainstorms, crying fits and sleep without giving you that raccoon-eyed, heroin-addict, yeah-I-slept-in-my-eye-makeup look. Cool.
You remove it after 3 days (or sooner, ifya' like) with an oil-based eye-makeup remover. I've got some on now, and this shit rawks!
It's not too stiff, think medium hold hair gel, and it holds a curl like mad. After it's dry, you can hit 'em with a lash curler and, damn girl, you fine! It just looks like you have long, dark lashes, not mascara-ed lashes. Very subtle and very pretty.
Mind you, so far I've only just pulled out of the driveway on this particular road-test, but I'll let you know if:
a.) It's easily removed without making my already spare, short, pale lashes fall out.
b.) I can sleep in it and not wake up tomorrow looking like a dirty "hoor".
c.) It survives my vigorous morning face scrubbin'.
d.) If it gives me conjunctivitis. Eeew!
e.) Whatever the hell else, if anything, goes wrong.
In the meantime, fuckit, girl. Go out and get yourself a tube and some oil-based remover anyway. It's worth it just for the subtle; "Who me? I don't wear makeup" look. Even if it isn't all it claims to be.
And here's a few user tips from me to you: before application, wrap a piece paper towel around the coated brush and twirl it around to wipe off the excess. It'll go on smoother and sheerer that way and look more natural. Use the tip of the brush to graze the inner, outer and lower lashes so you get them, too. Then before it dries, rake 'em out with an eyelash comb to separate. Give it a minute or two to dry and then use an eyelash curler at the base of your upper lashes for that wide-eyed, girly look. Then hop down to your favorite pub to bat that shit and watch the free drinks fly.
You just go, girl!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 9:46 PM#
Tuesday, August 20, 2002"It's the Way it Shatters..."
Despite the fact that this was my first day back to work after a week's vacation, this has been a most excellent day.
Why? You ask. Because after work I went shoppin' and got all kindsa' cool things. I got some lavender/vanilla/chamomile linen spray from me mum. Some funky lipgloss, a Jane magazine, meringue cookies, lumpfish caviar, but most importantly; candy.
Yep. Lemmie give a big shout-out to my peeps over at "Pinches & Pounds" in (...uh...Avon MA?) for completely rocking my candy-lusting world and answering all of my insane candy-related demands.
Did they have Lindor Truffles? Yes, in every flava', even the harder to find ones. (didn't even know they had mint!) Especially the White Chocolate. I loves me some of that white chocolate. Mmm.
Did they have maple sugar candy? Why, yes, yes they did. And that shit still makes me crazy. I have to savor each piece the same way I did when I was a kid; shaving minute particles off with my front teeeth and letting it dissolve under my tongue. Oh Jeeezus, that's good.
But more incredibly, more fantastically, most outrageously of all, do you know what they had there, boys and girls? Well, do you? They had "Violet Crumble".
Violet... Motherfucking... Crumble.
One of my many, personal candy kryptonites. I was so excited I almost started a riot in the store. From the bottom shelf of the candy bar rack, a spot often ignored by me when I am surrounded by banks and banks of glass jars and cases of penny candy, home-made chocolate, and sexy, imported sweets, I caught a flash of metallic purple wrapper, and I'm not kidding you, this was my reaction;
*Embarrassing Audible Gasp*
(in a reverent Irish whisper) "Oh! No way!"
(falling to my knees to show the proper respect and bring myself down to eye-level of my flashy candy-god.)
(wistful, girly voice) "Ohhh! Violet Crumble!"
I know, right? How humilliating! But I was weak, people, okay? I was confronted unexpectedly by an idol. How can I be expected to behave in any way even remotely resembling "adult"?
Violet Crumble. Also known as, if the wrapper is any indication; "Austrailia's Crisp Golden Honeycomb". *blush* Doesn't that sound almost dirty? It does if you've ever had one, because these fuckin' things are so good it's pornographic. It's a big hunk of puffed molasses, which has the consistency of florist's foam, but dissolves immediately on salivary contact... and it's smothered in chocolate.
Damn. Somebody get my ass a towel over here! This is like writing erotica. Anyone want me to recite this over the phone for them in a low, husky voice? Because not only will I, I'll enjoy it. In fact, I remember chatting with someone in Austrailia last summer, and somehow the topic of "favorite ice cream flavor" came up. He told me about this thing that sounds suspiciously like a McFlurry with busted-up chunks of Violet Crumble blended in.
Well, next thing you know, the webcams came on and I'm naked and he's naked, and, well, you just try explaining to someone why you're sitting in front of your computer, sweaty, nude and slathered in butterscotch topping. I mean, really, I'd like to see you try.
So Dial 1-800-CRUMBLE in the US and immediately order a case. Two cases. I shit you not, that number is real and printed on the wrapper. See? Even the evil geniuses who created this candy bar know you need it so bad they have a 24 hour hotline to help you.
Hmm...wonder if they'll say; "G'day mate" if you call. Wonder if they need a phone sex operator. Wonder if they want some hot, horny, Yankee, monkey, chocolate-covered, phone-love.
Anyway, Violet Crumble. I bought three bars. Haven't had one yet. I'm all about delayed gratification, baby. Just knowing I have them is enough right now. I'll probably end up "sleep eating" them, like those people you see grainy, night-vision video of an 20/20, trying to sodomize an entire Thanksgiving carcass. I love those people, because it's always invariably some flat-assed 40 year old preppy in a fuzzy, innocuous sweater looking all doe-eyed and "Gosh! I didn't know I did that!"
That's one of those dieases I wish I had; sleep-eating. Sleep is the only thing that keeps me from eating. Eating and smoking. Yep, I wish I had me some sleep-eating and sleep-smoking disorders. And narcolepsy. And tourettes.
I remember discussing this with a friend. We both always wanted to list something outrageous in the field of a job application where it asks; "do you have any disabilities that might prevent you from doing your job?". We wanted to list tourettes and narcolepsy there. I'd like to ammend that list and add sleep-eating/smoking. I'd just love to go to work every day, tell people to fuck themselves, immediately drop to the floor and take a nap, sleeep-walk into the breakroom and raid the community mini-fridge for the phattest lunch option, and then stumble around all sorts of inappropriate and forbidden places somnambulisticly (is that a word?) chain-smoking until it's time to clock out.
Hell, I'd pretty much love any job I got if I could do that. I'd even love Drugco. And if they gave me any shit or tried to fire me, it's all good. I'd just sue their asses on the grounds that they violated the "American's With Disabilities Act" and live forever off that fat, frivilous lawsuit cheddah. Yeeeaaaaahhhh. That'd be sweet.
...Mmm...cheddar. Okay, I gotta' go, now. See ya' and congratulations; you've survived Monday and it is now Tuesday.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 12:26 AM#
Monday, August 19, 2002"We Like To Call It Synergy"
Oh. My. God.
My unvoiced wish has come true...
They have merged "Sex & The City" with "Office Space" by introducing Ron Livingston into the most recent episode. Could he become a regular character now?
Peter Gibbons as Carrie's new love interest? *gasp* Oh, I think I'm having a little heart attack...
...no, wait...it's just gas.
I never thought I'd say this, but, thank you, HBO.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 12:30 AM#
Sunday, August 18, 2002"And You Say It's Gonna' Happen Now..."
...but when exactly do you mean?
I wish there was an online test for "Which Smith's Single Are You?"
Because I am so "How Soon Is Now?" today.
Why did Smashing Pumpkins never cover that song? Why god, why?
posted by taiwan_on 'round 11:33 PM#
"Have You Seen Me?"
or a reasonable facsimilie thereof?
Oh, I just love this! www.stor.co.uk lets you make these cool little dolls that resemble you. I know they've been around forever and all, but I only just went and made one for the first time, so I'm still basking in the newness of it.
What kills me is the configurability. I mean, mine is even wearing men's boxer shorts under the black trousers! Look, you can see the waistband peeking out! Wheee! Looks an awful lot like me, actually. Well, except for the thick neck and the giant, bulbous head. And the fact that she doesn't have brown eyes so she has to wear sunglasses all the time. (well, that, and, to protect her anonymity.)
Wish they had a black and white cat too. I don't have any brown ones. And I look like I could use a smoke danglin' out of my cake-hole.
Anyway, mini-me is gonna' be chillin' over there to the left for all time now, just to give you that extra creepy feeling that I'm watching you.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 8:36 PM#
For What It's Worth...
my star sign is Scorpio.
What's *Your* Sex Sign?
posted by taiwan_on 'round 7:13 PM#
"Just In Case Anyone Thought I Was Exaggerating"
I present the amazing growing ear.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 4:48 PM#
"Humans Are Highly Illogical Creatures"
this just does not motherfucking compute
Do you really want to know why I held off so long telling you about Ganymede and I? No? Well, tough shit I'm going to tell you, 'cuz I got some shit I need to get off my chest.
I didn't tell you about Ganymede and I because I was scared to jinx it and end up looking like an ass. Seems whenever I feel comfortable enough in my happiness to share it, something bad happens. I know that's just superstitious crazy-talk... but still. The bottom line is now, I am an ass.
I am an ass, riding an ass, wearing my own ass for a hat. How fuckin' cool am I?
Ganymede, in another replay of our relationship six years ago, has vanished inexplicably. Last time I saw him with my own eyes was last Sunday, we had spent the whole day and night in Plymouth, in search of the ultimate lobster roll, the Pericles meteor shower, and some relaxation. I had a wonderful time, I don't mind telling you. I could feel my guard slipping because I was finally starting to believe; yes, he's really here, he's really back, I'm not dreaming, and this isn't some cruel joke. He's my friend; he doesn't want to torture me.
Well, I'm tortured, and I don't mind telling you that, either.
I mean, what the hell? After Sunday, I was content to lay off and not ask "when can I see you again?". I have shit to do, he has shit to do, it's all good; no rush. But we talked on Monday or Tuesday or whatever the fuck it was, I was on vacation this week, and I swear every day I woke up thinking it was Saturday. Wait, this was definitely Monday. Anyway, I talked to him and he suggested we hang out on Tuesday. Please note I said "he suggested". Cool. I was down with that. Now, I woke up pretty late on Tuesday, and there were already a couple of calls from him on my machine. I duly called him back, pre-coffee even, and left him a reply on his voice mail. As the day wore on, and we talked a few times without finalizing any concrete plans, it became clear to me that he was going to be too busy with work to go out. (I'm perceptive like that.) During the last call, I decided to offer him an easy out. He had been running around like mad all day, working his ass off and it was god-awful hot out. He probably wanted to just chill. I said; "Look, you're gonna' be beat when this day wraps up. Wanna' hang out another day? I feel bad making you drive all the way out here, you've been driving all day" ('cuz, y'know, I'm cool like that.) Well, he seemed grateful for my consideration, took me up on the offer to reschedule and that was that.
See how easy?
Anyway, sure I was dissappointed, of course I wanted to see him, but you know me; it's all the same here. A night in, a night out, I am just as bloody entertained either way. I had a massive project to wrap up that I was working on for my 2 aunts' birthdays, so I figured I'd get moving on that. It's my vacation, for heaven's sake, how can I be anything other than chill?
So, Ganymede and I talk on Wednesday. We make plans for Thursday to go visit my old place of work, the cinema, because he wants to see it and I want to visit with my very cool ex co-worker Kevin and mebbe' show off for Ganymede and do a reel changeover for 'em, so I can say; "see? lookit! old school!" and feel cool all night. Additionally, I mention my very cool friend's band is playing on Friday, and Ganymede says; "great! we'll do that too!" So, yeah, cool; two definite dates, yes?
Thursday came and went and I wasted a single phonecall 'round 6:00 PM to ask on his voicemail; "Are we still hanging out tonight? If not call and let me know, okay?" to which I got the following reply:
That's right, nothing. No arrival at my door, late or otherwise, and no call. Was I pissed? Yes and no. No, because, if he didn't want to hang out, that was just fine with me. I've made it clear on several occasions that I'm not going to hold it against anyone if they flake on me. I have proven this time and time again. Why? Because I have been known to flake out at nearly the last minute as often as the next guy. How can I give anyone shit for it? If there's one thing I'm understanding about, it's the compelling need to flake sometimes. Hell, flake often, I don't mind, but goddamn it call me and tell me you're thinking of flaking, because not calling is just shitty and rude. Really, it's easy; pick up the phone, flake out on me, and watch how cool I can be. Even if I'm already dressed and ready, shoes on and everything, it's not the end of the world if you aren't coming along. If I feel I absolutely must go out, there's always someone else around that will go with me, and if not, damn you should see how cool and mysterious and self-posessed I am when I go out alone! I even take pride in my ability to go out to dinner by myself and not feel self-conscious or anything, which most of my female friends deem far too humilliating, and maybe I'm thick, but I never understood that.
So, yeah, he didn't call, and fortunately, I hadn't yet bothered to get ready to go out, so really, it was not as tragic as it could have been. As pissed as I was at such a flagrant display of inconsiderate behavior, it wasn't yet all that bad.
Then came Friday. Friday, when we had plans to go see my friend's band, which was very important to me because said friend went out of his way to accompany me to another friend's band's performance the previous Friday. Mind you, that Friday Ganymede also flaked on me, but at least he called, right? Right. So surely I could expect a call this week saying; "sorry I didn't get in touch on Thursday [insert whatever lame excuse and I will give you the benefit of the doubt and pretend to believe it], and I'm really busy and wiped-out, so I won't be able to make it tonight, either." And I, of course, while sorry Ganymede wouldn't be able to make it, extra sorry because I have plans on Saturday & Sunday, and won't be able to see him, I would be agreeable anyway, make alternate plans, and get thine ass to the show of my very cool, incredibly stand-up, above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty friend. (plus they rock and I've never seen them live and, fuck, I just really wanted to go, okay?)
So, realizing a call wouldn't be forthcoming, I left another message on his voice mail, identical to the one I left the night before, really feeling the futility of the gesture, and, you guessed it, he didn't call. And sadly, because I am stupid and have blind faith that people are going to realize they don't have to treat me so shitty and will immediately stop doing so, I waited around too long and ended up being unable to make alternate plans to go to the show. My bad on that one, although I was greatly dismayed by my utter disbelief that he would do this two nights running, so can I really be blamed?
This is just fucked. This is some whack shit, people, and I for one, am befuddled. I am usually wracked with enough unexplained guilt to instinctively apologize for a sudden rainstorm, but I can honestly say, without a doubt in my mind, that I have done nothing to deserve this hellacious treatment. And before he goes and claims he got all "scared" again, let me say this in my defense...
My "agenda" consists of the following:
Wanna be my friend? Great! Let me know when you wanna' hang out.
Wanna get naked and fuck sometimes? Cool! I just love to fuck.
Like to spend a lot of time alone? Me too. I'll see ya' when I see ya'.
Afraid I'm after your dough? Don't be. Golddiggers suck, I've been mugged by a few myself. I'm not even thinking of your wallet, I have my own to worry about.
Afraid I'm after your soul? Don't be. I didn't spend my entire childhood/puberty/adulthood obsessed with the perfect wedding, and if, in the unlikely event I actually do hear my biological clock ticking, I'll hit the snooze button, thank you. Thank you very fucking much.
And, while that last item may have more to do with my own immaturity than anything, that doesn't mean I'll completely rule out a commitment of some kind if it's on offer and agreeable to me. While I definitely don't worry about being single, I'm not scared of "the one" either. (okay, maybe I am a little, but I can work on that.) Which brings me to my "rules";
1.) Enjoy the moment, fuckhead! If you enjoy being with me then relax and fucking enjoy it! Stop thinking about "the future" and what you think I want, because you most likely haven't got a clue. And neither do I because I'm too busy enjoying this shit now. Get it? In short: don't tell me you love me because you think I want to hear it, and if you do say it, great, it doesn't mean I'm going to rush out and look for a wedding planner tomorrow, okay? It goes like this:
Guy: "I love you."
My Brain: "Cool." (end of thought)
And don't make any unrealisitic promises, no matter how good that last orgasm felt. I don't need them. I don't want them. Wanna' do something for me? Surprise me and just do it. Like Nike sez.
2.) Don't dick me around! I'm so low-maintainence it's scary, so, y'know, feel free to call me an cancel if we have plans to hang out. I promise I won't get pissy or guilt-trippy because odds are I'm just as happy to do my own thang. In short; never, ever, ever pull a no-call-no-show. There's no need for it. There's a reason people get fired for that shit on the job, and that reason's because it's an un-for-goddamn-givable transgression. A big no-no. Almost as big as me catching you fucking my sister, and y'know what? I don't have a sister, so there's one whole thing you don't even have to think about.
And that's it. That's me. See how simple I am? I'm easy...easy like Sunday morning. Which it is right now, oddly enough. Which means I really should take my stupid, baffled, utterly confused ass to bed.
But one more thing; before anyone goes thinking that this is my desperate attempt to salvage something, believe me, I'm beyond that. Obviously I've been misjudged and misunderstood on such a fundamental level that I find it hard to imagine Ganymede will ever really see where I'm really coming from, and that's the kind of thing that creates a self-conscious discomfort in me. I need that like I need a hole in the head. I'd prefer some understanding. Why can't we all just relax and enjoy the moment?
Can't we all just get along?
Sorry, I couldn't resist that one. ;-)
And no, I don't feel all bad, and low and ugly and all "what's-wrong-with-me?", either. In fact, as the realization that I was stood-up yet again dawned, I walked to the bathroom to pee, thinking; "too bad." and as I caught my reflection passing in the mirror, and this is rare for me, but I stopped and looked and thought; "yeah, too bad. I'm kinda' cute." And y'know what? That was kinda' nice.
I should write a fuckin' self-help book, huh?
Kidding! I'm kidding.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 2:08 AM#
Saturday, August 17, 2002"Yeah...Okay..."
Which Angelina Are You?
posted by taiwan_on 'round 2:51 AM#
Friday, August 16, 2002"Mouse Balls"
...ain't just for breakfast anymore.
Anybody remember that mouse with the ear grafted onto its back? I do, in that way an earth shattering trauma indellibly etches itself into your brain, sears itself into your retinas.
My memory has this scary shit filed away like so:
1.) the 727 crashing into the second tower
2.) mouse with an ear on its back
3.) Farrah Fawcett on the Letterman Show
In exactly that order.
I'll never forget it. I was eating my Lucky Charms before work (man, I loved me some Lucky Charms until I had some of that sweet, sweet Star Wars cereal. Had that yet? Oh, it's devine. Like if Lucky Charms and Kix had a baby, it'd be Star Wars cereal. Mmm.), when all of a sudden, there was this friggin' mouse with a friggin' ear growing out of its back.
I was disgusted, I was horrified, I think I peed a little, too. I couldn't get it out of my head all day, and I kept trying to share my terror with my co-workers, but it defintely started to border on badgering as I dazedly asked the same people 3 and 4 times; "Dude, you see that mouse? *shudder*" I needed comfort, dammit, but everyone just found it so amusing.
I, on the other hand, did not find it amusing. I found it bizarre and disturbing.
Later, I came to accept the whole mouse-with-an-ear-on-its-back thing, with the help of my mom. She bought me one of those things, y'know that thing, usually in the shape of a 1/2 inch dinosaur that you put in a bowl of water and it gradually expands to, like, 20 times its size as it absorbs water? Well, she found one in the shape of an ear for 50 cents at the Christmas Tree Shop and took great delight in presenting it to me, knowing how upset I was about the whole mouse thing.
You think I'm kidding? I'm going to take a picture of this thing and post it so you all know I'm not full of shit. You'll see.
But the acceptance of something so loathesome can only be dangerous. Soon, I definitely began to find myself obsessed with the "science-freak-mouse", as I ambivalently dubbed it, fantasizing that I would one day design the "Sports Illustrated Mouse Phone", to be obtained free with every subscription. This led to me modelling endless prototypes out of Sculpey and writing one feverish proposal after another to the marketing geeks at "S.I.", all of them rejected, until they finally issued a cease and desist order.
My family began to fear for my health and well being, and I think my "moment of clarity" came when my mom took away my "Magic Growing Ear" after I had claimed that I could surgically graft it onto the back of one of my cats.
Anyway, I'm better now, but all I want to know is, why can't I get a picture of this?! I mean, come on don't we all want to see a mouse with a ballsack growing out of its back?
Whaddaya mean, no?!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 4:29 PM#
Thursday, August 15, 2002"Ground Control To Major Tom"
commencing countdown engines on
"though i'm past one hundred thousand miles, i'm feeling very still...
quiz created by neondisease
Which David Bowie single are you?
So, I haven't been entirely honest with you.
The fact of the matter is that something huge has been going on in my life and I haven't yet shared it. Quite literally I haven't a clue even where to begin, seeing as this "new" development has a history of about six years.
Roughly six years ago, I was in love. This was gigantic; the big, big love. We had been friends for years beforehand, and yes, of course I was always attracted to him, but he was "committed" at the time, and I have a strict hands-off policy when it comes to other people's boyfriends. (Really, I hope that everyone does.)
Anyway, it was all very above-board, and at least a year after his last relationship ended that we started dating. I still look back on that first night with supreme fondness. A small gaggle of us went to my favorite club, Manray, with both the aforementioned boy and I knowing that we shared a mutual attraction and tonight was to be our beginning.
From now on, this boy will be known as "Ganymede", because, well, that's what he reminds me of; beautiful, immortal nature-boy, cup-bearer to the gods, and it's just too cumbersome to call him "the aforementioned boy".
So, there we were, all dolled-up in our Manray finery, this incredible excitement and anticipation crackling in the air...and glitter...lotsa' glitter. I love glitter and I used to wear a lot of it. It was a wardrobe essential to me, like shoes. But I digress...
The point is that all my dreams were coming true that night and I was delirious. It was the only time I remember all of us walking into a club and immediately hitting the dancefloor, rather than lubing-up first at the bar. One of those wild, paganistic, totally uninhibited nights where we drowned in a sea of long, pale, upraised limbs and dark, electronic bass. I whisked smiling strangers up in my arms and danced with them unabashedly; I felt brave and ripe and hungry and passionate and I just wanted to be a human conduit for all of that carzy energy. I wanted to fill the club with it, light it up and see it reflected in all of those impossibly beautiful faces. I felt like if I didn't share all of that excitement, then I'd burst with it. I cannot think of any other time in my life that I've felt like that, at least, not so acutely.
And the smilling, dear god, never has a grin meant more to me. All night Ganymede and I kept smilling at each other, and every time my heart would stop. I just couldn't believe that he was smilling at me. That smile was like a warm light on me, making me more real and more beautiful than I've ever been. I felt completely alive in that smile, and I wanted it aimed at me forever.
I know it's obvious at this point, but have I mentioned how insanely beautiful Ganymede is? All baby-smooth dark skin and long, lean lines and clever hands and black hair and huge, huge eyes that would break your heart. Eyes the color of stolen guns. Chameleon eyes that changed with the light, with his moods; one minute Carribean blue, the next as green as the rolling hills of Ireland, then suddenly as gray as Scotland rain. Eyes you can get lost travelling and unravelling the world in. You always knew where you stood with those eyes, because, as unfathomable as their depths were, and as unfathomable as he was, sometimes, those eyes hid nothing; no guile in them at all. You could almost see his brain working behind them, his soul. Anything that came out of that gaze was real and you knew it. Such remarkable eyes. And that night, I was the only thing in them, and man, I felt it. I felt it in the core of my being. It made me dizzy.
So, all night the drinks flowed and the smoke swirled and the music pounded and the club was filled with this wild abandon. Mind you, Manray can be a pretty lusty, sexy place most of the time, but I don't remember it ever being like this. People walked up and stared at Ganymede and I as if they didn't know which one of us they wanted. Strangers touched our faces, remarked on our beauty, stole kisses. It was exciting. And funniest of all, a story I had forgotten until Ganymede reminded me, was upon leaving the club, we were stopped by a boy Ganymede called "the lion king" because of his long, curly mane of hair and his leonine features. Lion King walked alongside us as we made our way back to the car, asking us if we were together. When we answered yes he said; "I thought so. You guys look like you belong together. Like you've been together forever. Really beautiful." Then he asked Ganymede if he could kiss me, just an innocent kiss. Ganymede grinned at me and said; "I think that's up to her." I nodded and offered a comical pucker to Lion King. He kissed me once on the mouth, once on the cheek, and once on the neck, before backing away and smilling at me. Then he turned to Ganymede and said; "Now you!" Ganymede laughed as if he thought Lion King wasn't serious, but he most certainly was, leaning in to kiss Ganymede's long slim neck while Ganymede grinned, staring at me with startled amusement. I must admit, I found the scene fetching, if not slightly unnerving. When Lion King disengaged from Ganymede's neck, his eyes sparkled and he was flushed and he said; "Now you two!" Ganymede and I kissed, I think our first official kiss, while Lion King giggled and sighed "Ah! So beautiful!" stumbling a little on his merry, drunken, kissing-bandit way calling after us; "Good luck to you! Good luck to you both! May you be together forever!" which thrilled me immensely for some odd reason. This isn't to say we didn't grope for our wallets to make sure we weren't robbed, which is cynical, I know, but that's just how it is in any city. Hard to take random acts of giddy goodwill at face value.
Anyway, the magic didn't stop there. That night was only a blessing before our voyage, a taste of all the magic that lay before us. We found each other in every song on the radio, in every dreamy movie flickering across every screen, in every beautiful book ever written. The world around us, which was still in good standing with me at the time as an enchanted place, became an impossible fairlyland, a garden of delights, a velvet-draped backdrop for us to act out our epic romance. I lost myself, I definitely lost myself in it like I never have before or since. This was that wild-eyed love where you want to burn on the stake like Joan of Arc, you want to murder the people that have done wrong to the one you love, you want to give up everything you own, throw everything away, just to demonstrate how in love you really are. It was hard to believe it was happening. I felt crazy with it; desperate. I'd often cry at the drop of a hat simply because I was so in love I didn't feel like I could hold it all inside me. For example, back when I was temping, my agency sent me on an assignment in the Financial District. I loathe the Financial District, because it feels like an evil, wretched place to me. Maybe it's the force of the crowds; the way the street shoves you along whether you're ready or not, or all the imposing architecture; huge smoked-glass skyscrapers that obliterate any sunlight long before it can reach the pavement, I don't know, but it chills me and frightens me and makes me feel like an outsider. I hated going there, but one day, there I was. And after deciding on one of the 30 or so Starbuck's on that particular block, I got in line for my favorite poison; a triple-shot medium Americano with extra cream and sugar. As soon as I get in line, as if on cue, This Mortal Coil's song; "The Song to the Siren" comes on over the PA and before I know it, I have to step out of line and get the hell out of there because I'm crying so hard.
Now, I always thought it was possible to cry simply because you are happy. I still do. However, I remember reading a disturbing scientific study saying that it was simply not the case. Scientists believe that crying when you're happy actually symbolizes a deeper, underlying sadness or fear, instead of simple happiness. Crying at a wedding means that you fear that you might not find love, crying after seeing a loved one emerge unharmed from a burning building or similar disater isn't joy at seeing them, but release from all the terrible things you imagined happened to them, and crying in love means an impending sense of doom, fear of abandonment. Or more awful, fear of love itself. Do I believe that they're on to something? Of course I still believe that it's possible to cry because you're happy... but I'd be naieve if I said there wasn't something to that theory, wouldn't I?
So, there Ganymede and I were, both of us 'round 23, on the cusp of 24, and we were wildly, passionately in love. But we were also doomed. We were damned. We were cursed the way you are at that age when you believe yourself invincible, yet disaster is around every corner. And you love drama, and though you don't know it, if you can't find it, you'll create it.
It felt like the world...fate itself was plotting against Ganymede and I, but sometimes we liked it that way. Every small disaster that befell us only served to strengthen our soul-bound bond, to prove our value to each other. We very nearly got our Joan of Arc, burning saint wish a few times. Consumed would be a good word for it. And there was so much tenderness, so much power between us. It was a dark, strange, beautiful dream, and we left reality behind and were enmeshed in it. We were pure and perfect. We were poems scratched out on candy wrappers. We were twin silver rings. We were death-angels dreaming of lying down together. We were the songs flying out the windows of passing cars. We were the same strange imaginings. We were throaty, drugged laughter. We were each other's answered wish.
But something happened, somewhere. Fear, I suppose, dogged us, or me at least, I can only speak for myself. I remember, just before the end, a period of time where I lived in fear. Where is he? Who's he with? Is he thinking of me? Does he still love me? And in a fit of panic one day I freaked and essentially kicked the door open. I remember calling him up and yammering something about how I can't live like this and if he wants to go, then just go. And he did. He just went. *POOF* like he vanished into thin air.
And in all these six years, I haven't verifiably laid eyes on him. I mean, sure I looked for him everywhere, but did I actually see him? Once. Maybe twice, but once for sure. I saw him standing in line outside a local University one night, waiting to get into an improv show. I was out getting drink mixers for a nearby party and I saw him across the street. I lingered a moment in front of the store, seeing the laid-back set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head as a breeze swept down the street, the line of light from the streetlamp running down the back of his neck, his hands dancing as he talked animatedly to someone in line, and I just turned and walked, breathless, back to the party both relieved and disappointed he didn't see me. I felt haunted. Seeing him standing there filled me with an almost kinetic memory. When he moved his hands I could feel them moving. When he tilted his head, I could feel the liquid movement of his neck. And I was amazed at how much it still hurt to want him. This was about a year after we broke up.
Well, here it is six years later and he comes into my work. I was prepared for anything; awkwardness, bitterness, indifference, but I wasn't prepared for what I got, which was the warmest smile I had ever seen. I searched those unforgettable eyes and all I came back with was a simple, boundless joy. I was delighted to see him and he me. we made a date to hang out and talk soon after, and the words came pouring out of us. We not only caught up on six years lost, but a lot of things pertaining to our separation came to light.
We came to the conclusion that we were both saboteurs; so amazed that we had found something so perfect we felt almost compelled to destroy it. He, of course, will not let me own my part in it, saying that it was all his fault, but I know that's not true. I kicked the door open, he only ran. Thing is, I've been walking around with a knot tied up in my belly for six years wondering what went wrong. I imagined every horrible scenario under the sun. And yes, it's frustrating to see what we've wrought out of simple fear, but at the same time it's a relief. The knot untied itself for me and I can breathe now. And as we walked out of the cool air conditioning of one of our favorite Cambridge haunts that night, I stopped him after he opened the passenger side door and hugged him. We hugged for 25 minutes straight on the side of Mass Ave while time stopped and cars continued to rush by. I felt immense relief, immense gratitude. I was glad to see him again. I was glad that everything was alright.
It's hard to say where things are going now, so I won't. For the moment we're just happy to be in each other's lives again. It's enough. It's more than enough. I marvel at life's twists, I'm astounded by fate's sense of timing, I'm amazed at how a stretch of time that once seemed eternal can matter almost nothing in the face of now.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 10:58 PM#
Wednesday, August 14, 2002"Damn..."
I was hoping for "Run Lola Run".
Still though, is this a test made for me or what?
what movie symbolism are you? find out!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 6:02 PM#
...kneel and worship. Git down!
I hate inside jokes as much as the next guy, so why would I be promoting what clearly looks to be a series of inside jokes? Well, I'll tell you.
Here's a link to a list of "Patrickisms", infinitely quotable lines uttered by a fellow that neither you or I have ever met. I had little background on this guy before I read these, my only primer being; "Patrick? Oh, he's a character, alright." But I swear I laughed out loud reading these.
Anyway, the list was compiled by a very cool friend of mine who plays bass in a band that happens to be playing this Friday, August 16th at the Milky Way 'round 9:45.
I know I've already asked you this so many times today that this blog has now officially degraded into an orgy, but hey, let's all show the band Choo Choo La Rouge some love.
posted by taiwan_on 'round 5:23 PM#
...the new dot-commie on the block.
Have I mentioned lately how Lee Stewart is so my own personal super-secret super-hero? Well, he is. He has provided the necessary hook-up to get this dot com up and running, and for that, I offer him my first-born, mutanoid, leathery-winged, brimstone-farting, acid-spewing, psilocybin-gorging, demonic fur-child. Some assembly may be required, offer void outside the U.S. so, like, hurry home Lee, because this thing is ornery. And really flatulent. And it's eating all the beef & cheese Slim Jims in the house. I mean, who could have imagined the horror I have wrought with only my Beakman's Lab, some leftover squirrel semen and a turkey baster?! Certainly not me, I assure you. Why does this keep happening to me?
Anyway, yeah, so now I'm preoccupied with how much totally random shit I can jam into the left and right side panels of this blog. Got code? And I can't yet figure out how to get Larry, the retro, coffee-drinking, tourettes guy to properly randomize, so I cut him out for the time being. I realize this makes me a java-illiterate dunce, but I'm working on it and a promise to compensate for my stupidity by coming up with more terrible and disturbing things for him to say, so like, just lay off me for a damn minute over here.
And another thing that's got me totally befuddled is why all of a sudden at the moxie post the text goes bold. I've pored over the source code for my template and gone back and looked at past posts to try and see if there's a misplaced bold-type tag somewhere that I forgot to close, but there's nothing, nothing! I can only assume the problem lies with Blogger. Oh, Blogger, you silly bitch, why you gotta' do me like that? You so crazy.
Speaking of crazy; tomorrow is one of my favorite national holidays. That's right you unworthy dungbeetles it's Gummi's birthday! Don't forget to stop on over and suck her tasty lemur cock. Be sure to celebrate the way us natives do by cooking up a batch of biscuits and pancakes made from five-year-old, weevil-infested Bisquick topped with vole jism, dancing the strap-on-wearing-lemur comedic-fecundity macarena, and constructing elaborate gummi bear and empty cigarette pack studded shrines outside of all convenience stores owned or operated by anyone named Ravi.
Hell, while you're at it, why not engage in the holiday's official sport while you're at it; pool table tipping.
Oh yeah, and cash donations. Lotsa' cash. Hey, Gummi! Get a Pay-Pal link on your site, girl, I'm tryin' tah hook dat shit up!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 4:50 PM#
Sunday, August 04, 2002"And Now I'm Out On The Veranda..."
...when I should have gone to school.
Okay, so here it is Saturday, and I've spent the whole day/night putzing around with my website and doing god-knows-what-else online. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know, how far I've fallen, right?
I was really wishing that I knew of a way to add a cool little list along these lines to the right of the blog that I could update quickly and easily whenever I wanted. Ya' know somewhere I could put all of my random bits and obsessional thoughts. I tried doing the whole embedded frame thing, but because I'm on a free webhost, it plants a damn banner there and messes everything up. There's got to be an easier way, so if anyone knows of one, please let me know.
Last night a skunk sprayed his stank, I'm assuming, right under my bedroom window. I've never smelled anything like this before. It was so goddamn strong that it wasn't even skunk-like anymore. It was like someone uncapped a giant "Sharpie" the size of a telephone pole and was trying to jam it directly up my nose.
And as if that wasn't enough of a bummer, my next-door neighbor's murderous fucking cat killed my last surviving chipmunk today. I loved those little bastards. There were two of them and they were really cute and friendly and I loved watching them inflate their cheeks with the shake from underneath the birdfeeders in my yard. They'd let you get really close, too, and even though I tried to feed them Harry Potter butter cookies, no dice, they only wanted sunflower seeds. They were so cool.
But today, as I was slapping copious amounts of Potion 9 in my hair, trying to get it to do something other than the puffy dandelion-head thing, I saw one of my neighbor's two cats, the one I didn't think was evil, dash through my yard with something hanging from his mouth. I ran out as fast as I could, but I didn't catch him, and I could tell that it was already dead. Fucker. I hope the sonofabitch goes after the giant rat that lives under my shed and gets his head bitten off.
So, like, seeing as I can't get my little side-bar list going for the moment, I want to share a really cool link with you that I came across and put there. It's the official website of glass artist Dale Chihuly and you're guaranteed to spend hours there marvelling at all his awesome shit. I mean, check out this lap pool, for chrissake!
Can you tell I really wanted to post something worthwhile and meaningful today, but more or less lost my nerve? Maybe someday I'll grow a pair and tell you the "whole truth", whatever that is. In the meantime, I'm going to go channel-surfing praying that the new installment of "Real Sex"; "Real Sex 30 - Down & Dirty" comes on when I can actually catch it! I'll tell you all my dirty little thoughts about it after I've seen it, my little pervlings. Stay tuned!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 1:12 AM#
Thursday, August 01, 2002"Nerves Are Up And The Eyes All Screwy..."
...blood like a pan full 'o boiling rat-tat-tooey
(Clearly I have no idea how to spell that word.)
So, here I am in the throes of another sleep-dep jag. Shall I tell you why? Nah, I don't think I will. Perhaps I'll let you twist in the wind for a bit. Someday soon, though, I hope to have loads of blogging material, and absolutely no fucking time to post it.
Just trust me and cross your fingers for me. Can ya' do that boys and girls? Cross your fingers for me? Sure. I knew you could.
It's fucking hot out, yeah? The weathermen said it'd get progressively cooler today, but like all New England weathermen, they lied. Didn't stop me from dashing hopefully out of the meat-locker-like comfort of work every hour or so to check, though. Bitches. Even though the AC is cranking not more than 3 rooms away, sweat balls roll copiously betwixt my jolly little breasts. And sleeping, that rarely glimped and all too short altered state of consciousness, is not only uncomfortable, but downright weird lately.
For example, last night I dreamed there was a seedy looking mute that broke into my house, crashed out on the couch, and absolutely wouldn't leave. In the dream I had long hair too. I always have long hair in my dreams. My subconscious is a bit like the Matrix that way, with the whole "residual self-image" thing. I haven't had short hair in like, six years or so. It's funny. Anyway, no matter how many times I called the cops, the mute wouldn't leave. And it seems the cops couldn't be bothered to come hustle a seedy looking mute out of my house anyway. A fine example of dreams imitating life.
Then, in the same night, I dreamed I had a little gray tabby kitten with eight pairs of eyes. Eight pairs, dudes! His "regular eyes", y'know, the pair that were exactly where his eyes should be, were evenly spaced and normal looking and green. His other seven pairs of eyes were very close together and ran from above is "regular eyes" to the back of his head, like a little occular mohawk. Some of the eyes were different colors, like yellow and gray, and they all seemed to be looking at different things and blinking out of synch. I couldn't believe that this many eyes could be, y'know, operable, that they must me in some way or another vestigal...
HAH! You have no idea how tortured I was just a moment ago trying to remember that word! Vestigal! Damn! For some reason the word "prehensile" was clogging my brain drain, and even though I knew it was the wrong word, you can see where that association comes from; "vesitgal tail"..."prehensile tail"...
Okay, maybe not. Maybe insane stumbles of logic like that are only possible when you've amassed, if you're lucky, 12 hours of sleep in the course of a week. But I digress...
So here's this kitten with an eyeball mohawk on its head, and I just can't believe that all of these eyes work, so to test them, I move my finger back and forth in front of each superflous set of eyes and watch him track my movements. Amazing! And I start thinking about what it must be like to be able to see so much all at once, so many different things, and I wonder if it might cause some kind of mental overload, but this kitten is just so calm, so content to just chill in my arms with his weird little eyeball mohawk head, purring away.
Still though, all those eyes made him really hard to pet, and I had to part my fingers as I stroked his little head for fear I'd gouge one (or many) of his frickin' eyes out! Even stranger; I was barely freaked-out by this little creature at all. But I did wonder if it was some kind of birth defect or maybe some genetic experiment gone horribly wrong.
So all day at work, it got me thinkin'...
Imagine what a fucking petting zoo populated by my dream animals would be like?! *shudder* Jeeezus! Like, Terry Gilliam selling tickets and little kids running everywhere, colliding into each other all screamin' and cryin', traumatized for life.
Hey! That sounds like fun!
Also, I couldn't stop wondering what the symbloism of that dream might represent. So, I hopped on over to one of my favorite online placebos: "The Freaky Dreams Dream Interpreter". Here's what it made of this bizarre inventory:
Your Dream: a gray kitten with eight pairs of eyes and a mute breaking into my home and sleeping on my couch
Words like Eyes: Vision. Consciousness and clarity. You will have a pleasant and profitable business and a congenial companion.
Words like Gray: Related with a transition period. If clear signifies peace but if dull signifies, fear.
Words like Home: Center of being. Spiritual self. Shelter. Basic need fulfilled. Happiness within the family.
Words like Sleeping: Relaxation and rest. Unconsciousness. False security.
Funny thing is; these interpretations, while decidedly vague, struck me as pretty appropriate in light of current affairs. Intrigued? Even if you're not, I am. Guess you'll just have to stay tuned, huh?
In any case, I simply must go now. My grip on reality (and probably sanity), always a little tenuous, is beginning to slip from sheer exhaustion. I'm getting into bed to watch a movie or something, and then I'm going to try and sleep for a change.
Take care y'all, and be grateful for the curveballs life throws at you. Even though they seem designed to knock all your teeth out, sometimes it's also a perfect opportunity for you to hit one out of the park. Which one is it gonna' be?
Heeeeeey batter-batter-batter-batter-batter-batter swing batter!
posted by taiwan_on 'round 9:05 PM#